"Loves It or Hates It: Vacay-shs It" or "Tommy Bahama Mama"

"LIOHI and Dropping the Bomb" or "He Blinded Me with Science...tology"

"Mail Sack Vlog: Part Two" or "Vegans: More trouble than they're worth?"

"Wow, that Navid's girlfriend is such a skank" or "WHAT THE HELL AM I WATCHING??" by Nicole

I think I might like bad TV.

I'm seeing the alternatives flash before me on the cable guide.

Bones. The Biggest Loser. The Office. Ace of Cakes.

As I sit there, scraping the inside of a greek yogurt container (maybe with my finger - whatever) I marvel at all the options that lie before me. Some nominated for Emmys and Golden Globes. Some, even winners.

Who is my winner? Friggin' 90210 The New Class. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm not even invested in these characters - I've missed like 30 episodes! I don't even like their names! Silver? Who's named Silver? (Yes I know, it's her last name. Don't interrupt.)

The story is ludicrous and the acting is - ooooooooh - I wonder where she got that top...

And there it is. The clothes. I watch these stupid goddamn shows because the clothes are cute. I am officially shallow.

But hey, at least I'm self aware.

Gucci, Chanel, Louboutin, that's how they get us! That's how 90210 and Melrose Place and The City and those damn Kardashians trick us into watching their stupid shows. I know it! They're manipulators, all of them!

But not Gossip Girl. That show is brilliant.

Hot Ass of the Week - Maybelline Line Stiletto: by Nicole

It's a proven fact that women (and trannies) tend to indulge in beauty products more when financial times suck the bag.

Never one to ignore a bonafide statistic (I also eat in front of the television and lose weight after a break-up), I brought my remaining eight dollars into my local Walgreens to continue my search for the perfect black liquid eyeliner.

Up 'til now, the search has been fruitless. Not that I haven't tried!

Almay - Too watery.
Physicians Formula - Dries out.
Yves Saint Laurent - I'd rather have the cash.

Due to a recent praise-fest in Lucky (choruses of angels heard in the background), I decided to give Maybelline's queerly-named Line Stiletto a try.

First impression - I like the packaging. Small enough to bring into the bathroom without the rest of the bar thinking you're going in to change your tampon. The price was pretty deec - only seven bucks and change. Pennies compared to that Physicians Formula trash that I'm now using to de-scuff my black leather shoes.

The moment of truth - THE APPLICATION. Smooth. Bump-free. And the COLOR! This stuff goes on blacker than Tyra Banks during a commercial break.

OOOH, child, I am in LOVE!

Somehow it appears shiny on your lid. Not "The Situation" shiny, but good shiny, you know? Like a black patent Loub. MMMMM....Loubs......

Anyhoo. Definitely worth the money and definitely worthy of HAOTW.


Enjoy, trannies!

"How to Dress Your Age" or "My Size Barbie Needs a Better Wig" by Tregg

In case you didn't watch VH1 Diva's Live (shame on you!), here is the dress Kim Zolciak wore that I discuss in the vlog below.

Enjoy and discuss.

"Dear T-Mobile" or "Diary of a Mad Black Texter" by Nicole

I took a big step this year.

A heavy texter from the get-go, I'd spent years doing it the old-fashioned way. Every time I got a new phone, the first thing I would do was go to Message Settings > Language > T-9 Prediction > OFF.

When I got my new slider phone this past December, I figured it was a good time to venture into the unknown. Sure, it was scary, it was unfamiliar, and I had no idea if it would be a success. But I did know this - my thumbs were fucking killing me.

I left my Samsung's settings alone and created my very first "T-9 Prediction ON" text.

It's been seven months now, and I'm glad I made the change. Texts take less time, and my rings fit again, which is great. The only qualm I have, really, with prediction is that, well - it's kind of a moron.

Every two texts I have to enter a word into my phone's lexicon that it doesn't know. It's starting to get annoying. Alas, that's the price you pay for convenience.

That said, here is my plea - if there are any LIOHI readers who happen to work for the T-Mobes, here's a list of words I use often that I implore you to add into the T-9 Prediction-ary.

exfoliant
facebook
Dunkin'
pissing
OMG
cankles
serio-comedy
slutty
bitches
slutty bitches
hot ass
makeup
FML
boob
fucking
frigging
shitting
pinot grigio



Thank you.

"Whose thong is this?" or "How to be an amazing ex-girlfriend without really trying" - by Nicole

There are few things in life I know I do very well, but besides mentioning the obvious things, like spelling, make-up application, and accessorizing, (not like that's all of them - come on, people, who do you think you're dealing with?) I can without hesitation say this - I am an amazing ex-girlfriend.

You'd be surprised how easy it is to be an AEG, and yet, so many ladies habitually get it wrong. Sure, break ups suck - whether you're the breaker or the breakee, it's just not a good time. Fret not, readers. LIOHI is here to help. Here's a step-by-step guide to mastering the art of getting lost.

1. Get Lost.
Do not (I repeat - DO NOT) remain Facebook, Myspace, or Twitter (gay) friends until the storm has passed. The last thing you want is to be tempted to check up on your ex - or their current relationship status. You're not going to see anything that you want to see, so lay off their page altogether. Save yourself the anxiety and delete, delete, delete. You can add them again later when you're really over it and/or dating a Swedish ski instructor (Sven, can you hear me?)

2. Leave Nothing Behind.
Ok, yes, it's miz to have to go over to his pad and pick up your Lady Gaga CD...wait. That's a bad example. No self-respecting LIOHI reader would leave The Fame at a bf's house. The point is - you will miss your CD/copy of The Secret/Pilates DVD and you DO want it back. Go get it! You do not want to have to think about him cuddled up on his futon with some slut watching YOUR season three of Family Guy! And while you're at it, return his Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. You never wanted that trash anyway.

3. Get Really Hot.
I bet you think #3 is all about revenge on your ex. It's not. This one is all about you. Go to the gym. Go for long walks. Stop eating. Whatever you need to do to KNOW that you are the hottest thing walking this apocolyptic-age earth, you do it! And if you happen to bump into him at Rite Aid while you're buying your twelfth Diet Coke of the day, so be it. While he walks away kicking himself, you will know that the rumble in your flat-as-shit stomach means one thing - victory.

4. No Trash Talking.
I know it's hard, people, but this one is key. The more you go around spewing venom to people, the greater the chances that it will get back to your ex AND you will look like a Bitter Betty (or Bobby). Let's play it classy, shall we? The truth is, your ex did you a favor. You don't want to be with anoyne who doesn't want to be with you. Move on. Talk nice. Stop eating. You know the rules. You'll feel much more fabulous post-breakup if you keep all your hostility inside. To quote one of my favorite movies - "Feeling are like treasures, so bury them"...and stop eating.

5. Get. Lost.
This rule bears repeating. I mean it. You're not doing yourself any favors by being visible to your ex. And while I'm on the topic - delete their cell info too. This includes any pics of them in your phone. Seriously, why torture yourself? You'll need that memory space anyway so that you can take pictures of your ribs poking out of your vest.

I hope this how-to guide has been helpful. To keep these secrets to myself would be doing a disservice to my fellow man, woman...that sort of thing.

So be brave, love yourself, and know that there is someone out there as hot-ass as you who is just waiting to be all up in your business.

And hey - eat something. You're looking a little too Lindsay Lohan circa right now.

"You Can Tell Jesus The Bitch Is Back" or "HOT ASS of the Week: Weeds Season 5 Premiere" by Tregg

Don't get all crazy on me, bloggers.  I know the headline is a quote from Gossip Girl, but I feel it's semi-appropriate regardless.  

I LOVE this show.  I watched the first season via Showtime On Demand back in 2006 and didn't quite love it.  But I stumbled upon Season 3 and then ordered Showtime for Season 4 and was hooked.  Thanks to getting Season 2 on DVD for Christmas, I have successfully devoured every episode.  And much like a pothead, I am craving a new season like a big old cupcake.  Or something else that people who smoke a lot of marijuana like to eat while high.

I'm treading in unfamiliar territory here, people.  Sorry.

I know it is a gross oversimplification to say Weeds is about pot, but I still find it noteworthy that I love a show so much and hate marijuana so much.  

I was watching the Season 4 finale just a few minutes ago for the second time, and there were two scenes that basically highlighted why Mary-Louise Parker is a goddess.

The first scene is when she's taking a bath and Andy knocks on the door.  She doesn't flinch that she's topless even though he's got a huge chub for her.  Then she dangles her sex in front of him asking him to fill up the tub with bubbles for her so she can tell him all the trouble she's in.

I have to remember that trick.

The second is when she's ordering Silas a gift basket from her OnStar system at what appears to be 11:00pm, so I can't imagine why some place is open.

"'Dear Silas, If I never see you again, I've been murdered'...Don't write that.  'Dear Silas'..."

Not that I needed a reminder, but seeing that episode made me increasingly happy to see a new season start tomorrow night.  The dreadful abyss that is the television landscape will be dramatically rescued for at least the next few months.  Would it kill Showtime to have 22 episode seasons?  I'm sure everyone that works on the should wouldn't mind the extra money.

Sick Ass of the Week: "The O.C" by Nicole

As in: Oh, SEE how ugly this dress is?

This reminds me of my mom's old Chadwick's Catalogs. There was always that one dress: Long sleeves, four panel skirt, twelve colors, twenty sizes, zero style.

I wonder is Misch opted for the 5 day freight or overnight shipping...

"A Sequins of Events" by Nicole

While perusing my closet this morning, in an attempt to find something sensible to wear on this rainy workday, I started to think about how our clothes reflect our lives.

Take my closet for instance - if a casual, non-objective observer were to look through my wardrobe, I am certain the picture they formed in their head of the wearer wouldn't look at all like me. In fact, it would probably resemble someone like this:

Sadly, I am not Lady Gaga. My life doesn't resemble hers at all. I have a full time desk job, and my nights are spent either at the gym, watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians reuruns, or thrift shopping (most recent score - a $5 vintage Dior jacket...thanks, you guys!).

So why, you ask, do I own a sequin bolero? I don't know.

The leather pants? Can't help ya.

Lace gloves? Patent leggings? Fur capelet? ...Who the hell knows.

It may be that, in my head, I yearn for Gaga's beautiful-dirty-rich lifestyle - or at least I want to dress like I do.

All I know is that, when it comes to my closet, Gaga would loves it and PETA would hates it....and maybe that's enough for now.

...Oh, give me a break, it's vintage. The animal would be dead by now, anyway.*

*Disclaimer: when it comes to animal cruelty...we hates it. No furry little bitches were harmed in the writing of this blog.

This Line is Trash: "(House of) Dereon" by Nicole

**Sigh** As if the clearance racks at Marshall's weren't crowded enough...Beyonce and her Beyond-Sane mother, Tina Knowles, just keep churning out their sick-ass designs like there's no tomorrow.

The tagline they've chosen for HOD (Hates of Dereon) is "From the Catwalk to the Sidewalk". I guess "From the Catwalk to the Sidewalk...to Ross Dress for Less to The Back of Your Closet to Goodwill to the Ass of a Homeless Crack Whore" was too long.

And, just in case you were worried your daughter would make it to Junior High with her virginity intact: There's a girls line!

...If Bennifer were back together I'd swear the Apocalypse was upon us.

Loves it: A Chanel Brag

Texts From Last Night TOTALLY used our text!

(323): Do you think an esthetician would be willing to wax the Chanel Cs into my crotch? That way, whenever a guy gets ready to pound on it I can go "Careful, it's Chanel."

Here's the original context:

nicole: Do you think an esthetician would be willing/able wax the Chanel Cs into my crotch?

tregg: oh em gee. that would be so hot ass

nicole: right?

tregg: i'll try to do it tonight on myself and get back to you

nicole: So, everytime a guy gets ready to pound on it i can say "Careful, it's Chanel."

tregg: bahahahaha ok, i'll do the Louis logo then

nicole: hahahaha

tregg3: so we're distinguishable from each other

...Thanks, you guys!

http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/

Loves it - "When ELLE freezes over", by Nicole

Hi. I'm Nicole. And I'm a fashion magazine addict.

"Hi, Nicole."

It started, innocently enough, back in the 90s, with a subscription my Nana purchased for me as a way of helping me with my "sell a bunch of magazines and get a 5 pound Hershey Bar" school fundraiser.

The now defunct Sassy Magazine turned out to be my gateweay drug into a world of glossy materialism. Others followed. Seventeen. YM. Teen. Teen Prom. Your Prom. Your Teen Prom. ...I was hooked.

My addiction has been a significant presence in my life for 15 years. Some loathe it, some enable it, few understand it. I loves it.

But, lately, with the economy floundering along with impulse shopping and careless spending, I've really been trying to turn over a new leaf.

"One a month. One magazine a month is all I **gulp** need."

After all, at $3.99 a whack (even more for the spring and fall issues!), that gloss don't come cheap.

So, with a wallet free of funds and a heart full of determination, I wandered into Barnes & Noble to begin a new tradition: I would pick up every new fashion mag in the joint, grab a comfy chair, and thumb through each until I had found my one monthly purchase.

Then it happened. Usually one of the most annoying occurances known to (wo)man, and certainly THE most annoying when you're trying to read a magazine on the elliptical machine; one of those god-damned cardboard subscription thingies fell onto the floor.

"%$#&#*$^#$@&!!!!!!."

I picked it up and, while I moved to annoyedly shove it back into it's appropriate spot, I read:

"LOWEST PRICES EVER. THIS OFFER WILL NOT BE REPEATED. TWO YEARS (THAT'S 24 MONTHS) OF MARIE CLAIRE FOR $10!"

This couldn't be real. This had to be one of those hallucinations that people have when they're crossing the desert on a mule or something. I investigated further.

"SUBSCRIBE TO ELLE NOW. GET 12 ISSUES FOR $10! THAT'S 80% OFF THE COVER PRICE!"

"GLAMOUR AND LUCKY! ONE FULL YEAR OF BOTH FOR ONLY $15. NICOLE, IF YOU DON'T FILL OUT THIS CARD RIGHT NOW AND TOSS IT INTO THE MAIL YOU ARE A RETARD!"

The universe was clearly sending me a message. I had spent the last 15 years shelling out...let's see...an average of three mags a month times roughly $4 each times twelve months equals...A SHITLOAD OF MONEY! ($144 - gross.)

I am happy to say that I will never again purchase a magazine at the newsstand price...well, not counting those People Style Watch special editions...those things are hot ass. Instead, I am making a huge step for myself, and maybe one for womankind. I am now the proud owner/recipient of four subscriptions totaling only $35. That's about equal to the cost of 8.5 checkout-line issues!

Instead of hates-ing on my past glossy financial blunders, I decided to move forward, think positively, and continue to act like a responsible, almost mid-twenties recessionista and put the rest of the money that I would have spent this year into my savings account.

How hot ass is that?

"MySpace: A Place for Hates it" by Nicole

OK, to be clear, I don't know this chick. I just Google Imaged "MySpace Whore" and her picture happened to be among the first 10 results. And, to boot, it's hilarious. Win-Win.

Ah, MySpace. Where do I begin? Now, be aware, this is not going to be the commonly seen "I'm a Facebook convert so now MySpace can suck it" blog. This has nothing to do with Facebook. It has to do with the fact that MySpace has gone from a social networking tool to a social network for tools. Somehow, the lines got blurred and it is now THE source for hooking up with virtual strangers.

MySpace: A Place for Pussy.

I've pulled out. No pun intended. I'm almost mid-twenties, I can't be associated with these cyber sluts and the men who love to catch the clap from them. I mean, co-authoring a controversial and all-around offensive public blog is one thing, but THIS....it's too much.

So, alas, you won't find this face on the 'Space.

But, not to worry. I can still be reached for hookups via text.

We Kill Us

We can't lie. We crack ourselves up. We've also taken to writing down the hilarious things we say.

...Is that shallow? Enjoy.

Tregg: "I saw these hot ass boots somewhere - I forget where - and I was like "I bet Spoo would fucking loves it."

Nicole: "Hot ass."

Tregg: Yeah, they were black leather with these straps up to the ankle and a peep toe and the straps were velcro, and they were, like, grey or something."

Nicole: "Wait...the ones I blogged about?"

Tregg: "...Oh, THAT'S where I saw them."

Nicole: "You fucking idiot."

Tregg: "Do you think it's ok if we bought the Jonas Brothers CD?"

Nicole: "That depends. How old are we?"

Tregg: "Almost mid-twenties."

Nicole: "...No."

::AIM at Work::

Nicole: "Ugh. 12 mins til I take my break. What can we do for 12 minutes?"

Tregg: "Hmm...........what song can we replace the word "hates" in a lot and type it back and forth to each other?"

Tregg: "Elliott told me cottage cheese helps your muscles not to deteriorate if you eat it before you go to bed."

Nicole: "Loves it. ...Wait. Who the fuck is Elliot?"

Tregg: "So, "Piece of Me" is nominated for a VMA."

Nicole: "What?!"

Tregg: "I know. That video was trash."

::outside Tregg's apartment to pick him up::

Nicole: "Hey, we're outside."

Tregg: "Ok, I'll be right down. Are you guys bringing real clothes or just your bathing suits?"

Nicole: "Well I have a cardigan and a little skirt on over mine, and Matj is wearing a polo and his ugly board shorts. ...Oh, I gotta go, he's giving me a look."

Tregg: "Have you seen the Disturbia video?"

Nicole: "No. Is it hot ass or sick ass?"

Tregg: "It's hot ass in a sick ass way."

(After watching an Elephant paint a self-portrait on YouTube)

Tregg: "How does he know what he looks like?"

Nicole: "He's around other elephants, you retard!"

Tregg: "Oh my God. Forget I said that."

Nicole: "Hey, that guy's is cute."

Tregg: "Yeah. We hooked up a few times. He has this amazing place in Sunset Plaza."

Nicole: "Hot ASS!"

Tregg: "Yeah. I'd fuck him for the real estate alone."

Nicole: "Ugh, Spoo, I totally pigged on ice cream last night."

Tregg: "Spooey! That's not on the Hills Duff Diet Plan!"

Nicole: "Whatever! I was exasperated. ...It was exasper-eating."

Tregg: "Yay, PUNS!!"

Nicole: "Look at us! We should make babies."

Tregg: "But we both hate kids."

Nicole: "...oh."

::Morning after a party during which Tregg vomited::

Nicole: "How you feeling today, Spoo?

Tregg: "Like a million bucks, actually."

Nicole: "You are so lucky you puked up those chips we ate."

Tregg: "I know, right?!"

Nicole: "Jealous."

They tried to make me say "I hates it", I said "No, no, no!" by Nicole

While Tregg is drunk-tanning in Cancun this week, I thought I'd come up with a fabulous gimmicky blog post to pass the time. After much debates-ing and a little hates-ing, here's what I came up with: Announcing....

The first Ever...

LIOHI Fantasy Rehab Draft!!!!!!!!

Basically, it's just like Fantasy Baseball except with drugs and booze.

Here are my personal picks (step off, bitches) for 2009:

1. Lindsay Lohan

You know how it goes. The skinnier you are, the lower your tolerance for alcohol. And...crack. She'll be beligerent at The Ivy in no time.

2. Samantha Ronson

Because those two do EVERYTHING together.

3. Lily Allen

Most recently, Miss Allen went bat-shit crazy on a photog who accidentally bumped her car, causing her to spill her drink. See you at Promises.

What are YOUR picks for this year's draft?

"A Tale of Two Hickeys" by Tregg

Wanna take a trip down memory lane with me?

For some reason, this story always sticks in my head, and lately I felt it would make for an entertaining post.  I hope you agree.

Picture it:  Springfield, OH, November 2004.

I had recently been talking to a guy who will remain nameless.  Not to protect the innocent, but to not give this horrendous individual more attention than he deserves.  Long story short, this tale does not ultimately end well, but within the confines of the time period this story will retell, it is a pleasant experience.  

I invited this certain individual over one evening to see a play on campus with me.  We had a good time, and he ended up spending the night.  This was our first time doing anything together more than going to a bar or having dinner, so it was a fun evening.  The night was very innocent, let the record show, but as I saw him off the next day, he noticed there was a hickey on my neck.

He said,  "What's that on your neck?"  in a tone that clearly indicated he knew I didn't burn myself with a curling iron or trip and fall on a vacuum hose. 

Playfully, I replied, "Oh, I don't know..." and kind of smiled at him.  He gave me a semi-confused look back and got in his car and drove away.

A few days go by and we are talking on the phone, and I tell him that I had fun the night he stayed over.  He sounded kind of unsettled, and replied, "Honestly, I was kind of upset that morning when I left?"  I asked him why he would be upset, seeing as how I thought he had a good time.  He replied:

"Well, you had a hickey on your neck."

"Yeah, that was from you."

"....oh, it was?  I didn't realize I gave you one.   Really?  Wow, that's embarrassing, sorry"

He thought that I had someone else over and got a hickey from them in a recent enough amount of time that it wouldn't have faded by the time I invited him to stay over?  I'm not sure what the technical definition of slutty is, but I'm sure that would qualify for at least one of its meanings.  And I'll have you know, I am no slut.

I've always enjoyed thinking about that.  Imagining him driving home thinking even though our new "relationship" or sorts had just started and wasn't exclusive, that I would be promiscuous enough to have multiple people to choose from that could give me hickeys.  Who even gives hickeys these days anyway?

Later on in the week, I was changing after dance class and our male instructor whom I always assumed loved it walked past me and said:

"I see that thing on your neck, you bad boy."

"I, uhm....it's razor burn...?"

"Because your kiss is on my list - and it's also the SICK ASS of the Week." By Nicole

Picture, if you will, this scenario:

A lovely spring evening in 2003. You and Dude* (* = name has been changed to protect the hates its) end a great date by rolling around in his double bed. The fun of the evening is only made better by the fact that Dude happens to be a great kisser. Thank God. The next day you wake up with swollen lips and a swollen sense of accomplishment.

Fast forward a few years...you and Dude stage a catch-up at a local bar. You end the date by (sort of) rolling around in his car. The fun of the evening is...wait. Hang on a damn minute. What the hell is he doing? Why is my chin wet? Could it be??? Dude has become -

A BAD KISSER!!!!!!!!!

Has this shit ever happened to you?? I don't understand it but I've seen it at least three whole times. Time does not matter. I've seen the shift occur over a span of two months and up to two years. It's like these guys take some How-to-Become-a-Horrible-Kisser Master Class while we're away. Is there a tutorial? Does Sally Struthers hock the courses in commercials between back episodes of This Old House?

What the eff is going on?!?

I don't know, but I personally HATES IT. If you're gonna be a good kisser you'd better keep that shit up. You can't just all of a sudden decide to let your tongue flap around all wills-nills. Seriously. That would be like Carrie Bradshaw opting to echew the Manolos and start shopping at Fayva.

Sick ASS.

"I don't want my pubes on Facebook." by Tregg

I do love me some Facebook.  All of my friends are on it, and a good chunk of the boring parts of my day are filled by viewing new status messages and pictures that my friends post.  I like uploading pictures of my friends and me, too.  But I am going to draw the line:

I don't want my pubes on Facebook.

I've seen a trend where people, mostly those in Los Angeles, are posting modeling pictures of themselves online.  I totally get that.  They are generally sexy, well-styled, and photoshopped pictures.  Hell, I've thrown one up there myself from a company photo shoot I did for a work Christmas card last year.  It was fairly well received.  Thanks, you guys!

And while Facebook has implemented some screens to prohibit nudity from showing up on their site, but there seems to be one loophole that is being wildly exploited willingly by the Facebook users:  pubes.

That's right folks, pubes are running rampant on my Facebook, and I'm no prude, but I'd rather not have my porn so close to my Scrabble.  I know it probably says more about the company I keep, or the random photo albums I end up viewing because someone is in my vast Los Angeles network.  But who wants everyone to see them barely dressed and exposing their pubic hair?  At least have some class like this picture of the Black Crowes album, Amorica and detach your head from the pictures.  Otherwise, they may come to bite you in the ass when you run for president or Paris Hilton's My New BFF 2