This is a DOOZY….read the rest on Filmdrunk.
I want to apologize for not getting this out on Valentine’s Day but I did watch it on Valentine’s Day, which is all that really matters. Right? Anyways, when I wrote this I was menstrual as hell, and in a more cynical mood than I ever thought possible. It was obviously the combination of my hormones being on the fritz plus knowing I was alone yet again for a “holiday” that I wouldn’t want to take part in even if I was with someone. Oh, and having intense pizza withdrawals to top it all off (two weeks and counting, pray for me).
I’m already kind of drunk as I type this because as soon as I got home I took two shots of light pomegranate vodka, and made myself a vodka soda to sip on. All I had for dinner was a CLIF bar so let’s get this shit started.
I was trying to think of the perfect movie for Valentine’s Day, and Google searched “Valentine’s Day movie”. Turns out, there is actually a movie directed by Gary Marshall called “Valentine’s Day” from 2010 starring a gaggle of famous people. How did I not know this until now? Also, what do you call this kind of film? The type that casts any and every famous person who is available for three days of shooting and has eighteen different plots happening at the same time? Well if it doesn’t have a name I propose to call it… a DUMB movie. Ha, first zinger off the bat!
So, “Valentine’s Day” it is. I have pressed play, and a radio voice comes on saying, “Wake up, Angelinos”. This lets me know that the film takes place in Los Angeles. The voice has a name – “Romeo Midnight,” and right away he makes it clear that he is only speaking before midnight because it is Valentine’s Day. This is his day. Romeo Midnight sounds creepy as shit. He sounds like he not only has a goatee, but dyes it black. Okay, some random shots of Los Angeles appear on the screen and radio guy talks, and I think I missed some sort of joke. A bunch of trucks were driving down a Beverly Hills street and all turned into different driveways at the same time? Is this supposed to be some sort of gardener joke? Like an “only rich white people will get this” sort of thing? No wait, now it’s even better. It cut to a male construction worker with his arm around a female construction worker. Again, I don’t get it. Are they a couple, or is this sexual harassment? Some construction worker in the back is wearing a cone on his head and I can’t stop laughing. I have a feeling this might be the best part of the whole movie.
God there are so many actors in this movie. Feel like the editor had to use all the random “outdoor Los Angeles” clips he could find to get every single actor’s name up in the opening credits.
Okay here we go, we’re finally starting and it’s Ashton Kutcher and Jessica Alba in bed. Ashton has a ring in his hand, and proposes to Jessica Alba (who just woke up looking absolutely perfect and flawless like all us women do). Oh great we’re starting off right away with shitty romantic lines no man would ever actually say in real life. Ashton explains that when he was a kid, most of the advice his dad gave him was crap (daddy issues alert), but his idiot dad did say this one thing, which Ashton feels he needs to say now to Jessica Alba: “If you’re ever with a girl that’s too good for you, marry her.” Great logic Ashton. Make sure to marry the woman that’s better than you so you can bring her down to your lesser level and ensure her future is as pathetic as yours. Why would you even say that to her? Now you’re letting her know that you’re a sad sack of shit and that she can do better. I would genuinely much prefer if a man proposed to me and said, “we are equally just okay.”
Well, Ashton is happy because Jessica Alba said yes and all of a sudden a bunch of shots of water from different fountains shooting in the air comes onscreen. Wait, does Ashton have a boner or something? Really, a marriage proposal is giving you a hard-on? Cut to Ashton telling his BFF George Lopez about it all as they get inside a pink van together and almost get into a car accident because Ashton is so in love, or whatever. Also, the guy driving the car Ashton almost hits is Eddie LeBec (Carla’s second husband) from Cheers, making this the third Rum & Rom-Coms in a row to reference an actor from Cheers. I have never been more proud of myself.
Next, we take a break from Ashton’s fascinating storyline to check out Jamie Foxx in a newsroom. Uh-oh, our boy Jamie got an assignment he don’t like. He’s pulling the “I’m a serious sports journalist” line on his boss (Kathy Bates), but she’s all like “Ratings, bub”. Oh no, he’s got to walk around the streets and ask strangers what Valentine’s Day means to them, like a common whore. In his head I bet he’s all like, “DID I GO TO SERIOUS SPORTS JOURNALISM SCHOOL FOR NOTHING?”
Okay, now Jamie is talking about how much he hates Valentine’s Day (what is he, a girl?!?! LOL) and says to Kathy Bates, “Listen, I’m a player but I shut down my playerness from New Years to St. Patty’s Day just so I can avoid this day.” First of all, why would you keep it shut down up until St. Patty’s day? That’s a whole month after Valentine’s Day. That’s probably the best time to up the playerness because Valentine’s Day is a year away. Second, why did Jamie go along with the word “playerness” in this script as if that is something black people actually say?
Great we’re already back to Ashton Kutcher, who is a florist (explains the pink van). Oh I see, the Jamie Foxx and Ashton Kutcher worlds are about to collide with an on-the-street interview. Ashton is the Rain Man of flowers and knows that 110 million roses are sold every year on Valentine’s Day, which really impresses Jamie Foxx…not! Boy, I sure am having a lot of fun with this movie. Time for another shot. I still have half my vodka soda by the way.
New storyline: Patrick Dempsey and Jennifer Garner. Dempsey starts juggling three apples as Jennifer Garner says something about him having a flaw and he’s all like “what?” Uh, dude you’re juggling, that’s your major flaw. Obviously don’t act shocked, you dweeb. Shit, Jenn doesn’t even bring it up. His job? That’s the flaw? Oh she’s mad that he’s a rich, successful heart surgeon who has to fly out of town on Valentine’s Day? Much worse. My bad, Jenn. You do you.
Doctor Dempsey turns on the TV and sees Ashton Kutcher being interviewed about love. He says, “Love is the only shocking act left on the planet.” The f*ck does that even mean? Has this guy heard of murder-suicides? War? Drug trafficking? Child prostitution? Police brutality? All those things are way more shocking acts than two people deciding they tolerate one another enough to be boring together for a few years until they break up. Wow, and again I am being told that I am wrong. Jamie Foxx says that Ashton Kutcher has to be right because he is a florist. What the shit is this movie.
Alright, on to plot number four. Topher Grace and Anne Hathaway on a bed. The only place couples hang out I guess. Anna Hathaway just let out the most obnoxious cackle, and is taking Polaroid pictures. Artist alert! Do we got a photographer on our hands? Nope, turns out she is a poet. Even better. Anne Hathaway leaves in a hurry and turns out she is a phone sex operator. From her cell phone? To be a phone sex operator you have to have a landline. Also, they don’t just call whenever they want. You get to schedule the time when you want to do it. I know all of this because I have a lot of free time, and instead of making money being a phone sex operator I look up everything that being a phone sex operator entails without actually doing it.
Now there’s old people and a kid. Shirley Maclaine and Hector Elizondo are the grandparents of a little boy who has a dead mom I think. Also the boy is in love, and not really that sad about his dead mom. Wait, didn’t we already do this in “Love Actually”?
Moving on now to an elevator scene with Jennifer Garner and Taylor Swift. Taylor Swift is some sort of dumb, idiot, teenager and has a giant stuffed teddy bear that looks extremely emo. I have finished my vodka soda and am making another. So that’s three shots of vodka, and one completed vodka soda drink. I’m also eating more because that Clif bar was not enough.
Read the rest here.
Here is how I spent my Valentine’s Day…read the whole article here.
Valentine’s Day would be pitiful and meaningless if it weren’t for various companies trying to subtly promote their brand through get-in-love-quick schemes. This year, the Los Angeles Metro decided to join in on the marketing fun by providing citizens of Los Angeles free speed dating on the subway. That’s right, free speed dating on the City of Angels’ finest public transportation service on Valentine’s Day morning.
How did any of this seem like a good idea to anyone? More importantly, who the hell would actually do this? It’s speed dating on public transportation in a city where around 0 percent of people drive, and on a Friday morning no less—a time when most people are probably working. Well, I don’t have a car, and my job is to refresh Twitter every 20 minutes, so I guess I was the target audience. I went, half-expecting most of the eligible bachelors to be the homeless people who use our beautiful subway system as a place to urinate.
I arrived at the North Hollywood Metro station at around 11:15. A booth was set up where two Metro workers were sitting. They had us sign some paperwork. When I asked about what I was signing the female employee said, “Oh this is just so you know it’s not our fault if you don’t find love.” Who did I have left to blame then? Just myself.
They then explained that every Red Line train going from North Hollywood to Union Station had one car designated for speed daters and speed daters only. I was given a pink wristband and a button with a pink heart on it to wear. I got on the car with my fellow lonely singles, and immediately got mingled on. These guys were not messin’ around!
About seven of us were on the train, and two Metro employees timing us. They blew a whistle and I was approached by Carlos who instantly said, “I bet you like rock music.” He then talked about being in nursing school, and forced me to take down his number. He saw my phone in my hand, and said he forgot his cell phone at home. So I got a number. A number I will never call. Everything was going as I expected.
Hey…I’ve had this in my saved documents for a while and felt like sharing just because having it sit in my laptop is pointless??? Anyways, it’s the tale of my first heartbreak. Enjoy….
ALISON’S EARLIEST MEMORY OF LOSING HER FUCKING MIND OVER A BOY
I’m sure I’ve had crushes before A. I kind of remember telling a boy I liked him in kindergarten, and my mother tells me I had a “boyfriend” named Tom in preschool. Then again, Tom sounds like a name your mother might make up to a sixteen-year-old you complaining about your crap dating life.
A, however, was the first boy I had fantasies about, day and night. We were in the same class together third through fifth grade, and I was in love with A third through fifth grade. I have to tell you right away though. I was never the type of young girl who thought boys were gross (those feelings developed later in life). From day one, I wanted to fuck them. Obviously I didn’t know what fucking was, but I knew I wanted to do something with them. Something with body parts touching, and lots of kissing. Maybe a hug here and there, or a high-five (which to this day I am a firm believer can be a totally erotic act in the right circumstances).
I guess this is me going on a tangent, but it’s a good tangent and is somewhat relevant so stay with me here. My first dirty dream happened around the same time as A. In this dream I saw a blonde woman dressed in lingerie—the exact outfit Tim Curry wore during his “Sweet Transvestite” dance in the cult classic film, “Rocky Horror Picture Show” (a movie I accidentally saw when I was four because my mother was not paying attention to the VHS tape she popped into the VCR and was distracted by a phone conversation and a need to vacuum). Anyways, this wasn’t Tim Curry. Rather, it was a faceless blonde woman with big curly hair. Definitely not me. She stood in front of a rabbi, in a blue/grey bedroom. The bed was behind her, and the rabbi was sitting on the floor, looking at her horrified. She kind of just wiggled around him and I think she had a whip, but did not whip him. She kept saying,“Fuck you God” over and over. You see, at this age I was a strong believer in God and thought he could read my mind. I would constantly have these never-ending conversations with God in my head where I couldn’t help but say horrible things to him and then immediately say “Oh no, I’m sorry God, I’m so sorry”. Then my brain would say “Fuck you God” again and the cycle would repeat itself as I cringed in my bed. This dream did the same whole “fuck you God” thing, but I wasn’t awake so I just had to watch her say that mean thing to my Creator while doing her weird sexy wiggles in front of a scared rabbi until I finally woke up. I’ve never told anyone about this, but as I write it out now I’m thinking maybe I should have. A professional maybe, like a therapist or my college Jewish Studies professor who I desperately wanted to sleep with.
That woman dancing was pretty much sex to me. I didn’t know what horny was either, but I could always feel it. I just didn’t know the word for it yet. A was my beloved. I pined for him. He was, coincidentally, blonde with big blue eyes, and bigger front teeth. Now that I’m older it feels weird to talk about how attractive a little boy was, but if you asked eight-year-old me how attractive A is, you’d get a much longer story. Maybe even some word I made up to describe being horny.
Well I got my big break in the fourth grade. It was total fate. A and I were the class clowns so Mrs. Laskin gave us our own table to sit at, away from the other kids. What was meant to be punishment turned into the happiest time of my childhood (arguably, to this day). I was sitting next to A. I thanked God, as well as cursed him, but repeatedly thanked him more and more until I got the damn cursing out of my head for at least five minutes.
Hey! I was interviewed by this blog about moving to LA and here it is if you want to read it.
Alison Stevenson is a writer and comic originally from LA who recently moved back to the Southland in 2012. She has written for VICE and Uproxx’s Filmdrunk, and recently developed an animated pilot with Workaholics co-creator Connor Pritchard. You can find her on Twitter at @JustAboutGlad.
When did you first realize that you wanted, or needed, to move to LA?
Well, this is a weird one for me because I am actually from LA. I left when I was 18 to go to UC Davis and then kind of hung around the bay area because I really did not want to go back to LA (home). I got into stand-up comedy (almost completely by accident), and after doing that in the Bay I figured that the move to LA was inevitable so I might as well get it over with.
What was the first thing you did when you arrived?
Well, I moved back home to live with my mom so the first few months was filled with a lot of wallowing in self-pity. I hit up as many open mics as I could, tried finding a job, and wrote.
How did you find your first LA apartment (and what was it like)?
I moved into and apartment about a year after living with mom. My friends from college offered me a spot, and now I live in a beautiful spacious living room complete with curtain walls, and no closet. Okay, this is sounding a lot sadder than it really is. I’m in Studio City, and have grown to love this neighborhood. I love any neighborhood where a thrift store and comic book store are within walking distance. Okay, maybe this is still sounding pretty sad.
How did you find your first job in LA?
I tried doing the whole “find a job in the industry” thing but was just being offered stupid unpaid internships for people who suck. I interned for a day for this woman who wanted me to help her organize a beauty pageant, and just could not handle it. I also figured that a PA job would be full-time, and if I got one it would be a lot harder for me to find writing time, and stand-up time. That’s also probably me making excuses for my overwhelming laziness but I have never been good at time management, sticking to a schedule, having a lot of energy, or any of that responsible adult shit.
What was that first job like?
My first that I stayed with for longer than a day was for a website. In fact, I still have it. Other than my freelance gigs, this job requires me to go into an office and help run the site.
What was your social circle like when first arriving in LA?
My social circle was mostly my mom taking me to the mall and begging me to lose weight. I also hung out with some old friends from high school. When I wasn’t trapped in the hell that is my hometown of Woodland Hills I would hang out with other comics, and the random friends I made at events. It’s a slow process, but eventually you find yourself surrounded by a good group of people you can feel close to, and watch Netflix with while getting drunk off of expired wine.
What was the first time LA felt like home?
I became a regular at a bar.
What was the first time moving to LA felt like a mistake?
I became a regular at a bar.
Did you have the kind of writing time you expected when you first got settled?
I had a lot of time on my hands, which was kind of a bad thing. I had no job, not a lot of friends, and all the time in the world, yet still found it difficult to find writing time. Mainly because I would spend the day watching Ally McBeal for six hours straight. Having copious amounts of free time is both a blessing and a curse. I much prefer my schedule now. I have been forced to learn how to balance my time more wisely. I’ll admit, I still suck at it but I’m learning. I’ve cut it down to three hours of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
What lead to your first bit of exposure as a writer?
Getting the opportunity to write for Filmdrunk and for VICE. Filmdrunk came first, then VICE followed shortly after. I would contribute to smaller blogs, and write on my own blog but these were the first sites where I knew I was definitely dealing with more than ten readers.
How much longer did that exposure take from when you first expected it?
Well, I admit that I got really lucky when it came to both those opportunities. I still don’t think I have a huge amount of exposure. Funny enough, both opportunities came through stand-up. I don’t know what the advice is there. Do with that what you will.
Me doing some stand up comedy stuffff!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hey! I wrote about my night at a Jewish singles event in West Hollywood. Read the whole article here.
While perusing the hellish online dating site that is OkCupid, I found on their homepage an invite for an event called the Ball. The Ball describes itself as “LA’s leading Jewish singles event,” which is weird because I always considered the leading Jewish singles event to be going alone to a matinee showing of a Woody Allen film. Regardless, this “ball” is a big party for horny Jews that happens annually on Christmas Eve. I figured, Hey I’m Jewish and horny. Maybe I should go. I signed up for the event, which cost $25 (already a bad sign), and got a confirmation email giving me more details.
The moment I received the confirmation I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. My decision was far too hasty. I saw that this party was at a nightclub called Bootsy Bellows in West Hollywood, a place I had never heard of. When I asked a friend of mine if she knew about it, she told me that it’s a club owned by David Arquette, and he performs puppet shows there sometimes. I was also told that Hollywood d-list celebs like to hang out there, including everyone’s favorite bad boy, Corey Feldman.
However, the ticket was already purchased, and rather than demand a refund, I decided that I should go, drag a Jewish friend with me, and try to have fun. I had not been in a room with a bunch of Jews since my Bat Mitzvah, and my mom always complains that I don’t socialize with my people enough. Maybe I’d even meet a handsome young doctor who could explain this rash I’ve had under my left boob for six months now. Maybe David Arquette would be there with some puppets who would wonderfully reenact Moses parting the Red Sea, or Jerry Seinfeld going on a rant about what the hell does an “everything bagel” even mean? How can everything be on a bagel?
READ THE REST HERE.
this guy is confusing as hell!!! he’s all like this is about lollipops then it’s not?!?! now he’s not even responding to me anymore!!!!
Welcome to “Rum and Rom-Coms”. Basically what this is, is I watch a romantic comedy and get drunk while doing so. At the end, I give the film a rating according to how drunk I had to get in order to finish watching it. The higher the number, the worse the movie is.
Here is the first bit of it…read the rest here!!!!
You guys, I know, it’s been awhile. For some reason I decided to cut back on my drinking for a few weeks, thinking that would somehow detox my sad excuse of a body and change my sad excuse of a life for the better. Not trying to promote alcoholism here, but I have to say that at least when I was frequently drinking I’d find it easier to wake up in the morning (to puke), which would basically force me to get my day started. I’d also have far more regular shits. Anyways, it’s the holiday season and since Christmas is coming up I figure I’d try and find a horrible Christmas-y rom-com. It has to be a Christmas one since Hanukkah or Kwanzaa ones don’t seem to exist (don’t give me that Adam Sandler “Eight Crazy Nights” bullshit).
In case you didn’t know, I am a Jew who has never celebrated Christmas. The last name Stevenson really masks how Jewish my upbringing was. That’s all thanks to my dad, who is a Gentile (or as mom lovingly called him, “a mistake”). When he suggested getting a Christmas tree one year my meshuggah mother kicked him out of the house and filed for divorce. Alright obviously I’m exaggerating, but she did give a very stern “Hell no”, and they did end up getting a divorce. Ha, good times.
To sum up, my experience with Christmas has been solely through what I’ve seen on television and in film. Overall, shit seems pretty lame. I think the only Christmas movies I really like are “Home Alone”, “Jingle All the Way”, and “Love Actually”. I really didn’t want to like “Love Actually” but my vagina wouldn’t have it any other way.
Perusing through Netflix, I find a movie called “A Holiday Engagement”. I think the poster looks like that movie with Sarah Jessica Parker where she visits her fiance’s family for Christmas and they all hate her because she’s Sarah Jessica Parker. However, now that I’m reading the synopsis I know it’s definitely not that movie. It reads: “Hillary’s plan to hire a good-looking guy to act as her boyfriend backfires when she brings him home for the holidays to try and fool her family. The joke ends up being on her when the fauxmance invites real complications.”
Fauxmance? Well, of course this is going to be good. This sounds like that movie with Debra Messing where she hires someone to be her boyfriend or something? But, the cast list here has no Debra Messing. Rather it has Bonnie Somerville (???) and Shelley Long. Yup, this has TV Movie written all over it, so I know I have break out the good stuff: Jim Beam.
I’ve got a full glass of whiskey with ice, and a second cup of vanilla flavored coconut milk. It’s the only sweet beverage I currently have. I know the two will not mix well. Rather, I shall drink them side by side. Actually, I decided to take two shots of whiskey just now and chased them both with coconut milk. This feels fauxhealthy.
and most recently…
Cuddle up by a fire with your main squeeze, sip on some sherry, and enjoy all three.
On the outside, the McDonald’s in Laguna Nigel, California looks like every other store in the chain. There’s sad white walls, three kids running in circles while their parents beg them to stuff more fries into their faces, and the prominent golden arches luring you inside to get your weekly grease injection. Upon further inspection, this McDonald’s was like no McDonald’s I had ever been to, because it’s the tester restaurant for their new build-your-own-burger gimmick.
My first thought was “damn, this place is clean.” It was clean, you guys. The counter was shiny, and the walls were painted with stripes to look futuristic and European. What shocked me the most, however, was the sheer friendliness of the employees. Three teenaged girls in white button-up shirts greeted me instantly with big smiles. “Welcome to McDonald’s!” They were like the Stepford Wives, but a fast-food employee version.
This McDonald’s is the McDonald’s of the future. I’m not saying that just because it’s really clean and people are happy. I’m saying that because this McDonald’s has iPads! What do these iPads do? They are the tool with which you customize your burger order. With this magic iPad, you’re able to order such exotic menu items as an “artisan roll,” and “guacamole.” Yeah you heard me, a McDonald’s that serves guacamole. Welcome to the 21st century, fuckers. Obviously, little things like “clean dining areas,” “friendly service,” and “freedom of choice” are not features that can be rolled out to every McDonald’s all at once. No, those things have to be “tested,” and Laguna Nigel is the only place where you can enjoy the aforementioned amenities.
As I alluded to earlier, we were instantly greeted by a happy McWorkerBot who was eager to show us their new iPads. She then handed me a tiny menu that said “Build Your Burger” on the front. I didn’t want to read no dumb menu, so I headed straight to the iPad and started ordering. As I looked at the screen, the McWorkerBot stood directly behind me. She had her own little computer wrapped around her hips. Every time I marked something down, she would mark something down on her computer. I asked, “What are you doing?”
“I have to write down your order.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing with the iPad?”
“Yeah, but I have to mark it down here too so it can get to the kitchen.”
“Okay…so what’s the point of ordering off the iPad if you have to take down the order anyways?”