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This is day 3 of waking up with a certain song in my head. I’m not going to tell you the song lest it gets stuck in your head as well although actually it’s not a terrible song. But I just feel there’s a protocol to discussing songs being stuck in your head which requires you keep the specific song title to yourself until you’ve secured permission to go ahead and name the song. Otherwise it’s akin to aural rape. So anyway though this song has been in my head every morning for possibly even longer than 3 days and it’s beginning to drive me nuts. Not so much the song but the why. WHY is this song in my head? I retraced my steps to see if there’s anything I’m encountering early in the morning which is putting the lyrics in my head, if swatches of the lyrics are written anywhere, but I haven’t found any likely culprits.

In other news, I went to a party last night and saw a bunch of my CA friends and had such a good time and was reminded that it’s good to be social and to have friends and to actually see those friends and be involved in their lives and vice versa. Yet it’s so easy for me to just make the decision not to go out and to stay at home wearing stretchy pants and fucking around on the internet. Maybe that should be my New Year’s resolution? Less stretchy pantsed internet fucking? It’s not going to be, but maybe it should be.

My sister and I like to invent games which other people tend not to appreciate nearly as much as we do which I’ve always chalked up to the fact we’re lightning years ahead of our time. In the future, everyone will play the following game:

Nasty Ass: Someone mentions a category of items and then you have to name a specific thing in that group that you personally find to be unpleasant. There is a twist, however, a subtle nuance if you will, in that there can’t be anything inherently gross about the item, it just has to be something you personally find unappealing. This is a distinction not everyone understands. So for example if the category is Nasty Ass breadstuffs you could say “jalapeno muffin” or “banana nut loaf” but you could not say “moldy bread.” Or if the category is Nasty Ass furniture you could say “wicker” but you could not say “a desk with barf all over it.” The game is admittedly ill-named because people hear “nasty ass” and think they’re supposed to come up with something disgusting. Maybe it should be called “I don’t care for that, personally, though I  know some other people do.” Except we want to one day make a “12 Months of Nasty Ass” calendar and each month will feature a large photo of a Nasty Ass (by our definition) item and frankly, “12 Months of Items We Don’t Care For Personally Though We Realize Some Other People Do” would never fly off a spinner rack.

I’ve decided to live blog Thanksgiving which means I’m going to post a couple things and then forget about it.

Because I’ve only been slapped upside the head by inspiration right now, after a morning rich with happenings, I will have to recap for what led up to right now even though that goes against the whole point of a live blog. Also, who talks like that? Me apparently.

So I woke up early and watched the opening credits of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade at which point I realized that I wasn’t making an appearance this year. Again! Then some stuff  happened and then my sister and I went to the store which required multiple cell phone calls to each other because we kept losing one another which is funny since the store isn’t that big. I think she was trying to ditch me.

Then we got home and played a rousing game of, “What would Tobey be saying if he could speak.”

And this is what’s happening now:

I’m reminded of this, the probing interview with my mom about turkey from Thanksgiving a few years ago. Now perhaps you’re clicking that link and thinking I only blogged for Time Out New York but actually I was an editor and writer there for many years and launched their blog in addition to working in the music section then the features section and then helming the Hot Seat section. I tell you this because sometimes I worry people think I’m some substance-less floozy who appears on TV and does fuck-all and the truth is that I’ve only become that recently. I used to be respectable. And also it used to be that if you google me 8 zillion things I’d written would pop up and  now it’s just silly videos and stuff which take over the first few pages of the search results which is totally fine but I  just want to sit here overcompensating and thinking about myself because that is what Thanksgiving is made for.

I’m spinning in place. Someone snap me out of this.

Also, how can I be grateful when I’m sitting here suffering a wedgie?

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Ok, now I’m wondering if I should be putting the new stuff at the top of this post or the bottom? It’s as if I never live blogged.

My mom walked in with a question about salad. I told  her that I was busy blogging and to get in touch when the madness of the holiday season dies down.

Also I spent some time reading old Thanksgiving posts on my blog and really grappling with whether what I was reading happened in 2008 or 2009. Is it possible my blog has mixed up the dates? Basically 2008 and 2009 are different in ways too imperceptible for my brain to process. This can’t be good.

Wait, update: I was just reading the date wrong on my blog because I’m an idiot.

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Now my bride-to-be sister is making me look at pictures of dresses online. I watched an entire bridal fashion show. “I don’t have 13  minutes to watch a bridal fashion show,” I declared before spending 13 minutes watching a bridal fashion show. I also was force fed some images of various bridesmaid dresses. And then there was a very slow loading slideshow involving other bridal stuff but my mom interrupted to ask my sister for help locating the beets at which point I planned my escape. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back,” said my sister as I gnawed my leg off. Not because there was anything holding down my leg, I was just hungry.

I should add that I am very excited my sister is getting married and looking forward to it however there are few things I enjoy viewing over someone’s shoulder at a computer and pretty quickly I begin to feel held hostage. I could probably even tire of looking at pictures of ME on the computer over someone’s shoulder. It’s hard to believe.

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Whew. Things almost came to loggerheads regarding which can of cream of mushroom soup to use for the green bean casserole. Finally we compromised and used half of each can. Then I let my sister know in no uncertain terms that the way she cut the beans wasn’t pleasing her highness, which is me. This was the conversation:

Me: You have to cut the beans.

My sister: I did.

Me: [looking back and forth between the beans and my sister with a look of disgust/disappointment]

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Reading People magazine and you guys, get this: I’d completely forgotten Billy Baldwin and Chynna Phillips were together! This changes everything! (It changes  nothing.)

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I  just encountered a LOT of static cling. And apparently  I’m on the Biography Channel right now. Not sure which Bio.

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Here’s a table shot showcasing the makeshift centerpiece—a squash given to me by Robin who was on the extended gal chat segment on my show recently,

I’m beginning to think I should just rename this blog “pictures of my parent’s dog and occasional funny lists and/or oversharey diary entries plus photos of me in the back of a car on the way home from TV appearances” however that’s already been taken. Plus, I hate to pander to search engine optimization boobs Obama.

A photo of Tobey which has nothing to do with this post

I’ve been overwhelmed by the really positive response to my Carolla appearance in the comments on his web site and on my web site and in emails and on twitter. I know that stuff shouldn’t really fill the empty spaces in me like it did, but I’d be lying if I said yesterday didn’t feel like an extended Xmas morning. Refreshing my computer and watching more and more positive comments come in was like sitting in front of a slot machine that kept pouring out winnings. And not those stupid paper vouchers but actual coins. Except I kind of hate coins so maybe this one is pouring out giant checks. And ducklings.

Given the way yesterday felt it makes me realize even more why a bunch of negative comments on the internet can be so devastating even though everyone on the receiving end of it tells themselves it shouldn’t matter which then creates this extra shame/pain because you feel stupid for letting it get to you. (For extended viewing on the messed up relationship between performers and approval watch Jamie Kennedy’s Heckler and Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work.)

Not that I give a flying fuck what anyone thinks or anything because I totally don’t, man.

But one of the things you hear is is that you can’t take the good comments to heart because then that means you also have to believe the bad ones. Obviously in my case that’s totally wrong because the good ones are astute and spot on and brilliant and the bad ones are people who are mean and icky and mentally deficient.

Sometimes he runs and barks in his sleep, which is adorable

Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is yesterday a man named Fart wrote, “Allison was perfect match for the ACE man” and as much as I believe in myself, it’s still great to get Fart’s perspective.

Also I’ll most likely be doing my show on Sunday. I want to line up a musician who’s amazing who plays piano however the room where the piano is has been overtaken with my New York stuff and there are now subway tracks running through the piano and the bench has been replaced with a giant bagel. That doesn’t mean it won’t happen though.

Also, I feel like I shouldn’t really be commenting on the comments, that somehow that’s not done, but whatever.

Also I should  say that I think the danger is in believing them to the extent that you actually tailor your performances/art/what have you to attempt to provoke a certain reaction and that’s probably where the danger lies because a whole bunch of people can like an asshole while at the same time it’s possible for something to be brilliant and ahead of it’s time and not well received but still full of merit.

In sum: I’m an asshole who’s ahead of my time.

A cue card from a really old timey version of Jersey Shore

So yesterday I filled in as the newsgirl on Adam Carolla’s podcast. It was super fun even if we only got through about 1.5 of the 8 news stories I’d brought to discuss. You know what that means, right? It means I have all these opinions kicking around in my head. I’m going to just share them now, so they don’t spoil:

No! Hell no! Yes! I strongly disagree. Eh, I could go either way. That is FUCKED up. Creepy! I think it’s funny. WHAT?!?!?! Oh come on. You don’t really think that? Outrageous! Here here! FINALLY! Balls. Yeah, tell that to the judge. Oh for fuck’s sake. Bullshit. Hallelujah.

There are my opinions.

Actually, I could link to the stories but I have a busy day of reading comments ahead of me.

Another thing I could do? Share some of the interview with Adam and Dr. Drew from 12  years ago.

But these comments just aren’t going to read themselves.

And the boxes in the garage aren’t going to unpack themselves. STILL haven’t found the remote controls or power adapters.

The thing about moving to CA to help care for Marvin is that big stretches go by where I forget all about the situation. Now that we’re past the shock of the diagnosis, the crisis of the hospital, the steeling-yourself-for-news-of-what-it-all-means of the initial few months, things feel sort of normal at times. Marvin is doing well, there is a routine to the treatment and I’m free to walk around the house peering into rooms wondering where all my stuff is going to go once it arrives (it’s en route). It’s amazing how many boxes books take up when they’re emptied from a bookshelf. It’s also amazing how many books I have since I only recently learned to read. (Pop-up books are total space hogs!!!!)

So anyway, mostly I wander around like a dog whose house is being messed with or put on a table to be cleaned, completely unsettled with my lack of a home and new my identity as a person living in my parent’s house assuming my old identity. It’s like someone Command-Zd through the last ten years of my life. Also, where the hell am I going to put all my stuff?

And then I’ll catch a glimpse of something which snaps me right back into the present. This morning it was an image which I wish I could upload a photo of but instead I’ll just have to describe. It was a calendar, the same calendar I’ve seen a zillion times. Written in familiar handwriting down a neat clean row of Tuesdays was the word “chemo.” Same size, same pencil pressure, same placement in the box (upper left) as all the other appointments entered, some indicating other doctor visits, some reminders about bills paid or to be paid, some in other penmanship as this is a family calendar and a record of everyone’s somewhat mundane daily tasks. I suppose that’s the thing with this situation: when it’s under control, when it’s behaving as desired, it recedes into the background, flattened by the momentum of days passing, becoming just another thing to be dealt with, checked off, lived with.

So I moved from New York to California this weekend. Here are some photos capturing this delightful adventure. (Click on the thumbnail to read about each one. Click again to make the photo even bigger. Use the back button on your browser to get back to this page. God, do I have to tell you everything?)

I think it’s time to shake things up. My new go-to adjective is going to be “Oscar-nominated” and my catchphrase? “That’s so Raven.” Can’t wait to use my new Oscar-nominated catchphrase which is so Raven. You know?

When packing, it’s a good idea to stop and read old magazines as you come across them.

When packing, it’s a good idea to invent a moving quiz which will require frequent blog updates.

Unsure what to do with leftovers and scrap paper? Whip up a delicious egg white and old receipts frittata! (Garnish with paper clips and pennies)

When you find an emergency rain poncho, don’t just stand there, put it on!!!!!1

“Oooooh, lip gloss!!” is the kind of thought that will keep you motivated and on task

It gets messier before it gets cleaner

The above sentence is English