All the world’s a jungle. Some places just require less clothing.

Last night I watched Tribal Life on The Travel Channel, for the first time. I was NOT disappointed. In fact, I came away with more than a few epiphanies.

1. This Thanksgiving season, I am especially thankful for the miracle of underwire.

2. Apparently it’s more important to cover the twig. Berries, not so much. Which I totally don’t get — if it had to be one or the other, shouldn’t it be the other way around? It’s all a bit too precarious for my liking. I’d be strappin’ on a turtle shell or SOMETHING.

3. The drive to impress women with acts of sheer stupidity is universal. The episode I saw? All about land jumping. That’s the ORIGINAL version of bungee jumping. Only it’s done from vines with very little spring. And the men jump from an eight-foot bamboo tower. Their heads actually hit the ground. Total Penis Contest. If someone plucked these guys out of the jungle, dropped them in the middle of a car dealership, and told them they could have whatever make they’d like … they’d totally choose Monster Trucks and Hummers. The winner of THIS particular contest won a handful of grass, which, judging from the looks on everyone’s faces, seemed just as impressive.

4. THIS is the actual warning that appears at the beginning of the show.

WHAT?!? Nekkid Natives?!? God forbid MP see a few sets of flapjacks and bare asses.

Now THIS … this would be SO much more helpful in the Pie House Viewing Selection Process.

And yes, that is my TV. Flat screens are SO 2007.

5. People everywhere like to get wasted and party once in awhile. With maybe the exception of Tibet. And Utah. I especially enjoyed watching a guy named BONG get drunk on Jungle Juice. *sigh* Spring Break ’89 seems just like yesterday.

6. No one is safe from the effects of gravity over time. I’m talkin’ women AND men, people. And the gravity I’M talkin’ ’bout has nothing to do with jumping from a tall tower. Ten bucks says you can’t guess what’s running through my head right now …

Doooo yer balls hang low
Do yer balls hang low
Can you tie ’em in a knot
Can you tie ’em in a bow
Can you throw ’em over your shoulder
Like a continental soldier
Do yer balls hang low?

Ah, campfire songs. Good times.

It’s at this moment MP comes out of her room, strapped to her iPod, singing Peppermint Twist. Oh, sweet comedy. Timing, my friends. It’s EVERYTHING.

Doogs Weekend #7: I’ll be your best friend …

Okay Doogs — this one came to me tonight.

If you could pick one (or two or three) TV character(s) to be your BFF(s), who would it be?

And no, for those of you who need specifics (Steph) it doesn’t mean you’d lose your current BFF. And the show doesn’t have to still be running.

I’d totally pick fellow single mama Old Christine from The New Adventures of Old Christine. Come to think of it, Elaine from Seinfeld would probably be second, so maybe it’s Julia Louis-Dreyfus I want for a BFF …

If you’re not familiar with TNAOOC, here’s a clip. It’s kind of a long one, but totally worth watching to the end, in my humble opinion. Holy hell, she cracks me up.

Have a fantastic weekend!

How to meet a billionaire and make an impression.

So, not last week but the week before, 24 robbers came knocking on my door I had a little brush with fame and fortune.

Billionaire Media Mogul Ted Turner was in town and was the guest of honor at a casual work thing. I’ll refrain from publishing my long-standing personal opinion of the guy — he knows where I work (and could probably have me killed fired). Suffice it to say, he has a long … history in this town. Yeah.

Anyhoo, I asked my boss in advance if he’d try to get a photo of me with Mr. T. In all honesty, I had no desire to actually MEET the man, but had high hopes for a shot of me making rabbit ears behind him. Or at least doin’ the air kiss. Instead, as I jockeyed for position, Bossman unexpectedly shoved me into our special guest, held up my camera phone and asked if I could have a picture with him. I think he might have even said, “she reeeaally wants one.” Did I mention he’s a JACKASS?

Duuuh. Nice to meet you Ted.

Are you feelin’ the HOLY AWKWARD MOMENT yet? Check out my face — that’s a cross between utter mortification and mighty restraint right there, people. Because even at this precise moment, I wanted to make the crazy face. What is wrong with me? (Besides that hair. Ecch.)

Then Ted and I had a little convo. Within 20 seconds, (girlfriend? wife?) Not Jane flew in from the sidelines. Ted, now wedged between Not Jane and Crazy Stalker Chick (that would be me), and clearly even MORE uncomfortable, fell over himself to introduce her. And I wanted so badly to break out laughing, because knowing that even Ted Turner is on a short leash is … funny.

Eventually event-goers made their way to the bar.

The people watching was most excellent.

And a glass of wine later, Grammy called to say she forgot to pick up MP and could I do it, seeing as preschool closed in 10 minutes and I was closer than she was?

Back to Mommy As Usual.

If Bloggywood were on cable …

The Sex and the City cast would look like this:

Pajama Momma as Samantha: “I chew those men up and spit ’em out.”

The Bloggess as Miranda: “But with more cursing and less money.”

Mommypie as Carrie: “Because a lot of you said you were Carrie … but, ahem … you failed to tell me WHO you were. PEOPLE! You left me with no choice but to join the new cast myself …”

Mental P Mama from The Mental Pause Chronicles: “Charlotte, but with a few years.”

Lookin’ good ladies!

Here’s how the numbers came out:

34% of you said you were most like Charlotte.
24% of you said you were most like Miranda.
21% of you said you were most like Carrie.
A mere 6% of you said you were most like Samantha.
2% of you said you were most like Mr. Big.
2% of you said you were most like Smith.
And 7% of you have no idea who these people are.

Apparently, Bloggywood is full of good girls and sharp witted chicks. And just a few ho-bags. (Uh, sorry PJM — LOVE YA!)

I saw the movie last night and, of course, loved it. I walked out of the theater wanting to shop, drink and have sex. All at once. It’s been awhile since I felt that way. Mama LIKE.

So, thanks to all m’doogs who participated in my little poll! The new cast was chosen by random drawing — I had every intention of posting photos but it’s late, and this cast member’s arse, itsa draggin’.

The post I won’t remember writing in the morning.

12:45 a.m.

“Me? I’m a legend. They call me the Cautionary Whale.”

I LOVE JUNO.

Running on two hours of sleep, but the DVD’s due back tomorrow so it was a must see tonight. I’m joining the general public on this one — two thumbs waaay up. Who knew unplanned teenage pregnancy could be so heartwarming? Now I feel all warm and fuzzy and ready for bed.

Not unlike the feeling I had ALL DAY.

For whatever reason, I was unable to fall asleep last night until 5 a.m. After hours of lying in the dark, fighting the good fight, I gave up, turned on the light, and read this fabulous NY Times article my hyper-cool city friend Steph emailed the other day. If you’re a blogger, you’ll enjoy it. I’m actually only halfway through — it’s LONG — but I’m confident it’s good to the last drop. I skipped ahead. Go on, read it. Eees good.

Aaand, right here there was a little spontaneous remark about a senator I was nominating for THIS BLOG. An hour later, I realized it might have appeared as more of a personal attack rather than truth in humor. So, I’ve taken it out, along with his photo.

*sigh*

Which totally screws up this transition, but here you go …

Speaking of lesbians, did someone Twitter today that Lindsay Lohan was GAY? Everything kind of ran together.

(Like this post.)

Hookeey, say good-night Mommypie.

My rich fantasy life. It’s all about the cheese.

Dammit Janet. After the writer’s strike, I was totally primed to boycott Grey’s Anatomy, and they go and play the cancer couple in love card. Bastards. SO not fair.

<insert awkward segue>

And speaking of all things medical, between you Doogs, my boyfriend Web M.D., and my city friend Harris — who called me after reading the heart attack post, with a “Dude. You totally have gallstones.” — you got my attention. And when Harris mentioned that nuts and olives can be a trigger for gallstone attacks … well …

… considering I bought a jumbo jug of nuts at Costco last week, and ate half the container in the days before the ER incident, not to mention a fair amount of olives … let’s say I’ve been sufficiently persuaded to consult a doctor. I’ll give it a week or so.

Had I known this Wednesday, when I was working the Women’s Conference, I might have altered my eating habits.

Starting with eliminating the consumption of 10 pounds of olives. (That’s part of the actual conference grazing ground above.)

I still would’ve participated in the cheese fountain feed, which in theory, grosses me out, but in reality is DREAMY.

By the time the event was over, you better believe I was having fantasies of utilizing that fountain for a hot and cheesy foot bath. And after two glasses of red, the fantasy expanded to a full-blown, full-body queso dip bath. With a side of tortilla chips. And maybe some salsa. Nom nom nom.

And speaking of dreamy …

Double dammit. Now Grey’s ends the episode with Meredith and McDreamy in an impossibly romantic candlelit floor plan of their future house on a hilltop?!? I don’t want to love it, but I do.

They just keep SUCKIN’ me back in. My food fantasies and I are goin’ to bed.

You gotta be kidding.

I’m feeling completely brain dead tonight, so in the absence of anything original, I leave you with this.

If this isn’t evidence of some sort of past life pickle trauma, I don’t know what is.

Your turn. You all know my phobia is boring old GERMS. What’s YOUR phobia? Condiments perhaps?

Discuss.

Oh How I Love The Fruitcake Lady

Here’s a belated Mother’s Day gift for all you mamas. Sage advice from THE mother of all mothers.

Miss Puss.

BAHAHAHA!!

Shake Your Baby Maker

How’s this for hours of wholesome fun?

The Baby Mama movie site has a Baby Maker. And instead of cookin’ for nine months, this one only takes nine seconds. Pair that with one Bona Fide Gimmick Sucker, yours truly, and you’ll see endless Mommypie hours magically vanish.

I came up with a few options in my quest for the perfect virtual baby.

Musical talent is a desirable trait, yes? I picked the guy from Flight of the Conchords as my first choice Virtual Sperminator. I find him oddly attractive. (Love that accent.) And oddly funny.

Our child, however, is just .. odd.

With that black and blueness, it looks like our little band geek is already well on his way to regularly getting his arse kicked.

Moving on to choice two.

What red-blooded woman can resist the bad boy? Not only does Lazy Town‘s Robbie Rotten have the whole exotic Icelandic thing goin’ on, he’s the baddest of the bad. And so nimble.

And together we have created Leatherface.

Choice number three. David Duchovny. Because he’s hot, he’s talented, he’s funny, he’s sarcastic. He’s Mulder.

Did I mention he’s hot?

And our virtual child?

The poor kid looks like a frostbitten Revolutionary soldier straight from the pages of a Time Life book. Let’s hope he’s funny.

Clearly there’s one choice left.

Mommypie luvs Bossy.

The Poll, The Poll!

Look! Look! Up there — in the right hand corner!

You have no idea how proud of myself I am! After nearly going insane, I was able to backdoor the completely jacked-up WordPress system and figure out a way to make my very own poll! Yippee!

So here’s the deal … you take the poll, then leave a comment on the poll site, telling me what SITC character you’re like (make sure to leave your URL), and I’ll randomly pick a few people to transform through the magic of Photoshop. My gift to you. Just think of the fabulous screen saver it’ll make! (Personally, I’m diggin’ myself with long Carrie hair …)

Don’t worry if you already took it yesterday — go ahead and do it again! I’ll leave the button up all month, and then display the results, along with the new blogalicious cast, May 30.

I’m so excited, I think I peed a little.

I’m even thinking I’ll give it a shot with a new and different cast each month!

Yeah, I know. I so need to get out more.