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Don’t Love This Long Time

November 6th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana


Dear Justin,

Does your weiner burn? If not, we’ve reached you in time. Let’s talk.

Listen, we understand what happens when you get dumped by the most desirable girlfriend on the planet. Dude, it happens. And here’s the thing: we’re pretty sure she was never going to stay with you anyway. Not saying that to hurt you, it’s just true. Drew loves “It” guys, loves ‘em truly-uly-uly, but simply has to move on, eventually. You can’t box a cherub, you can’t cage a cuddly bird like her. She must fly and be free. On to the next indie rock singer or indie flick star or indie comedy man.

So, it’s natural to go f*ck-crazy after you’ve gotten your heart stomped on by your true love’s Converse. And after you’ve gone through the initial stage of punching yourself in the stomach and crying until your face is puffed up like a Beard Papa’s cream dessert, that seems like the right thing to do. Put your peepee in something, anything that moves.

The problem is not taking your dating bar into consideration. Once you raise the bar (for example, by bagging Drew Barrymore) the bar is high. You can date anyone on the tippy-top level forever and ever…until, you drop your standards:


Oh dear. Honey, you don’t want to go that route–smoker’s breath, a dumpy film career, crack face, droopy chest. It’s a slippery slope from Kirsten, which we called the moment we saw you guys at Sunset Junction. But we didn’t know quite how fast and low you would tumble down below until we heard that you started hooking up with Tila Tequila around Halloween.


Dude. DUDE. Take it from us. When your bar drops this far, it’s hard to come back. You don’t want to be relegated to dating girls from The Hills or some castaway from Rock of Love next, do you?

So please take our advice, and a cold shower: Date UP. Not down. And whatever you do, beware the Tequila–could make you sick, and you’ll definitely regret it in the morning.

xoxo
DISGRASIAN

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Dear Lucy, Part Tiu

July 11th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Jen

Dear Lucy,

Hey lady! ‘Memba me? I’ve written you before. Perhaps my blog post/letter got lost in the cyberether/mailroom? No matter. The gist of what I said then hasn’t changed.

Today, I heard that you really want to do Charlie’s Angels 3. You were quoted as saying:

“I do (see Diaz and Barrymore). All the time. I’d love to do another Charlie’s Angels film. That would be so much fun.”

I couldn’t help thinking that the subtext/translasian of that was:

“Are you there, Cam? Drew? It’s me, Lucy. My show got canceled. I’m staring down the barrel of 40. Yes, there’s a gun in my mouth. “

We know we’re hard on you. You’ve been the object of our haterasian countless times, but, really, it’s cuz we love you. We actually love your freckles, those slightly-crossed eyes, that midgety body. Yeah, we’re fucked up like that. But you see, Luce, you’re our Obi-Wan. You’re our only hope. When people think “Asian actress” and “movies,” there’s–like that Yaz song–only you. It’s kinda unfair to have those gigantic expectations heaped on your teensy shoulders but, then again, you’re Asian and expectations are your little bitch. And, as my Hardass Asian Mother would say when whiny shit comes out of my mouth like “I don’t think I can handle it”: Handelit! Handelit!

So, please, for the love of your people, MAKE A GOOD MOVIE. I’m not really buying that your problem is that age-old issue of “Asian actors can’t get good roles in Hollywood” blah blah blah. Like I said before, go small. Do an indie. Self-finance if you have to. Fuck Angels, yo, why not do a Monster? Or a Monster’s Ball? Ditch the makeup and heels. Stop playing characters with their shit together–hard as that may be for an overachiever like yourself. Learn how to cry copiously on cue. Be weak. Take a role that requires you to wear at all times a sad, ugly, old, nubby, clawed-up sweater, the kind that is not made of 24-ply cashmere. I’m going to put one on now, in fact, though it’s the middle of summer, because having this conversasian again kinda depresses the hell outta me.

with tough but tired love,
Jen

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Thanks, Jasmine!

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