Psst! Hey Kid Wanna Buy 300 Cloves of Garlic? Cheap?

I adore a deal. I always have. My mother use to actually take me trash picking in the rich neighborhoods (and we were not that bad off) on bulk trash day. We'd find treasures upon glorious treasure. She still has these all-silk floor to ceiling designer curtains in the living room we parlayed at about 100am from a swanky house where the new bride said, "Off with their heads." And curbside they went! We were waiting (<- mamamahahahay evil/maniacal laugh). I also later, on my own searches, found a pair of gaudy lamps which were signed and paid off half my college loan debt! True.

That same, "look at this!" feeling is had when I go to the 99 Cent store here in Los Angeles. Oddly, my friends never quite have the same experience. It is as if a walk through a different door and enter an enchanted world filled with goodies and special bits. I find Yoplait yogurt, Pedigree dog food (in Chicken-the only flavor their royals will eat), Freeman hair products, Knorr Swiss stuffs - even Clif bars! They are always remarkably low priced; at least 1/3 their "value" at the high falautin' joints.

So last week, in the refidge area, there's an industrial bag of peeled garlic - 99 cents. I mean like a six pound bag for a resturant. "So what," I think, "It'll make me cook."

Boy, truer words...I roasted, and toasted, and pureed - yesterday I PICKLED six jars worth - and i still have about 100 cloves! I have it stored in this cool actual Tupperware brand container <- so we shall see if their "no smell sticks" advertisement is true. So, here I am gettin all domestic. The poodle is by the feet waiting for dropping nums as he always is when I am by the stove creating. How disappointed he was. Do you have any idea what a hasle pickling is? Argh. You have to gather something like 4000 ancient ingredients (half of which you will use for NOTHING else), sterilized jars, and do mathmatical divisions to calculate a "large" batch, and spin three times in prayer to some Harvest God. And, the smell - oh-my-cricket! It's like sour socks after a football game (my brother was captain for six years - I know the smell when I smell it).

The Preserve Book, left over from the ex-husband called "chef," is a retro how-to book. It has a series of fun-to-do things (<- I kid). As I stir the foul mixture I read half-attentioned. You always learn sumthin' - I did not know ketchup is a word meaning a kind of chutney - swear.

Not that I ever gave it ANY thought mind you. But, you can make about 12 styles of ketchup without a tomato in the room. One was called "Oyster Ketchup," another, "Prince of Wales Ketchup."

They had a whole "meat" area which I shall be kind and not describe - but I really should take the photo of "how to peel the skin of the tongue" (<- they speak of beef)out to place on the fridge - it would make such a great diet tool. Even Tim Burton would wince at the horrific sight of the "peeling" I tell you. Imagine boiling, then physicaly peeling a tongue after carefully removing the bones in the severed section - the gal in the photo had no gloves on either! I'll stop...

Anyway, I shant be doing that, or any of the anal retentive fivehour preparations , some of these "preserves" requested - anytime soon (ever). Though, the jerky section was neat...I fell into sleep (after steeping myself in girly bath to scrape off the garlic/vinegar scent), so thankful there's a market these days that have "preserves" and "pickles." And I will never - ever - even for a dollar, buy an industrial sixed anything anywhere.

John Cusack Interview up at Blunt Review.com -> http://www.bluntreview.com

The Joy of Life Can Be Poo

Life's strange...it's amazing what you'll do for someone you love. I always watched in horror as my brother gleefully changed my nephews icky diaper. I just didn't get it. Sure, I got the kid was cute and a joy, and the apple of the eye stuff...But poop is poop and I literally got sick when I was given the honor of "the diaper change" one afternoon - you try saying no! You look like Mommie Dearest or something...

But, I digress. Having decided long ago I wouldn't be a breeder type. I have two canine kids. I admit I use to marry a lot, now I don't. I enjoy the whole bed, and the toothpaste properly squeezed...and I managed these maritial shenanigans without reproducing!

But, I sure could use a hand about now - even if it was a (shudder) husband. See, one of my dogs - they are both 17 years old this year, Clyde is heading towards the grave. He's a chow/lab mix, and twenty-five pounds of pure love. When I adopted him I was told, 'You've got nine years with the lad." Well, it's been 17 glorious years of toy-toys, walkie wooos and general grandness. Now, my handsome boy, nicknamed Barrymore - 'cause he's as dramatic as John - has started to "pace." It's as if the Grimm reaper is following him with a cookie,"Come here little doggie...icecream, candy, lolipops.." and if Clyde stops the end will come.

Clyde doesn't want to go. He loves life. Who doesn't.

So, I bring him to the vet - scared to death mind you that they'll give me some malarky about him being "ready." I warned my friend I'd go Resevoir Dogs on them if they try to pull my boy from me...

I figure, he eats, walks, and poops - hence my joy of poop. If it poops it's okay. Poop is grand! It means things are all in working order. And the type of poop is important too. This is all stuff I now know.

Clyde's got the heartbeat of a five year old the vet tells me. He's thin due to age, but he's remarkably chipper for a Yoda dog. He not only tells me Clyde has perhaps a year left, but that he;s simply losing his mind. He has doggie dementia. That explains his "distance" sometimes.

Clyde's now on Zanex - a kind of "take the edge off" medicine. He's walkin' around like Keith Richards circa 1972, and every once in a while I swear I see him frolicking with "something."

I'm ready - well, not ready -- but not selfish. We have a deal. I agree to let him go...You know none of that 19 operations prolonging the inevitable and making him stay. He agrees (at least in my conversations with him) he will fall asleep one eve and cease to be - he will be an ex-parrot. But never ex-loved.

We're heading out for a quick walk now...I'm all excited to see him poop.

Bat Secret Information Leaked - Well, Figured Out...

A friend - a high powered friend - rings me and says in their best Sam Spade, "You'll wanna find yourself down by the Groundlings theater by say 730pm on Thursday see." Okay, they didn't say "See" but it was that mysterious. "Just be there...there'll be a certain someone, who shall be un-named, you'll wanna be seein'" I said, "Oh, just tell me who it is?" CLICK. They went Ipswich clam on me.

See, every Thursday night the Groundling Theater does the Gas Show. It's a wildly entertaining Improv show riddled with themes and spontaneous brouhahas. And, the cast - like Mindy Sterling, Patrick Bristow, Tim Baggley, Jim Rash - and so forth call upon their "comedy friends" to step in and play...I've seen gaggle of guests that would make comedy hounds weep.

So, I had clues. I knew the friend knew that I wouldn't schlep over the hill for just anybody. It had to be Jim Carrey, Mike Myers or Will Farrell. Hmm. Jim's filming...Mike doesn't "feel" right. And Will Farrell is scheduled for all sorts of Press todos this weekend for Bewitched. Who - WHO could it be?

So, I am getting ready - contemplating on canceling - and I'm blasting the 'Edward Scissorhands' Score...when viola it hits me. Eddie Izzard.

Duh. He's my favorite "comedian." And after spending fifteen years in dank theaters with my stand-up comedian sister, he (and perhaps Emo Phillips)is the only "comedian" who still gets upon a stage - that any true friend of mine would dare assume I'd travel to see - let alone break "hush-hush" stoopid Hollywood no-tell trusts. Like I'm gonna send out an all-points bulletin- geesch!

I arrive a bit early so the friend and I can grab some chow. We get pizza. She's still all mute - mum as a Tut exhibit piece...

Poker faced, and sure of myself, I waited till she sipped her soda and said, 'It's Eddie Izzard." She choked as expected...looked shocked, and agreed. She said, 'How'd you know???!!! This is all super secret - no one knows he's coming.' I said, 'Deduction dear Watson. Jim is filming - and I interview him all the time, I love him, but it couldn't be him...Mike Myers seems anti-guest player type these days. Will, (though an ex-Groundling )has a busy PR week." and the I paused, and said, "Besides, Memorial Day when we were discussing the lending of Izzard dvds to one of soiree's guests, I was asked to do Izzard's "pear routine"...as the host quoted, 'he's her fave.'" My dinner friend said, "That's ridiculous - you couldn't know from that!" I says, "Well, you're super secret tone ment I was to be shocked not only at it being a "fave." But there had to be a lark behind the timing...Simple."

Eddie did the show and was, as expected, superb. They played with his British differences - to the glee of an audience. But, Izzard quickly caught on they were purposely using "Americanisms" to throw him off his game, and retorted with a bazillion accents, breaking the fourth wall, and diving in throwing back Britishism - while good heartedly allowing himself to be "the joke." He was not in "drag" but in sexy black boots (manly man low heeled)old blue jeans and a tight-side-ish purple and white striped shirt with a punky hair do. The shirt was all wrong- the talented lad really needs a stylist. But, again, I'm the one walkin' the dogs in my swanky neighborhood with the crusted tee-shirt from some bad movie inside out with my hair in a Tim Burton swirl - each mornin' - so who'm I to pass GQ Faux Pas-dom judgment?

Next Thursday he's at the Coronet I discovered with my bat Hollywood tuned hearing whilst ease dropping backstage. Being Ms. Blunt I was able to shimmy into to the show. Eddie's "Testing" material - so I am afraid, I can not review. He'll be on tour soon - then you'll all hear the scoop PDQ!

But, I am excited. I mean come on! It's like sitting in on a mental Mozart rehearsal for the Izzard convertees - like my self.

Know him? Well, here's a review of an Izzard "collection" deal at Amazon - I highly recommend the man. Super smart - while not talking over-your-head (Review-> http://www.bluntreview.com/reviews/eddieizzard.html

Girly Girlin' Up For Da Stars....

Okay, today I'm off to interview cast -n - crew of Shark Boy and Lava Girl - Robert Rodriguez's latest green-screen extravaganza for kids. I loved it...the mans such a creative genius.

So, I figure I'll bring the bring the "big" pocketbook (purse) as the swanky hotel I'm heading to has delightful toiletries...and I turn into a Film Noir dame pocketing the loot - see. I am, I confess, addicted to miniature smellie dohinkies for the bath. Small enough to explore, little enough to steal, and easy to trash if you hate them.

So, I head into the shower for my pretty-up stage and open the new sugar vanilla scrub. Okay, once again my girl gene and I have been scammed. I realized, for all my tough facade I am just a gurl. And a media snorting girly girl at that! I bought, for something like 10.00, sugar - SUGAR folks. HARD sugar. That kind they serve on sticks in fancy restaurants trying to be all French - ROCK CANDY swizzle shove into a fancy glass container with artful deign beckoning me. SUCKER.

I reach in and get a glob of rock and oil (now balancing the GLASS container so as not to have a scene from Psycho - accidently. Still, I precede. I rub (read: as if with sand paper) this pastry topping upon my leg. HA! Exfoliate...Exfoliate - ya sure 'cause it peels a layer of skin back towards the marrow! OUCH. Obviously, I didn't dare shave me legs...

But the painful accrument did smell quite nice - like cookies Christmas morn (literally). Then I threw on a bodywash of "Cotton Candy" - I am staying with the whole candy store theme today in honor of Shark Boy's kid stars ya know? I step out and my dog starts to sneeze in disgust. I have overdone the bakery body bath.

Now I must get dressed and pray wasps and bees leave me be en route to my car...I smell like a Charlie and the Chocolate Factory escapee, and a huge dollop of butterscotch. It's weird but kinda fun. Though the "sugar" scrub faux pas shall not be ventured into again. TRASHED it.

Gosh, I hope they have the verbena body wash at the hotel today...LOVE that stuff. And hey, if I'm schlepping over the hill to chat about their film - the least I should get is a nice self procured gift ensemble right?

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