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Archive for September, 2006

Stars in LA

I had a celebrity sighting today. I was in the mall and saw Kato Kaelin.

Yes, it’s true. I’m not making it up to be really cool, exaggerating my life to snare more readers and possibly get Blogher to come and put an ad on my site for feminine hygiene products. But before I could pat myself on the back for this coop, I had to stop and think to myself, “thrilling as it may be to see Kato live and in person, it may not qualify as a celebrity sighting anymore.” My husband, in fact, told me he doesn’t believe it counts. But then again, he was proud because he spotted “the dumb girl from the Bacardi commercial” at the Burbank airport. So, I can’t trust him on this issue.

It’s hard to know where to draw the line when you live in a city that’s crawling with working actors, wanna-be actors, reality tv cretins and bonafide celebrities. I mean, three days ago I saw Harry Hamlin and didn’t even blink an eye because I knew right away that didn’t count. If LA Law was still on the air maybe but still doubtful. Possibly, the reason I even considered Kato a celeb sighting is the sheer shock value of it. Seemingly out of nowhere, his blow-dried head appeared from the counter of Wetzel’s Pretzels. He was accompanied by two women fully made up and wearing heels. High heels in a mall is a strange sight. It’s hard enough on your feet to stroll around in a pair of Keds on those concrete floors. Wearing a spiked heel would feel like performing Hari Kari on myself. Or at least, I’d want to. Anyway, it was immediately apparent I was staring straight at Kato “famous houseguest” Kaelin.

After I got over the shock and went into the numbness of acceptance, I started wondering about something. There has to be a reason that Kato still sports the same exact Leif Garrett blow dry look he became known for in 1995. I started thinking that I guess you’d have to. If you go changing your look, who’s going to know it’s you – KATO – famous for nothing? If say, Tootie from Fact of Life changes her look, when she stars in another sitcom we all know it’s her. But Kato would have to get himself involved in another scandal if he had a totally new look. So I guess I get it now. And that is why I’m going to continue to wear banana clips in my hair even though I was recently told that they are so far out of style that they’re like the gauchos of hair accessories. But, hey, how will anyone know it’s my hair?

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 26, 2006 9:32 pmUncategorized21 comments  

Stef Puffy Combs

Lately I feel like all I’m doing is gaining weight. I dipped to my lowest ever due to a poorly prescribed Zoloft amount which made me completely lose my appetite. But since that’s been straightened out, I’ve been slowly creeping back to the higher numbers. Luckily for me, I live in Los Angeles. You might be thinking, “what do you mean, luckily for you? Los Angeles is the most judgemental city of all.” And to that I would respond “True.” But…here’s the thing; what I do when caught in the undertoe of weight neurosis is to tell myself that I’m just putting on poundage for a role. Yeah, I’m like Renee Zellweggy

only less British.

Wait a minute…see, exactly like Renee. Now that’s a delusion I can hang my hat on. I can walk down the street, thighs and butt threatening to attempt a jail break from my jeans, to say nothing of my Victoria Secret underwear making a vicious red mark on my hips, and think “yes! It’s all for my art!”

Okay, whatever, so that’s not exactly true. I have been feeling bad about it. I’ve been looking longingly at my skinny jeans and wondering if I’ll ever see that size again. What am I supposed to do – stop eating french fries? That just seems harsh. Looking back on that glorious 100 mg. Zoloft time, I can’t help but feel sad that there was a point that weight loss was effortless, a plate of cookies meaning nothing more than a big steaming pile of brocolli. Those times are gone. And I’m missing them like Lisa Kudrow misses Friends.

The weirdest thing is that when I was skinny skinny and people would say how great I looked I would think they were assholes because I was waaaay too skinny and how dare they think that painfully skinny is sexy.

Now I have to put my money where my mouth is. And that’s on the Trader Joe’s mac and cheese I steal from Elby everyday.

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 23, 2006 3:43 amUncategorized14 comments  

BUH BYE

I’m at the carousel today with Elby and she’s chatting away with me, when a woman in green slacks (should’ve been a warning) places her little girl on a giant giraffe in front of us. Right away I can’t help but notice she’s one of those overly baby-talking moms despite the fact that her daughter looks to be about five. “Do you wannna wide on da giraffy, honey?” “Uh, sure mom, and can I bum a smoke?” You get the picture. Just as soon as the ride gets going, she turns to Elby and says, “hi there.” So I look over at Elby and give her the requisite, “can you say hi?” and she gives baby-talking-mom a Twinkle Twinkle Little Star Wave – not actually bothering to say hi, which I totally get. And here’s the crazy part — the woman says, “oh is that some kind of sign language thing?” REALLY? “nope…just…regular language.” And then she sort of frowns and dismisses us with a “huh.” Like she’s saying, “if you say so. But I’ve never come across that before. Maybe you should have her tested.” Yeah, isn’t a wave sort of the international symbol for hi?

You know what? I’m teaching my daughter how to flip the bird. Which I’m pretty sure is the international symbol for buh bye.

And by the way, if you want another taste of L.A., check out my hilarious friend Suzy’s new blog Where Hot Comes To Die

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 18, 2006 8:21 pmUncategorized19 comments  

Greg Behrendt Show

So the other night I get a call from The Greg Behrendt Show (author of “He’s Just Not that Into You”)

asking if I’d be interested in being on a panel to talk about parenting. Apparently, Greg mentioned me to the producers (probably because they were scrambling to find someone for the next day) and just like that I was in. Figuring on a possible nice set up in the dressing room – mini bar, finger sandwiches, a massage perhaps – I brought my brother along to share in the festivities.

The accommodations turned out to be slightly deluxe-challenged. First off, no dressing rooms were open at all so we were led to the kitchen to hang out and scarf down some day old salami. The production folk in headsets stood around eyeing us suspiciously prompting me to say, “Hey, hi, I’m on the show. There just weren’t any dressing rooms. Yeah, hi. I’ll be out of your way as soon as someone finds us a room. I’m on the next show…”

Our next stop was the “viewing room.” This is a room set up with a coffee table and a few couches with a monitor showing what’s happening on the stage. My brother and I immediately began making fun of the people on the show that was being taped. Luckily we hadn’t gotten around to making jokes about the actual celebrities – and I use that phrase extremely loosely – Kennedy, some guy from a sitcom I’ve never heard of and another guy I’d never heard of who’s on According To Jim – because the room was full of their twenty-two-year-old publicists. Of course it immediately occurred to me that, wait a minute – while I’m busy thinking “who the hell is that guy,” not one person here would have any clue who the hell I am. I was just lucky to be there. I guess it’s all in your perspective. Which reminded me of a friend’s joke. “The other day I’m driving down the street and I see this guy sitting on the curb shooting up. Of course he’d probably say, the other day I was sitting on the curb shooting up and Greg Otto drove by.”

Finally, we were led to a dressing room where the only food to speak of was a tray of mini candy bars that seemed to have been from a left over supply of last year’s Halloween treats. Think Smarties, mini Kit Kats etc. Two hours and one sugar high later I was told my show was ready to start.

Before we went out on stage we had to do this thing where you “freestyle” for the camera while an announcer reads your credits. This is seriously horrifying for someone as self conscious as I am. I would need about four bottles of wine to do anything resembling improv and I was sober and slightly nervous. Needless to say I looked like an asshole. But as it turned out that was the least of my problems.

The show was about extreme parenting but the production had already taped a show on the topic and it was too heavy. So they wanted to bring some people with a lighter take on the subject. That’s where I came in. It was me, Shondrella (very funny woman from Napoleon Dynamite and Girls Behaving Badly), the According To Jim guy, someone from the sitcom, Girlfriends and then there was an “expert.” She was a psychotherapist who does family counseling.

The show went without incident until they asked the question, “do you think it’s okay to snoop on your kids?” I was asked the question first and I said, “I don’t think it’s cool. I would possibly do it if I suspected my kid was doing something that would put them in danger. Other than that, no. I went on to say that when I was a kid my dad read my diary for no reason and I’ve never gotten over that breach of trust. Not so funny but true. Then According To Jim gets the question and he immediately tells everyone that if his kid committed suicide and he later read about it in their diary he would be horrified that he didn’t read their diary earlier and possibly prevent a tragedy. He went on to say that he’d never ever get over something like that. I mean, sure, but can you say downer?

Why the suicide talk? We were having a pleasant discussion about invading privacy and we had to take it there? It just went downhill after that. But, luckily, I’d gotten off one joke earlier which will probably be cut. Then the “expert” reported that she didn’t give her kids any privacy at all. She doesn’t knock and let’s her kids know that she can look in their personal belonging any time she pleases and that includes journals. She said if they want to keep a journal I don’t see they can do it after they move out of the house. Apparently I’m the only one who believes in privacy. Hey, that’s why diaries have a lock!

All in all it was a no good, very bad day. I think I’ll move to Australia. On the other hand, do they have talk shows in Australia?

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 14, 2006 5:02 amUncategorized18 comments  

In Honor of Rosemarie C. Carlson

I remember the life of Rosemarie C. Carlson.

I am honored to be a part of This tribute to the victims of September 11th

I was randomly assigned a victim to memorialize and imagine my surprise to find out that, like me, she was a forty-year-old mother.

This is Rosemarie C. Carlson.

We know that Rosemarie Carlson was a mother, a sister, a best friend, a daughter. We also know she was a,

Queens native

Lived in Brooklyn

5’4″

Blonde hair

Hazel eyes

She had fair skin

Was a mother of six, ages five to twenty

Home schooled all of her children (can you imagine the dedication??)

Wore a silver necklace with blue stones, and a matching ring

Worked in the International Office Center and had only gone back to work there on September 7, 2001.

She died in the World Trade Center – Tower One – 79th Floor on September 11, 2001.

But what we don’t know is a lot.

Just like when Kennedy was assasinated, the question “where were you on 9/11?” will always bring to mind an instant snapshot of our lives the moment before they would be forever changed.

I woke up early that morning to the sound of the phone ringing and ringing. My boyfriend, now husband, reached for it and after a few unintelligable grunts of “whaa? huh?” he grabbed for the remote and switched the television on. We were assaulted with the images of the first tower burning and newscasters in a panic describing all they knew so far. Before we could get our bearings, the second tower was hit. And we continued to watch in horror both towers collapse as we cried and held onto each other. Fortunately we were safe.

In New York, at 9:40 a.m., Evita Ortiz, the eldest daughter of six children got a call from her mom, Rosemarie, after the building she was in had been hit. “She said she was waiting in her office and they were going to come and get them,” Evita said, crying. “She said, `I love you.’ ”

At 10 a.m., Rosemarie’s best friend, Linda Antretter, called her to see what happened. Linda recalls how even then, Rosemarie was always thinking of others.

“She was waiting for rescue, and she was pretty calm,” Linda said. “My mom has been sick, and she asked me twice how my mom was doing. I joked with her. I told her to meet a nice fireman. But at the end of the call, I started to hear fear. Her voice was trembling.”

I know she was loved. After the attack on the World Trade Center, Rosemarie’s brother, Marco Yurisak frantically went to every single hospital in New York looking for his sister. But he never found her.

Rosemarie clearly meant a lot to many people.

Rosemarie’s sister-in-law, Karen Sanchez, described her to Newsweek as, “a mommy to the core.”

On a 9/11 tribute board I found this message from Rosemarie’s daughter.

God…I miss her so much…i wanna thank everyone that posted on here…She was the most amazing person..her personality was one of a kind…she was my mom but also my friend…i could talk to her about almost anything…miss lttle littles thing like when she was mad..lol…scary …her hair..it was so soft..like spun gold…her eyes(hazel)…they would change color depending on her moood..she was the best mom..she was everything for me…

Mommy,
I love you. I miss u..

Evita

What else is there to say? Rest in peace, Rosemarie. Just in writing about you, you’ve touched my life.

If you want to read more tributes, go to the link above.

Never Forget…

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 9, 2006 5:08 amUncategorized18 comments  


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