It's the end of the world as we know it....

And I feel fine. Well, a little cold. It snowed in Los Angeles yesterday! Our weather is so placid that even a strong gust of wind is deemed worthy of a Facebook status update. The buzz yesterday was wackier than post-earthquake buzz. No one can believe it. 

While Burbank got the snowier hit, us here in Studio City experienced angry little balls of hail. You'd better enjoy the video and pics - I physically suffered in order to capture the moment!

 

To give you an idea on the outrageousness of this weather pattern, check out these historical tidbits on snow in Los Angeles:

~  The last significant snow in downtown Los Angeles and Burbank was Jan. 9-11, 1949, when nearly a half of an inch and two-and-a-half inches were reported, respectively.

~   The most snow for downtown Los Angeles was 2 inches on Jan. 15, 1932.

Does this make my butt look big?

Fashion lovers, don't say I didn't warn you! LACMA's Fashioning Fashion exhibit flies the coop next month, so take it in before it's too late. It's much like the zeitgeist Costume Institute exhibit in New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art, except that the exhibit doesn't go beyond the 1920's. 

jazz era goods I'd wear

In the beginning, viewers walk through plain white ensembles, so visitors can focus the evolution of cut and style without being distracted by textiles and accessories. Then you round the corner and BOOM! Colors and textures in full bloom, from Moulin Rouge-like Parisian hooker get-ups a la Toulouse Loutrec to the craziness of Marie Antionette styles of the late 1700's.

dressed for the occasion!

Wham Bam Thank You Grammys

When Ricky Gervais hosted the Golden Globes, the stars were uncomfortable. They shifted in their seats and faked for the camera. While Americans were nearly choking from laughter from the comfort of their own homes, the pampered stars sat stone-faced as Gervais poked fun at "certain gay celebrity Scientologists" and the Special Effects award not being given to the airbrush artists for the Sex and the City II posters. It was clear that celebrities are so used to their handlers flattering them and protecting them from the truth, that the jokes literally shocked them. I even felt a little bad for them.

Perhaps that's why everything was so posh backstage at the Grammys - the decadence was there to soothe the bruised egos milling about. Not to mention the calming effect it has on the hip hop crowds who are notorious for wreaking havoc at the BET Awards.

Anyway, here were just a few of the many backstage perks. All of which I took full advantage of, since I have no handlers shielding me from the world that sends unfiltered reminders of how much I suck.

gourmet food galore

Posh interview/reception areas

The area where Bobby Brown almost ran me over with a baby stroller

Bodycology gift bags

roadie paradise

Free backstage "Liz Lemon Massages" for all

Mozza Love



Mario Batali



In celebration of Valentine's Day, I'm giving some love to what I have no doubt is one of THE hardest date spots to get into in Los Angeles - tonight and every night. Osteria Mozza!

Thanks to celeb chef Mario Batali, this hotspot (shared by Pizzeria Mozza next door) is filled with two things that make the place impossible to get into - great food and celebrities. You have to book months in advance, but it's worth it.

Psst - they just opened up on Open Table to make our lives easier...or stop their phones from ringing. 

After all, how often do you get to say that you ate barracuda?



Barracuda. More than just a Heart song.

You with me?

Speaking of barracudas, L.A. mayor Antonio Villaraigosa (ew.) was seated next to us. While his table chatted politely, he spoke into his phone the whole time, holding the device sideways against his mouth. Naturally, I opened up my phone and imitated him. But unlike him, I was actually speaking to my gorgeous tablemates. Why couldn't we be seated next to William H. Macy and Felicity Huffman, who were so adorable on their little date?  

Back to the food. Sigh. These photos should say it all. If you'd like to take your sweetie to Mozza next Valentine's Day, book a table. Like, now.  

quail

Whether pretending to be uber-romantic for 24 hours on this high-pressure day and overpaying on the fixe prixe menu, or home with a tub of Chunky Monkey and Netflix - have a great night!

One celeb overdose, and your hotel is golden!

When I first moved to Los Angeles, The Roosevelt Hotel was floundering. A relic from the golden age of Hollywood, it was simply known as the hotel where Marilyn Monroe's ghost was said to roam the halls. And even then people knew it was a ploy to book hotel rooms.

Lilo's birthday at Teddy's

A couple of Lindsay Lohan overdoses later, and it's nearly impossible to get into Teddy's, one of her signature nightclubs. The lines outside suggest young tabloid addicts, desperate to catch a glimpse of young Hollywood behaving badly. Perhaps their panting wasn't at fan-crazed excitement as it was their corsets cutting off their air supply.

Either way, we weren't about to wait in line for a hour, only to be judged by miserable people with crappy jobs (a.k.a. the "door bitch") to decide whether or not we were hot enough to get in. I would argue that intelligence and conversational skills are vital to a social scene, but they always ensure that the music is too loud for that. My friends did the "I never wait in line!" line, but maybe they just harbored the same fear as I did; "What if I don't get picked?"

Months later, I get invited to the Roosevelt for a Christmas party. While much deeper things in life give me a sense of validation, I would be lying if I didn't admit to the faintest whiff of satisfaction. It was a great meal and fine holiday fun. Sure, the interior was vintage - but not mind-blowing. I was interested in The Roosevelt the way men are interested in women; intrigued because I couldn't get in and bored after conquering it.

Your Baby is an A**hole

Strollers are weapons of mass destruction. At the L.A. County Fair, parents used their offspring as an excuse to bruise and scratch total strangers. But the problem isn't the strollers of course. Even if strollers have been beefed up to resemble mini SUVs, the problem lies within that special brand of parent prone to dementia.

This dementia flatters them into thinking that everyone else loves their baby too. Those afflicted inappropriately drag their cranky tots to barbecues and parties, where everyone is expected to coo, watch their language and pipe down once the parents can stash it away in a back room. Note to these individuals: If you can't afford a sitter, you can't afford a child.

But myself and the millions of people who have been violated by strollers, crying babies in movie theatres and bad Facebook baby etiquette are speaking up. The brilliant blogger for New York is Retarded shared this hilarious rant. Here's an exerpt:

Hipster BabiesJust because you’re a hipster doesn’t mean you’re a cooler parent. If anything, you and your retarded, new age hippy parenting skills are way worse than any Midwestern, diaper bag toting, overweight, sweat-suit clad nightmare who has their kid on a leash. At least they see their child for what it is to everyone else; a pest. A pest named Billy who they keep on a leash and smack around when he acts like an asshole. I love that.

But in Brooklyn’s hipster parent world, a little shit named Chloe in a tiny Marc Jacobs ensemble wanders aimlessly around the coffee shop with her other designer clad gang of baby hipster friends named Rufus, Rex, Telulah and Blaize. They chew on mommy’s old Nano and climb onto the couch I’m sitting on and size up my clearly un-designer ensemble and loudly proclaim to their friends, “Target” in an ironic baby voice.

Meanwhile, their mothers are all gathered around in a circle drinking yerba matte, wearing slouchy boots over leggings and talking about how challenging pilates was today, oblivious to the gang warfare being waged over on my side of the shop. Clearly annoyed, but to no avail I have to suffer through this until their mothers entice them back over with a baggie full of Veggie Pirate’s Booty. Even better than that bargaining chip, these vacuous, baby holes promise their little trolls a “baby cappuccino” if they continue to be “good”. I watch the barista’s eyes rolls back in their head at the mention of a baby cappuccino and silently whisper to one another, “Not it.”

...and if the New York is Retarded blogger and the millions who have been made some stroller's bitch can't convince you that your baby is an a**hole, check out the official Your Baby is an A**hole website.

Seriously?

Shiki Shiki in Studio City, CA

Is this okay if Japanese people do it? Do they even know?