Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Celeb Rebel Deb: Celeb Gossip Websites???


So trashy celeb-stalking online media (a la PerezHilton.com and TMZ.com) are not ALL bad.

Case in point?

Notoriously up-to-the-minute celebrity gossip website www.TMZ.com broke a HUGE story yesterday that has implications for us all.

Check out the headline:

Bailout Bank Blows Millions Partying in LA

Basically, after receiving over 1.6 BILLION in bailout funds, Northern Trust decided to use YOUR hard earned dollas to live large.


We're talking:

luxury hotels
sponsoring a PGA event
concerts by Chicago & Sheryl Crow
Tiffany gifts
fancy dinners

Seriously?

The public outrage has been so strong that the bank won't comment, and neither will the President.

Where is Congress in all of this?????

Thank goodness we have celebrity gossip online rags to make sure we get the real news.


Today, TMZ embodies the true spirit of Rebel Debs.


xo,

Anna

the Rebel Deb

Monday, February 23, 2009

I Just Don't Care About the Oscars!



I hate to admit, but ...

I just don't care about the Oscars.

That statement alone, in my industry, is blasphemy! And last night, surrounded by friends Michael, Michelle, and about a dozen of their film-editor friends at John Patrick Shanley's townhouse here in NYC, I knew saying so would be uttering the unspeakable.

And so, this Rebel Deb kept her mouth shut.

But it wasn't easy, folks. I have to admit that, too. And why? Well, there's several reasons I, well, just don't give a crap about the Big O:

1) The HORRIBLE opening dance/singing routines.



Did you see the abomination that was Hugh Jackman last night, people? The man looked like a Ken doll sprayed down with KFC rotisserie gold! Mr. Shake-n-Bake Spray Tan spent a good fifteen minutes (or more) parading around the stage with Beyond Knowles of all people, impersonating some of Hollywood's latest and greatest musical artists. He even tried to pull off Fred Astaire! And Beyonce was WORSE. Dressed in a flashy, thunder-thigh-covering, sequined "Chicago" costume, the two of them crooned awkwardly to songs from FAME, GUYS AND DOLLS, and even EVITA. It would've been WAY better to have them singing "We've got jungle fever" than to have two of the seemingly least talented entertainers in years up onstage making fools of themselves and making at least the crowd at Shanely's house throw our Oscar-party-finger-food at the screen. Go home, Hugh! Be gone, Beyonce! Fred and Ginger, you are NOT.

2) The pretentious opening presenters.



Usually, these are the WORST. Awkward pauses while Mr. or Mrs. Famous Somebody reads his/her lines from the teleprompter. Recorded applause. Shots to especially full sections of the audience -- or at least to th folks paid to sit in vacant seats as "fillers."

Last night, however, was a tad better. Mostly due to Tina Fey and Steve Martin being the comic GENIUSES that they are. And, thirdly, to Bill Mahr (who in the world at network had the BALLS to bring that guy back on stage?!?) for his random, angry eulogy bemoaning the virtual death of his "take a look at Bill Mahr's inner childhood demons and anger issues" documentary, "Religulous." He went on and on about how it wasn't nominated for an Oscar, but how we were all going to eventually have to face our "ridiculous" notions of religion and an afterlife. He basically showed his former-Catholic-turned-angry-TV-host ass, people. And what an ass it was.

3) The same old films getting the same old awards.



Oh, look! It's the Indian version of "Rocky," only this guy's way too skinny and malnourished to box, so he has to win "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" instead. How original!

Admit it: The Oscars are almost 100% predicatble at this point. Whoever gets the most box office cache -- and especially if it's an underdog story -- wins Best Picture.

I mean, for real, who didn't think that Slumdog Millionaire was going to sweep the categories? And knowing this, why on earth would I want to watch 3+ hours of the horrible Hugh Jackman, boring Beyonce and angry Bill-the-ex-Catholic show before finding out that -- yes! -- I was right and, yet again, the most predictable awards go to the most predicatble films?

I'd rather watch "How I Met Your Mother" on an endless loop, people. And that, my friends, for any TV writer worth her stuff is SAYING something.

xoxo,

Rebel Deb

Friday, February 20, 2009

It’s a Hard-Knock Life: WWSBD?


Have you felt the economic trembles (or earthquakes) that are affecting some people in these United States?

Whether you’re facing eating beans out of a can or still charging Jimmy Choos on Daddy’s AMEX, it’s never too early to learn a thing or two from Southern belles past and present on how to stay afloat in a crisis.

Lesson #1: Be resourceful.

Take a page from the Scarlett O’Hara play book. If you really, desperately need a gown for the prom or formal (or deb ball), then just make one from the drapes!

When you haven’t got anything to lose, somehow you’ll be so creative that new ideas for making it work will come to you.

Lesson #2: Be polite.

Using your charm is not only a great way to get a date (hey, free food!), but also just asking people to help you out can go a long way.

Need an oil change but don’t have $38.50 for Jiffy Lube?

Just ask your neighbor- he’d probably be more than happy to help. What about that pesky leaking faucet? Maybe your mail carrier knows a great plumber who doesn’t charge a fortune.

And how about a little touch up on those roots (come on, you’re not fooling anyone)? See if your hair stylist will barter babysitting for some bottle blond.

A polite little question can go a long way to pay day.


Lesson # 3: Do it yourself.

I know this is not always so popular, but think about the things that you normally have other people do. Here in NYC, it’s easy to have someone else do your laundry.

Each week, you just drop off a bag of the dirties and pick it up the next day clean and folded.

Nice, but not necessary.

Same goes for manicures and pedicures (actually, I’m WAY better at painting my toes than anyone else I pay to do it) and maybe even waxing (though for some areas do NOT try this at home).

The point is, maybe if you economize on some things, you won’t feel the pinch at the end of the month.

And if Daddy’s still paying, well, live it up girl, and treat your friends to a couple rounds of sweet tea.

xoxo,

Rebel Deb

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Celeb Rebel Deb- Ri Ri



There's no doubt about it: southern women are tough. Why else would they be called "Steel Magnolias?"

(If you're a Yankee interloper on this blog and have no idea what a steel magnolia is, well, first you gotta go get the movie. It's fantastic. Second, you need to go down South in the spring just to get a look at and take a whiff of a real live magnolia tree in bloom. It will all make sense.)

Ok, so basically, some Southern women are kinda used to weak men who need to knock around their women in order to feel more manly. Or whatever.

It ain't right, that's fer sher. But it does happen.

And it would seem that Rihanna has become another woman at the receiving end of this "weak man who can't control his temper and somehow thinks a beautiful girl's face ought to be a punching bag" angst.

Let's be clear about this: Abuse (of any kind) is NOT OK.


To start with, however, Chris Brown is from Tappahannock, VA. This town of 2000 where only half the people speak English and only half again of those can actually read is sortof a lost cause.

(I can say this, I used to live there.)

Anyway, small town country boy makes good in big, bad world of R&B and rap where JLo and P Diddy use guns in their fights.... you can kinda see where celebs think they're somehow immune from some common things like respect for the law, and other human beings.

Regardless of his nature vs. nurture, Chris Brown f-ed up. Big time.

Here's hoping Rihanna does NOT do what many battered women do: go back to their abusers.

Her aunt, Yvonne Fenty, said Rihanna is getting "her life back on track."

Let's hope that means without Chris Brown.

xo,

Lauren

another Rebel Deb

Monday, February 16, 2009

Blowjobs: Sex or ... Well, What the Hell Else Could They Be?

Last night, I had dinner with a lovely editor-friend.

Over an ass-widening amount of Latin food, we started comparing numbers...

You know what I mean: The Number. (of guys we've been with)

Since she's a tiny bit older than me, I expected her number to be proportionately higher... but in fact it was almost exactly the same. This struck me as a little weird, considering I'm a bit of a serial monogamist and tend to go from one serious relationship straight into another.

"Why," I wonder, "Is her number the same as mine? She's older, has lived in NYC 10+ years longer than me, AND she keeps several boy-toys around for those late-night cravings. What's the dealio with that?"

And, coming to no conclusion, I asked.

"Well, what do you consider sex?" was her response... "Do you consider blow-jobs sex?"

"Um," I said, and thought on it... "Pretty much yeah. Actually, yes. Definitely."

"Why?"

"Well, it's called oral sex, for one thing. Thus, implying that it's labeled as sex. And also, it involved penetration, pleasure and all the other dirty things, right?"

"Yeah, but it's not the same thing as like SEX sex."

"Yeah, I get it. But it's still sex, right?"

"Honey, if I believed that, my number would jump by like 30 people."

Which made me think:

How many folks out there don't consider blow jobs sex? And if it's not sex, what is it? It's certainly not the same as masturbation -- it's not like the chick at your lap is the same as your hand or a Downy paper towel or whatnot...

Come on, folks! What's the deal with everybody turning all Bill Clinton-like with the sex defs??

This Rebel Deb would like to know!

xoxo,

Rebel Deb

Saturday, February 14, 2009

This Week's F-Bomb Goes To... Valentine's Day!



"NO woman will ever be truly satisfied on Valentine's Day because no man will ever have a chocolate penis wrapped in money that ejaculates diamonds." - My mother.

xo,

Rebel Deb

Friday, February 13, 2009

The F-Word. Come On...You Know You Want to Say It!

Welcome to my new blogging series, betches.

I call it "The F-Word."


And what, you might ask, IS this "F-Word?" Are you SERIOUSLY naming a whole blog series on PROFANITY?

Well... Yes and no.

"The F-Word" is Feminism, my friends.

And, unfortunately, that word has become, for many folks, "profane."

In the aftermath of the 60's, Feminism somehow morphed from a symbol of hope for the unhappy, downtrodden homemaker with zero knowledge of birth control or any clue how to orgasm, the $.78 for every $1 female office worker, and the pregnant teenager forced into a coat-hanger abortion after years of "abstinence-only" sex-ed and no access to birth control...

To a "dirty word" in many folk's minds.

We used to be liberators, people. We wanted to free women from the "acceptable" prejudices: chauvinism and sexism...

The socially "acceptable" forms of slavery: forced pregnancy, unhappy marriage, unfair wages.

We wanted to give women the freedom to think, work and live for themselves. And, to some degree, we SUCCEEDED.

For example, because of Feminists, many teenaged girls today (thankfully!) don't even know what a "coat-hanger abortion" is.

And I pray to G-D Roe v. Wade is never overturned so that they never have to find out...

Nowadays, however, no one realizes or appreciates the efforts of "The F-Word."

In fact, most people I enocunter equate feminists to ugly, man-hating lesbians with hairy armpits and backstage passes to Lillith Fair.

Not so, my friends. Not. So.

Feminism isn't about hating men. It isn't about lesbianism -- it isn't a sexuality, it's a social, political and economic philosphy...

"The F-Word," my friends, is about equality. Specifically, the equality -- biologically, intellectually, emotionally and psychologically -- of men and women.

In short, as a modern feminist, I don't believe there is ANY difference between women and men.

I mean, sure... Women and men are raised and programmed and cultivated into different kinds of actions, feelings and paths based on their gender... but we all share the same DNA, the same emotions, the same brains and the same dreams.

Thus, as a straight, attractive woman who doesn't particularly enjoy the Indigo Girls... I still consider myself to be an F-Word:

A Feminist.

And why?

Because I believe I -- like every woman -- am equal to a man in each and every respect imaginable.

That said, I'd like to present this week's "F-Bomb!"

The "F-Bomb!" goes out to President Obama for his support of the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Restoration Act.

The text of President Obama's statements is as follows:


"It is fitting that with the very first bill I sign - the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Restoration Act - we are upholding one of this nation's first principles: that we are all created equal and each deserve a chance to pursue our own version of happiness.

It is also fitting that we are joined today by the woman after whom this bill is named - someone Michelle and I have had the privilege of getting to know for ourselves.

Lilly Ledbetter didn't set out to be a trailblazer or a household name. She was just a good hard worker who did her job - and did it well - for nearly two decades before discovering that for years, she was paid less than her male colleagues for the very same work. Over the course of her career, she lost more than $200,000 in salary, and even more in pension and Social Security benefits - losses she still feels today.

Now, Lilly could have accepted her lot and moved on.

She could have decided that it wasn't worth the hassle and harassment that would inevitably come with speaking up for what she deserved. But instead, she decided that there was a principle at stake, something worth fighting for.

So she set out on a journey that would take more than ten years, take her all the way to the Supreme Court, and lead to this bill which will help others get the justice she was denied.

Because while this bill bears her name, Lilly knows this story isn't just about her.

It's the story of women across this country still earning just 78 cents for every dollar men earn - women of color even less - which means that today, in the year 2009, countless women are still losing thousands of dollars in salary, income and retirement savings over the course of a lifetime.

But equal pay is by no means just a women's issue - it's a family issue.

It's about parents who find themselves with less money for tuition or child care; couples who wind up with less to retire on; households where, when one breadwinner is paid less than she deserves, that's the difference between affording the mortgage - or not; between keeping the heat on, or paying the doctor's bills - or not.

And in this economy, when so many folks are already working harder for less and struggling to get by, the last thing they can afford is losing part of each month's paycheck to simple discrimination.

So in signing this bill today, I intend to send a clear message: That making our economy work means making sure it works for everyone.

That there are no second class citizens in our workplaces, and that it's not just unfair and illegal - but bad for business - to pay someone less because of their gender, age, race, ethnicity, religion or disability.

And that justice isn't about some abstract legal theory, or footnote in a casebook - it's about how our laws affect the daily realities of people's lives: their ability to make a living and care for their families and achieve their goals.

Ultimately, though, equal pay isn't just an economic issue for millions of Americans and their families, it's a question of who we are - and whether we're truly living up to our fundamental ideals. Whether we'll do our part, as generations before us, to ensure those words put to paper more than 200 years ago really mean something - to breathe new life into them with the more enlightened understandings of our time.

That is what Lilly Ledbetter challenged us to do.

And today, I sign this bill not just in her honor, but in honor of those who came before her.

Women like my grandmother who worked in a bank all her life, and even after she hit that glass ceiling, kept getting up and giving her best every day, without complaint, because she wanted something better for me and my sister.

And I sign this bill for my daughters, and all those who will come after us, because I want them to grow up in a nation that values their contributions, where there are no limits to their dreams and they have opportunities their mothers and grandmothers never could have imagined.

In the end, that's why Lilly stayed the course.

She knew it was too late for her - that this bill wouldn't undo the years of injustice she faced or restore the earnings she was denied.

But this grandmother from Alabama kept on fighting, because she was thinking about the next generation. It's what we've always done in America - set our sights high for ourselves, but even higher for our children and grandchildren.

Now it's up to us to continue this work.

This bill is an important step - a simple fix to ensure fundamental fairness to American workers - and I want to thank this remarkable and bi-partisan group of legislators who worked so hard to get it passed. And this is only the beginning.

I know that if we stay focused, as Lilly did - and keep standing for what's right, as Lilly did - we will close that pay gap and ensure that our daughters have the same rights, the same chances, and the same freedom to pursue their dreams as our sons.

Thank you."


About effing time, Mr. President. Thank you and an even bigger thanks to Lilly Ledbetter. You two are the effing "F-Bomb!"


xo,

Rebel Deb

Thursday, February 12, 2009

"Betch" versus "Bitch": A Rebel Deb Explains the Subtle Difference...

So, there's this girl who works for me...

Or shall I say "betch?"

Actually, no. I won't call her a "betch," because betches are what make the rockin' world go round...

This girl, on the other hand?

She is the quintessential anti-betch, betches.

In fact, I would go so far as to call her a "bitch."

I won't go too much into detail, but suffice it to say that she works for me. Indirectly. She works for something who works for me. And she contacts me occassionally to send me appointments for various business meetings...

Anywho.

She'll a tad too snarky sometimes. A tad anxious or critical or whatever sometimes. And I totally get that. I was an assistant once myself at a BIG ASS talent agency in LA, so I totally understand how it feels to be in her knock-off D&G's every morning, dealing with clients from noon till night...

But, today... let's just say... she pulled an Anti-Betch.

Just to clarify:

"Betches" are clean, sexy, cool women who express themselves and their minds with dignity and poise. They're never push-overs, but never pushy.

Like So:

"Hawt road-trip Betches."

"Bitches," on the other hand, are hellish cat-demons who, much like cops, drag queens, cab drivers and the occassional bouncer, wield their tiny insignificant slice of power with a huge, brass-knuckled fist!

Like So:

"Bitches from Hell."

This girl was not a "betch." She was a "bitch."

She basically calls me up today (and every day) with the attitude that I work for her, as opposed to vice versa, and starts treating me like I'm a bad person for going out of town on the weekends... and why? Because I'm not immediately available for whatever appointment she wants me to take the very next day.

Aren't your agents (and their assistants) supposed to work for YOU? Isn't that kindof, like, why you pay them a commission?

Who knows?

All I've got to say is: Step off.

xoxo,
Rebel Deb

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia..


A friend and author of Confessions of a Rebel Debutante, Anna Fields, poses a question on her blog to all women.

Are you a rebel, a deb, or both?

My initial response is to whoop a rebel call because I wasn't a debutante. I didn't attend the balls or eat the cookies - that was normally for girls whose families had more money.

But I was a "quality girl" raised on the right side of the tracks in a good Christian home. So after some introspection, I change my answer to both.

Being raised a lady held the same rules as those debbing.

Stand up straight.
Be gracious and courteous to others, hospitable, and kind.
I learned how to be a good hostess, how to set a table, which fork was which, never to cross my legs at the knee and how to properly behave in mixed company.

These instructions gave me confidence and ease in any social or private situation. And as a southern girl I was taught under no circumstance to cause a fuss, make a scene, or embarrass myself or anyone else - all things can be settled in private or eventually the good Lord will deal with the perpetrator and justice will prevail.

I don't always behave the way my mother or grandmother would have in the same setting, but I am more inclined to hold my tongue and chose my battles.

If it's none of my business, I generally stay out of it. I won't cause a scene just for the sake of drama, but if I have something to say or feel the need to set someone straight, I will.

I don't think there's anything wrong with a little bit of embarrassment where a swift kick in the rear is needed.

And if a little public humiliation doesn’t do the trick than I’ll leave it to the good Lawd or their mamas, which ever one gets to them first.

Fight what’s worth fighting. Strength of character and a southern tongue are powerful weapons.


Julia: Excuse me, aren't you Marjorie Leigh Winnick, the current Miss Georgia World?

Marjorie: Why, yes I am.

Julia: I'm Julia Sugarbaker, Suzanne Sugarbaker's sister. I couldn't help over hearing part of your conversation.

Marjorie: Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was here.

Julia: Yes, and I gather from your comments there are a couple of other things you don't know, Marjorie.

For example, you probably didn't know that Suzanne was the only contestant in Georgia pageant history to sweep every category except congeniality, and that is not something the women in my family aspire to anyway.

Or that when she walked down the runway in her swimsuit, five contestants quit on the spot.

Or that when she emerged from the isolation booth to answer the question, "What would you do to prevent war?" she spoke so eloquently of patriotism, battlefields and diamond tiaras, grown men wept.

And you probably didn't know, Marjorie, that Suzanne was not just any Miss Georgia, she was the Miss Georgia. She didn't twirl just a baton, that baton was on fire. And when she threw that baton into the air, it flew higher, further, faster than any baton has ever flown before, hitting a transformer and showering the darkened arena with sparks!

And when it finally did come down, Marjorie, my sister caught that baton, and 12,000 people jumped to their feet for sixteen and one-half minutes of uninterrupted thunderous ovation, as flames illuminated her tear-stained face!

And that, Marjorie - just so you will know - and your children will someday know - is the night the lights went out in Georgia!

So, I'm both. A rebel and a deb.

xo,

Aubrey Stevens
Proud Rebel Deb

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Name the Worst TV Shows EVER!


This week, CBS canceled its bankrupt casino drama "Viva Laughlin," which some have called one of the worst TV shows ever. Which got me to thinking.

Here, then, is the Rebel Deb's list of The 25 Worst TV Shows Ever. Let the debate begin.

"You're in the Picture" (1961). Jackie Gleason appeared in a prime time quiz show, but it was so bad the quiz format was dropped after one airing and it became instead a short-lived talk show. Even Gleason knew it was bad: "I've seen bombs in my day, but this one made the H-bomb look like a 2-inch salute."

"Petticoat Junction" (1963-'70). Some shows from that era hold up remarkably well -- either as sweet nostalgia or entertaining camp. Not this one, set in Hooterville.

"My Mother the Car" (1965-66). In it, Jerry Van Dyke's mother was reincarnated as a talking automobile, the voice supplied by Ann Sothern. Actually made it through one season.

"Turn-On" (1969). Illegitimate son of "Laugh-In." Lasted one episode.

"Ernest Angley Hour" (1973-present). Broadcast from Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, Angley's Southern rural lisp deliveries are syndicated worldwide. While he doesn't claim to be a faith healer, his trademark palm-of-the-hand to the forehead is accompanied by his high-pitched shout "Be heeeeaaaalllled!" as the healee drops to the floor, to be caught by an assistant.

"B.J. and the Bear" (1979-81). Comedy/adventure about an itinerant trucker who traveled the nation's highways with his pet chimpanzee.

"When Things Were Rotten" (1975). Created by Mel Brooks. Hoo boy. Lasted a half season. Brooks used the same Robin Hood theme in the 1993 movie "Men in Tights."

"Mr. T. and Tina" (1976). Starring Pat Morita (who also played Arnold on "Happy Days"). Canceled after five episodes.

"The Ropers" (1979-80). An entire show built around the landlords from the nearly as awful "Three's Company."

"Joanie Loves Chachi" (1982-83). Scott Baio's addition to "Happy Days" was a classic jump-the-shark moment; here the shark goes belly up and begins to smell.

"Mama's Family" (1983-90). The Vickie Lawrence skit was the weak link on "The Carol Burnett Show." So, naturally, it got a weekly half-hour.

"Manimal" (1983). NYU prof could change into any animal to help fight crimes. Show turned into a turkey.

"Mr. Belvedere" (1985-90). Starred Bob Uecker -- need we say more?

"Small Wonder" (1985-89): Robot scientist builds robot in the shape of a 10-year-old girl, then tries to hide her amid his family. Theme-song quote: "She's fantastic/Made of plastic."

"Life With Lucy" (1986). Lucille Ball's final, disastrous short-lived series. It lasted only a few months but still tarnished the TV icon's legacy.

"Beauty and the Beast" (1987-90). The pretty gal and ugly critter didn't just love each other; they solved crimes!

"Cop Rock" (1990). Steven Bochco, apparently bored with making legitimate cop series ("Hill Street Blues"), decided it would be fun to have cops sing, and it would be even more fun to have them performing legit, hard-core cop work while they did it.

"Pink Lady and Jeff" (1980): Quite possibly the most demented variety show of all time, this bizarre offering paired two Japanese pop singers who spoke almost no English with comedian Jeff Altman. Hilarity did not ensue.

"The 100 Lives of Black Jack Savage" (1991). A 17th Century pirate trans-whatevered to modern times has to save a life for every one he's taken. Which, come to think of it, is the same plot as "My Name Is Earl."

"The Jerry Springer Show" (1991 to present). His aim is low.

"Barney & Friends"
(1992-present). Yes, some little kids love it. But parents helped compile this list, and it annoys the heck out of me. Watch video

"Homeboys from Outer Space" (1996-97). The name was a tip-off.

"The Secret Diary of Desmond Pfeiffer" (1998). A black British gentleman run out of England for cheating takes a job as a butler to Abraham Lincoln. And it was a comedy. And it made fun of slavery.

XFL (2001). NBC and Pro wrestling decide football isn't entertaining enough the way it is. They are wrong.

"Cavemen"
(2007): We'll take this insurance commercial, see, only we'll make it 30 times as long! No, not the one with the lizard.

xoxo,

Rebel Deb

Monday, February 9, 2009

Go Getcha Girdle, Girl!





Sometimes, I truly, deeply feel sorry for Hollywood actresses. Take, for example, Jessica Alba, who, in the March issue of ELLE magazine, talks about trying to get back into shape unhumanly fast after giving birth to her daughter, Honor. In the story, Alba describes workouts so horrible and strenuous, they made her cry.

Another trial she endured for beauty's sake?

“I wore a girdle," she says. "Eight weeks after my girlfriend had her baby, you could see her six-pack. She told me to put an elastic band around my waist—any kind of band or girdle works. She was like, 'I slept in it.' I didn’t recover as fast as she did. I [still] don’t have a six-pack.”

All of this torture wasn't even for a film role—it was so the 27-year-old could star in Campari's new ad campaign (and so, if you remember, the company could airbrush her perfectly gorgeous body anyway).

Further in the ELLE story, Alba talks about what it feels like to give birth ("Contractions aren’t that bad. If you’ve ever had bad cramps? That’s what they’re like. But that moment when they put the baby on your chest—that’s deep. It’s a deep experience.”), her new separation anxiety ("I never cried before. Just being a mother is making me a big, weepy mess.”), and, of course, fashion (“I’ve always loved beautiful clothes, but I’m not very hip to the coolest, newest, most fashionable thing.").

She seems considerably vulnerable and, honestly, lovable. Check out the whole story here, become a Jessica Alba fan. It's Okay, you should. The girl's been through enough.

xoxo,

Rebel Deb

Friday, February 6, 2009

What Would a Southern Belle Do? Advice for Michael Phelps


Poor thing.

You already have an ungainly body and an under bite. And now to make matters worse, you've gone and gotten yerself in REAL trouble.

14 some odd gold medals notwithstanding, Michael Phelps is experiencing the worst Southern catastrophe known to man. Worse than being ratted out as a cheater at church when you're the pastor. Worse than being snubbed by your neighbor Evelyn and sitting home while everyone else heads to the country club for the wedding of the millennium. Worse, even, than showing up to your Deb Ball in the SAME GOWN as another Deb.

Michael Phelps is experiencing what we call "a fall from grace." His pedestal was so gosh darn high that this was inevitable. (I mean, he warmed us up with a DUI for crying out loud.)

And we ladies of the South know a thing or two about pedestals. And that means we know even more about falling off of em.

So here is some good advice for Michael, and anyone else who's taken a tumble recently.

WWSBD? What Would a Southern Belle Do....?


1. Save face.
Honey, you can't hide it so it better look good. Get yer hair did. Get yer nails done. Michael might benefit from sporting as much official Olympic clothing as possible, but you don't want to overdo it either. Regardless, dazzle 'em with your pearly whites and make sure you're wearing clean underwear.

Every Southern woman knows that the external appearance is armor, plain and simple.

2. Circle the wagons and have a pow wow.
Get together with the folks who know you best and aren't afraid to tell it like it is. You need real advice from people who have to be seen with you regardless of how bad the scandal is. They usually share your last name.

3. Kick back.
Maybe in this case Michael should refrain from "kicking back" in his customary style (note to self: put the bong DOWN), but in general it doesn't hurt to let your hair down. But do it discreetly. This is NOT the time for a rager or night on the town.

4. Apologize.
If you let people down, then own up to it. Even if it's in a lovely hand written note, admitting you were wrong can go a long way, and may even maintain your endorsement deals.



Next time you find yourself in a public scandal, just think WWSBD?


xo,

Rebel Deb

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Never let your comfort foods talk back. Slap that betch!




Growing up, my mama served us cake for breakfast on our birthdays. German chocolate, carrot cake, white cake with chocolate fudge icing. Whatever our little hearts desired.

Instead of a healthy, wholesome breakfast, we got to eat cake in bed. For her, that was the equivalent of keying the car of her most hated teacher or something. And hey, housewives need to get their thrills too.

So I let her have that (sugar) rush. Of course, she tempered all that white flour and real butter with a glassful of milk and our morning Flinstones multi-vitamin.

That's right. It's like using a condom AND birth control pills for your one-night stand. Fun, frothy, and only happens once a year- I'm talking about eating cake for breakfast on your birthday, betches- but might as well swallow the Flinstones with it!


xo,

Rebel Deb

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Celeb Rebel Deb- This One's a Country Girl

Who better to represent a true Rebel Deb then country star Faith Hill?

Poised, proper and stunningly beautiful, Faith Hill has a (teeny tiny) history of drug use and *may* have slept her way to the top via now hubby Tim McGraw.

At Sunday night’s Super Bowl, she sang "America the Beautiful," a song previously performed by legends Vicki Carr and Ray Charles.


Why do we love her? Because she's REAL people. In interviews she sometimes gets a little testy about her past, but when it comes right down to it, she tells it like it is. Just like any real Rebel Deb would.




Hot mom, career gal and feisty too? That's a real Rebel Deb.

xo,

Rebel Deb