A Word About The Twilight Movie

I'm a big fan of vampires. They've been creeping me out since childhood. And, being a girl, I also enjoy glittery sparkling things. However....

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VAMPIRES SHOULD NOT SPARKLE!


WTF? What kind of Sesame Street crap is this? Vampires are supposed to be scary and sexy and tragic. They do not glitter like My Little Pony dolls. Geez! Talk about two great tastes that taste so WRONG together.

You know, I flipped through the Twilight book when it became so huge just to see what the deal was. And I couldn't believe it. Vegetarian vampires that sparkle like diamonds in the sunlight??? Really? Puh-lease.

My inner goth girl was filled with disdain so I never read the series.

That said, I am getting ready to go see this shitfest in a few minutes. Yeah, my inner goth girl is sneering and kicking me with her pointy black boots but she'll just have to suffer. The group I'm going with are all dying to see this tale of twinkling fiends, so Twilight it is!

I'm looking forward to it actually. Movie popcorn always tastes so much better than the microwave stuff.

My Busy Week

Wow, I can't believe it's Monday again already. Where does the time go? It's crazy how much I've been posting lately. Very unlike me. Some might think it's because I'm super duper broke and have nothing else to do besides sit home surfing the internet. Don't you believe it, friends. Ha ha, nothing could be further from the truth. My life is all about non-stop famous people and sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I'm just posting a lot in order to share my experiences with those more glamour deprived than myself. I'm all about sharing, you see?




Recently I ran into the Kardashian sisters at the Victoria's Secret fashion show. Too bad I was cut out of the photo (damn paps!) or you could have seen that I was wearing the exact same dress as they, only mine was deep purple with orange and puse stiching and cutouts over the nipples. The fashion show was a big bore so we took turns flinging spit balls at the models and putting gum in Paris's hair extensions. Afterwards we went out for $18 cocktails at The Ivy where we chatted and gossiped for hours until it was time for Kim's butthole bleaching appointment. Well, I was having so much fun that I decided to tag along and get one of my own and wowza! - it hardly stung at all and now it looks all nice and snowy white back there!





For some reason John Mayer didn't seem all that thrilled to see me the other day. That may be because I spray painted his car with the word "Douchebag" after he didn't call me when he said he would. How dare he! I mean, we spent three magical hours getting busy in the pool and another thirty minutes humping in a jacuzzi, so when he said he'd call I believed him. Let me tell you, no one makes a fool of Prunella Jones and gets away with it!

Note to self: Buy some more black spray paint and consult urbandictionary.com for more creative ways to call someone an asswipe.




This week I also aquired my very own stalker which is actually kind of cool. (In Hollywood you are nobody without one.) Jessica Alba just won't leave me alone. She's been jealous of me for years, you know. And then we got drunk and had crazy sex that one time and she just went bonkers! Told me I was the love of her life and that she couldn't live without me. Well, I was touched of course, but gently explained that I preferred to be wild and free like a butterfly, etc. and yadda yadda. Then I got her some Prozac and introduced her to that guy she married. Everything seemed fine and I assumed they were happy together with their little baby, but I guess not. Yesterday there was a note in my mailbox - written in either blood or Chanel's Vamp Red nail polish, it's hard to tell them apart - warning that she was going to kill me if I didn't come back to her. I sort of laughed it off until I saw her sitting outside of my house this morning with an ax! Damn! I had to sneak out the back and was nearly late for my tanning bed session. She must be off the meds or something!




Oh Justin Timberlake! Isn't he so cute? He's letting the world know that we slept together five - count 'em - five times. Actually, it would have been six but he got miffed when I put on that Britney wig and started singing "Hit Me Baby One More Time." Who would have thought he would still be so sensitive about that after all these years?




Kirsten Dunst and I only slept together four times. I'm a busy woman, you know. Although...hmmmmm...looks like I'm free tonight. Kirsten, call me!

Grinder's Switch, Sweet Table Wine ($10) "Pearl": A Review

Attention wine lovers. Are you looking for a fine wine to serve your guests this Thanksgiving holiday? Or perhaps a wine that will pair nicely with a supermarket pizza and Saturday Night Live? Me too. I like wine a lot. I don't drink it very often but when I do I look for good quality in a bottle. Or box. Whatevs.

Of course being poor I don't usually spend more than $15. There are plenty of brands to choose from at that price. Some are tastier than others but honestly, I've never tried a wine that I thought was completely undrinkable.

Until recently that is.

The other day I went to pour myself a glass of wine only to discover there wasn't any left. I was really bummed as it was late and in Tennessee you can only buy wine in liquor stores. The closest one was ten miles away and probably closed. I cussed very loudly.

"Why don't you open one of those nice bottles of wine I bought you from Minnie Pearl's house?" my mom suggested.

My mom loves to take those YMCA senior citizen bus tours of the Grand Old Opry stars houses and she'd thoughtfully brought me back two bottles from the winery at Minnie Pearl's estate. I'd been pretty jazzed about it till I noticed the label read Sweet Table Wine. Now I'm not a wine snob but the word "sweet" seems to be code for "tastes like sugary cough syrup."

"Did you taste this before you bought it, Mom?"

"No," she'd said. "You know I don't care for wine. But the saleslady said it was very good."

Oh boy! I stashed the bottles in the back of the pantry and promptly forgot about them till she reminded me.

Well, lushes can't be choosers. When faced with the possibility of no wine with dinner I decided to open one. How bad could it be?



Grinder's Switch Sweet Table Wine pairs well with a loaf of Publix brand white bread and a shot of insulin.



The answer is: It was the worst tasting shit ever! And I've had Boones Hill Farm and grape-flavored Cisco.

The first sip made my cavities vibrate. The second sip nearly caused them to explode. If I'd dared a third sip, I might have been on the ground in a diabetic coma. I'm unsure what grapes were used to make "Pearl." The label doesn't say. Probably not Chardonney or Sauvignon Blanc as there were no buttery notes or underlying flavors of oak to be found. It was sort of like drinking warm corn syrup with maybe a hint of blue raspberry Kool-Aid. I had to spit it in the sink before my teeth disintegrated.

If you are looking for a way to convince that alcoholic loved one to go to rehab then you might consider giving them a bottle of Grinder's Switch. It just might spur them into treatment. Otherwise save your money.

To summarize, this stuff is bad. Very, very bad. Hee hee he haw haw blecccch!

So bloggers, tell me. Do you have any recommendations for a good cheap wine? What is your favorite?

Random Pics for Friday

I've been making french toast for breakfast lately, hoping for an appearance from Jesus or his mom. No luck so far but I do see an Ewok in the top slice and a chimp riding a Harley in the one on the bottom. It's sort of like a Rorschach Test, I guess. What do you see? Anything?






The yellow leaves are still clinging to the trees in my yard. I'll miss them when they are gone. Because that will mean they are on the lawn and I'll have to rake them up.







I was cleaning my bathroom (yes, really!) when it occured to me that I have a lot of suppliments. Check them out. That's like an army of suppliments right there. I'd much rather have an army of flying monkeys but oh well.






FLASH! You're on Candid Camera.

THE PRUNELLA JONES STORY starring Jennifer Aniston

Todays episode is entitled "ENNUI"





Sigh. Lately I find myself experiencing a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest. I wonder...is there a fancy word for that? I could go look it up I guess but why bother? What's the point of it all?





Sigh. I don't know. I don't know. Why am I so uninspired and listless lately? When am I ever going to finish my novel? I really need to be on Oprah discussing vegan diets and bowel movements with her and getting famous! What is holding me back from becoming the huge success I was meant to be?






Hmmmm it can't be my looks. I'm positively stunning with a great body, right Mirror Pru?.....Right, darling. Kiss kiss.

What's that, Mom? NO! Of course I'm not in here talking to myself again. I'm not crazy!






Don't give me that look, bloggers! I swear I'm not crazy! Really. Lots of people stand in front of the TV in a bikini for four hours everyday. It's very common. Because as long as you are touching the screen the FBI can't read your thoughts. Clever, huh? Remember that. It also gives you energy. See? I'm starting to feel lots better. Maybe now I'll go tackle my To Do list and write a few pages. That's it! That's just what I'm going to do!





I am going to go get started right now! Well, in a minute. Right after I swim a bit and hook up with this random douchebag. Hey there handsome....




Will Prunella ever get over her ennui and procrastination and become a productive member of society? Will her taste in men ever improve? Is she, in fact, dangerously insane? Will these questions ever be answered, or forgotten in the usual ADHD distraction?

I guess we'll find out in the next episode of THE PRUNELLA JONES STO -- ooo look a shiny thing!

Please Pass the "I Can't Believe It's Not Jesus"

"And he said unto them, this is my body, eat it with butter and syrup in remembrance of me..."

Some guy in Florida found Jesus' face in a piece of french toast. Link. I love this kind of stuff, but I'm not really seeing it here. Looks more like Frank Zappa to me. What do you think?

I sort of love that he ate most of the toast. Sacrilege!

There's No I in UterUS

Tammy Wynette was right. Sometimes it is hard to be a woman. For instance, did you know that you uterus can fall down? I didn't, not until it happened to my mom.

The medical term for this condition is uterine prolapse. The definition is as follows:

The uterus is normally attached to the pelvic floor. However, the supportive muscles and ligaments can wear and tear during life, allowing the uterus, the bladder or both to "fall" down to the vagina. The reasons for prolapse may be one or more of the following:

-- giving birth to large babies, or difficult labor and delivery in general,

-- aging,

-- less estrogen than usual (as in menopause), which weakens the tissues,

-- additional weight or obesity,

-- frequent coughing, say from too much smoking,

-- chronic constipation and the straining to move bowels.


Aren't you glad you know this now?

Yeah, me neither. Ignorance IS bliss.

My mom had to deal with this a few years ago before she was living with me. I remember her calling me up and telling me about it.

ME: What do you mean it fell down? Why are your innards moving?

MOM: It's just something that happens with older ladies. Your Aunt Joyce had it too.

ME: What sort of symptoms did you have?

MOM: I had to pee all the time and it felt sort of...heavy down there. Hard to describe it. Also, when I got a mirror and looked up there I could see it hanging in there.

ME: Gaaaaaahhhhh!


The doctor told my mom she could either have a hysterectomy, or a surgical procedure to tack the uterus back up to where it's supposed to be. She chose the surgical procedure and it all went smoothly. I'd (mercifully) forgotten about the whole thing until last week when she was moving furniture around - she's never happy with the way the living room looks - and she let out a groan.

ME: Mom, are you okay? Did you hurt your back?

MOM: No, it's my uterus. I think it fell down again!

ME: Gaaaaaaahhhhh!


She went off to lie down and after resting a while, decided she was okay. Her doctor told her to quit moving furniture though, so now she wants me to do it. Hell no!! Now I'm super paranoid that my uterus will plunge to the floor at any moment.

Maybe it has started to slip already and I'm just not aware of it. How do I know what my uterus feels like? How can you differentiate between it and say...your pancreas? Guts are guts, right? (Although sometimes I can swear I feel my liver throbbing, but that's usually only after a long night of drinking and debauchery.)The thing is, it happened to my mother and it happened to my aunt. Is it inevitable that it will happen to me? Is there anything I can do to prevent this? And how come no one ever prepares you for this stuff? It's just another one of those nasty surprises that you get to discover for yourself once you hit thirty, like facial hair and spider veins.

Now that I'm thinking about it, one person from my youth did sort of discuss uterine care. You see, when I was about fourteen my mom signed me up for a modeling/charm school/beauty class - no it wasn't Barbizon - taught by a lady named Nell. Apparently she'd been a model way, way back in the days when men wore an onion tied to their belt and nickles had pictures of bumblebees on 'em. We're talking old! I'm not sure what those classes cost but it must have been cheap since we didn't have much money then. I think Nell was also my mother's Avon lady.

Oh boy, I should do a seperate post about that class it was so bizarre! Nell was about seventy and looked like Cindy McCain if Cindy had gotten a bad facelift and wore bright blue eyeshadow with gunky false lashes that resembled taratulas. She often smelled very peculiar. I used to think maybe she had drenched herself with some strong weird perfume, but now I realize that smell was Gin. I wouldn't doubt the bitch was three sheets to the wind the whole time. That would explain a lot of her advice.

Anyway, I've repressed most of that experience but do recall one day when she was giving a lecture on keeping fit. She said we could walk or ride a bicycle but should never - under any circumstances - run, jump rope, or lift weights, because that kind of exercise was too jarring and would make our lady parts fall down.

The ominous way she said the words "fall down" combined with her grim look and tight lipped frown made it clear that this was a bad, bad thing. It instantly scared me. I wasn't too sure what falling lady parts entailed but I wasn't about to ask for clarification. I just thanked the heavens that I was too lazy to ever exercise. The rest of the class must have felt the same way. No one inquired for further explanation.

Only one girl timidly raised her hand and asked if that meant she should quit the track team. Nell told her yes, that she should quit immediately or she might not ever be able to have children. Then a Color Me Beautiful expert came into the class with a bunch of color swatches to help us figure out what season we were -hey, it was the eighties - and Nell ducked out, presumably for a couple of stiff Martinis.

Well huh, who would have thought it but that dire warning might have been the only helpful advice the old bat ever gave. (Well, besides her recommendation not to wear any white brighter than your teeth, which limits me to a pale yellow.) I just googled "uterine prolapse/running" and it turns out that it can sometimes be caused by excessive running. Here's a link if you care to find out more.

As for me, after doing a bunch of research about it I've decided there's really no use worrying about my uterus too much. I mean, I'm still going to do kegels like they are going out of style and I ain't gonna move any furniture anytime soon, but if it falls, it falls. I'll just get surgery if it does. Or else start drinking Gin. Maybe both. Glug, glug!

Stay Gold, Ponyboy

Check out this tree in my yard. Lovely, no?




Nature's first green is gold, / Her hardest hue to hold. / Her early leaf's a flower, / But only so an hour. / Then leaf subsides to leaf, / So Eden sank to grief. / So dawn goes down to day, / Nothing gold can stay.

I have a sudden urge to bleach my hair and rent The Outsiders.

Congratulations President Obama!! Well done America!

Now go away Sarah Palin.

Jagging a snootch

First off, let me say that no Jackie Waffles were harmed during the making of the Halloween story from last week. I got a couple of concerned emails asking me if Jackie was, in fact, dead. (Thank you guys, you were so sweet to be concerned.)I just took this pic on my phone which should prove that Lord Lardass is alive and well and shedding on my couch. It is not neccessary to weep for him.


Absolutely not dead! Just sleeping.


Please weep for me though. I need lots and lots of sympathy as I have a hideous cold! Well, it's not too terrible I guess, but it still sucks. My throat is a bit scratchy and my nose is slightly runny and this morning I hacked and snorfled for a good ten minutes before finally spitting up a giant gooey loogie. It was really gross! So much so that I was tempted to take a picture of it to post, but finally decided against it in case it put someone off their food. See how much I care for you my friends?

All that throat clearing reminded me of the sounds my grandpa used to make when he woke up. He'd always start the day with at least a half hour of chest-rumbling coughing and horking noises while scratching himself, before lighting up his first Camel unfiltered of the day. Gak!

It's been a long time since I've had a cold, I'd forgotten how unpleasant they are. This is because I usually follow my mommy's advice about washing my hands a lot and not touching my face unless my hands are clean. It figures the one time I didn't resulted in getting sick. But I swear to you, I couldn't help it! I absolutely had to pick my nose. There was really no other choice.

What happened was this, on Friday night I went to a big fancy Halloween party given by a couple I don't know all that well. It was all very chichi and swank and I felt a little out of my element but was doing okay, chatting and mingling, when I became aware of some bad things happening in my nasal cavity.

You know that feeling you get when a booger works it's way down to where it's just about to pop out of your nose and go flying when you laugh? And is most likely right that very minute hanging out of your nostril, moving in and out when you breathe, while everyone politely tries not to stare at you in horror but can't help themselves?

Yeah, I had that feeling. And I could tell it was a great big one.

So I excused myself and began frantically looking for a bathroom in order to extract the dried mucus in private. Naturally, naturally, the hostess spied me and picked that moment to bring over about fifty people to introduce me to.

It was so awful! I kept sniffing and sniffling, trying desperately to suck the snot rocket back in but it wouldn't budge. I ended up surreptitiously swiping at my nose every two seconds while smiling and making nice to these poor folks - who probably thought me the world's biggest coke head - but I swear I could feel it hanging there. It was maddening. My fingers itched to go picking.

Finally, I managed to get away only to find the bathroom occupied with a big line in front of it.

Screw it! I was about to leave when I spotted my best friend, Paula Abdul, flirting with a waiter over by the stairs.

"Dude, am I jagging a snootch?" I demanded, grabbing her arm, which caused her to spill a little champagne on the carpet. I was sorry about that but it was an emergency.

"Huh, what?" Paula gave me a confused look.

"You know, is the princess out of it's castle? Am I hanging a greenie?" I was trying to use the polite terms for my condition, but she wasn't getting it so I just came out and asked. "Is there a visible booger hanging out of my nose? I mean, of course there is. But exactly how huge is it?"

She peered at my face intently. "I don't see anything."

"What? There's got to be. Look harder." I swear I could feel it hanging down like a stalagcite from my schnoz. Or do I mean stalagmite? I forget which one points down.

"Honestly Pru, you're fine!"

By that point I'd had it. I figured Paula was drunk and just couldn't see it, and I was sick of this shit. I shoved a finger up there and stated digging for gold, not caring who saw.



Everybody picks, even the queen.


Paula was horrified. "Stop it, Pru! There isn't anything there!" She pawed through her purse and handed me a small mirror. "See nothing."

Well, I'll be! She was right, there wasn't anything hanging out of my nose. It was a ghost booger, I guess.

As soon as I saw that there was no boog, that awful jagged snootch feeling went away. Which was a great relief for about three seconds until it was quickly replaced with deep embarrassment when I realized how many people had witnessed my nose farming. Dozens! It took several drinks and one of Paula's Vicodins to get me able to laugh about it.

Poor Paula though! I kinda ruined the rest of the party for her. She caught my nasal paranoia and spent the rest of the evening guarding against booger slips.



Paula figured it was better to be safe than sorry.


I'll apologize later after my cold medicine kicks in. How was your weekend?