SPECIAL HALF-ASSED THURSDAY EDITION! I know, I KNOW. I didn't post an advice column yesterday, to the disappointment of dozens. I was in a long-ass meeting all day at work. (Work! That! Right!) Eight hours long. Both breakfast and lunch were served. (Would an afternoon snack have killed them though?) I have a New Author at work who I will be editing. Well, I won't be editing HIM, I will be editing stuff he writes. Because clearly I have superior writing and communication skills. He came to the office yesterday so we all had to make a fuss over him and make him feel like a rock star. And in my mind, he IS a rock star, because he likes both James Lileks and South Park. Please do not ask how South Park came up. It just did. (And it had nothing to do with me doing a Michael Jackson impersonation in front of the New Author. Nothing at all.) Anyway. I tried to write the entry last night, but I was tapped. Done. Out. Which was a shame, because I got really, really good questions this week. But I just couldn't deliver. A great question about alcohol and drinking... Read more →

I met my friend Andie at my first job out of college. The job sucked. Our three-martini-lunches-on-Fridays did not. We both left the Job Of Suck within two weeks of each other, and have been best friends ever since. Actually more like sisters. Sisters who are alcoholics and can rationalize ANY clothing purchase for the other in minutes. Andie: Well, I like this skirt, but I just bought that other skirt, plus the shoes, so I probably shouldn't buy this one too. Amy: But that skirt GOES with the new shoes. That skirt will go with EVERYTHING. Andie: Really? Even though it's a shade of red I've never actually seen before? Amy: Yes, and also I'm buying this Hello Kitty underwear and you need to wait in line with me. Then we shall go drink some more. Andie: Okay then, I'll get the skirt. And maybe that belt too. This is Andie. (I am so sorry, baby, but you know I had to post this picture. I mean, COME ON.) (Andie has a special ringtone on my cellphone. It's "Get Ur Freak On" because we always sing "Get Ur Drink On" on our way to happy hour. Yep. We do.)... Read more →

Please stand by for The Big Fat Drunk Wedding entry, which has been delayed on account of PROJECTILE PUPPY DIARRHEA. The Precious is sick. I'm staying home with her today. Because I am a wreck. Because she is sick. We picked her up from the vet last night and she seemed okay, but she obviously lost some weight during the whole spaying-and-boarding ordeal. Which is HUGE when you only weigh like, 3 pounds. If we were on Animal Precinct and someone saw our skin-and-bones puppy we would so get arrested. But she's a super picky eater so we figured she just didn't like whatever the vet fed her. She chowed down at home and we were all, "Yeah, she's a brat diva." Then the poop came. OH MY GOD THE POOP. Ceiba: Mommy and Daddy came fer mE! Yay home and hi kat. FOOOOOD. YuMMie,. Uh oh. haver to pOOP now. Allover floor. carpit! pilES and piles of greeN poop. WAh. Mommy: FUCK. DAMN. BUT ALSO POOR TINY WEE BABY! WAh. Max: Fuck. They brought that damn rat thing back after all. WAh. Read more →

Ceiba is fine. Her teeny little reproductive organs are no more, because we are Responsible Pet Owners. (Even though Jason was hit with an attack of the "But I want Ceiba puppies!" at the eleventh hour.) Anyway, we went to visit her last night. I KNOW, RIGHT? HOW PRECIOUS IS THAT PUPPY? OH MY GOD. And that's all I have for today! What a total gyp. I should be ashamed of myself. Tomorrow is The Wedding, we leave today in like, a few hours, I have not packed, I have lost the bride's card, I still did not sleep last night even after taking a motherfucking tranquilizer pill, and my shoes have wrecked my toenail polish. Ceiba is staying at the hospital all weekend, which makes my heart all hurty, because I miss her so damn much. She is an unbelievable pain the ass who pees on the floor and rips my panty hose and runs around the house with cat poop in her mouth. God, do I ever love that dog. Max will be left at home with buckets of kibble and water and toys and treats and will not even notice our absence. I will miss him too,... Read more →

So I sent out an email yesterday to just about everyone with “insider knowledge” about my illness. The nice people who sent me emails offering comfort and virtual hugs. The nice people who were rewarded for their kindness with hysterical ramblings from me that usually contained entirely Too Much Damn Information, Crazy Girl. And to the other nice people who sent me nice things or offered to clean my house or gave me their home phone numbers with permission to yell PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE BITCH! into their answering machines. I told them all that I was doing better! Better! Happy! Medicated! Bzzz! BZZZ! And of course, this angered the Pharmacy Gods muchly and I was promptly a quivering mass of anxiety and weepiness once again. Yay! I still maintain that I’m getting better. Fuck you, Pharmacy Gods. *shakes fist at nightstand piled high with seventeen bottles of pills* You call that a panic attack? Ha! I laugh at your panic attack! Or I will later, once I stop crying about it. Anyway. Ceiba is getting spayed today. Ack. Ackackack. I woke up at four a.m. convinced that something awful was going to happen to her and she was... Read more →

Welcome to this week's Advicie Column Thing. Don't be alarmed, but I think I actually give out some real advice today. I know! Craziness. Dear Amalah, I've been enjoying Wednesdays at your 'place' for quite awhile now, and I keep meaning to write you a question because getting a letter published on the Wednesday Advice Smackdown is quite literally, all I aspire to these days, partly because when you don't get questions, you're not happy, and an unhappy Amalah is an unhappy INTERNET. The problem is, I keep forgetting (blah blah busy life blah) and suddenly it's Wednesday again and DAG IT, how do I remember to send you my question? LOOK! IT HAPPENED AGAIN! PS: Please don't buy that hat. Signed, Dizzy Lizzy Well look! You didn’t even have to write a question to get published on the Wednesday Advice Smackdown! Your dreams and aspirations are now complete. You may die in peace, or think of some new dreams and aspirations. But you raise an important point. Some weeks, I get a lot of questions. Like this week! Gah! Ack! And etc.! Other weeks? None. Or one. Or NONE. Everybody is trying to be all clever and think of... Read more →

The Gilmore Girls Season Premiere, On A 15-Inch Non-TiVo Television, As Watched By A Girl Who Is Not Used To Such Horror 7:32 Turn on regular television, hoping it has miraculously repaired itself in the past 48 hours 7:33 Pfft. Zzzzz. Crrck. Poof. 7:34 Fuck. 7:44 Wine. 7:53 Upstairs to wee television with shitty picture because cat chewed on cable once. 7:55 WHAT CHANNEL IS THE WB? I DON'T KNOW I NEED MY PRETTY GUIDE. 7:57 Martin is on WB. Start singing Martin theme song, which basically consists of: MarTIN! Bump ba bump MarTIN! 7:59 Oh my god. The suspense. 8:00 Recap recap recap. Lorelai = Luke. Emily & Richard = separated. Rory = whore. Check. 8:01 SHIRTLESS DEAN! He's STATICKY! NOOOOOOOOO! I cannot see the shirtlessness through shitty reception. Weep. 8:02 Shut up, Rory. 8:03 "Dean is married" phrase that pays count: 12 8:04 Strummy la laaaaaaaaaaaaa Where you lead, I will follow, laaa laaa. 8:06 Why does Volkswagen insist on using obscure songs in their commercials? Are they like, indie commercials? Art-film cars? 8:07 Shut up, Julianne Moore. 8:08 Britney has a fragrance? Since when? I bet it smells like skank and beef jerky. 8:10 Why is Emily... Read more →

AAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYY. Hi! Hi hi! Where you been, bitch? I have had absolutely nothing to write about. Nothing interesting to say at ALL. And now? Still nothing. But I'm starting to get testy-sounding emails from people. So that's why you're doing the thing where you talk to yourself again, right? I'm not just talking to myself. I'm talking to my ITALICIZED self. Oh, right. Completely different then. Oh my god, oh my GOD, y'all. There was a tragedy at my house this weekend. A TRAGEDY. Saturday night. My television like, blew up. I turned it on and there was some scary white static and then a popping noise and then *poof*. No TV. So now? I need to buy a new TV. And I have no money to buy a new TV. But I HAVE to buy a new TV, because of The Apprentice, people. The. APPRENTICE. My TiVo is recording and recording away in vain. I have no idea what it's recording and I'm frightened. We cannot watch movies, we cannot play Playstation. We toyed with the idea of playing actual BOARD GAMES on Saturday night because we had nothing to do. I went to bed at 8:30 p.m. last... Read more →

Welcome to Wednesday, the best day of the week, because it is the day I get to tell you all what to do, but also get to be no help whatsoever. If this sounds like the kind of advice YOU need, please send your queries and PayPal monies to advice[at]amalah[dot]com. BUT FIRST... The Purse! Okay, okay, I GET IT. Y'all want to see the damn purse. I misjudged you as good, socially-responsible people, for you are really a bunch of total expensive-shoe-and-purse WHORES. And I love you for it, really. So ta-daaaaa!! The Purse. The limited-edition Coach Hamptons Houndstooth Satchel. Pink and grey wool trimmed with cranberry/wine leather, suede AND patent leather. Lined in a glorious and girly bright pink satin. Pockets galore. Silver hangtag. My knees shook when I saw it. Jason knew he'd get laid if he bought it for me. (And I got the LAST ONE IN THE STORE. HAAAAAAA. Sorry, Georgetown suckahs.) (Now I just need matching shoes and a keyfob and maybe a little houndstooth flower pin. But not the matching hat. That would just be too much. Wouldn't it?) AND NOW... Dearest Q of E with the purdy shoes and all, How come when... Read more →

UPDATE TANTRUM THING: FUCKING NOTIFY HAS NOT NOTIFIED ANYONE. YOU WILL BE NOTIFIED IN ITS OWN DAMN SWEET TIME. WAH. First Up: The Bitchening Dear J.Crew Dressing Rooms, Why? WHY? Why do you make me look so damn bad? All the time? Why do I let you do this to me? You are not worth this pain. Even though you have that one dress that I really want right now? I’m thinking of going elsewhere for my preppy-clothes needs. Somewhere that cares. Somewhere with mirrors that elongate and maybe tell you how amazing your ass looks in those jeans. I don’t think I’m asking for too much here. And seriously, isn’t The Gap like, totally kicking your ass right now? THE GAP? I mean, they’ve got Sarah Jessica Parker and Lenny Kravitz in their commercials. And you find yourself kind of liking them in spite of yourself. I will admit, I went out and bought a little wine-colored corduroy blazer this weekend which is quite whimsical and jaunty. (Granted, I did not buy it at The Gap, mostly because I was in Georgetown and The Gap is like, UP HILL and I was wearing pinchie shoes.) And I am seriously... Read more →