The 2006 Bitter Bitch Wrap-Up

Before I get to the year-end wrap-up, I should mention that we will be playing New Year's Eve at Dada in Delray Beach with our favorite undead band (since Wild Orchid broke up) "Zombies Organize!". No cover, don't miss it, blah, blah, blah, yerass.

Ah, 2006. Where do I begin? Let's start with the blatantly obvious:

1. Fergie released a solo album that officially marked the death of pop music.

I can't really think of anything more notable than that, unless you want me to really dig deep and come up with some stuff about the "War on Terror", but I don't think you really want that sort of thing from me. I wouldn't want to ruin your image of me sitting on top of a stack of Star magazines while eating an entire box of Fudge Grahams and fretting about my nail polish and wondering where it all went wrong for Mickey Rourke's face.

Seriously - have you seen him the past couple of years? He looks like Tori Spelling but without "The Thing"'s jawline. Which reminds me, I'm sure you must already know that she's knocked up, seeing as the four horses of the apocalypse are hanging out in front of her OB/GYN's office. She actually makes my London Bridge want to go UP.

Maggie

The 2006 Bitter Bitch Wrap-Up

Before I get to the year-end wrap-up, I should mention that we will be playing New Year's Eve at Dada in Delray Beach with our favorite undead band (since Wild Orchid broke up) "Zombies Organize!". No cover, don't miss it, blah, blah, blah, yerass.

Ah, 2006. Where do I begin? Let's start with the blatantly obvious:

1. Fergie released a solo album that officially marked the death of pop music.

I can't really think of anything more notable than that, unless you want me to really dig deep and come up with some stuff about the "War on Terror", but I don't think you really want that sort of thing from me. I wouldn't want to ruin your image of me sitting on top of a stack of Star magazines while eating an entire box of Fudge Grahams and fretting about my nail polish and wondering where it all went wrong for Mickey Rourke's face.

Seriously - have you seen him the past couple of years? He looks like Tori Spelling but without "The Thing"'s jawline. Which reminds me, I'm sure you must already know that she's knocked up, seeing as the four horses of the apocalypse are hanging out in front of her OB/GYN's office. She actually makes my London Bridge want to go UP.

Maggie

Jiggle Bells

The odds are pretty slim that you've been good enough to warrant a visit from Santa this year, so you might as well go down in flames.

The Rock 'n Roll Christmas Party is happening this Saturday, December 23rd, at The Culture Room in Ft. Lauderdale. Doors open at 9pm, lineup is as follows:

Kill Miss Pretty
The Freakin' Hott
The Livid Kittens
Dyslexic Postcards

Tickets are available for $5 through Ticketmaster or $7 at the door the night of the show. I will not be wearing one of those stripper Santa bras, I will however be wearing Jack Frost's disposition, if you're into that sort of thing. If not, I'm sure Wilkins will let you partake in his "nog" to help you get in the holiday spirit. By the way, he's renamed his pants "The Holiday Spirit", so you've been forewarned.

Eww.

And before you ask, I will be honoring the traditional mistletoe code, so long as I know who you are, you smell fairly clean, and I find you attractive. Merry Freakin' Christmas. ;)

Maggie

Advertising or Gynecology?

I was originally just going to post this to tell you about the show we have coming up this Friday night at 9pm at Respectable's in downtown West Palm Beach with Wilderness of Tekoa and Mike Dunn and The Kings of New England, but then I realized I had a couple of other things to get off of my heavily-externally-fortified chest. Man, I feel like a woman. Shut up.

There's a special time in every young woman's life when she has to make choices for herself, and live with the repercussions of her choices, as a real live grown-up-type person. I've recently been struggling with such a situation myself, which has led to a mental tug-of-war with regard to my career - if this whole "music" or "bacon conoissour" thing doesn't work out - of course. Here are my choices:

Advertising is an non-stop thrill ride of pressure, failure, cow-towing to the wealthy and ignorant, and selling yourself (and humanity) out in order to pay for that lease you got duped into at the Hummer dealership when that lady cut in line in front of you and your kid at the playground. Get your girl on? Get your girl on, indeed, my friend...all the way to your coke dealer/babysitter/numerologist/Lindsay Lohan.

Gynecology, on the other hand, is a non-stop thrill ride of vaginas with problems.

You can see why I'm so conflicted, but a few minutes ago, the clouds parted and the rays of sunlight shone down on the perfect solution, not surprisingly, in this week's National Enquirer. I can't tell you how many times that publication has saved me a headache or two, not to mention that time it raced into that burning building and carried me to warm, strong arms of that guy who played the biker with the eye patch in the bar scene in Pee Wee's Big Adventure.

That being said, I'm going to go into business selling ad space on Britney Spears's vagina. I'm going to call them "Vagin-ads". I figure it combines both of my fall-back career choices, and might even help me to overcome my fascination with Paris Hilton's penis.

Thank you for being a friend...National Enquirer.

Maggie