one for the money, two for the show.

Three to get da ladies,
at least dudes clubbin hope so.

As of late, Hollyweird seems to be drowning in dreary NOT so hot "hot spots."
After all, when one longs to make "love in da club," night after night, the club scene may seem all but "dead and gone."

Heaven forbid celebs be seen frolicin' at familiar, but fashionable night haunts during the actual weekend. However, for us lowly *stalkerities, the weekend unfolds as the only feasible time slot for fun n' festivities. In the name of research, I have rounded up all my single ladies to test the waters. Here lies visible proof of our adventures as we forge ahead, back in the saddle again. Yeehaw.

*Stalkerities: individuals who fancy themselves equal to celebrities simply because they are familiar with every detail, no matter how seemingly small, of stars activities and or physical person.

First stop, H.WOOD.

Infamous for the Speidi incident on the most recent episode of "The Hills," H.Wood boasts ample space, even for a staged reality show. Heidi and Spencer can not suck the class from the shabby chic decor that defines this bar scene. Looks deceive as you enter the narrow hallway which opens up to bar number one. The club continues to creep onward and downward. It's said Drew Barrymore and her confused on and off again lover Justin Long have been seen cozying up in the dark corners that dominate H.Wood. With my single ladies in tow, I had the pleasure of giving H.Wood attendee Brandon Routh (Superman) a full on eye appraisal. And a peruse of his person is tragically all I managed due to the posse of male amigos swarming his sides. Also viewed on his person was some blazing bling. Upon closer inspection, a bold wedding band stared back at me. It appears I WON'T be taken to flight school. Kate Bosworth gets all the fun.

Next, a rendezvous at the VIPER ROOM calls the term "Dolls" into question.

"Meow" would be a vast understatement for the Pussycat Dolls' provocative performance.

Dare I use the most repeated reference to 80's pop culture? But yes, girls DO just wanna have fun. No where was this more evident than in the close quarters of the volatile Viper Room. If you ask me, a little too close. When watching women teeter in swings or parade about in scantily clad strings and bows defined loosely as costumes, I mused aloud to myself, "Lindsay, you ain't in Oklahoma no more." However, I could not seem to tear my eyes from a blond seductively sashaying in a life-size champagne glass. As she sprayed water droplets upon me with one swish of her leg, I shivered in disgust. Though the gentlemen to my left may beg to differ, I couldn't help but wonder if she had an STD.


Lastly, time to close with a lil' class at BOULEVARD3.




Who doesn't become tempted by the thought of a sumptuous soy bar? The South seems to have overlooked such sensuous delicacies. I do not believe soy ever touched my lips before this eve. But I must congratulate GenArt for teasin' our taste buds with the latest "ecco cuisine." At this chef cook off hosted in the swanky and spacious confines of Boulvevard3, Julianne Moor served as guest judge. Somewhere, deep inside my stalkerity soul, I hoped to find one flaw evident on her creamy, porcelain skin. It's easy to chalk up celeb beauty to professional air brushing and proper lighting. However, do not be fooled my friends in the *918. Ms. Moor not only maintains a luxurious mane of auburn hair, but also the likable air that comes with truly knowing her place in celebdom.

*918: slang reference to Tulsa, Oklahoma.

mirror mirror on the wall....

Who's pretty face is it? Your call.

When confronted with side by side photos of these two gorgeous gals, even the most hawkish Hollywood eye may question the identity of the true Penelope.

Definitely.

Maybe?

Most certainly Penelope Cruz.

If you could not surmise the second to be Ms. Cruz, then please, never subject yourself to a glorious game of Hollywood squares. Your calling in life does not involve what some may deem "useless," celeb trivia. However, for those of us who unashamedly embrace celeb culture and are not fooled by dark shades or uncoiffed tresses, congrats. I now welcome you into the ranks of true celeb stalkerdom. I count myself as Lord-ess Lindsay of the "stalkerities."

*Stalkerities: individuals who fancy themselves equal to celebrities simply because they are familiar with every detail, no matter how seemingly small, of stars activities and or physical person.

Still, if you are unwilling to admit you will never shine in our celeb centered world, let's take a quiz. I enjoy lists, so please answer these questions, either mentally or aloud to your undersized, over-pampered pooch named Muffin.

1. When confronted with colorful displays of "Star" and "People" at your local 7 Eleven, do you guilty grab one only to ditch your grape Slurpee due to the fact you barely have 3 dollars in change?

2. While watching Anderson Cooper drone on about gas prices you doze; HOWEVER, your heartbeat revives and you quickly decide to give a darn about world events ONLY after images of Brangelina flit across the screen when Cooper announces the couple's adoption of their thirteenth child from Zimbabwe.

3. OR, when dining in a noisy restaurant with friends and Becky asks you, "What's your view on the Prez?" you mistakenly say, "Oh Perez, it was good today, his penis art has grown less obtrusive."

If you mumbled "yes," either to yourself or Muffin, WELCOME. However, if you believe Ms. Cruz to still be with the likes of Josh Hartnett, darlin, it's time to study something else, like the art of crochet. Or perhaps, the current political climate of our nation. Or EVEN, the state history of Oklahoma. Whatever your passion, work it. But move over, and let the stalkerities debate the debacle which is Speidi.

we're OK with LA.

midwest mavericks makin' the move.

We fixin' to get er' done y'all.

By canoe.
By covered wagon.
By painted pony heavily ladened with saddlebags and other stereotypical western things.

We, my roommates and I, have traveled thus to reach the city of angels; the city of boobs, bleached blonds, and Britney. Whether we, my roommates and I, hail from cowboys or Indians, what common bond unites us? Tis the glorious state of our birth, a jewel situated smack in the armpit of America, Okla-flippin-homa. If y'all are going to be active, contributing members to this "blog" of sorts, I do not demand much. I shall not insist you strap a shotgun to your boyfriend jeans, nor stick a feather in that hippie headband, or even 'become a fan of Oklahoma' on facebook. However, I must adamantly ask you to familiarize yourself with certain Oklahoma-isms.

1. These boots ARE made for walking.
2. Wind DOES come sweeping down the plains.
3. Surreys ALWAYS look best with the fringe on top.

After all, if juicy James Marsden with his boyishly, charming grin, searing, cerulean blue eyes and luxurious locks that scream "RAVAGE ME," originates from Oklahoma, it can't be that bad.


HOWEVER.

WHEN CALI comes a callin, YOU MAN ENOUGH TO ANSWER?

Yes, I'm more than man enough to answer, I'm woman enough. Just like Carrie Underwood.

That's right, another Okie has answered the all consuming Cali call that tempts with thoughts of achieving allusive dreams. Not to assume I have yet joined the ranks of this seemingly soft spoken yet sassy songstress. But I, along with my Oklahoma born n' breed "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 1 (not 2)" roommates, will undoubtedly and unashamedly live the dream.

WE FIXIN TO GET ER' DONE Y'ALL.

Now, let us take into consideration Miss Carrie Underwood. Carrie embraces the notion she is "Young and Beautiful," refuses to spend her life "Wasted;'' therefore, insists that "Jesus Take the Wheel" in order to attain more than a "So Small" slice of the proverbial Hollywood pie, and at the end of the day will force her way "Inside Your Heaven."

Dang gina.

With one run on sentence I have captured Carrie's essence using song titles from her own self titled album. That my friends, is talent. And why pray tell, when she could have her pick of the prime Hollywood litter, would she opt for the young pup, Mike Fisher? Drop this hockey hottie and hit up, or at the very least hook up, with James Marsden. Yes, he may be married, but when two beautiful people are so genetically gifted, there is no course of action but to shed the self constricting shackles of current relationships to unite in long term bliss. And by long term I mean a solid three months. This is Hollywood y'all.

And THIS is also where I find myself. Like Ms. Spears, "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman."

Okay, but seriously, enough of the imposed lyrical loony-niess.

Give me a chance to rock your world, and vice versa. Stay posted for videos, musings, and ridiculous posts as I, with my constant companions, make my way through El Lay.

Don't hate the 918*, but let's make CALI GREAT.

* A slang reference to the area code in the city of my birth, Tulsa, Oklahoma.