October 2006

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Happy Halloween!

And Samhain for all you groovy pagans. FYI: It's pronounced SAM-HANE. Don't let anyone tell you different, m'kay?

Pictured from left to right: Cat, Bat and Cauldron (by Peanut), Charlie Brown (by Jonny) and a mocking little Devil (guess who?)

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 31, 2006 5:32 PM

 

Birds, Birds, Birds!

(Notice proper usage of the City Pages-approved serial comma.)

There's this big gardening emporium located a couple of blocks from our house. They also sell live animals, a fact that simultaneously distresses and intrigues me. I can't resist stopping in from time to time to lock eyes with the inbred, quivering Chihuahuas. Then I commune with the tragic, molting cockatoo with the rheumy stare. I even like to visit the snakes. I stand in front of the terrarium glass and hiss "HARRY POTTER ISSSSSS A HOMOSSSSSSSSEXUAL. THAT'S WHY HE RIDESSSS A HORSSSE NAKED!" And they totally understand me.

Recently, we were driving past this particular store and I noticed the window said "BIRDS! BIRDS! BIRDS!" As if it were an avian strip club or something. Of course, I was immediately reminded of a certain totally kickass '80s anthem by Motley Crue. So I started singing:

Birds, birds, birds!
Rockin' in Atlanta at Tattletails!
Birds, birds, birds!
Raisin' hell at the Seventh Veil!

I choked with laughter, because I find myself really hilarious. (I always "break," you see, even during my most sophisticated bits. I'm the Horatio Sanz of observational car comedy.)

Anyway, every time we've driven past this store since, Jonny and I do a bird-themed reenactment of Tommy and Vince's spirited conversation near the end of "Girls, Girls, Girls."

(Imagine sing-songy, hair-metal dude voices)

Jonny: "Hey Tommy! Check that out, man!"

Me: "What, Vince? Where?"

Jonny: "In the cage! That's a Red-Bellied Grackle! They aren't often seen in the Western Hem-is-phere!"

Me: "WHOOOO! Save some for me! Hey, I think I see its genitalia!"

Like I said, I find this really funny. Anyway.

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 31, 2006 1:27 PM

 

Bogusz Halloween Bash '06: Truly Outrageous!

The theme-- and with Trixi, there's always a theme-- was Pop Culture. (Last year's theme was Old Hollywood; scour the archives for a peep at my "Slightly Decomposed Judy Garland" costume).

This time, I went as a severely orange Lindsay Lohan and Jonny went as Kenny Loggins (Yacht Rock-era.)

The incongruous-but-happy celebrity couple. I made scary Lindsay faces all night. Note the thatch of ginger pubic hair peeking out from my waistband. (I knew last year's Napoleon Dynamite wig would eventually come in handy!)

Trixi (The Orbit Gum Girl), me, and Nicole (Avril Lavigne.) Nicole is actually younger than the real Avril Lavigne, which makes her particularly Punk Rawk. Trixi sewed her own costume, which makes her particularly Fabulous! Meanwhile, my firecrotch doth teach the torches to burn bright. It seems I hang upon the ass-cheek of night.

Something about the combination of Lucy Ricardo and a Rubix Cube makes my head want to explode. In a good way. Lucy probably would have been better off marrying a Cube than a Cuban. The former may be impossible to figure out, but the latter might beat your ass.

The best costume at the party, in my humble ho-pinion. Heidi as Laura from Project Runway. Note the signature bow and Baby Einstein bump.

Shayne opted to show up looking smorkin' hot while the rest of us merely looked foolish. Man, was this Night of a Thousand Redheads or what?

So anyway, the party was fantastic, aside from the fact that 1.) I fell on my ass twice, which apparently warranted a Look of Concern(TM) from several friends and 2.) Jonny used a hidden microphone to taunt me while I took a piss. (It's dehumanizing to relieve yourself while a talking skull calls you a whore.)

When I slumped drunkenly to the floor at night's end, I apparently left a telltale orange stain on the wall. Sorry, Rik and Trixi! I'll be over shortly with a pint of Benjamin Moore semigloss. Or Guinness. You pick my penance.

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 23, 2006 4:25 PM

 

SNNNERRRGH!

That's me blowing my nose. But I don't have a cold. See, if I admit to having a cold, I empower the cold. And I don't want to empower the cold. I want to spank it. Therefore, I don't have a cold.

In a few minutes, I'm leaving to meet with rad director Marc Webb, who's directed about a jillion music videos you've seen. Including--yes!--"Wake Up" by Hilary Duff. Here's a photo of Mr. Webb with Gerard Way from My Chemical Romance.

You may recall I had my own encounter with Gerard Way earlier this year:

That's some kinky giantess-porn shit right there!

Don't tell Marc Webb I sucked his client's head.

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 17, 2006 5:29 PM

 

Greetings from West Hollywood

I brought my camera out here, 'cause I'm fixin' to rustle up an old-fashioned PHOTOBLOG! YEE-HAW!

This charming self-portrait was snapped in my hotel room not ten minutes ago. I told the guy at the front desk that I was going to throw my TV in the pool like Keith Moon. And he was like "Very good, miss." Try as I might, I just can't seem to ruffle these heavy-lidded Californians! Frustrating.

GRAAAARGGGH! I'M A TIGER! IF YOU ARE IN THE LOS ANGELES AREA, PLEASE SEND STEAKS (PREFERABLY RUTH'S CHRIS) AND SOME DIET MOUNTAIN DEW.

Yes, I am wearing Chas Tenenbaum track pants.

Don't you love the way the light catches my polyester hair?

Do you concur that we are, in fact, two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year?

I'm a nurd.

Dang, I'm getting tired already. Time to forage for caffeine, jog in place, and focus on this week's pitches. Much love from the Hills. I'll say hello to L.C. if I run into her at Hyde.

P.S. I am enjoying John Mayer's blog a little too much.

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 15, 2006 11:28 PM

 

That Funny Munny of Mine

Yesterday, Jonny and I scored some sweet-ass art toys at Robot Love, the best Minneapolitan store since the Smitten Kitten. I got a Kozik White Labbit (non-smorkin') and Jonny got a Munny.

The whole point of a Munny is to decorate it yourself. Jonny did a minimalist white-crayon thing, but it still came out heartwrenchingly cute:

Since I got the camera out anyway, I took some pictures of the new dwelling for all you voyeurs!

Living room. The animals were not invited to participate in this photo, but they showed up anyway. Not pictured: Douchepacker

Kitchen. Those pneumatic bar stools are really fun to adjust. Also, that's an excellent granite kitchen island...FOR ME TO FUCK ON!

And randomly: Jonny driving a boat. Watch out, manatees!

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 12, 2006 11:28 AM

 

rentdiabloshouse @ yahoo.com

We have decided to become real estate moguls (ie; the housing market sucks veinous dong). In other words, we want to rent our former house to some gorgeous person or family.

(And if you decide you'd rather to rent-to-own, we're down with that, too!)

This is the MLS listing.

Pros:

*The house is on the busline and close to downtown. (Most people don't realize that Robbinsdale is a pussy hair away from Minneapolis. We are an inner-inner-ring suburb.)

*The house has been lovingly maintained. And is within walking distance of three (3) bars, one of which has 100 varieties of vodka. Also, a great school, a pretty lake, and the world's best video store.

*Income opportunity alert!: You could sublet the finished basement to a buddy or stranger. There's a brand new bedroom down there with an adjoining shiny-new bathroom.

*We would be the coolest landlords ever. You can paint, adopt an incontinent Newfoundland, whatever. Just pay rent.

*House is beyond immediately available. You can move in yesterday if you want. Of course, we'll take the house off the market as soon as we find a renter.

For details, please email me. I'm totally serious.

(Please do not use the email to tell me I'm going to hell.)

Thanks for letting me shill.
xxx
Diablo

OH!- P.S. The annoying doorbell-pressing crotchlings I mentioned in yesterday's post are at the new house. Never fear.

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 10, 2006 9:47 AM

 

Go Away, Little Children

I've decided Peanut's new friends are obnoxious, ill-mannered little crotchlings.

They've been ringing the doorbell for 25 minutes--no exaggeration. Barnabas is barking himself hoarse, which is the primary source of my annoyance. Now they're doing that "shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits" knock. Oh God, the agony. Why did so many people fuck bareback in the late '90s?

I would march upstairs and reprimand them, but that's something only a "real mom" can get away with-- I'm already under suspicion in this neighborhood because I'm so rad and shit. Besides, I prefer the idea of ignoring the children completely while they shiver in their thin nylon jackets.

I'm not a professional urchin-greeter, and I won't be exposed to their rank lunchpail stink! AND IF YOU THINK I'M MEAN, ALL YOU MAUDLIN CLOWNS CAN CRAM IT!

Luckily, Jonny has volunteered to pass out candy on Halloween this year. I'm gonna stay in the basement, drink Freixnet, surf SG and read Bizarre.

P.S. I just read over this entry and realized it could be interpreted as a mild, Swiftian satire of child-hating trolls. Good, good. Keep believing it. Don't stop loving me.

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 9, 2006 6:35 PM

 

36-J

Jonny's birthday is today! I think October 7 should be declared a holiday. In the State of Diablochusetts, it already is. One more year of insight and hilarity from my darling souse--excuse me, spouse--is something to celebrate.

Due to diminished funds related to our recent house purchase, I had to get Jonny some pretty lame gifts. The booty hardly seemed sufficient, especially considering Jonny bought me the DEF! LEPPARD! JACKET! for my birthday. I thought to myself, "What would the songwriting team of Elton John/Bernie Taupin do if they were faced with this conundrum?"

Der!

Jonny's Song (to be sung to the tune of "Your Song.")

It's a little bit funny
This feeling within
My overactive Bartholin's glands
Have soaked me to the skin
I don't have much money-ey
'Cause we're total spendthrifts
I'm pretty sure we drank it all
In some stale-smelling pit

If I was a sculptor
But then again, no
I'm not into sculptures
Except that one in the video for "Hello"
Lionel Richie came out looking
Like a black Ron Perlman
That blind girl couldn't sculpt for shit
Except for the Jheri Curl, man

Chorus
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind
That I put down in prose
How sorry I am
That our savings went up my nose

I'm totally kidding!
I'M TOTALLY KIDDING!
I'm just giving you static
(And I also gave you HPV
Don't worry--most men are asymptomatic)

Love,
Brookie

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 7, 2006 2:26 PM

 

Horny Blogger Adequately Defamed

For months, I've fervently prayed for a second Defamer mention. I could only imagine surveying the masses from such great heights. And now, at long last, I've ascended the summit!

(draws lusty breath of crisp mountain air, unsheathes alpenhorn)

RIIIIIIICOLA, bitches!

This is cool for me, but even cooler for my favorite ten-percenter. He's been officially christened "HORNY MANAGER" in Hollywood-gossip parlance. That's fucking legendary.

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 4, 2006 7:08 PM

 

Now, with talent!

There's a major Juno casting announcement in the Hollywood Reporter today. But if you read the LA Times piece I linked to below, you already know the news.

Ellen Page and Michael Cera are both so good. They're gooder than good. They're goodical. They're a Mark Goodson production. I could not be happier.

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 4, 2006 10:32 AM

 

Power

Jay Fernandez of the LA Times devoted the latter half of his "Scriptland" column to my (extremely) fledgling career today. I ought to send Mr. Fernandez a box of premium candies. He says I could "give a seminar on clever and inventive dialogue." SPOO!

Read it here, if you desire.

Like most people, I enjoy reading nice things about myself. And sometimes, reading nice things about other people makes me feel psychotic. Anecdote: Around 2000-2001, there was this photogenic teenager named Ashley Power who rode the ephemeral dotcom bubble to mini-mogul status.

Ashley Power had a book!
A streaming web series!
A business relationship with Richard Dreyfuss!
And I'm pretty sure she sponsored her own race car!

As a struggling typist in my early twenties, I was fucking sick with envy every time I stumbled upon an Ashley-related morsel of press. The articles all rhapsodized about how beautiful she was, how web-savvy she was, how she was only 16 and had already made Dreyfuss her venture cap bitch. Meanwhile I was dribbling Maruchan Roasted Pork Flavor Ramen down the front of my shirt in the lower right quadrant of a cube farm. IT WASN'T FAIR. Why did Ashley Power get to have a cool job while I suffered in Dress Barn seperates?

(Answer: Because I was a depressed, self-sabotaging moron and she was obviously superintelligent. Or because my luck was dim and hers was nuclear. Or because God called me to be a typist and Ashley Power to be the avatar of a zeitgeist. Whatever.)

Ashley really was a fucking comet. I wish I knew where she was now! She's probably changed her name to something a little less awesome. ("Ashley Power" sounds like a mantra for Connecticans.) You just know she had a hell of a college admissions essay. I could see Ashley Power at Brown or Penn State. Somewhere crisp and leafy, with a snap in the air. Somewhere she could dye her hair Sunlit Mahogany and major in poly-sci and clasp hot, insulated beverage cups in her mittened hands.

And maybe her boyfriend Dan Trowbridge breaks up with her on the quad, and she's all "I had my own racecar, fucko. Am I crying? Not hardly. I've already moved on." Pivot. And she's gone.

And after graduation, she'll gets a job. She'll move to New York City. No, she moves back to California and becomes a business consultant. People confuse her with Danielle Fishel. She's good-natured about it.

(I wish I knew what really happened.)

Back to my original point: I usually get jealous when I read about people who acheive their dreams BANG-BANG-BANG, like a string of Wisconsin firecrackers. So I don't know how to feel when I read articles like this about myself. It makes me sound crazy-lucky, doesn't it? It makes me sound like I'm blessed with a jillion watts of Ashley-power. Even though I'm lazy and I'm smell. And I don't have little, hard Venusian breasts or lustrous hair and I'm one of those people who's face actually gets uglier whe she loses weight. (Like Hilary Duff!) I'm so lazy that Jonny had to tell me "Both feet on the floor" before he left for work this morning. That's the only way we can be sure that I'm not going back to sleep.

P.S. I went back to sleep anyway.

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 4, 2006 9:03 AM

 

*RASP*

My voice is still gone. I sound like one of those rode-hard D-girls who march into the bar and and are like "I'LL HAVE A WHITE ZIN AND A PACK OF PARLIES."

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 3, 2006 10:47 AM

 

Hungry

So I went to my reunion on Saturday, 15 pounds lighter than Original Recipe Diablo. Ever since I got slapped with the Crohn's diagnosis, I've been shunning carbs by necessity, subsisting on meat and plants like a coyote. Now every time I look in the mirror, I see a rangy, hungry, mean-eyed bitch. I thought it would be fun being thin, but it's only fun when you're shopping for formal shorts at Forever 21. I'd maim for a Mint Milano. A rank, sweaty hunk of garlic bread. Real ice cream, preferably swirled with pulverized Mint Milanos and garlic croutons. Ben and Jerry's Sweet Insanity: Freshens and befouls your breath in one step!

Besides, all my pants are falling down. At the moment, perched on my masochistic hardback office chair, I'm displaying more crack than your neighborhood pusher.

You want to hear about the reunion though, not my wasted, atrophying, bruise-besmirched body. Right? So we got to Chicago late Friday night. Bunked with my parents in the 'burbs. (Incidentally, I am from Lemont. Some misinformed hermit on MNSpeak posted that I was from Naperville. I have never lived in Naperville. I did attend high school in Lisle, but those of us who have loved, fucked and partied in Shangri-Lisle know that Naperthrill pales by comparison. Got me?)

All right then. I went to my Benet Academy reunion at some lame sports bar in the city. I feel compelled to mention my school by name because apparently, Benet brass were appalled by the fact that an alumnus dared to become a S-T-R-I-P-P-E-R and wrote a highly visible book about it. They were reportedly relieved when they bothered to actually read the book and realized that I never mention Benet by name. I was remiss, no? How could I forget to pay homage to my alma mater? From now on, by way of apology, I'm going to mention Benet every single fucking day!

Benet Academy breeds stripper, whores and Presbyterians. Take it from me-- I'm all three!

Okay. The morning of the reunion, I awoke with a killer cold. I was coughing up huge curds of green lung schmutz and my voice was completely gone. Gone. I was communicating in whispers. This was not encouraging, considering I had been looking forward to talking with old friends all night. I stuffed my cheeks with lozenges and grimly boarded the Metra to Chicago. Jonny was a good sport, periodically passing me a sticky bottle of DayQuil and keeping our conversations brief and efficient.

Even though no one could hear me speak, the reunion was fun. Jonny looked hot with his Ben Sherman blazer and now-deliberate-looking shaved head. There was an open bar, but the drinks were so weak I had to pound 'em to get adequately cross-eyed. Mike Saul was amazing, as always. (I wish they made a travel-size Mike Saul I could tuck in my luggage and take to Minnesota.) I also got to hang out with my longtime pallies Chris, Quinn, Mary Beth and others.

People stayed ensconced in their little cliques for most of the night. I wore a little cheongsam-inspired dress, cowboy boots, and an ostentatious Def Leppard leather jacket. Everyone else was wearing jeans, which made me feel like First Lieutenant Trying-Too-Hard. I sensed people were talking about me, but that could have just been paranoia or megalomania. People asked me what I was working on, and I told them the truth: "I just got hired by Steven Spielberg to write a pilot for (major cable network)." It sounds like a lie, doesn't it? A delusion, a whopper, an exaggeration, a first-class lulu? When I heard myself say it, I didn't even believe me.

I had a few more drinks. I started indiscriminately planting kisses on former classmates' cheeks. I may have grabbed an ass or two. I spoke (well, rasped) to my high school sweetheart for a few minutes, and when our conversation wound down, he said "I'd better go find my wife." And it sounded so weird. His wife's eyes were already full of children. I can't explain it, but they were.

Jonny and Peanut just came home and they're excited to show me some old art portfolio they found in Jonny's ex-wife's garage. It's all stuff Jonny made in high school, back when he wore eyeliner and berets. I'm going to go upstairs and check it out in a moment, but I want to wait until they've settled down. When they come home, they always seem all charged, buzzing from environmental stimuli. And I've been inside all day, staring inward. They barge into my cocoon and thunder down the stairs to my office with these expectant faces. I'm happy to see them--there are no other people I'd rather see--but the Big Entry is bracing. I can't tell them this without sounding like I don't want to see them. I do, badly. I just need time to become human again.

I realize every day that I am bad at being in a family. I'm starving them out.

Posted by Diablo Cody at October 2, 2006 4:48 PM

 

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