So this guy I know packs a dorky brown bag lunch and rides rainbows to divinity school everyday, which prompted a conversation about how shocked everyone is that HE goes to school to preach to the world about Jesus. Because really, this dude is a ridiculous human being, the closest thing to a caricature of a person as possible. He has creepy large features, bad hair and blurts words out in a manner that leaves you wondering if he has turrets or if he just makes no sense. But no matter how much I make fun of him, it won’t change where the topic went next.
A friend of mine abruptly changed the course of conversation, by saying, “I don’t think it’s that weird, it’s not as though Kelly is going to divinity school. Now that would be unbelievable.”
And then everybody laughed. Har har har. Kelly hates Jesus. She eats kittens and bathes herself in virgins’ blood (I wish!).
Now, I know that people probably think this because I superimpose my face over Jesus riding a dinosaur and laugh hysterically about it for weeks. And I tend to say sarcastic prayers like, “Dear baby Jesus, please don’t give me herpes.” And I put up blog posts about evangelical dinosaurs drowning in Noah’s flood. And I call the bus the Jew bus. And I physically cringe when someone suggests attending church. Unless of course it’s a Pentecostal church. I’ll be the first in line for that shitshow! I’d also probably throw my hands in the air and run around screaming in tounges. That sounds awesome. I’ll bring the beer and the video camera people!
But these things don’t mean that holding a cross up to me and chanting the Lord’s prayer will fend me off or that holy water will burn holes in my skin. Sorry guys. Although that would be a pretty amazing talent.
Rather, I think I would make an awesome minister. I’m like really good at telling people what to do and then attributing it to a higher power. Of course, that higher power could be in cohorts with the massive amounts of drugs and alcohol I grinded up in their dinner, but they still believe jumping into a fountain with all their clothes is a great idea. And I say, “You’re not wet, are you going to believe what you see or what I tell you!”
Faith. I call that Faith. And that doesn’t make me a bad person. It makes me a minister of awesome. And I don’t even have to go to school for that because I wrote the book.
- k.hel.
5.01.2008
I could too be a mutherfucking minister (of awesome)
Celeblahblog V1
Yes indeed, Nick Cannon (27) and Mariah Carey (38) are engaged. Or at least rumored to be. Talk about cougar – RAWR. The news broke when Carey was seen sporting her “bling” (gag me) at the premiere of her new film, “Tennessee.” Some may be shocked by this story, but let’s be honest, the most shocking part of this news is that Mariah Carey was cast in another film. Really? Has no one seen Glitter? Ok, fair point. NO ONE saw Glitter. And with good reason.
Hello Lolita! The above photo is majorly controversial (apparently). If you’re not aware, this is a photo of the latest young vixen Miley Cyrus, as taken by Annie Leibovitz for the June issue of Vanity Fair. I’m not quite sure why it’s so controversial. Then again, I’m not quite sure why she’s so famous. I’m not even sure who she is. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know who her dad is – Billy Ray Cyrus of “Achey Breaky Heart” fame. And apparently she’s got multiple platinum albums and a hit show. But I’ve never seen her show and I’ve never heard her songs. Nor have any of my friends. This makes me wonder – am I really that old? Really that out of touch? No, I don’t think that’s it. At least I hope not.
Anyway, Miley-Poo is in hot water for looking uber-sex-kitten in this pic and others in the VF issue considering that she’s only a fifteen year old. She’s supposed to be a paradigm of virtue for some reason – I think Disney has something do with it, though we all know Minnie is a slut. She has come out in response saying something about only watching the “clean” version of Sex and the City (aka the TBS version). I’m not quite sure how this has anything to do with anything, but it was said. And I can’t really be bothered to understand the back and forth.
The truth is, I think Miley has gotten so much backlash because she DOES look sexy. And men who look at the images feel uncomfortable lusting after jailbait. Personally, I think she looks like a teenager. But I can’t say I’m shocked by the outcry. People are always angry at celebrities for this or that. I mean, people were so pissed at Britney for dropping her kid on his head twice. And at Winona for shoplifting. And at Lizzy Grubman for mowing people down in the Hamptons when she was drunk. These things happen people! Celebrity = no consequences, duh! Live and let live!
Yup, that’s Paula Abdul. The walking train-wreck is in trouble again after Tuesday’s version of American Idol (side note: this episode could have been amazing as it was Neil Diamond night but each contest picked the most obscure songs and they all pretty much bored me to tears) in which Paula reviewed one contestant for two performances, even though he had only performed once. The next day Abdul was in tears as bloggers had apparently torn her to shreds. But no! You guys! Come on! She was confused! She misread her notes! The rules changed! Jason Castro is really hot! Ummm ummm Ryan Seacrest!
I’ve heard several “double-vision” jokes, which you won’t read here. But I will tell you this: I believe that it is apparent that Paula Abdul has a problem. Those Coke cups which she sucks on like a baby cow to its mother’s teat all episode are clearly not full of soda. That bitch is getting fucked up. I don’t buy the excuses for slurring, tripping, stumbling, rambling, mistakes. It’s not confusion. You’re not overtired. Cut the crap, Abdul. Do you really think it’s better to look like a bumbling idiot than someone with a problem? Get with the trend – check in to Cirque Lodge, chill with Lohan, get a back rub, and come back. Or not. I really only liked you in the “Opposites Attract” video. Well, I liked the cat anyway.
MANISTON!!! Oh yeah – I said it. The term has just been coined right here in the middle of K Hel’s boobs!!! So, yeah, I just did some research and there’s really not much to report. They saw each other in Miami, went to dinner, and then went back to Aniston’s suite for a fantasy date a la the Bachelor. After that, they were spotted cavorting and canoodling all over Miami, where Aniston is shooting a movie, and spent five raucous nights together proving that Jen’s body truly is a wonderland. US Weekly spends about three pages speculating whether or not the two will stay together – is he too much of a playa? Is she too insecure? Do I give a shit? I’m holding out for a sex tape, Pamela and Tommy Lee style. Give me something salacious here, Maniston!
Other news you may or may not care about:
· Liv Tyler and her busted husband are reportedly getting a divorce. Sadpants.
· Star Jones and her husband are also getting a divorce. Gaypants.
· Carmen Electra is engaged (again) to some dude whose playing for Korn but isn’t really part of the band. Lamepants.
· Heidi Montag (The Hills) and Chace Crawford (Gossip Girl) made out a while ago. Slutpants.
· Uma Thurman testified against a stalker today in an NYC court. Psychopants.
That concludes this edition of the celeblahblog. Stay tuned for Monday’s column, where I’ll break down People’s “100 Most Beautiful People” list and let you know any other late-breaking gossip.
- L. Tob
4.30.2008
I will to everything in my power to instigate this in one of the four million weddings I'm attending this year.
Angie. Meg. Kendra. Best watch your backs
This article appeared in CNN this morning, entitled "You may now kick the bride."
An excerpt:
"Authorities charged them both with simple assault, criminal mischief and disorderly conduct, and the bride with an additional count of public intoxication. They face a May 7 preliminary hearing...
She left with her father, still dressed in her white gown.
Wielechowski left alone, sporting a swollen eye, tuxedo pants, a bloody T-shirt and one shoe."You may now kick the bride
4.29.2008
kellyhelderboobs has become blogutopia!!!
So, this is Angie's kitteh! He has a name that i don't remember, but i do know he fetches things. That is one kitteh!
In addition to this pitcure of adorable kittehland, kellyhelderboobs has gone through some major updates and I'm sure you would like them all laid out for you. Ask and you shall receive good people!
Ima work it out numerically:
1) You can now subscribe to the blogutopia by clicking on the link in the upper right hand corner that says, "subscribe to by email." That's called dummy-proof.
2) Those buttons below will allow you to add the blogutopia to your news feeds in google, aol and yahoo easy as pie-like.
3) I now have a blog email address: kellyhelderboobs@gmail.com it's original, I know, use it to send me ideas and comments!
4) The blog will be updated at least once a day, most likely more, and will be featuring some guest bloggers. If you are interested in guest blogging email the new 'dress baby.
5) There is a dinosaur news feeder at the bottom of the page. I KNOW! so exciting. Just needed to point that out.
the delicate emotional balance of pants
Recently, someone who hasn't had the distinct pleasure of knowing me very long or very well, snarkily expressed that I contribute too many emotions to pants. I couldn't disagree more because pants are very emotional inanimate objects, and they often need my help in expressing their feelings. That is correct, I can talk to pants.
I gained this ability my freshman year in college when hanging out in my then-boyfriend Joe's frat house amongst the booze and recreational activities. While sitting at his roommates computer an aim window pinged open with a message from Soccerboi69, or something equally as gay, that said, "OMGZ!!!! ADAM!!!" and had some weird smiley face with it.
I immediately squealed with delight that Adam is: 1) A total gay; 2) Wtf, are those t-shirts?
Joe confirmed. Those are definitely smiley face t-shirts. And Adam definitely loves cock.
Adam then rockets back into the room and sees about five of us crowded around his computer talking about his gay lover and the t-shirt smiley faces, and he freaks out. "That is my little cousin guys!" Blah, blah, blah, a bunch of excuses.
I'm unsure if this is before or after Joe and I told Adam's girlfriend he had HIV so she would break up with him because she sucked and had a whiny voice. I think it may have been before. Anyways, not important because it worked.
Thus, the t-shirt smiley faces became a constant theme in our lives. All emotions were spoken of according to t-shirts. Joe and I both switched our aim emoticons to t-shirts (mine will never be anything else) and used them whenever possible. And my senior year in college I went so far as to make a t-shirt that said "sad t-shirt," where the "r" fell off and it was "sad t-shi t," and lastly "sad t-shi," which is what it remains as today.
At some point in this crazy thing called life, the t-shirt obsession followed Regan Economics and trickled down to pants. And suddenly pants were the new t-shirt, and so they remain,
until another article of clothing plans a coup in my mind and overtakes the thrown.
But until then I think it is necessary to further the emotional pants cause, so please study the guide to pants emotion below:
Sad pants: Often upset by snarky or ill-natured commentary, sad pants can arise from any
undesirable situation. Such as by stating that you contribute too many emotions to pants.
Silly pants: No you're silly! No you are! (pants can be so silly)
Angry pants: When pants think you are a dirty little bitch with sharp teeth and horns that can shape-shift.
Grumpy pants: When pants just don't get their own way, they get stabby.
Happy pants: Joyful, joyful, oh so joyful happy pants are to thee!
Poopy pants: Sometimes pants' roommates won't get out of the flipping bathroom even though
they are screaming out in pain for the toliet, so they shart on the couch and ruin everything.
4.27.2008
after last night, my roommate isn't only sure, she is HIV positive!
Last night my roomie and I decided to cast off the emotional baggage and celebrate my regained mobility with swanky clothes and scene-y bars. And obscene amounts of alcohol.
We headed out early, about 10, and took a cab to STK where we enjoyed a few rounds of white orchid martinis and roomie gave some old dude who claimed to own the UCB building a fake number. After he called her out for supposedly having a 212 area code and trying to call her to check, it was time to leave.
Next stop on the tour was supposed to be some club beneath STK called taneigire or something lame that I'm not cool enough to have heard of before or remember now, but as we walked by I announced that everyone in line was sort of ugly and I didn't want to go there. Yes, I really did that. I am classy.
By this point the cobble stoned streets of the meat packing district were extra-cobbley if you couldn't tell by my previous comment, and we couldn't get a flipping cab. We just couldn't. So I flagged down the next cab I saw with a cute boy and knocked on the window.
"Hey, where are you going? Can we share your cab?" I asked ever so politely.
"Oy, I am from Denmark and have silly hair. I am going to midtown, where are you going?" he replied.
"Soho, you should just come with us," I said as I got in the cab.
"Ok, I'll make out with your roommate a lot." And he did.
When we get to anchor, our general bar of choice, I got separated from roomie and Denmark boy by the mass of people
and my being easily distracted by cute boys handing out free booze. So I'm assuming we were all just dancing, having a good time, because the rest of the night's events are sort of fuzzy and neither of us told the other when we left. Of course she came home and I didn't. I had a sleepover with a friend in Murray Hill and she went back to Sunnyside.
So this morning on my way home I call her about three or four times because I was STARVING and I figured I could just meet up with her at Style for the HIV roundup. She begrudgingly meets me there, both of us still slightly intoxicated, cloaked in dirty clothes and sunglasses, ready to eat our bodies weight in deliciousness. And generally converse about how we are the most fun ever (that is true).
And then she pulls out the note that I want to marry. I would do it. I would marry an inanimate object. I am so in love with it. In case you can't read backwards:
Dear Kelly's Roommate,
I had/have an early appointment with my parents so i had to go... I tried to wake your drunk, slutty ass up but I couldn't so instead I tore off the top of chocolate brownie box and wrote you this letter... If you have recovered from puking all over me last night, I will buy you a drink before leaving for Copenhagen ...
xoxo, Denmark guy
ps. you're body is bangin!
Love. Seriously. I am in love with that note. And the fact that she puked all over him. Last night was a classy, classy good time all around.
