Apartment-Hunting: It's Not for the Faint of Wallet

Besides diving into our new, kick-ass workout routine, the boyfriend and I have been apartment-hunting the past few weeks. We're currently in the East Village (Manhattan), and hope to stay here... but ya'll have no idea what New York apartments look like, or the lows residents of this island must stoop to in order to live here.

For example, our current STUDIO apartment costs $1820/month! Our new one (if we're approved) costs *only* $1520. For 375 feet of space! Can you believe that? In North Carolina, $1520/month would buy us a mega FAT mortgage for a three to five bedroom house. Here? It buys us a fifth-floor walkup with a toilet right next to the tiny cat-food tin of a tub.

Put simply, for what we pay in a year for this (our entire apartment)...




We could probably afford this...




Then again... the jobs pay WAY more up here than down in NC. And if you can actually find one in NC, you're lucky. So, we're stuck here in the Village for now. *sigh*

xoxo,

Rebel Deb

Sometimes, Folks Aren't as Innocent as They May Seem...

Attack of the Body Snatcher!

Just so no one's confused... this is a repost from the Net:

"This is an explanation to those friends and family who have experienced mysterious switches of their body parts. This effect is especially noticeable in January.

You may have read of the scare story about the man whose kidneys were stolen while he was passed out. Well, read on. While the kidney story was an urban myth, my story is true - it occurs to me practically every day.

My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years ago. It was just that quick. I went to sleep in my body and woke up with someone else's thighs.

The new ones had the texture of cooked oatmeal. Who would have done such a cruel thing to legs that had been mine for years? Whose thighs were these and what happened to mine? I spent the entire summer looking for my thighs. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans and Sheer Energy pantyhose.

Then, just when my guard was down, the thieves struck again. My butt was next.

I know it was the same gang, because they took pains to match my new rear end (although badly attached at least three inches lower than my original) to the thighs they stuck me with earlier.

Now, my rear end complimented my legs, lump for lump. Frantic, I prayed that long skirts would stay in fashion.

It was two years ago when I realized my arms had been switched.

One morning I was fixing my hair and I watched horrified but fascinated as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush.

This was really getting scary. My body was being replaced one section at a time. How clever and fiendish.

Age? Age had nothing to do with it. Age is supposed to reap, unnoticed, something like maturity.

NO, I was being attacked repeatedly and without warning. In despair I gave up my T-shirts. What could they do to me next? My poor neck disappeared more quickly than the Thanksgiving turkey it now resembled.

That's why I decided to tell my story. I can't take on the medical profession by myself.

Women of the world, wake up and smell the coffee. That really isn't plastic that those surgeons are using. You KNOW where they are getting those replacement part, don't you?

The next time you suspect someone has had a face ' lifted' , look again. Was it lifted from you? I think I finally found my thighs...and I hope Cindy Crawford paid a really good price for them!

This is not a hoax. This is happening to women in every town every night. WARN YOUR FRIENDS.

Yours alarmed,

Peggy E. Leg"

Lock Your Doors! The Old Lady May Be Comin' For YOU

Just so no one's confused... this is a repost from the Net:

"Do you know this person? She's moved in without me knowing and I believe she's here for life.




Please be careful. This person has found her way into my house and could also go to yours.

A very weird thing has happened. A strange old lady has moved into my house. I have no idea who she is, where she came from, or how she got in. I certainly did not invite her. All I know is that one day she wasn't there, and the next day she was.

She is a clever old lady and manages to keep out of sight for the most part, but whenever I pass a mirror, I catch a glimpse of her. And, whenever I look in the mirror to check my appearance, there she is hogging the whole thing, completely obliterating my gorgeous face and body. This is very rude! I have tried screaming at her, but she just screams back.

The least she could do is offer to pay part of the rent, but no. Every once in a while, I find a $5 bill stuck in a coat pocket, or some loose change under a sofa cushion, but it is not nearly enough. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think she is stealing money from me. I go to the ATM and withdraw $100, and a few days later, it's all gone! I certainly don't spend money that fast, so I can only conclude the old lady is pilfering from me. You'd think she would spend some of that money to buy wrinkle cream. And money isn't the only thing I think she is stealing.

Food seems to disappear at an alarming rate-especially the good stuff like ice cream, biscuits, and sweets. She must have a real sweet tooth, but she'd better watch it, because she is really packing on the pounds. I suspect she realises this, and to make herself feel better, she is tampering with my scale to make me think I am putting on weight, too.

For an old lady, she is quite childish. She likes to play nasty games, like going into my wardrobes when I'm not home and altering my clothes so they don't fit. And she messes with my files and papers so I can't find anything. This is particularly annoying since I am extremely neat and organised.

She has found other imaginative ways to annoy me. She gets into my mail, newspapers, and magazines before I do and blurs the print so I can't read it. And she has done something really sinister to the volume controls on my TV, radio, and telephone. Now, all I hear are mumbles and whispers. She has done other things -- like make my stairs steeper, my vacuum heavier and all the knobs and taps harder to turn. She even made my bed higher so that getting into and out of it is a real challenge.

Lately, she has been fooling with my groceries before I put them away, applying glue to the lids, making it almost impossible for me to open the jars. She has taken the fun out of shopping for clothes. When I try something on, she stands in front of the dressing room mirror and monopolises it. She looks totally ridiculous in some of those outfits, plus, she keeps me from seeing how great they look on me.

Just when I thought she couldn't get any meaner, she proved me wrong. She came along when I went to get my picture taken for my driver's license, and just as the camera shutter clicked, she jumped in front of me!

I hope she never finds out where you live."

The Rebel Deb's Resolution: Publish More Funny Stuff!

Just so no one's confused... this is a repost from the Net:


"Dear Lord,

So far this year I've done well.

I haven't gossiped, I haven't lost my temper, I haven't been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or overindulgent. I'm very thankful for that. But in a few minutes, Lord, I'm going to get out of bed, and from then on I'm probably going to need a lot more help. Amen."

New Year's Eve, 2009! Looks Like It's Gonna Be Me and the Drag Queens Tonight

Why is it so hard to simply *not* eat chicken wings?

Just so no one's confused... this is a repost from the Net:
Old Bay BBQ Sauce
1/2 Cup Sweet Baby Rays BBQ Sauce
1 Cup - Apple Cider Vinegar (I only had white, so that's what I used, Apple Cider would have been better)
2 TBS - Old Bay Seafood Seasoning
1 TBS - Dehydrated Minced Garlic (Fresh can be used)
1 TBS - Dehydrated Chopped Onion (Fresh can be used)
2 TBS - Butter
Combine all ingredients and bring to a boil.

Holy Crapola! It's So Cold Outside I Can't Even Walk My Dog!

It's Almost New Year's! Time for a Royal Rebel Deb A**-Kickin'

My boyfriend and I just started a new, butt-kicking workout routine. It basically involves 30 minutes of me doing this...














While he does this...














Followed by another half-hour or so of this...


So I can, hopefully, end up looking like this...


So far, it's gone really well. We spent all day ice-skating in Central Park, followed by a trek to Whole Foods where we stocked up on whole wheat EVERYTHING, organic meats, yogurt, fruit and nonfat granola. Then, we hit the gym for our usual butt-bustin' (see above). All to try and burn off some of this thinking/writing/sitting on your butt weight we've both gained over the past two years.

Wish us luck! It's time to start our New Year's Resolution a bit early....

xoxo,
Rebel Deb

10 Things Husbands (of Rebel Debs) Should Never Do...

By Diane Oatis
(borrowed from Yahoo news!)

"Guys, we love you, we really do. But as wonderful as you are, every so often you do something that makes us want to jump out the nearest window (or push you out first). Please, please, don’t ever…

1. Offer to “babysit” your own kids. When your 16-year-old neighbor does it, it’s called babysitting. When a parent does it, it’s called child care, and it lasts for at least 18 years. Get it?

2. Imply that office work is harder than housework. At the end of a hard day, there may be smoke coming out of your ears, but let’s face it: You’ve basically been sitting on your butt. That same smoke is coming out of our ears too—but we’ve cleaned the house, shuttled the kids around, run errands all over town and lugged grocery bags besides. When we say we’re exhausted, we are exhausted.

3. Give a home appliance as a gift. Forgive us if we can’t work it up for this one. A new washing machine? Really? Can we get you some new snow tires?

4. Buy us the “cougar” perfume. Under our crew-neck sweaters may beat the heart of an untamed vixen—but most of us don’t want to smell like one. (Nice try, though.)

5. Brag about your driving. This is supposed to let us know that ours isn’t so great. If my husband tells me one more time that he’s been “accident-free since 1978,” I’m going to reach over, grab the wheel and make the car swerve into something, just to shut him up.

6. Be unimpressed by a meal that took a lot of time and trouble. I don’t know whose fault this is (Food Network? Julie and Julia?), but every so often we get the idea that it would be fun to make stock and spend the day basting. If the result is less than earth-shattering, say something nice anyway.

7. Buy clothes without trying them on. We know that the second you get into a department store you start to feel faint, but do us a favor and take the extra five minutes. Otherwise, you know who gets stuck with the returns?

8. Know it all, especially in public. Oh, honey. While you’re going on at length about whatever it is, we’re taking the temperature of the room, and we know everyone’s starting to fidget.

9. Say anything remotely critical about our new haircut. Sometimes getting a new cut goes well; sometimes it doesn’t. Usually we know the difference. Don’t rub it in.

10. Expect a medal for doing a little housework. Umm…it’s your house too, right? For now, we’ll give you the bronze. Maybe someday, if you work hard enough, you can pick up a gold."

xoxo,
Rebel Deb

Santa's Comin' Tonight! Better Chill the Vino...

Vespa Gettin' Friendly with the Neighborhood Dog...

Quote for the Day... "Light travels faster than sound, that's why a person is perceived as bright until s/he opens her mouth."

Butters Discovers Her Theatrical Side

Have a Merry, Zombie Christmas!

Watch out, kid... those brains look mighty tasty!

Justin and I traipsed through the snow last night, schlepping from the East Village of Manhattan into deep, dark Prospect Park, to attend my good friend, Katie's, holiday party. As if the promise free booze, food and friendship weren't prize enough for our travels, this delightful invitation made us committed to the trek:

"I was going to write a long explanation of why we all could use a party, and how we haven’t seen some of you for too long, etc. etc. But you know all of that already. Instead I’ll just include this mash-up of us, Little Women, and zombies:

"CHRISTMAS won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Kevin, lying on the rug.

"It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Katie, looking down at her old dress.

"I don't think it's fair for some zombies to have plenty of brains, and other zombies nothing at all," added a little zombie, with an injured sniff.

"We've got father and mother and each other," said Peter contentedly, from his corner.

The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Katie said sadly, —

"We haven't got father, and shall not have him for a long time." She didn't say "perhaps never," but each silently added it, thinking of father far away, where the fighting was.

Nobody spoke for a minute; then Kevin said in an altered tone,—

"You know the reason mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for every one; and she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army of darkness. We can't do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don't;" and Kevin shook his head, as he thought regretfully of all the pretty things he wanted.

"But I don't think the little we should spend would do any good. We've each got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from mother or you, but I do want to buy Undine and Sintram for myself; I've wanted it so long," said Katie, who was a bookworm.

"I planned to spend mine in new music," said Peter, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth-brush and kettle-holder.

"I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing-pencils; I really need them," said Kevin decidedly.

"Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't wish us to give up everything. Let's each buy what we want, and throw a party, and have a little fun; I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it," cried Katie, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner."

I love having witty friends, who love to nerd-it-up in literary fashion... with appropriately-timed zombie references... just like me!

xoxo,
Rebel Deb

But I LOVE It, Mr. Angry Barbecue!

This Winter Stuff is for the Birds

This is How I Feel After a Big, Holiday Dinner...

The Apocalypse Awaits (again!), and Its Name is Fluffy.

The Jackasses of 2009...

reposted from Yahoo news...

"Condemning the rich and famous for straying from the public persona may be a ruthless spectator sport, but the urge to forgive the penitent also runs deep. In 2009, the crimes and concessions kept coming, from the relatively mild to the straight-out bizarre. Below, in chronological order, the apologists which drew lots of Web attention in 2009.

• Michael Phelps. One moment, you're a record-breaking Olympian manfish. The next, you're a fallible fellow caught in a misdemeanor. His Feb. 2 apology came swiftly after a British newspaper posted party pics of Phelps with a cannabis pipe. A South Carolina sheriff seemed out to get him, but the gold medalist got away with a three-month ban and losing a Kellogg deal.

• Christian Bale. Foul-mouthed rants seemed so 2007, but the actor cussed out a director of photography on the "Terminator Salvation" set for ruining his concentration. The tape leaked Feb. 2, which inspired a week of remixes and parodies. Bale manned up the old-fashioned way: by calling into the radio station that played snippets all week. As to who owes apologies for the movie's lukewarm reception—that's still unclear.

• Rupert Murdoch. The Post's published apology following its infamous Feb. 18 chimp cartoon (meant to tie together headlines about a chimpanzee attack and the Obama stimulus package) didn't appease many. Chairman Murdoch gave it a go, and got better results.

• Michael Steele. In the March scramble for the title of de facto lead of the Republican party, the RNC chairman agreed that Rush Limbaugh was "incendiary...and ugly." That didn't sit well with the radio host, and within two days Steele clarified his "inarticulate" comments.

• Mark Sanford. How the South Carolina governor's tale of infidelity unfolded over Father's Day Weekend was odd, and so was the tearful and meandering press conference on June 24. Once he started, he couldn't stop talking about his "soul mate" and "crossing the line." The 2012 GOP hopeful may still face ethical charges. His estranged wife? Book deal.

• Chris Brown. The singing/acting prodigy became a villain in a domestic-violence dispute with celebrity girlfriend, Rihanna, on Grammy night (Feb. 8). Brown's posted apology on July 20 received mixed reviews, and the incident inspired dueling albums. Brown—sentenced to a five-year probation—plans to tell all in a Dec. 11 "20/20" interview. For her part, Rihanna has rebounded.

• Kanye West. Slamming a president is one thing, but trashing an ingenue's first VMA Awards moment is another. The hip-hop artist got booted after he interrupted Taylor Swift's Best Female Video win on Sept. 13. His chain of apologies began on his blog (twice), continued on Jay Leno, and concluded with a direct phone call.

• David Letterman. The "Late Night" host had to issue multiple mea culpas: The first was for a poor joke directed at the daughter of then-Alaska governor Sarah Palin. The whopper came in the fall, when he 'fessed up to workplace affairs after an alleged blackmail scheme. The Oct. 5 apology came four days later, reportedly at some urging.

• Steve Phillips. An affair with an obsessed a 22-year-old coworker, a divorce filing from his wife of 19 years, and an October firing: No wonder the only thing left for the ESPN baseball analyst, 46, was to be "deeply sorry" on Oct. 21 and hide away in rehab for sex addiction until the next act."

How 'Bout We Change His Name from "Tiger" to "Cheetah?"

Santa's Little Helper

Black Friday Makes for a Blue Tuesday

Whatever Happened to Getting Lumps of Coal?

Turkey Porn: How our Favorite Birds Deal with the Stress of the Holidays...

Oh, yeah, baby... Eat Mor Chikin...

The Apocalypse Awaits, and It Wears Bumpits

Does Wayne Brady Need to Slap a Bitch?!

The Rebel Debutante on "Mad Men"

Here's what the Rebel Deb would look like, if she were a character on AMC's "Mad Men":
An ounce of Joan with a POUND of Peggy... a gutsy, determined, intelligent go-getter... with a (not-so) secret sexy side... :)

Thank You, PETA, for Keeping Us All Safe

This Time, Santa, You're Goin' DOWN

The (not-so-secret) Secret to Miley's Success...

Gettin' Ready for Christmas with a Lil' Holiday Humor...

1...2... Turkey's Coming for You!

Dat's My Kinda Snowmen!

And, Thus, It Came to be Known by All the Good Little Children of the World as... the Christmas Dildo.

Zombie Babies: Just Another Reason to *LOVE* Halloween.

Rude Bathroom Instructions: Only in New York.

"Liger Dog": Probably the Coolest Pet on the Planet.

This Shit Has GOT to STOP.

Check out a picture of the 15-year-old victim of a recent San Francisco gang-rape... this poor child was sexually assaulted, beaten and taunted by as many as 20 different men and boys -- ranging from 15 to 20 years old! WTF, people? Is rape considered some kind of sport?

According to Jezebel.com...


Brace yourself for the most stomach-turning story in a long time: on Friday, a 15-year-old girl was brutally gang-raped after a homecoming dance in a suburb of San Francisco, while as many as 15 teenage boys stood around, doing nothing.

The victim was leaving the dance in Richmond, CA — a suburb of San Francisco, not too far from Antioch, where Phillip Garrido held Jaycee Dugard — when a classmate invited her to drink with him in a secluded area near the school. She agreed, becoming so inebriated that she fell over, at which point as many as seven young men raped her, beat her, took photographs, and stole her jewelry. They assaulted her for two-and-a-half hours, injuring her so badly that she had to be flown from the scene in critical condition.

A gang rape always has the added awfulness that the rapists are comfortable enough with their crime to commit it in front of others. This case is especially bad because the girl's attackers continued in front of multiple witnesses, assuming that they would do nothing. That assumption was correct. In fact, it was someone hearing about the assault at a local house party who called the cops. Richmond police lieutenant Mark Gagan said, "What makes it even more disturbing is the presence of others. People came by, saw what was happening, and failed to report it."

At first I thought this was a Kitty Genovese situation, in which indifferent bystanders failed to help a crime victim. In fact, it's worse. CNN's Nick Valencia writes that, "as many as 15 people, all males, stood around watching the assault, but did not call police or help the victim." Gagan adds, "As people announced over time that this was going on, more people came to see, and some actually participated." This isn't a case of people turning their heads away and saying "none of my business." It's a situation in which 15 boys and men (one suspect in custody is 19, the other 15) treating public, brutal assault as a form of entertainment.

Anyone who went to a big, rough high school has seen this happen with a fight — everybody in the school rushes to the scene, cheering, booing, and even joining in as kids beat each other up. This practice is bad enough, exposing teen bloodlust and lack of compassion, but adding sexual assault to the mix makes the onlookers' situation all the more heinous. That all said onlookers were male seems important here — were they so afraid of having their masculinity questioned that they couldn't say anything? Or, more disturbingly, were they enthusiastic about the event, participating, however vicariously, in some kind of conquest? Whatever the case, not one, not two, but fifteen young men watched a gang-rape take place and essentially chose to side with the rapists — as Yes Means Yes would say, "that's rape culture."

xoxo,

Rebel Deb

Oh, Those Crazy Kardashians!

Nothing says lovin' like big, wax lips... Check out this Yahoo news report! (or don't. I mean, aren't there more important world issues you could reading about? Like health care? Or abolishing the death penalty? Yeah... didn't think so... so keep reading!)

"In photos posted on her blog, Khloe Kardashian Odom revealed that she and husband Lamar Odom received matching tattoos to commemorate the lifelong love they sealed by exchanging marriage vows last month.

The "Keeping Up With the Kardashians" star and the Lakers forward inked each other's initials onto their hands. The "KO" on Odom's hand reflects the bride's announcement that she was changing her name to Khloe Kardashian Odom, while the "LO" on Khloe's hand could possibly double as shorthand for "Lo, this is a terrible idea."

For any young people who would like to model their lives after celebrities, you can follow the Kardashian-Odom model of love in four quick steps: (1) Meet. (2) Announce wedding plans one month later. (3) Realize belatedly you need a prenup and sign it three weeks after the wedding. (4) Get tattoos!

(Please note that this model only works if the bride has her own reality show.)"

xoxo,

Rebel Deb

Even Porcupines Have Mommy Issues

Weekend Progress Report

Butters Gets Eaten by a Bush!

As his helpless Rebel Debutante mother looks on...

Recession Santa: Coming Soon to a Street Corner Near You

Alien Baby!

...or, at least, a kid with some kick-ass parents, who happen to remember mega-hit sci-fi horror movies from the '70's. I totally think this should be my choice of Halloween costume:




xoxo,
Rebel Deb