So 2007 and I are totally breaking up but we are so hip that I don't even mind if 2007 hits on my friends

(Tara Reid was nice enough to send me a picture of her ringing in 2008 taken with her future camera. Pledge this, indeed!)

Peace out, 2007. You kind of sucked but not as bad as your evil twin, 2006. I'm glad that asshole is dead.

My top 4 sports memories of 2007:

1. Watching the Mavs get eliminated in the first round of the playoffs by the Golden State Warriors and wondering why God could cure sick kids who will probably just grow up to vote straight-ticket Republican but couldn't cut the Mavs a break.

2. Reading this interview with Jeremy Shockey and suddenly craving Pancho's and a Miller High Life. No, I will never be able to defend or justify my Jeremy Shockey crush but as Dr. John (per Patton Oswalt) once said, "Some days an alligator is driving a car and some days you're wearing a hat made out of meat." Ok?

3. Little Known Sports Fact: Dirk Nowitzki and Steve Nash used to spoon and eat pistachio gelato while watching Dumb and Dumber when they were both Mavs. Nash still pines for those days.

4. Jerry Jones securing Tony Romo's ability to buy $67.5 million worth of Jager bombs and morning-after cab fare.


My Top 5 Movies of 2007:

1. The King of Kong
2. No Country for Old Men
3. 3:10 to Yuma
4. Superbad
5. Anything that wasn't Juno

My Top 3 Ill-Advised Travel Destinations of 2007:

1. London, England. Last time I was there, the Pope died. This time that little girl got kidnapped. I will not be returning to London any time soon. Next time I feel like paying $8 for a beer I will just go to a sporting event. Ta.

2. Norman, Oklahoma. If you live in Norman, you just aren't trying hard enough. You are lazier than me which is saying a whole lot.

3. Austin, Texas. I have a new rule. I will only go to Austin if someone is paying me to go there. You keep Austin weird, I am going over here to wash my clothes with something other than Dr. Bronner's. If you are unlucky enough to have a job that requires you to attend SXSW in 2008 like I do, remember one thing: as my friend Teyah once said, "Austin is one of those towns where you should always wear two pairs of underwear the whole time you are there."

Top 20 Artists I Didn't Care About of 2007:

1. Lilly Allen
2. Jens Lenkman
3. Radiohead
4. Mika
5. Fiest
6. Artic Monkeys
7. Iron and Wine
8. Blonde Redhead
9. The Liars
10. Deerhoof
11. Bright Eyes
12. M.I.A. (also the winner of "Amanda's Least Favorite Musical Artist of the Past Five Years" award by a landslide)
13. Okkervil River
14. Peter, Bjorn, and John
15. !!!
16. The White Stripes
17. Scissor Sisters
18. The Shins
19. Interpol
20. Justice

Top 3 Cars I Desperately Want of 2007:

1. 1957 Black Ford Thunderbird with Continental kit

2. 1973 White Corvette 350CI V8 with red interior

3. 1983 Mercedes Diesel 300D



And with that, I will now take a nap under my desk for an hour while Tina Yothers acts as my lookout/body double. Auld Lame Syne.

If you were thinking about seeing the indie film Juno and/or joining Facebook

Might I suggest that you instead pay three syphilis-ridden prostitutes to whip you with rusty razor wire while playing Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music on repeat in the background? Trust me, it will be a lot more enjoyable.

I am in no way qualified to offer movie critiques but just like any chimp that has had a three hour internet training course, I will offer my thoughts on the cinematic innards trail that is Juno.

Let's start with the Kimya Dawson soundtrack. That's right, she's the less listenable half of the Moldy Peaches. I can handle one song. Maybe. The entire movie? Nope, no thanks.

But the dialog of the entire movie leaves me begging for more Kimya Dawson to drown out the verbal diarrhea of hip indie culture hipster references. It's like Pitchfork became a person and then wrote a screenplay. STOP TALKING ABOUT SONIC YOUTH. PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT THE MELVINS. PLEASE DON'T MENTION IGGY AND THE STOOGES ANYMORE. PLEASE LEAVE DARIO ARGENTO OUT OF THIS.

I like those things. I don't need to be hit in the face with them. And speaking of being hit in the face with them, that's what this movie is. It's Facebook: The Movie! I refuse to use Facebook because I don't want to be poked, super poked, made to answer trivia questions, be given a dancing avatar of my favorite cast member from Ghostbusters or be reminded that today is Canadian Penny Collectors Day! Juno's kind of the same way. Hey, you like jokes about fuddy duddy parents who wear sweater vests and collect pictures of dogs? I got you some good stuff over here. What about the sheer hilarity of the image of a pasty legged gawky teenage boy in running shorts? Does that make you laugh? Well, buckle up Edda Mae because you're gonna get a dozen chances to giggle. Does someone talking on a novelty phone that is maybe shaped like some type of food or any other wacky object send you into convulsions of laughter? Better take your meds before the movie starts then. Are you still 15 and get really excited when people mention the name of a band that you like that you genuinely believe are obscure and speak to your teenage soul? Better see this movie before you realize that lots of other people know about that band too.

Movies work mostly because the audience sympathizes or roots for the central character if even in a minor way. Even No Country For Old Men somehow makes you dig a maniacal killer if only for his hairstyle and choice of footwear. But no character in recent memory has annoyed me as much as the title character in Juno. She's so spunky, anti-authoritarian and intelligent that she can use such big words and have such widely varying interests. However, all it takes for her to run screaming from an abortion clinic is the vague thought that her fetus may have fingernails. I know the word "abortion" must not be spoken nor dealt with in movies and to Juno's credit, it's the hippest pro-life film I have seen in ages! I sure do hope American Apparel makes onesies.

All in all, this movie was slightly better when it was called Ghost World and didn't involve teen pregnancy. I still love Michael Cera all the same though.

A letter to an old school chum...

(Blonde Ambition available in a super special direct-to-DVD release this month!)

Now, I know that it's hackish and cheap to say that Jessica Simpson "cursed" the Cowboys yesterday. I know that every media outlet has already make enough cracks about the fact that Jessica Simpson was at the Cowboys-Eagles game. But I don't care. It's one dead horse I could beat all day.

Dear Jessica Simpson,


Hey there! Gee, it seems like so long since we went to school together. Man, remember how you used to talk incessantly about your Christian pop album during theater and choir practice? Crazy days, good times.

So Jess, I see that you are dating Tony Romo now. That's pretty cool. You guys seem like a match made in Abercrombie Outlet store heaven. Some people are saying that you should not be at the Cowboys games. Now, I think that's silly. What they may not know is that you were actually at the Green Bay game two weeks ago when you watched Tones triumph over his childhood idol. The Michelob Ultras must have tasted that much better in the hot tub that night! If I was dating the starting quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys, I would totally go to the games. I've never been lucky enough to go to a Cowboys game in person. At Mavs games they drop Chili's coupons so I totally understand how fun going to professional sporting events can be.

Now, I would hope that you are intelligent enough to understand that as a celebrity you will attract the attention of both media and fans. In which case, it would behoove you (and your beau and his team) to conduct yourself with at least a modicum of decorum. And I don't mean that in a "Stand By Your Man"/a woman's place is in the home/barefoot and pregnant sort of way. I mean that you should UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES display your pink #9 jersey by repeatedly standing up and shimming and convulsing with your mouth agape like you are waiting for the Adderal to kick in before trying to earn a set of beads. Because by doing so, you give everyone an easy target.

I guess once you realized that Tones was playing like the third string quarterback/aspiring semi-pro golfer that he started as, you decided to go sit in a box. Good move. It indicates that you are at least as wise as American Idol alum Carrie Underwood who retreated from the sidelines to the boxes this time last year to watch Tones choke against the Eagles. In the box, you joined the ranks of other box-occupiers such as Avery Johnson who was bending Jerry Jones ear with advice. Now, let's rule out that Avery was giving Jerry any advice about success in sports. Unless Jerry wants to know how to psych out an entire city with teases of greatness followed by catastrophic collapses, I am going to assume you guys were talking about your favorite Papa John's toppings. I go with Canadian Bacon, onions and green peppers myself.

So in conclusion, I guess I just expected slightly more class out of you. I mean here you are, JESSICA SIMPSON! That's right, the Jessica Simpson who is not only the spokesperson for her own line of hair weaves and extensions BUT ALSO a line of vanilla and cotton candy flavored edible body mousse. The Jessica Simpson whose movie career peaked in the role of Daisy Duke! The Jessica Simpson that couldn't comprehend basic things such as brand names of common canned food items! I guess being friends with Eva "Hey Ya'll, I totally gotz my Sidekick done in Swarovski crystals that are Spurs colors and that spell out Tony's number and I will prove it by holding it up prominently when the camera cuts to me at Spurs games!" Longoria probably doesn't help.

Well, it's about time for my morning trip to the vending machine for a Diet Coke. I hope this letter finds you well and that in the future at any Cowboys games you attend, you will sit the fuck down and not dress or act like a sports-crazed tranny who just gobbled up a bottle of Phen-Fen.

LYLAS!
Amanda

The Mavericks? You mean the country band?

They're pretty good. Stan Lynch from the Heartbreakers produced an album for them back in the 90's. What's that you say? There's a basketball team that also shares that name? Hmmmmm, are they any good? I have no idea what you are talking about.

The Dallas Mavericks are making me so disappointed and sad that the only thing that will cheer me up is to share my 2007 Favorite Kreepie Kats with all of you. You're welcome!





Where it all started.



"You kids ever seen the bottom of a lawnmower? It's wild!"




Still want to be a writer?



The reason I will never watch any Peanuts cartoon holiday specials.



If I had a nickel for every time I told someone to "grow some ovaries" I wouldn't be eating a packet of peanuts I got for free at the Mavs game on Saturday.

(Kreepie Kats Kourtesy of Gawker )

I NEED TO KNOW WHERE I AM SUPPOSED TO GO TO TURN IN MY INDIE CARD? I DON'T WANT IT ANYMORE. NO REALLY, I AM DONE WITH IT. YOU CAN HAVE IT.

I want to start this off with a humorous anecdote. I originally met Steve Nash when he used to come to the art house theater that I worked at back in 2003. He was always super cool and I always made sure to NOT say anything to him that would out myself as a super nerd fan. Then one day while waiting for seating to begin for his movie, he was perusing the selection of DVDs and soundtracks that we sold in conjunction with whatever hip art films we were showing at the time. I asked him if he needed any help and that's when Steve Nash and I had our first conversation. It went like this:

Steve Nash: "Ummmm, well, ummmmmmm, do you like indie rock?"
Me: "Sure"
Steve Nash: "Cool"

Which lead to further conversations and eventually me getting Steve Nash into some of his beloved indie rock shows. Because Steve Nash is so nice and Canadian that he thought he needed MY help to get into shows and didn't realize that just saying "I'm Steve Nash" was more than sufficient.

But Nash is in Phoenix now and I have reached a decision which was cemented with the publication of this absurdity:

Stereogum Goes all BOP! Magazine

I'm done with indie rock. It's too precious. And my hair is too fine and thin to be cut into layers with bangs. Not to mention that while I'd love to be a wise and wholesome brunette, I am unfortunately naturally a whorish and superficial blonde. Have you ever tried to buy a shirt at American Apparel if you are a 34DD? I just wasn't built for this fey little indie rock world. Irony gets really confusing to me because I don't understand if I am supposed to claim that I like bands that I don't really like to prove that I don't care what people think of my musical taste. Or am I supposed to hate bands that other people like me enjoy to prove that I am ahead of the curve? It's all too confusing. And since I don't like to put a lot of thought into ANYTHING in my life, I am peace-ing out on indie rock. I can't keep my !!!s and my Girl Talks separate from my Iron & Wines and Band(s) of Horses.

I am going to listen to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and sports talk radio and just hope for the best. See you indie rock kids on the other side. Call me or drop me a line when boobs don't scare you anymore.

Please Allow Me to Explain

From time to time, I am forced to explain my dislike of baseball. Usually I don't like to talk to humans for too long so I offer one of the following explanations:

1. I live in Dallas and the Texas Rangers are a horrible awful team
2. I played shortstop on a girl's softball team for three years during which I never did anything remotely interesting
3. The Rangers
4. I was the stat girl for the basketball and football teams in school so I actually vaguely grasp the rules of those sports
5. The Rangers

But there's more to the story. I will now regale you with the tale of the day I realized I don't like baseball.

The year was 1993. My Dad had recently separated from his third wife. He decided to have a daddy-daughter bonding day. He told me he was taking me to Atlanta for a big day of fun. We would go to my personal Mecca, The World of Coca-Cola. We started the tour at the top floor and slowly wound our way down 100 years of soda history. Finally, we got to the bottom floor where my 12 year old brain exploded upon learning that the tour would end with me being given the opportunity to literally drink my own body weight in soda. If I had to guess, I would say I probably drank approximately 278 liters of soda within a 30 minute time span. Once I drank enough soda to make myself physically ill, my Dad sprung the big surprise on me. We were going to see a Braves game! Well, he told this to me in segments between my frequent trips to the bathroom and the two times we had to stop so I could throw up the high fructose corn syrup that was coursing through my body on the streets of downtown Atlanta.

By the time we got to the stadium, the majority of the soda and bubbles and syrup has escaped from my body. But left behind was the caffeine and paranoia that comes with such a large and sudden dose of a stimulant. Imagine taking a 12 year old with a small bladder and a meth problem to see some MLB action. Thanks Dad!

As we walked into the stadium I realized there was a HUGE statue of Ty Cobb directly in front of me. Not a good sign. Once inside the stadium, I convinced my Dad that I should commemorate my first professional baseball game with a commemorative cup filled with Atlanta's own Coca-Cola. As the game started and the sun went down, I realized that when someone hits a pop fly ball it is nearly impossible to see when your vision is shaky due to a severe caffeine overdose. So I opted to hold my commemorative Braves cup over my head to prevent the inevitable skull crushing injury that I decided was my fate.

That's when I turned around and noticed the then Mrs. David Justice sitting in a box right behind our seats. As I was a HUGE fan of the recently released Flintstones movie, this Halle Berry sighting was particularly exciting. I informed my Dad that a real life movie star named Halle Berry was sitting behind us! It was at this point that I figured out that my Dad had gone beverage for beverage with me only he decided to forgo soda in favor of ice cold beers. Unfortunately, my hunch was confirmed when my Dad stood up and starting waving his arms in the air and screaming "HOLLY LOOK AT US! HOLLY OVER HERE! HOLLY WHY ARE YOU IGNORING US? HOLLY'S A BITCH! HOLLY, YOU'RE NOT A VERY GOOD ACTRESS! HEY EVERYBODY IT'S HOLLY! SAY HI TO HOLLY!" Which Halle Berry seemed to not appreciate. Weird.

So as our entire section rushed to take pictures of Halle "Holly" Berry and I once again began cowering in my seat in a fetal position with my commemorative cup perched protectively on my head, my Dad decided it was time to call it a night. As we walked back to our hotel at the CNN Center, I realized that I would probably never be able to untangle the thought of baseball and the feeling of having just drank 398,264 sodas from being eternally intertwined in my mind.

That was the first and last baseball game I have been to. The sight of a baseball game on TV makes me feel like I just came down with Crohn's disease.

But I will probably still just cite the Rangers when people ask me why I don't like baseball.

Text Messages Sent During Yesterday's Cowboys v. Lions Game

I swear I will be done mentioning my birthday after this. The only reason why I bring it up now is because all my Jason Witten-ing that I usually do lead more than one person to predict that Witten would score a touchdown to commemorate my birth.

Here's a redacted transcript of text messages sent to me during yesterday's game. All names have been changed to protect the innocent:

12:10pm from "Delbert" - Are the Lions trying to scare us with those fugly jerseys?

12:43pm from "Delbert" - We might have to knock the Lions out one by one.

12:55pm from "Delbert" - Roy Williams defended a pass, even if he did have to cheat!


1:10pm from "Aa Dude" - Did Grampa (Wade Phillips) just come out of the bathroom with the newspaper in his hand?

1:27pm from "Delbert" - Obviously, Witten will be catching a TD pass for your birthday in the second half

2:43pm from "Aa Dude" - Peepaw (Wade Phillips) figured out football again!

2:56pm from "Delbert" - No way Witten's going out like that on your birthday!

3:08pm from "Delbert" - YES! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

3:08pm from "Aa Dude" - I will suck Witten's dick

3:10pm from "Jorsh" - Happy Birthday! Love, Tony

3:17pm from "Delbert" - GO FUCKING COWBOYS!!!! NFC EAST CHAMPS!!!!!


11:12pm from "Thomas Jefferson" - How 'bout them Cowboys!

11:18pm from "Thomas Jefferson" - You should write a sitcom about how sunny Romo is and call it "That's Our Tones"

11:22pm from "Thomas Jefferson" - Let's go get a cherry phosphate and catch a nickel moving picture!

Now I am just waiting to hear Kitna bitch about the two pass interference calls that weren't made or how the Cowboys moved the goal post two feet to the left right before the snap on that Lions missed field goal. So John, when you said you guaranteed 10 wins this season did you forget to include a margin of error? Always remember to give yourself some wiggle room.

YOU Go Live in Utah's Special "YOU Go Beat Utah" Edition A/K/A Mavs Game Professional Seat Filler For Hire

(Photo Courtesy of Me; Blurriness Courtesy of Blackberry Curve)

I spent my last night as a 26 year old winning free tacos at the American Airlines Center. I didn't even think that Carlos Boozer knew it was my birthday but apparently he did and decided to give me an early birthday present by getting himself fouled out of the game. Then Josh Howard was all "well, I guess that means I have to get her something too" so he went ahead and scored 47 points by himself. Did I mention that I think Matt Harping is a total tool? Stackhouse had himself a nice little hot streak of three pointers in the second half. And if any Utah players missed their free throws in the second half, I would like to think that it was my offsetting brick waving that spooked them. Or the fact that we were sitting behind a pack of particularly hyperactive Hasidic teenage Mavericks fans. When the sun goes down on Saturday nights, those guys LOVE to stand up.

So Saturday night's game reaffirmed my shaky faith in the Mavs and reminded me that they might still at least TRY to win some regular season games. I would also like to point out that my record in the past year for games attended with earned tacos is 3-0. When I go to games at the AAC, the Mavs not only win but they win AND score at least 100. So I would like to offer my services as a good luck charm to the Mavs. In return for complimentary seats at all home games, I will guarantee all games I attend will end with the Mavs winning and scoring more than 100.

The damning evidence that I am one year older and probably not any wiser:


It all started out so civilized. Marjorie even ordered up a big tall glass of milk


Just being silly after drinking too much Dr. Thunder out of our shared thermos


I'm auditioning to be the next Pat Summerall/chimp


Josh's hands got shaky from all the caffeine in that Dr. Thunder


Not pictured: Mark Followil openly staring at a cop's ass directly behind us


The moment in the evening where we all started working a little blue


The moment where Josh replaced one of his eyes with a wolf's eye to distract everyone from his rampant man-orexia


The part where it starts to get sloppy and unprofessional


The picture no one knew was being taken


The part where Josh starts talking about his "goose" being "cooked"


The part where TJ and I try to look presentable


The end.

Re: My earlier statement regarding the Dallas Mavericks and regular season games

Very early into this season, I said that I wasn't that concerned about the Mavs winning a massive amount of regular season games because it is the post-season that I really care about. I guess I forgot to mention that I was assuming that the Mavs could handle winning at least 50% percent of their games. I never really conceived that the Mavs would be 12-8 at this point in the season. I never wrapped my head around the Mavs being third in their division behind San Antonio/New Orleans/Oklahoma City/Witchita Falls Hornets.

If you would have asked me on Wednesday night what component of the Mavs frustrated me most, I would have probably said "Dirk No-hit-ski" without hesitation. However, I have never thought it was fair to place all the blame on one player. And if Dirk can score 32 as he did last night and the Mavs still allow the Nuggets to sodomize them so violently on the court, this is not a Dirk issue. Where's any semblance of defense? What is going on? Is this really how you're gonna let this season turn out?

Here's my idea: Encourage Mark Cuban to buy the Chicago Cubs and subsequently sell the Mavs to Jerry Jones. Then teach Tony Romo, Terrell Owens, Jason Witten, Julius Jones, Marion Barber and Patrick Crayton to play basketball. Then rename the team the Dallas Basketball Cowboys. Everyone wins!

I hope they have stepladders over at Azteca America.

I work down the hall from the Azteca America television studios. In general they are decent neighbors. Except for one employee. I will call him Rico Suave. He wears a very tight doo rag, exceptionally baggy pants, constantly walks around holding a Swisha Sweet in one hand and is paid to troll the halls. See, I use the word "troll" because he is approximately 5 foot 5 inches tall. Which is fine except that he seems to think he is actually a menacing gangster type. In his mind, he cuts an intimidating figure. Which is simply not true. He makes me laugh when he does things like block the elevator door while talking loudly into his cell phone about how he is "livin' like Scarface" in the "214" etc.

But today he really made me laugh. As I was leaving the dark and drafty snack machine area, he requested that I (or as he refers to me: "little mama") "holla" at my "boy" before then becoming enraged at my ambivalence towards the notion of holla-ing. And by enraged, I mean that he informed me that "that's aight, you missing out and you know it". Here's the problem with that entire line of logic. I stand approximately 5 foot 7 in bare feet and flirt with 5 foot 9 in heels. I decided to turn around and walk towards him to ask him if I really was missing out. By the time I was close enough for him to realize that I could use his head as a convenient place to set my Diet Coke I had just purchased, he excused himself with a surprisingly meek:

"Nahhhh, I'm just playing. We cool"

We cool indeed.

I Don't Like Mondays

There's this.

But wait, there's more!

God, I hate when people take my picture when I am just trying to get out of my chauffeur driven black Denali pulling up to Teddy's in Hollywood on a Saturday night!

Number three huh?

THE FUCKING HORNETS?

As the spawn of two Georgia alumni and proud wearer of a 1982 Bulldogs Sugar Bowl tshirt, I think the BCS system is officially confusing and stupid and made for people who also enjoy the logic and science behind Magic 8 balls and scratch off lottery tickets.

Ok, you can either choose to be successful but curvy and deal with fuckery like this

Or you can drop that weight and be successful and happy! God, she has kept that weight off and looks great. Oh yeah and by the way, Anna Wintour considers her a fashion icon.

But fear not, there are some things in the world that aren't soul crushing:


A casserole of democracy, oil, socialism and totalitarianism I guess sort of works.

Scratch that, here is rock solid proof that democracy works!