Self-Lobotomy: In three easy to master steps!

So I've been hyping up the Scissor Sisters concert all damn week, only to show up at the Blue Bird and have the tickets SOLD OUT (Soul Doubt) with a snotty little message at the bottom of the flier reading, "Next time, buy your tickets in advance online!"

Grrrr...

I attempted to find a creative way to sneak into the venue. I even contemplated flashing my drivers lisence to the doorman in a hurried fuss, pretending to be running all late for the show...because the opener was named Sammy Jo, and that is my name, exactly.

Yeah... I thot about it... too bad my balls haven't dropped just yet.

I can still look forward to Snow Patrol on Friday... and i'm telling you now...
please, please PLEASE, if you are going, buy your friggen tickets in advance.

Also... i really don't know where the nite went --- it's 4:31 in the a.m. and i'm rockin the Lisa Loeb glasses, because my it's like a my eyes taking a nice break from straining... (i couldn't think of a good anology).

I finally have a job at the new Elephant Bar at Bel Mar off of Wadsworth. That could be fun, though i'm still going to fight to NOT wear pleated pants. ewwwwww.

I bought this book at the beginning of the summer, and whipped it out tonight just for fun. I haven't laughed so hard at a book in a long time...

"This Book Will change Your Life"
"Is the year ahead looking much the same as the last? Another 365-day grind of meetings, dinner dates, and not-to-forget birthdays? If so, try this book. Part instruction manual, part therapy, part religious cult, part sheer anarchy. This book will help you poke a stick in the spokes of your routine and make every day of the next year the first day of your new life..."

For Example...

Plus, Jonus Jansson, random boy of the book, has committed himself to actually following the book every day, and he, like all the rest of us lovely journalists, has a BLOG, updated daily...

Check it out at your local bookstore: Barnes and Noble, Tattered Cover, or even buy it online (for SUPER cheap).

The Rachel Weisz Experiment

This... is Rachel Weisz:

Ahhhh! Behold the sound of a chorus of angels singing in the background. She's a hottie. Classic Beautiful. If you have seen any of the following movies, i'm sure you are familiar (and perhaps, even with movie-star crush):

The Shape of Things
The Mummy
About a Boy
Confidence
Runaway Jury

On my flight back to school from Spring Break, I picked up the April issue of Esquire, dawning Miss Weisz on the cover for my Best Friend who is madly in love with her.

He picked me up in Phoenix in my car, which i let him use because he doesn't exactly take the greatest care for his Astro Safari Mini Van (ahahahahahhaha). So on the car ride up, I read the article aloud as he drove up the mountain to Flag. We both laughed wicked hard.

I"m not sure if it's as good as i remember it, but it is very cleverly written, as David Katz was able to be witty, put himself in the story without being obnoxious and get his point across.

SO, boys and girls, here is your read for today:
The Rachel Weisz Experimentby David Katz Apr 01 '04
Does a hot car get her in a tizzy (even if it's a rental)? Does a mix CD make her swoon? Does she prefer poetry or light bondage? Using the alleged wisdom about women from this very issue of Esquire, our intrepid reporter tries to get into the heart, mind, and bedroom of a beautiful movie star.
________________________________________
So I told the reservation lady at Avis that I was going on a date with a beautiful actress and that I needed a car that would help me seduce her. Perhaps I should have been more specific. I'm not exactly sure which actress the rental lady was guessing I was trying to impress (Tara Reid?), but I was now pulling into Rachel Weisz's driveway in a cherry-red Oldsmobile Alero. True, it does have one of those rear air spoilers. But would that be enough to lure a famous actress into its rather cramped backseat? I had doubts.

Despite what my friends and anyone who hears my outgoing message might be led to believe, this date did not come about after Rachel admiringly slipped me her digits at Jamba Juice. Esquire was the matchmaker. And like an overbearing grandmother, the magazine seemed to actually believe that if I just followed its advice, I could get this stylish, smart thirty-two-year-old British woman, this star of The Mummy and About a Boy , to fall for me. Or maybe my editor just wanted to see me horribly humiliated. In any case, I was given an advance copy of "187 Things You Don't Know About Women" (page 98) and positively assured that I would have no trouble securing Rachel's heart, mind, and body as long as I stuck to such diligently researched nuggets of wisdom as Trite but true: Chicks dig hot cars and Calluses, yes. Manicures, no . I decided to ignore. The world would be a much better place if more men wore eyeliner à la Johnny Depp in "Pirates of the Caribbean." There's only so much a man will do for his job.

When I pick up Ms. Weisz (pronounced "Vice"), I introduce myself, though, truth be told, we actually met a few years back, when I had fourth-row seats to the New York stage production of Neil LaBute's The Shape of Things . I made what I thought was some excellent eye contact with her. Still, it seems she can't place me. In the play, she starred as Evelyn, an alluringly sadistic art student who seduces and then eviscerates a hapless Paul Rudd. Since then, she's portrayed similarly intense, ambitious women ( Confidence, Runaway Jury ) whose common characteristic is that they eat men for breakfast. This does not put me at ease.

I nervously hand her a bouquet of monochromatic tulips (as recommended by Esquire).

"Oh, flowers. For me? Are you serious?" she says, clearly a bit startled.

I am, she tells me, the first non-Japanese journalist to ever present her with a gift. I turn her attention to the tulips themselves.

"Just lovely," she declares. And she seems to genuinely appreciate them, though I do keep in mind that she's an actress. And a good one.

I lead her to my cherry-red Olds. If ever there were an opportunity for serious mocking, this would be it. Worse, she's no stranger to cool cars: In London, she owned a seventies Jaguar Sovereign. "I like a car with some muscle because I like driving fast," she says. "I've been told I drive like a man. I suppose that sounds quite sexist, doesn't it? Do you think women are good drivers?"

"Uh, well." So far, the guidebook has been doing okay, so I heed its advice here: Never question how we drive .

"Some of my best friends are female drivers," I tell her.

"This car has a kind of coolness," she says.

"Really?" I say.

"Yes, well, a kind of inverted coolness . . ."

Inverted coolness . I had to push it.

I drive to the restaurant and drop Rachel off at the curb. As I start to turn into the lot, I realize—shit!—this isn't the place. It appears to be some sort of funeral home. I downgrade my expectations for the evening from wild sex to the avoidance of litigation. Rachel gets back in the car and smiles the whole thing off. Still, I need to recover. So, again following the edicts, I bust out a mix CD I've made her.

As instructed, I did not include Journey. Instead, I tried to combine my own tastes with what I knew about her past: She was born and raised in London in the seventies (I threw on the Who and the Buzzcocks); her parents divorced when she was a teenager (the Smiths), at which point she rebelled (Wire); she later went to Cambridge (Billy Bragg), majored in English lit (Pavement), and founded a theater company (Neutral Milk Hotel). And, of course, I threw in a little Jay-Z—because when in doubt, that's what you do.

"It's a really beautiful gift," she says. I assume she's referring to the sentiment, not the shiny disc itself. "Your intuition was very good. I love Billy Bragg. I love Sleater-Kinney; I think they are just amazing. And the Smiths are probably one of my favorite bands of all time." Morrissey again gets the girl.

"Neutral Milk Hotel? Hmm , I think Paul Rudd introduced me to them. He's really into music. He would bring his guitar and sing backstage every night."

"Wasn't that annoying?" I ask.

"Not at all. You and him would really get on."

Now, in "187 Things You Don't Know About Women," it states: If a woman says you would get along with her boyfriend, that means she wants to sleep with you . Nowhere, however, does it explain what it means when a girl compares you to Paul Rudd. I'm not sure what to think.

We arrive at L'Orangerie, a gilded French restaurant so aggressively romantic, it looks like the Hollywood set of a gilded French restaurant. It has huge murals of châteaus and a flower arrangement the size of my New York apartment. Or as Rachel puts it, "It's incredibly posh." We are guided to a candlelit table.

So far, Rachel hasn't emasculated me. In fact, she's been incredibly gracious. So where'd all these bitch roles come from? "It just kind of happened," she says. "In Envy [a new movie with Jack Black and Ben Stiller that comes out this month], I play someone very light and dizzy and sweet, and I really would like to do it again.

Playing tough is a real stretch for me, but somehow I've been cast as all these tough American girls."

And what does she think of us strapping American guys?

"American men are certainly more direct than British men." Okay, point taken. "Here, there's much less ritual to get through, much less bizarre courtship. We actually don't date in England. You go out with a guy, and you never know whether it's a date or not. Also, I think American men listen better than English men."

Listen. A good suggestion. I listen intently as she goes through the menu. Seeing that she's an actress, I'm sure she'll request at least one tofu substitution. I'm wrong. "I've been craving red meat today," she says, though in the end we decide to share the buttery sole for two. This ordering chemistry has me giddy.

Under normal circumstances, Rachel and I would slowly proceed to learn each other's hopes, fears, and dreams in a trickle of first-date small talk. But the fact is, I've only got a few hours to seduce the lady, so we're gonna need to accelerate the sharing. I whip out a copy of Esquire's survey of American women, which asks the tough (but critical) questions. They're a bit crass for a first date, yes, but I'll just blame my editor.

Me: If there were no men, would you still wear a bra?
Rachel: Yes. It's more comfortable, especially if you have to run for a bus or something. In London, it seems like you're always running for the bus.
Me: Under what circumstances would you flash your breasts for the camera? The choices are: if you just felt like it, if you were drunk, if you were drunk at Mardi Gras, or if you got points on the back end.
Rachel: I guess if it were any, it would be Mardi Gras. I love the South.
Me: Not in a movie?
Rachel: Well, I have once, in Stealing Beauty . Change subject.
Me: From one to ten, rate your level of interest in a little light bondage.
Rachel: I'm not gonna tell you that.
Me: Okay, but can I remind you that you did pose naked with a live snake this weekend? The most common answer was a ten.
Rachel: Okay, well, that's a fair answer.
Me: Do you find male genitalia attractive?
Rachel: Yes, it's beautiful.
Me: In which state?
Rachel: Both. I'm a big fan.
Me: Good answer. Are you more likely to check out the bodies of other men or women?
Rachel: Women.

A relief.

After all, this is a woman who has worked with some of the best-looking leading men in Hollywood: Jude Law, both Fiennes brothers, and the annoyingly irresistible John Cusack. As much as I want to know whom I'm up against, I don't necessarily want to cast myself in such attractive shadows. So I bring up Dustin Hoffman, whom she's worked with in both Confidence and Runaway Jury .

"It's amazing that someone of his caliber seems to care as much as he did when he was eighteen," she says. "It's a really attractive quality to be around. I had this scene with him in Confidence , and he just came up and, totally unscripted, touched my breast. It was great."

Wait, is this some kind of a subtle invitation? But' I shake off the thought; improvisational groping only flies if you've got Oscars. I stick to feeling out the competition: Is she still close with any of her former costars?

"I'm friendly with several, especially Jude," she says, "but I tend to be closer with the directors."

Now, for those of us who, aesthetically at least, skew more toward Peter Jackson than Jude Law, this seems like good news. Unfortunately, I have a feeling she's alluding to her closeness with one director in particular: Darren Aronofsky, the director of Pi and Requiem for a Dream .

Yes, she tells me, they're still together and have been for about three years. It's a significant obstacle. But at least I know she digs Jewish men.

I'm left no choice but to try to buy her affections with some of the gifts Esquire has provided me. The first one she unwraps is a Pucci scarf.

"That's so chic. I think women really like to be given things that they see in the store and admire but would never buy for themselves. Things that are beautiful but totally unnecessary."

I tell her I've also written her a poem.

"Really, did you? Oh, that's very, uh . . . did you really?"

I hand her a card with my verse. Unlike the CD or the flowers or the Pucci scarf, however, this gesture appears to alarm her.

She reads the lines: "When He created you lying in bed / He knew what He was doing / He was drunk and He was high / And He created the mountains and the sea and fire / At the same time."

All Rachel can say is, "You've got very unorthodox handwriting." Not a big success. Maybe it'd be better if I fess up: I didn't actually write the poem; it's Bukowski.

"Oh," she says. "I just read Hollywood , his book about the making of Barfly . Mickey Rourke, now there's a guy with charisma."

Mickey Rourke? Now I'm confused. What kind of man does she like? Harley-riding, chipmunk-cheeked movie stars or anxious writers? I hope that my next gift will sway her toward the latter. Unfortunately, someone at Esquire has some seriously freaky taste. Instead of the chocolates or watch or any of the other romantic gifts included in the gift guide, Rachel is now holding one Magic Cone, a paper device that claims to allow women to pee standing up. Desperate, I try to sell her on it: "Uh, I think it's disposable."

"It's kind of like having a penis for a bit, isn't it?" she says, which somehow sounds good when she says it. " Hmm , I wouldn't necessarily recommend this one as a first-date gift, though."

Fair enough. I've only one gift left, and she starts to unwrap it. As soon as she glimpses what's underneath the paper, she stops short and lets out a gasp. An actual gasp.

"Oh my gosh, the blue Tiffany's box!"

I can't help wondering if it isn't a bit tired.

"We can never tire of the blue box," she explains.

I warn her not to get too excited; it's not like a ring or a plane or anything, just a bottle of perfume. "It doesn't matter if it's a forty-dollar key chain," she says. "Let me explain: My mother is this insanely gracious gift receiver, and whenever she opens a gift every gift she says, 'Oh, just the wrapping would have been enough! Just the ribbon, just the bow alone!' Now, that's dramatic. But in the case of the blue box, it's true ."


I seem to be riding high, and since we've just finished up dessert, I risk it all with a final question from Esquire.

True or false: You are more likely to have adventurous sex after receiving a gift of jewelry.

"False."

"Okay, what about after receiving a fragrance from Tiffany's?"

"Sorry."

She may not be superficial, but I'm not giving up yet. Let's say a dolly had collapsed on Darren, taking him out of the picture. Would I enhanced by "187 Things You Don't Know About Women" have landed her in the sack?

"First I've got to listen to your mix," she says. "But probably."

Heartened, I go in for the goodnight kiss. I get two of them, one on either cheek, closer to the lips than the ears.

Thirsty Tonsil

My right tonsil is enraged! I've drank a ridiculous amount of water to try and appease it, and yet...'it' still wants more. It's not so much a swelling redness...more like there is a giant, gaping hole, accompanied by that fun white infectionee stuff you can see if you hold down your tongue with a popcicle stick and shine a flashlight down the back of your throat...

"I am jack's angry tonsil."

Maybe it's angry because i'm reffering to it in human form...

I've been feeling kind of shmucky since about... Wednesday. Stomach problems, this wierd migraine thing (only on the right side of my head) and a fleeting feeling that I may pass out any moment. Now we have the Lone Tonsil giving me the three finger snap all day long. What's up with thaaaattt? Maybe it's the "I need a job" sickness.

I did get the writing job for the destination weddings co... so I'll be doing all of the company's writing for three different websites. It's super flowery, but it will give me lots of research opportunities on Europe so that when i actually get to go someday, I can enjoy it ten-fold.

With all that's been going on within the last week, I'm actually very suprised that i'm still going right now. I"m getting really good at letting everyone deal with their own problems instead of swooping in all super-hero style to save the day, but I still have a tendency to take on other people's feelings (not on purpose), and it's pretty exhausting. I need to start wearing my heart somewhere else besides my sleeve.

However, there have been some really cool people that I have been lucky to spend time with as of late and I am mucho greatful for that, so muchos gracias, thank you very much. Tonight was another whole crying debacle, and I really think i may have to cut the chord on something... uuurggggghhhhhh.

I'm really not... well... I really am this emotional. hahaha. But holy mahoses... i'm thinking karma, or the official of "Sami's life" is going to end up throwing me some really kick-ass ventures in the immeadiate future.

I hope all of you are so lucky, as well.
Best, *B-L-A-C-K S-A-M-MATH

*sing it to Saturday nite... a saturday nite -- oh - you have to clap, too :)*

T- i - double Gah - RRR!!!!

That is my somewhat catostrophic phrase for what has just ensued over the past four and a half hours.

I still have a whole 500 words to write on shtuff to do in Rome (not like it's hard to research on the internet) and instead of pursuing said task at hand... i have been sucked in to an evil, EVIL vortex!

And so, to you... i suggest this very helpful hint:
Never, EVER rent Sex and The City dvds and say you'll watch only one or two episodes. EVER.

Not only was i sucked into one disc, but two, at a shocking eight episodes! Naughty. I thought that it was a short season, and ended on 12, as so many other things come in dozens... eggs, the days of christmas, steps to recovery. But noooo... apparently there are another four episodes i've missed out there, and OFCOURSE, you know i will be picking them up at blockbuster tomorrow. Maybe I need one of those 12 step programs.

I also need this picture hosting bizizzle to work... because there needs to be a nice break in between all of this text...

What do YOU want to be when you grow up?

I practice the art of idealism.

I constantly have my head up in the clouds... although i am a very logic-based person as well. I love science, math. I loved trigonometry class.
I am totally monica geller in the house-cleaning department. In fact...when i can't control certain aspects of my life (relationships, annoyance with certain people, close-call with death of a family member), i clean. Last year, I almost lost my brother to pneumonia after back surgery. Because I was in Arizona and my mom was hugely under-telling me details of how bad he was really doing back in South Dakota, I went on an all night organization binge.

I color coded all of my shirts, pants, undershirts, bras, underwear, purses, scarfs. When that was finished, i went through every drawer in the kitchen; organized all of the tupperware and dishes. Then the car... the trash...i probably would have cleaned my roomates room had i gotten an invitation... you get the point.**

Wait... was was i saying? OH yeah--- idealism.

So upon having to work on this Rome thing... i was thinking of dream jobs... i always say Editor for Rolling Stone, but i don't know for sure if that's my ultimate... So... a la High Fidelity, my top five dream jobs (as of September 16, 2:54am AND in no particular order):

1. Actor on SNL
2. David Letterman/Leno/Elen DeGeneres job. Hello! Witty journalism... you write some quick quips... have semi-celebrity-ism and get to meet and interview cool peeps all the time... all while being a nite owl. SWEET.
3. Journalist for top magazine... let's say --- In Style... Travel writer... they pay me to write articles on spas/resorts... and also pay compensation for me to travel and stay in said places for free. This would be cool as a single girl or with boy in tow... maybe they'd bump me up to a honeymoon suite... Any takers? heehee
4. Serious A&R rep... manager... big head honcho in the music industry- or semi-well known as musical genious... may be heading that way soon, as my sister-in-law has asked me to join her in starting up a booking agency.
5. Author/Mom - I want to write a book. Have it be wildly famous -- move to England, get a flat - a sexy barrister husband whom i buy pin-stripe suits for, he buys me shexy lingerie, and then we have cute little babies together... yeah.

Now... i'd really appreciate for those skeptics out there to not totally shoot down my dreams... cause although the logical part of me (head) knows that this could be difficult... maybe impossible... i really think that it could be doable with hard work and drive. And my heart says go for it, so why not? When your head, heart and gut all are in line... you know it's gotta be right.

So if there were no limitations... time weren't an issue, nor money -- what would you be?

**hint to all those of you who know me. it's an extremelyem> rare accurance, but if i start obbsessively putting things in their place in the surrounding environment... evacuate. Evacuate as soon ... as... possible.

Somewhere Only We Know...

I attended the Keane concert last evening at the Gothic Theater off of Broadway. Wierd, because my cousin's cousin, whom i've known since about the age of 4) lives here in Denver, and i haven't been able to get ahold/find him really (haven't really tried). I found these two open stools up on the balcony, and walked up to the boys next to them to see if they were free, and walah! There he is. VERY COOL, very random, and totally a testament that fate works itself out that way if you just let it be. I think he may hit up the Scissor Sisters concert with me on Monday Night. I can't wait for that.

"Laura...can't you give me some time?
i've got to give myself one more chance
to be the man that i know i am.
to be the man that i know i am."

Keane was awesome. The lead singer is a total ham (love it) and the piano player has to have some kind of chiropractic appointment today after watching him jam out last nite. Who knew there could be such an addictive, pleasant sound from just a drum set, piano/computer/synthesizer mix and some vocals. The song before their single, "Somewhere Only We know," was said to be their most personal and heart-breaking... i think it is #11 off of "Hopes and Fears" - Bedshaped. It was, indeed, impactful on my heart. Plus, the sound system was so loud/supreme, that i actually felt the music... and it felt really good.

Attending this concert also made me realize that i must move to England asap, get myself a vespa, and a brittish musician boyfriend. I know the music boys are flakey, but god love 'em. They carry themselves so sexily, with meshed up bed head, blazers and worn-in bluejeans. Then there's this added trend that makes no sense, but they're exuding this confidence that just screams "i don't give a flying fuck what you think'" and my god, it does a number on my libido.

Tall, lanky musician men. Rawr.Rawr. Rawr. Rawr. Rawr!

Besides...i've always really been meant for the UK i think... i fell in love long ago.

"Oh Simple thing... where have you gone? I'm getting older but it's something to rely on.
So tell me when... you're gonna let me in. I'm getting tired and i need somewhere to begin."

Check out Keane's cd - Hopes and Fears... yum.

Also... i got asked last nite if i was "in love with love." odd question... but i think i might just...be. :)

I am such a colorful person. hahaha. Also, I have a job *i think* down at Rock Bottom on 16th Street. Wahoo. JOB! :-) So... if you're in the Denver area, you come in and ask for Sami and tip me hugely. hahaha. I need a nap. i got no sleep last nite. yae. sleep. then some work on my wedding article thing...

"Things to do in Rome..."
eateries, architecture, museums, churches. Anyone have any imput? leave it.

thanks loves!, simsamia

One more thing... (girl gone wild)

I just pulled my clean sheets out of the dryer, got naked and am sittin all wrapped up in the warmness. OLE! I'll try to get a picture up soon. pshyahahaha. 0:-)