December 2005

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Entry to diffuse embarrassing tension of Brokeback entry

Ahem.

Two things:

1.) I am a tenacious motherfucker and I now have a Sidekick. A pink Sidekick. Note to any organizations, bureaus, etc. who might attempt to stand between me and my bourgeouis toys: Don't.

2.) Foam Fucker II is back from the repair shop. Come spring, I'll be ass-raping the Chain of Lakes with the fastest speedboat south of Bemidji. The Vikings party boat is going to look like a floating Cavlary Chapel compared to my shit. VROOOOM!

Best local interest one-liner of the day: "I predict I'll be getting three to five inches tonight!"

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 29, 2005 8:58 PM

 

Brokeback Mountain got me good

So we went to see Brokeback at the Lagoon today, and WHY DIDN'T FUCKERS TELL ME IT WOULD BE LIKE THAT? I've been nursing an indescribable ache for hours now, and I'm not referring to anything sexual. This movie knocked me right on my ass. Seriously, I'm stunned. This was supposed to be a vaguely snarkworthy, obnoxiously precious homoerotic indie, not...whatever it was I just saw. I came to gawk at pretty cowboys, not get emotionally battered. I don't know why I'm so shaken, but it won't stop. Best movie of the year, hands down.

Jonny remains unaffected, and I told him he's lucky.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 29, 2005 8:49 PM

 

B-Day

The book is in stores today. Whoot-whoot!

Infuriatingly, most of the megastores are shelving it in "Women's Studies." So look there first, if you're inclined to buy my little labor of lust. I'm on a mission to personally move every copy in the Twin Cities area to the "New Releases" table, front and center. Last night I went to the Borders in Minnetonka and totally schooled the clerks: "You guys only ordered 12 copies? You're going to sell that many in an hour!" Ah, hubris.

(straps on wax wings, soars toward sun)

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 29, 2005 10:42 AM

 

And since I'm on a roll with the flaws

My toenails are so long that I accidentally sliced an innocent bystander the other night while carelessly dancing the frug. They're very Max Schreck. I know I should trim them, but I want to see if they'll get curly like that Indian dude in the Guiness Book.

My head feels like it's full of marbles and Benadryl. I hate hangovers, especially the really mild ones that shouldn't even bother manifesting. Go visit some sloppy college bitch in Muncie and leave me alone, Hangover. I'm a fucking pro.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 28, 2005 11:26 AM

 

High Res

Last New Year's, I resolved to not make any resolutions. I decided the most prudent thing I could do was to refuse to cop to a single flaw. It was a fun year, y'all. A year of chronic masturbation, bad eating habits, sloth, avoidant behavior and public intoxication (the "Drinking Beer From a Garbage Can" incident marked the zenith of this trend). At the same time, I did manage to join a church and a gym, both Good Choices, as William Miller's mother would say. But I hadn't resolved to do those things. I just did 'em, so it doesn't count.

(Lest you find me too virtuous, I'm eating Butterfinger Minis for breakfast right now. At 11:15. And fondly massaging my thigh cellulite--it's like nature's Play-Doh and it's temptingly adjacent to my Fun Factory. Did I mention I'm naked and I haven't showered? And that I didn't take off my makeup last night, so I look like a greasy-haired coatimundi with pierced teats? ALL THIS AND BAD CREDIT, BOYS! Line up!)

So this year, I'm going to actually make some resolutions...

1. Start eating more things that grow in the ground. Hallucinogens don't count.

2. Wake up earlier and use the time to exercise or yogacize or whatever it is Enlightened Women do these days to Empower Themselves and Fight Osteoporosis.

3. Ingest more Omega 3 Fatty Acids. I don't know what those are, but I've theorized that Douchepacker is a good source. His fur is so shiny and his hindquarters look delicious.

4. Get a dog that doesn't die right away.

5. Strike up mutually beneficial friendship with CJ.

6. Buy one of them pussy sprays that'll make my hot gypsy snatch smell like purty azaleas.

7. BUY HOME STRIPPER POLE.

8. Stop killing manatees with the outboard motor on my totally bitchin' boat, Foam Fucker II.

9. Learn to unhinge my jaw like a python so your cock will go deep enough to tickle my ribs. This sex act is called "ribbing" and it's all the rage in Pattaya.

10. Equip Foam Fucker II with proper lifevests. I can't have more stupid toddlers dying on my watch. Also, restock the minibar.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 28, 2005 10:55 AM

 

GHETTO!

Wanna know something funny? I've been trying doggedly since October to get a real cell phone, BUT I KEEP FAILING THE CREDIT CHECK.

I find this hilarious. I own a house but I can't get a friggin' Verizon calling plan! Guess I'm stuck with this pre-pay ghettofone indefinitely. I'm debt free, I make more Hamiltons than I ever have, and I can't get a cell phone. The system makes no sense. I asked my financial planner for advice, and he was like "You need to get into debt again. That'll raise your score." Eh?

I can't wait until the next time someone in L.A. says "Hey, you should get a Sidekick or a Treo to manage all your shit." Because then I can reply "I would, but I keep failing the credit check."

Diablo Cody: KA-KEEPIN' IT REAL!

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 27, 2005 10:25 AM

 

Let's Be Gross in 2006

Hey! Jonny and I did a guest Walshfiles this week! Thanks, Jim Walsh!

WE ARE YELLING!

I just took a very pensive shower. As my servants doused me in milk and honey, I thought about scatalogical humor and how it relates to women. It's so unfair how there are all these awesomely vulgar movies featuring the "Frat Pack" (whom I admittedly adore), but women never get in on the gross-out action. Can you imagine Reese Witherspoon soliciting a game of "just the tip" or Gwyneth Paltrow playing a scotch-soused anchorwoman who plays jazz flute and flings burritos out her car window? You might argue that those actresses don't bill themselves as comedians, but the formula doesn't even work if you insert Amy Poehler or Laura Kightlinger. Sure, you can visualize it happening--Amy Poehler could arguably play a clueless lech even more brilliantly than Vince Vaughn. But it's not likely to happen. Not this year. As far as big, shiny comedic roles for women go, we're stuck with Elle Woods and bumbling FBI agents-turned-pageant queens. Lame roles. Pretty roles.

I think Sarah Silverman (whom I dig) is the exception to the rule. Her racial schtick goes down easy because she's female and a hot piece. I don't think anyone else could get away with those bits. It's a pretty clever trick. I'd love to write a movie for her. We could ram clams in her trailer.

Remember The Sweetest Thing? That was sort of a valiant attempt to do the chicks-as-vulgarians thing on a large scale. Too bad it sucked. However, I rewatched Vanilla Sky on cable last night, and holy crap was Cameron Diaz good in that movie. She was so scary. Reptilian. She should play villains and tragic bitches more often. Someone write these fucking parts!

P.S. If Trey Parker and Matt Stone were women, they'd have been drummed out of Hollywood by now. No one would accept or bankroll scandalous shit like that if it came from the mouths of babes.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 27, 2005 9:33 AM

 

Bittersweet holiday

We said goodbye to Mr. George Cat yesterday morning. George (or "Gorge" as he was known due to his insatiable Meow Mix jones) was a buddy, therapist and surrogate baby rolled into one delectably soft package. To give you an idea of how incredibly charismatic and loveable this cat was, tears stood in the vet's eyes. G-Baby was really human, in a good way.

Enough already. No more dying animals. Two in three months is a bit extreme.

I hope everyone has a lovely weekend, regardless of religious significance or lack thereof. Personally, I've had my fill of the red-green aesthetic and am ready for the Hallmark circus to leave town. However, I'm looking forward to tomorrow--Christmas, in this household--which is possibly the only day of the season when Baby Jesus might actually crush the spectre of commercialism with His dear dimpled fist. Yeah, I know, I'm Linus.

And since I know many of you are extremely kind and might be compelled to extend your condolences about Georgie, I have to regrettably announce that the Hotmail link on this blog is no longer valid. My account runneth over and I have some serious cybercleaning to do thanks to overwhelming response to some of my City Pages crap. So, yeah. No email right now, but sweet vibes are appreciated. (Also, if you've emailed me and haven't heard back, I apologize profusely. I'm no Dane Cook.)

In good news, Jonny shocked me with a sparkly new wedding band to replace the cubic zirconia that I've been secretly rockin' since the Broke Era. (For a showy Italian like me, fake bling was better than no bling at all.) But now I have the real deal. I keep thrusting it under Jonny's nose and yelling "Platinum!" like I'm Will Smith or something. I still believe that the sentiment behind a ring is more important than its carat weight, but it feels nice to be iced. Thanks, Jonny! I got a Lindsay Lohan doll too, which I intend to slowly undress later on.

Off to chew my nails, get drunk, etc. Yo ho ho and a big-ass bottle of Sailor Jerry rum!

P.S. For those who are keeping track, I have only one living pet now. Guess who? Hint: it sucks.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 24, 2005 2:06 PM

 

Girl scout

I forgot to mention that I got to tag along on a LOCATION SCOUT this weekend! Weirdly, our esteemed director, a lifelong son of California, seemed impervious to the cold, He romped around like a merry polar bear while I shivered like a Chihuahua in the drifts. So much for hardy Midwestern genes.

Most baby writers don't get to observe stuff like this up close, so I feel exceedingly lucky.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 21, 2005 7:48 PM

 

Like Water For Honkies

I just bought new curtains. How 'bout that?

My former window treatment consisted of cheap lemon-colored "drapes" from IKEA. ( I put "drapes" in quotes, because drapes are supposed to be heavy, tweedy and substantial, at least in my mind's eye. These things were flimsy, like tourniquet gauze or a $2 flag. You may remember them from the infamous "Shroud of Douchepacker" photo.)

Anyway, Jonny had bitched about the drapes recently, and I concurred. So today, during a break from writing, I trolled the housewares aisle at Target and found some nice, shiny, embroidered cinnibar-and-fuschia curtains in the popular "White Folks Pretending to Be Sensual and Ethnic" style. I might as well sign up for bellydancing classes and buy an Erotic Tabla CD while I'm at it. Oh, but my living room looks so warm and exotic.

The Photobooth feature on Jonny's new iMac rules.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 21, 2005 6:54 PM

 

Correction

The issue of Entertainment Weekly I'm in is the King Kong issue. You know, because I'm big and burly and I smell bad.

Page 84.

And I've had a proper eyebrow wax since then. Don't worry.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 17, 2005 11:05 AM

 

Codywatch!

I'm in Entertainment Weekly right this second. Not The King Kong issue. (Yes, the King Kong issue.)

I have dreamed of this day since...well, never. My dreams are typically semi-realistic and this is downright surreal. Cool, but surreal!

My real name has now been officially unleashed on the public. I expect a call from "Uncle" Gary Busey within days.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 16, 2005 4:19 PM

 

Snow Uncool Hotel

(To all you who are unsaddled with children: the above title is a reference to the Polly Pocket "Snow Cool Hotel," which has been requested ad nauseum since November and which Santa has already surreptitiously purchased at Target.)

It snowed last night and the night before. Actually, I don't think it stopped snowing in between. This isn't a festive dusting of photogenic flakes adding nostalgic Bing Crosby sparkle to trees and eaves. No, this is one of those ceaseless, soul-crushing snowmergencies from which there is seemingly no snoasis. Despite shoveling lamely last night, I feel like I've been entirely walled in by snow. For the love of God, Montresor! Let me the fuck out!

Snow makes me extremely claustrophobic. Most of the time I can't write at home (too many distractions: speedy Internet, whirring DVR and a fridge full of grub.) So I usually drive out to one of two local Starbuckses that allow me to nurse a single latte for six hours while siphoning power from their only outlet. But I'm also phobic about driving in deep snow, especially since my car wasn't really designed for tundra offroading. Basically, I'm snowed in, and it's making me ultra-cranky. Can you tell?

Just checked. Still snowing.

I just wish there was somewhere in this country where it never snowed. Can you imagine such a place? A place where movie stars roam the streets, the sun shines every day, good bagels are plentiful and Brokeback Mountain is showing in more than one theater. A magical place of varied topography: Hills! Ocean! Canyons full of precariously situated mansions! Wow, I wish there was a place like that.

(pulls up long underwear, heaves shovel over shoulder, heads outside)

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 15, 2005 9:10 AM

 

Fucking Morons

Jonny and I are currently looking to adopt another dog, having "recovered" sufficiently from the untimely death of our dear Agnes Sue. I've been clicking through shelter and rescue websites, and some of the reasons people have for getting rid of pets make me physically ill.

"Owner had for two days, then decided cat was too much responsibility." "Owner had baby and decided to get rid of dog." "Owner was a chickenshit 'gangsta' who thought chaining a pit bull in his yard would make him look tough, then got bored with the idea." Some folks had adopted expensive purebreeds only to dump them off at the shelter weeks later. Surprise! They shit, eat and bark!

I stumbled across a couple of stray kittens last year. As I was trying to lure them into a carrier so I could bring them to a hospital, a woman came darting out into the street yelling "I want that cute one! I don't care about the other one." I firmly told her they were my kittens to ensure she didn't get either. Call me a sanctimonious jerk, but anyone who only cares about "the cute one" doesn't deserve the subtle joys of cat-ownership.

Honestly, I'm probably going to wind up getting a dog from a breeder this time. I need a wee toy breed so I can bring him/her along on my travels--it wouldn't be fair to the dog otherwise. And the Agnes experience made me gun shy about dogs with no documented behavioral or medical history. So all my bleeding-heart rescue dog bullshit will probably translate into future hypocrisy. But I swear, under any other circumstances, I'd totally be adopting the one-eyed diabetic cart dog.

Puppy news soon, hopefully! I'm so torqued it's pathetic. I feel like a pregnant chick.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 14, 2005 11:46 PM

 

Fa-la-la!

Network notes tomorrow! Network notes tomorrow!

This TV show stuff is so exciting. I thought regular Christmas was fun, but a waiting-for-network-notes-Christmas is so much the merrier. Cookies are baking, carolers are crooning, and the magical elves who dole out budgets and timeslots are ascertaining whether I've been sufficiently naughty.

Tonight on CBS: A Waiting for Network Notes Christmas, featuring Carol Burnett, Ty Pennington, Tony Danza, Ellen De Generes, Dennis Franz and Miss Piggy. What happens when an arrogant young writer with unsightly cellulite pens her very first pilot? Looks like Santa (Prison Break's Wentworth Miller) has some very important lessons to share. (TV-M)

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 12, 2005 5:42 PM

 

Stop Hating Yourself

Maybe it's because I fraternize mainly with guilt-ridden liberals (being one myself), but I have no idea why Americans are perceived as pompous. Personally, I think this is one of the most sheepish, apologetic, self-loathing countries in the world.

In recent years, Americans have been conditioned to despise themselves. We're told that we're all bloated ignorami who should be ashamed to like Taco Bell, TiVo and Target-- and, astonishingly, we believe it. Because our President is stupid and shortsighted, our entire populace is regarded like a clone army of imbeciles. And so many Americans are totally OK with that. Why?

The criticism isn't always political, and it's not always overt. Sometimes it's more insidious. For instance, I keep seeing books with titles like French Women Don't Get Fat or Japanese Women Don't Get Old or Fat or The Jesus Diet of Bitter Herbs or You Fucking American Fatass, Why Don't You Eat More Chickpeas and Olives? Wow, I'm so sorry I actually like my NATIVE CUISINE. I'm sorry I was raised on cheeseburgers and tuna casserole and Tollhouse cookies and therefore THINK SAID FOODS TASTE DELICIOUS.

If anyone insinuated that the French should stop eating French food, people would be appalled. And yet America is perceived as a backward puppy that ought to be schooled in the ways of wiser civilizations. You know what? This condescending attitude toward the American diet is so friggin' xenophobic. America is diverse--perhaps frighteningly so for some sheltered types-- and that's why we have so many delightful bastardizations of foreign cuisines. I like bad Mexican and cheap Chinese and sodden soul food and lasagna that bears no resemblance to the stuff you get in Rome. We Americans are speed freaks, hedonists. We like convenience, variety, and huge portions. How is that a sin? Maybe I'd weigh less if I lived on grape leaves and chai, but I prefer my Chipotle and Frappucinos. America gets singled out for ridicule and chastisement again and again, even though we're certainly not alone in our jones for big food. I mean, there are lots of fat people on this planet, but none so maligned as the audacious American fatty. And it ain't right.

"But what about ze heart disease?" Hey Pierre-Jacques? You can lecture me about heart disease once you quit smoking.

It's not just food. A stupid show comes on TV and a friend remarks "This makes me ashamed to be an American." Why? Have you seen TV in other countries? They've got us licked in terms of stupid programming, believe me. People mock American pop culture, then ape it. Badly. And yet my PBS-subscribing, slow-food-enthusiast peers continue to feel ashamed of the fact that they live here. Despite the fact that WE are global tastemakers.

I'm embarassed by my government, but I refuse to be ashamed of my culture. Hell, I'm proud. I'm proud of our Big Gulps and giant movie theaters and stores that sell food and shoes. I wish we'd pull out of Iraq and legalize gay marriage, but what does that have to do with The Bachelor? I refuse to throw out The Bachelor with the bathwater. I refuse to let haters dictate what I should eat, watch, listen to or patronize. This country will never be Luxembourg, folks. It will never be slow, charming, mindful, or remotely Old World. You want unspoiled countryside and leisurely four-hour meals? Book a ticket, 'cause it ain't happening here.

Seriously, I don't want to hear any more apologies or red-faced admissions. Stop hating yourself because of where you were born, or the fact that you think putting cookie batter in ice cream was a good idea. Stop hating yourself for taping All My Children or preferring Dean Koontz to Proust. You're a product of your culture like anyone else, and it's not a reflection on your intellect or self-discipline. To me, the phrase "ugly American" is as offensive as "ugly Asian." It's called STEREOTYPING and it's gross.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 12, 2005 1:32 PM

 

Back home

My Wednesday in New York kicked ass compared to Tuesday. The Bower Show on Maxim Radio was a fucking blast--I even got to do an on-air lapdance, albeit reluctantly.

The live TV thing was cool, but weird. I had no monitor, so I sat in a room alone at CNN and answered questions via my earpiece. I have no idea what the host even looked like. However, I felt like Anderson Cooper with that CNN greenscreen thingy behind me.

Look for reviews of Candy Girl in Entertainment Weekly and People very soon. No fair snickering into your sleeves if I get, like, an F-minus. Okay, you can snicker a little. I'll still love you.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 9, 2005 1:53 PM

 

One more thing, I swear!

If you Google "Douchepacker", every search result alludes to my cat Larry.

For some reason, this makes me really happy. Like there's finally definitive proof that Larry is, in fact, a total douchepacker. The only douchepacker on the web. He's a web exclusive!

Now, I just have to make it so Googling "pussy" yields only Diablo Cody-related links. This could take years, but I'm game. We've got threefold pussy action here: I am a pussy (as evidenced by my last two entries), I have a pussy (photographic evidence abounds, plus I can't fingerbang something that doesn't exist), and I own pussycats (lame, but still valid). The Ranch ought to have a monopoly on pussy. Every other pussy-centric site can employ a different euphemism. How about "noonie"?

Sample spam email, 2006:

"HORNY HoUsEWIVES want UR cock in there WET N@@NIES. Register NOW!!!!!!!!"

That's got a nice ring to it.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 8, 2005 2:07 AM

 

And another thing

New York is full of places that completely defy categorization. Today, I wanted a Diet Coke, so I stopped into a dining establishment where beverages seemed to be available. So far, so good, right? Inside, the joint was equal parts Jewish deli, Internet cafe, and Au Bon Pain. The menu was in French but the three guys working there spoke nothing but Spanish. It made no sense.

IT MADE NO SENSE.

I need to know where I'm eating. I need a hint. What exactly is this place? Why does the menu prominently feature bagels when there are none, and why was my request for a bagel greeted with jeers? And why was my Diet Coke served warm?

I'm seriously going to fucking cry soon. I'm operating on two hours of sleep and I need to sit down somewhere that isn't totally mystifying. This rabbit hole is kicking my ass!

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 8, 2005 1:42 AM

 

I miss Los Angeles

So it's like 2:00 AM, I'm supposed to be on this radio show, and my friggin' ride never showed up. I dial my "contact number" and wake up some random grump I'm pretty sure isn't a producer. Being a resourceful gal, I jog a few blocks past sprawling homeless encampments and hail a cab (mind you, I'm alone). When I finally get a cab to stop, Latka Gravas informs me that he has no idea where my destination is. He then tries to helpfully explain the entire New York street grid to me in a charming Meposian dialect. I slink back to the hotel with my tail between legs, and the desk clerk, a slumping Paul Dooley type, immediately shoots me the fisheye. Like I'm a suspicious character or something just because I sneak out of hotels at odd hours.

Joey Reynolds, you have my apologies. Deus ex towncar, dude.

What I wouldn't give for L.A.'s comforts right now: a rental car, a balmy night, and an open road flanked by palms. I'm coming back, you Crackberry-diddling bitches. I'M COMING BACK!

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 8, 2005 1:18 AM

 

Do you see us, Manhattan? We have it all!

Or at the very least, a severe case of vodkular dehydration. Where can I get a martini in this town?

I'm in NYC to pimp Candy Girl to my East Coast homies. Reprezizzle!

At 2 a.m., I'll be on the Joey Reynolds Show show. (I get the prime timeslots, obviously.) Area insomniacs take note! Seriously, though, Reynolds is a legend and I'm torqued.

Tomorrow morning, from 10:15 to 10:25 precisely, I'll be on local TV. Check yr CN8 listings if you want to see me speak haltingly via satellite with what's sure to be an obvious hangover. And yes, my nose really looks like that.

For you Sirius subscribers, I'll be on Maxim Radio (145) at 3:00 p.m. tomorrow. I've always wanted to be a Maxim girl, and this is the only way to do it without sustaining major airbrush swipes to the ass and sternum. I'll try to sound like I have big tits. How does one do that, exactly? Should I affect a husky voice? Squeaky? I'm not sure.

Last night I was briefly in Minneapolis for a conjugal visit, except we didn't have sex. Instead, we talked about Degrassi until we fell asleep. At one point, to signal the end of the conversation, I imitated the old-school "Degrassi freeze frame" and began humming the closing credits. This is a delightful way to end anything.

"So anyway, my flight is at 6:30. Good night."

(immobilize face as if film has been paused)

(to tune of theme song) REE-TEE-TEE-TEE-TEE-TEE...

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 7, 2005 1:28 PM

 

Fingerbanging is Underrated

On the recommendation of a pal, I recently tuned into an episode of Bliss, Oxygen Network's series of soft-focus adaptations of erotic fiction by women. Now, the porn I typically view is of the "Fuckbunny Facials 5" variety, so I was intrigued by the idea of kinder, gentler smut tailored to sensitive wimmenz.

I could devote endless column inches to the dearth (or ghettoization) of chick-positive porn, but I'm working in L.A. right now and there's fun-fun-fun to be had. That said, fingerbanging is underrated.

What's that? you say. Where did that come from?

Time to come clean (or sticky): I love being fingerbanged. There are few things more deliciously adolescent than getting three-knuckle nasty with a guy who's high on pie. One of my go-to masturbation fantasies involves being fully clothed at a bar and writhing on the impudent digits of some random guy who thinks he can just fingerbang me while I sip my Kir Royale. I barely know him! The nerve of him! The NERVE! The...mmmmrrrggggh.

ZZZ.

Sorry. Conked out there for a spell. (That was actually a faithful reenactment of the perverted nap I took in my hotel room this afternoon.) Anyway, I just wanted to point out that the episode of Bliss I watched prominently featured fingerbanging-- with "release," as they say in the rubdown trade-- which proves that chicks occasionally crave appendages more slender and nimble then the obvious choice. Guys, lesbians, don't forget to fingerbang! Just because you're no longer 14 doesn't mean you need to stop!

P.S. Dear Hollywood: I appreciate the effort, but beribboned evergreen wreaths look sad and meaningless when it's 76 and sunny outside. Face it: It's never really Christmas here.

Posted by Diablo Cody at December 5, 2005 7:27 PM

 

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