I spend a lot of time writing about TV and pop culture and food and drinks, but it’s been a while since I bitched about something mundane in my life. Don’t get me wrong — I bitch about mundane things all the time to my friends, but I usually spare you dear readers the nitty gritty of what makes my world turn. However, today I am riled up, I tell you. And I’m riled up by something that I normally love: TECHNOLOGY. Specifically, laundry technology. The offender today is none other than my formerly trusty laundry card, which has not only betrayed me but seemingly absconded with eight precious dollars of my money. Full details of this burgeoning feud after the jump…
I haven’t registered a formal blog complaint about personal hygiene in quite some time, perhaps not since my unfortunate series of gym horror stories in 2008 (read them here and here, if you dare). However, I come to you with a new dreadful story that will surely make most people squirm with uneasiness.
It all happened last night, just before midnight. I hadn’t had dinner yet, and so I plodded over to the nearby 24 hour Subway on Highland Avenue for some late night grub. Not the healthiest time of night to be noshing, but my alternative was thawing out a year-old chilaquiles from the freezer. Clearly, Subway won out.
Well, as I arrived in the dark parking lot, I noticed two gentlemen stepping into the quiet Subway shop. My heart sank. I could already tell they were homeless and drunk, and in case you haven’t been in Hollywood, drunk homeless people around these parts are kind of the worst. I know what you’re saying, “There’s B-Side in his ivory tower turning his nose up at two chaps who’ve had a hard run of luck.” Well, yes, FINE. I am. But that does not excuse the horror I was about to encounter.
As is often the case, I had a sudden and intense craving for frozen yogurt last night, and when I asked my dearest friend Sly if she’d like to join me, she made a proposition: she would come with me if I went up to her apartment and fulfilled her deepest needs, and in this case, her deepest needs involved killing a spider. Being the gentleman that I am, I happily headed up the street to Sly’s dwelling where I found her cowering behind her door, her face full of dread and fear. I sincerely felt pity for this woman, and from my pity sprang a deep surge of manliness — the sort of manliness that made me want to save this trembling lass from the tormentor that, er, tormented her so.
But of course, I wasn’t about to do anything without being documented. Fuzzy pictures of the experience after the jump. Animal activists and PETA representatives be warned: you won’t be happy.
Avid readers of this blog may have noticed something curious over the past week: no content. None. Zilch. Usually when I’m preoccupied, I usually manage one or two small items here and there, but alas, it’s been a dead zone on B-Side Blog. Why? Well, I went on a family vacation, and we went to a faraway place with barely any WiFi or Internet Acces. It’s a place called… Club Med.
Yes, born out of a desire to have my entire nuclear family together in one place for once, my parents organized a week long stay at the Sandpiper Club Med resort, located in scenic Port St. Lucie, Florida. The destination was chosen both for its warm-weather locale and for its family-friendly amenities (ie. babysitting and camp activities), which were of particular use for my brother and sister-in-law, who together have two bambini in need of age-appropriate entertainment. Between the unlimited booze and the extensive jungle gyms, we were all going to have fun, regardless of our ages. Or so the website promised.
There’s nothing quite like Halloween on a Saturday, especially in West Hollywood, CA, where over 500,000 people convene to show off their costumes and check out everyone else’s in what usually proves to be the people watching event of the year. And as you all know, if there’s anything I love, it’s people watching. In 2008, I got all arts & crafty and built a Price Is Right costume that I was sure would wow the masses. It was certainly well received, but I must confess that it really didn’t elicit the rapturous response I was really going for. And yes, I’m very shallow about these things. I won’t mince words: I wanted attention.
This time around, I decided I’d go with a sure-fire strategy. If I wanted my costume to be a rousing success, I’d have to a) walk around in as little clothes as possible, or b) engage in some ’80s nostalgia. Guess which option won out? A few trips to some thrift stores later (not to mention Michael’s in Burbank and a wig shop in Hollywood), and I had all the essential items needed to make my very own Zack Morris costume. Cheap ’80s nostalgia, here I come!
Warning — somewhat NSFW. Buttocks, bare chests, and tranny areolas (not in that order) after the jump…
Last night, my friends J-Unit and IndianJones headed into the Valley for the Grand Opening party of The Painted Nail, a nail salon owned by our friend Katie, who many of you may remember from the old days at TVgasm. Of course, The Painted Nail isn’t just any nail salon, and Katie doesn’t throw just any old party. This bash was chock full of beautiful people and quite a decent number of celebrities Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã‚Â enough at least to warrant a red carpet and some paparazzi at the door. And here I thought there’d just be some champagne and few spanikopitas going around on trays. How wrong I was.
Photos of the event as well as a run-down of the celebrities present after the jump…
I don’t know how it was for the rest of the country, but the weather in LA this past weekend was fantastic, and what better way to enjoy the sunshine than by stepping out and taking a hike? Inspired by a recent post in LAist about hidden staircases in Hollywood, I recruited two fellow hoofers Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã‚Â Lisa Timmons (of Socialite Life) and Bets Ã¢â‚¬â€ to join me as we explored the nooks and crannies of Beachwood Canyon, an area populated by mansions and hidden paths. The journey covered 2.1 miles of territory and over eight hundred stairs total; so as you can imagine, we worked up quite the appetite (not to mention sweat). Pictures of the adventure, including our delicious post-hike lunch as well as a significant double celebrity interaction (ooooh!) and a car wreck (ahhhh!), after the jump…
Of the many things that happened on tonight’s Survivor finale, the least expected was not The Suze’s near upset for the million dollars but rather Sugar’s reference to this here blog on NATIONAL TV DURING PRIMETIME. Yay! Granted, she didn’t state the site’s name, but unless I’m mistaken, I’m the only one who has blogged about “Suga” in traffic. I must admit, I kind of feel bad because she seems somewhat self-conscious now about wearing makeup out of the house, but honestly, the issue wasn’t that she wasn’t wearing makeup at the time but that she was, and that was what confused me. Eh. Oh well. Anyway, sometimes when I blog, I forget these people actually read it, and considering that I called her and her actions “dumb” and “stupid,” I do feel a smidgen guilty. I mean, I’m not a monster, people. (But I still do stand by my belief that she was not a good player, and her cringe-worthy responses to the jury tonight pretty much proved me right, I believe.)
A little birdie told me that Sugar actually thinks I’m psycho Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã‚Â because apparently being in traffic on Franklin Avenue is a psychotic thing to do Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã‚Â and if that’s truly the case, then I’m sure she’d be most frightened to know that just last night, I was mere feet from her again. That’s right, I co-mingled with the Survivor: Gabon cast this weekend, and I have the pictures to prove it.
Party photos of the cast after the jump…
Sometime last week, while I was procrastinating from my writing, I came across a fateful piece of information: Ina Garten, star of The Barefoot Contessa, would be doing a book signing here in the Los Angeles. In general, I’m not much of a book signing person, but I knew I this was one event I had to attend. When the day came, I hopped in my car, braved my way over to the yuppie-tastic West Side, and stood in line for two hours, all in the pursuit of a GOOD picture and autograph. The adventure, including two surprising celebrity cameos, after the jump.
Well, I just exercised my constitutional rights. And it was glorious.
Actually, it wasn’t. I stood in line for an hour, which was fine and expected. The only problem was that the woman behind me would not. stop. talking. I’m telling you, she chatted incessantly, oversharing her entire life to virtual strangers. Thankfully, she wasn’t talking to me, but still, what could have been a pleasant, meditative hour of people watching instead turned into one of the longest sixty minutes of my life. It got me thinking: what will I be happiest about most once I’ve cast my vote? Well, now I have a list, and I hope you’ll relate.
The top 5 Ã¢â‚¬â€ plus more on that woman Ã¢â‚¬â€Ã‚Â after the jump…