June 2007

Heliophobe and sun-worshipper

(Actually, I love the sun. However, I must shield my pasty visage from its rays. Barnabas has built-in sun protection and can "lay out" like a sorority bitch all he likes. Also, he likes to drink Raspberry Kami Shooterz, fuck Cal State boys, and listen to the Quad City DJs.)

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 28, 2007 5:41 PM

Candy Review: Carnival Flavors Skittles

As you all know, nothing gets me torqued like the phrase "Limited Edition" plastered on a candy wrapper or soda bottle. It appeals to my craving for both sugar and novelty. I am but a changeling by nature, and my palate demands alternate tunings. Yeah, candy is good.

Earlier today, whilst picking up some Kraft Dinner and Gatorade for lunch, I noticed this glossy yellow sleeve looking tres fuckable in the checkout lane:

Note: bag is already empty.

I might be the only person over the age of 10 who actually likes fake bubble gum and cotton candy- flavor. (I still eat bubble gum ice cream when the spirit moves me.) So these actually looked tasty to me, rather than just novel. In addition to the aforementioned gum and fairy floss, these also come in Green Slushy, Red Licorice, and the reverie-inducing Candy Apple.

Lemme tell you, I could eat an entire bag comprised solely of Candy Apple Skittles. I used to date a guy in high school who felt the same way about Juicy Pear Jelly Bellies. He also liked hand jobs. On the candy subject, we used to go to one of those stores in the mall where they have bins of stale jelly beans that have been grazed by a thousand ilicit fingerprints. He'd get a big bag of Juicy Pears and then we'd go back to his house and have a hand job party.

Anyway, the other flavors were good too. The licorice was deliciously confusing; my brain screamed "Licorice!" while my tooth enamel countered with "Skittle!" The Green Slushy flavor was intriguing, because what does green taste like? It was like that scene in Mask where Eric Stoltz is all, (muffled voice) "This is what colors feel like, blind girl!" And he puts a hot potato in her hand, and she's like "I get it, Rocky! I think I understand!" Two minutes of creative cognitive therapy, and she gets it. Awesome. By the way, Green Slushy tastes like sour apple. Skittles, I think I understand.

I want another bag of these already. All I've consumed in the last few days is junk food and whiskey.

Carnival Flavor Skittles: Three and three-quarters stars (Star Search system)

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 22, 2007 1:39 PM

Probably my first and last political-themed entry

You know that Hilary Clinton Sopranos parody? It's so hilarious when Bill goes, "My money's on Smashmouth."

I didn't realize how much I missed the Clintons. They are officially Cody Endorsed. Actually, scratch that-- I don't want to jeopardize Hil's chances. Uh, I'm totally undecided.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 21, 2007 11:41 AM

Dang!

That's what I'm talkin' about! I am envious of Beyonce's tummy, hocks, and large-yet-cellulite-free ass. For some reason, riding my Manhattan Cruiser three blocks to Astroburger doesn't seem to be doing the trick.

I wish I had snapped this candid onboard the Foam Fucker II but unfortunately my boat has yet to see any action this season. The manatees are probably getting cocky.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 18, 2007 5:07 PM

In honor of Father's Day

This amusing essay by a self-described grump perfectly summarizes the water torture that is modern fatherhood. Every paragraph made me chuckle with recognition. (I may not be a dad, but we stepmoms are Dad-Identified Women by design. ) I especially liked the part about having to listen to maddening long-winded stories that inevitably lack a satisfactory denouement.

I kind of pity this guy-- he raised two bambini in the laissez-faire '80s, so he probably had no idea what he was in for with #3. I used to naively think kids sucked, but Peanut, in all her awesomeness, has totally disproved that theory. No, it's parenting culture that sucks. It used to be acceptable to tell your children to scram, so long as you genuinely loved them and were adequately protective. Now, you're expected to listen to the long-winded story, fake an exaggerated response, then resume the tedious child-friendly activity that's inevitably eating your Saturday. My father, who is amazing, used to tell me to "quit babbling." Thank you, Dad. Thank you for deftly managing to be affectionate without being ass-kissy.

Tonight, Peanut is having a slumber party, which means Jonny is going to spend Father's Day morning flipping pancakes for finicky little girls. However, my man deserves lobster Benedict in bed, and maybe a mimosa or five. Jonny could give seminars on fathering, I tell you. He's loving, playful and proud, but he's not one of those nauseating dads who blathers on about how life-altering and precious fatherhood is. When I met him, he was like "So, I live in Minneapolis and I have a cool daughter." Not "I have a DARLING LITTLE PRINCESS who is MY WHOLE WORLD and I hope she approves of you because HER HAPPINESS IS ALL THAT MATTERS." Trying-Too-Hard-Dad = profoundly unfuckable. Jonny = laid-back hotness.

I really wish I could be home tomorrow for the dad-pampering festivities. (I did send Jonny a box of delicious guy stuff from LUSH.) The best I can do is call my husband and my father and tell them how grateful I am to have two men in my life who somehow perfected the balancing act. They're both devoted parents who focus(ed) on preparing their children for adulthood, rather than sugar-coating their childhoods. Their parenting comes from a place of love and concern, not guilt or fear.

Yay, dads.

P.S. Daniel Asa Rose, if I had your address, I would send you some LUSH goodies, too. You sound like you could use a bubble bath, especially after your wife reads your essay and tears you a new asshole.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 16, 2007 9:39 PM

Tiny E

A sleepy Friday night. I'm just now emerging from my two-day birhday booze coma. I miss my husband so much. I have a lot of reading material I need to catch up on, and yet I'm on the Internet. I have literally lost months of my life to the Internet. Is there an Antabuse-type pill for this?

My brother mailed me a statue of Elvis, and it singlehandedly transformed my beige box into a little home with character. Elvis truly is the King.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 16, 2007 1:09 AM

My birthday plans are "in sync!"

I just turned 29 a couple of hours ago. I also just returned from Lance Bass's house, where me and a gang of Hollywood youths played Apples to Apples and drank Veev, "the world's first acai spirit," which also contains prickly pear to purportedly stave off hangovers. So LA it hurts, no? Lance has a rad pool, two large affable dogs, and his own Ms. Pac-Man console. Jonny would have been overcome with jealousy. Confidential to America's Next Top Model fans: I smoked one of Melrose's Parliaments.

Earlier tonight, I spotted my heroine Sarah Silverman at the Roosevelt. Also awesome. You don't expect to see her unironically hugging a small child, but there it was.

Anna, my knuckles thank you for the L'Occitane hand lotion.

Also I'm sorry I shamelessly whipped out my shiny new titties the moment I got a decent buzz on. Stupid acai-infused vodka! It makes me slutty!

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 14, 2007 3:58 AM

The Best Invention Since Pepsi Summer Mix!

Actually, iChat totally predates Summer Mix, but you get my drift.

Note that Jonny actually wore a Star Trek shirt to emphasize how oddly retro-futuristic he finds this technology. I concur: it's bananas.

We chatted for about an hour tonight and I got to see the cats! Douchepacker looked pissed, like "Oh now she's in the computer? What's next, bitch pops up in my food dish?"

(There is clearly no escape, Douchepacker. Not for my husband and certainly not for thee!)

And yes, we (me and my man, not Douchepacker) "kissed" like losers using our respective webcams. ONLINE LOVE!!!!11111 OMG KAWAII!

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 7, 2007 10:48 PM

The Heat is On!

"Whoever brings the water brings the people." -William Mulholland

I arrived at the guesthouse late Tuesday night and couldn't wait to soak my filthy ass in some stolen Los Angeles water. Unfortunately, my shower was colder than an unwed Mormon. I had forgotten that the guesthouse was metered independently of the main residence, and I never bothered to notify the gas company of my existence. (It's easy to forget about heat in Southern California, where the slightest chill can be offset with a Kid Robot hoodie or an insincere hug.)

Getting heat established in my name was the first on-the-books thing I've ever done in L.A. My living situation is fairly informal (I never signed a lease) and I pay the gal who owns the main residence for all my other utiities. But now, I'm like a real entity here. Yet another flatlander with foreign plates and a dream. I just...I just want to SING!

Yesterday I had an outdoor meeting with a celebrity and we got photographed by paparazzi. I mean, he got photographed, obviously, but I wound up immortalized in all my as-yet-unshowered glory. Those long-lens bastards are sneaky! I didn't even notice them lurking until the guy dryly remarked "Oh look, it's picture time." Then I sucked in my gut and stuck out my new cans.

I frequently ask Chosen People what it's like to be stalked by paps. The subject intrigues me greatly, and the Chosen seem to find catharsis in discussing it. A famous girl once told me about a time paparazzi stood outside her bedroom window while she changed into her dress for the Emmys. She marched her couture-clad self outside and begged them to leave. They took pity and relented. So an impassioned plea will occasionally work, unless you're Reese Witherspoon or something and your photo is worth five grand. Then they insult you and/or your children in an attempt to capture the prized "Angry Shot."

If I was famous, I would totally pull a Sean Penn and scream at the photographers every time they approached me. Then Us Weekly would print stuff like, "Cody Meltdown AGAIN!" and "Diablo's Rage!" and "No Baby Joy for Diablo!" I'd be regarded as a badass and a loose cannon. Nothing cooler than that.

(Have I mentioned that I hate tabloids' flagrant abuse of the term "Baby Joy"? I do. What does that even mean, and why is it always accompanied by a speculative photo of Jennifer Aniston beaming?)

P.S. Head over to Hatesexy and donate to Cole's Crew. For the price of that issue of In Touch, you could contribute to some actual baby joy. DAWWWW, I have feelings!

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 7, 2007 2:29 PM

The True French

This weekend, Fox Searchlight deployed one of their best men to Minneapolis to film some amusing promotional segments for Juno. We had the best time! It's not often that you meet a total stranger and eight hours later, the two of you are buying matching pajamas at Target and giggling uncontrollably. I laughed so hard during taping that I strained a ligament in one of my new boobs.

Speaking of Darling and Sapphire, they are looking less freaky as they settle into les pockets:

The cleavage (God, I love that word) remains, but the breastages themselves are beginning to look less like whore-missiles and more like slut-cookies.

Posted by Diablo Cody at June 4, 2007 11:52 AM

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