Internationally Smokin'!

A couple days ago, a friend of mine hooked it up and got me advanced screening tickets to see The International.




At first, I had no idea what my friend was talking about. He said, "I got you tickets to see The International," and I was like, The Inter-who's that now? Is this a foreign film?

Nope. Turns out, it's a movie starring my husband Clive Owen. The trailer made it seem like it was kind of, maybe, a little bit alright. Look, I'm just going to shoot you straight here: it looked awful. Like it had a serious Bourne Identity complex. But, it has Clive Owen and it's important to support your fake celebrity spouses in whatever endeavors they take on. Otherwise they'll leave you for "real women" who don't "stalk their houses" at "all hours".*

Here is my official take on the movie: it blew. I don't really even know what it was about. Something about banks and missiles and the Israeli government. I can't be totally sure because I was distracted by this the entire time:





You guys, I don't think there was one scene where he didn't have dirt on his face. Not. One. And it was glorious. The movie takes place internationally (I totally didn't see that coming!) at all these gorgeous places. I suppose the reasoning for this was to advance the so-called story, but all I kept thinking was, "I would do Clive Owen in Milan. I would also do Clive Owen in Istanbul, and Paris, and, good god yes in New York." I'm pretty sure that's what the filmmakers would have wanted me to think.

So, to sum up, if you're interested in well-crafted and thought out storytelling, don't see this. Don't even see the movie playing in the room next to this. It's that bad.

But if you're going specifically for ogling purposes, you won't be disappointed.


*Allegedly, of course.

I'd tap that like Riverdance

The other night I went out with some friends to a bar and we got to playing a little game. I don't know the official, clever name, but for all intents and purposes it was who would you date, do and marry. We wracked our brains (not an easy task after consuming cheap beer) thinking of the best celebrties to date, marry and get freaky with. After much internal debate, my three finalists were these guys:

Do- Ben Foster


Date- John Krasinski


Marry- Duh



My date and marry options generally went unopposed. But there has been some issue with my do, the gorgeous and, I imagine, completely edible Ben Foster. Take another scroll back up there. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Done? Yeah, he's stunning. Really, really, ridiculously good looking. I have been given shit about loving my he-mistress Ben. I get why people may sneer; he is dirty in everything he has ever been in. In some things, I would go so far as to describe his characters as, er, crusty. But he looks good all the while! ALL THE WHILE I SAY.

Thus, to all my nay-sayers, eat it. I don't care what you say. I've had my share of weird, celebrity crushes that don't make sense but Mr. Foster is not one of them.

Who is, you ask?

Jason Lee

Yes, the Jason Lee from My Name is Earl. I don't know what it is, but I see him with the mustache and southern accent and I'm hooked on whatever he's saying. Another reason I probably should never visit the south. Or date anyone with a van.


Jason Segal

Now, I'm not saying I watched an episode of How I Met Your Mother and thought, "Hey, that guy is kind of cute." I'm also not admitting that I watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall and thought, "Wow, that's quite a soldier you're givin' orders to below the belt." But I will say that if I ever saw Jason Segal walking down the street, I may or may not throw panties. What? They'd be nice panties.


Stephen Colbert

I have this friend who once said she thought Stephen Colbert was cute. I scoffed. I sneered. I said, "You are incorrect, madame," and then pointed to another friend and said, "Check out this one over here who thinks Stephen Colbert is do-able. Square alert!" Well, I came home and I took a long look at myself in the mirror. Then I went to IMDB and did some Colbert searching. And I'll be damned, she has a point.

Let's all be honest, we have all have weird celebrity crushes. Now that I've shared mine, I would like to hear the celebrities who get you all hot and flustered. C'mon, don't be shy. It's only a public forum that anyone could see at anytime.

4 Boys

A quadruple threat of yum just barged into my office. Four young, muscular and very gorgeous guys came to the desk at work to ask for some general information. So not only are they dangerously* handsome, but they're in fatigues. That's right, Army boys. They're joking with each other and calling me ma'am. Where do I sign up? Clothing is optional in the Army, isn't it?

They need to leave a a $100 deposit. The leader, the cute brunette with blue eyes, only has $40. His buddies pull out crumpled wads of greens from their fatigue pockets. Another $30, a $10, $7.

$87. I want to tell them that I'll just take it, but we can't jerk around with the deposit. So one of them pulls out a quarter. Then a dime. Before I know what's happening, they have another $10 in change. They start to pull out pennies and I say, "That's enough, guys. I'll just take what you have. You don't have to keep pulling things out of your pants."

They laugh. "I was this close to selling my skivvies," one of them says. Maybe I should have let them keep going.

As they leave, one of them, Sommers, stops to shake my hand. "Thanks, ma'am."

"Sure," I say. "Have a good one."

Aside from being one man away from a fantasy, those guys were wonderfully refreshing. They looked my age with baby faces. I don't know where they're from or if they're away from their families, but they were enjoying each other and making the best of the situation. A lot of times, people will come in and freak out if they don't have the right amount of cash or we don't have what they're looking for. They blame each other, they blame us, sometimes they just leave without a thank you or even acknowledge us as human beings. Those people leave a sting that stays with me all day.

"Assholes," I'll mutter trying to shake it off, but their shit attitude stays with me. Sometimes at the end of the day it takes all the energy I have left not to drop armfulls of files and just leave. Thanks to the boys in green though, today will not be one of those days. Today will be a day when I can go home and think, "Y'know, today wasn't so bad to get through."

Thanks, beautiful boys in green.

*I say dangerous because it's almost stroke inducing how cute they were. Is it possible to die due to adorable overexposure?

Good one, entire male population

Hey, remember when I said at the end of the last post that I don't understand boys? Guess what-- that still totally holds true an entire day later.

As soon as I decide I'm done with the "boy sitch" and I'm going to move into a convent and hang out with nuns for the rest of my natural born life, the boys come a runnin'. Is there some sort of pheramone I'm giving off? In my head it goes like this:

Me: I'm done! I don't understand boys and I'm moving to the Island of Lesbos. (note: serious, Wikipedia it.)
Boys: Code Lesbos! Everyone swarm her with your adorable boy ways!

You know what, fine. I give up. Mark my words, every male who is not related to me, I don't fucking get you. I'm going to stop trying to understand your crazy ways and just keep on doing whatever it is I'm doing. If you want to date, hang out or whatever with me, I'm going to need a notarized letter, a copy of your birth certificate and at least one real date* before any sort of deal is sealed.

From now on, the only thing I will understand about boys is their love of zombie movies and making out. Everything else I'm going to chalk up to being horribly, horribly lost in translation.


*Note: One real date consists of a period of time where I dress up nice and you try to impress me by being witty, funny, cute, adorable or any combination of the four. It does not include offering to "hook my ride up" with new headlights, trying to get fresh before the check has come or letting me tag along with your friends while you're at a bar.

Slowly turning into Macho Man Savage (on the inside)

I can't decide if I'm having a good day or not. I think I am, maybe, kinda, a little, sort of having an alright, not terrible, eh, fine day. I can't settle on adjectives that I like! I feel like I'm split into two folks: Happy Karina and Turning into The Hulk Inside Karina.

Here are some things that are making Happy Karina so damn chipper:

Friends
I'm just going to put this out there: my friends are bomb. They're amazing, hilarious, fun, ridiculous and all around mother effing awesome. But most of all, they all seem to have this sense where whenever I feel like blarg they happen to show up or call just to see what's goin' on. It also just goes to show that I don't keep crappy, lame, silly or redonk people around in my life. Homie don't play that, which leads me to my next point:

Silly Phrases
I think I get it from my cousin Stephanie, but I will occasionally latch on to a word and say it until I have taken all meaning and coolness out of it. For example, I'm trying to make the word "woof" catch on. I've been trying for a while. Let me set the mood for you. Say you're at the mall/store/eatery and you see a girl dressed something disgusting. It's terrible. She's wearing something horrible like moccasin boots, cutoffs and a bedazzled sweater with feathers. And not only is her hair stringy, but she's wearing sunglasses inside. And her sunglasses are smudged. You have to squint to look at her because if you opened your eyes at full capacity, your brain would laugh in your face and then quit. You turn to your friend to point out the walking atrocity and the only word you can muster to describe it is, "Woof." It's a powerful word. Go ahead and try it out.

Halloween
There's something about dressing up as someone you're not that's wonderfully comforting.


And since I said it's a 50/50 sort of day, here are some things that are making me die a little inside, even as I write this. True story. I'm 1% more dead than I was a second ago.


The word "excellent"
This word has become dangerous to me. I started using it as part of the words I'm trying to bring into my vocabulary, but it has since gotten horribly out of control. I can't stop saying it. And try as I might, I can't say it without sounding like a.) a surfer from 1991, b.) stoned or c.) feeling like I should be in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. I am officially looking for a new word to bring into rotation that hasn't been popular since the late 80s.

My contacts and my eyeballs
Yesterday I went to put my contacts in and found that one of them was ripped. Ripped! Granted, I've been using these monthly contacts for 6 months now, but what the hell? There's nothing that will make me fly into an unsubstantiated rage quicker than having to break out my glasses. I feel like a huge geek and for some reason there's hair spray residue all over them, even though I haven't used hair spray since I was 14 and rocking the chola bangs. But I tried to make peace with it. Tons of people wear glasses, what's one more? Then today at work this happened:

Co-worker: Hey, I really like your glasses!
Me: Oh, thanks. (feeling less mutant like)
Co-worker: Where'd you get them? I'm trying to find some like that because I'm going to be Sarah Palin for Halloween.
Me: *sigh*

Sound effects eaters
Alright, this is a serious topic that needs to be discussed. I absolutely cannot stand people who make moaning, groaning or otherwise questionable pleasure noises whilst eating. Hey, I get it, that pear is delicious. It's so tasty it might even make you let out an involuntary moan or two. But I don't want to have to hear your sex noises because you're so smitten with your fruit. It's gross and kind of baffling. How is it possible to groan and swallow food at the same time? Any scientists in the house who can explain this to me? Mostly, it's just weird and makes me feel a little uncomfortable. In fact, sound effects eaters have just joined my own personal Axis of Evil.

Boys
Every last one of them are confusing and stupid. I remember thinking this when I was in fifth grade and a boy tripped me with a jump rope because he liked me. I remember thinking this when I was in 8th grade and had my first boyfriend. And I remember thinking it after every bad date, every bad argument, and every bad everything in between. Boys are silly and there is no point in trying to figure them all out.

Now that I think about it, tonight is Dollar Tuesday night at the local theatres, so perhaps my day is more 70/30 in favor of Happy Karina. Good thing my love for cheap movies far outweighs any gripes I have with life at the moment. You win, Dollar Tuesday. You always do.

Hot Damn

I'm telling you, it's like I woke up this morning covered in sunshine. And instead of stress and insecurity, I'm surrounded by puppies and rainbows and cake. I'm talking like the most adorable puppies you've ever seen playing on a rainbow made out of cake. It's been a super splendid morning and there's absolutely no reason for it.

I also would like to point out that I think I have a new celeb crush.



Ladies and gents, Mr. Ben Foster. You may have seen his adorable face covered up with yuck in 30 Days of Night or wearing chaps in 3:10 to Yuma.

For those of you concerned, my fake husband Clive Owen is still around. But he's okay with Ben Foster being in the picture now. Clive is confident like that.