In a few interviews, I've alluded to a special consultant who worked on Tara. Her name is Leah Peterson, and she's blogged and written about her experiences with DID for years.Here's her blog entry about the premiere of the show. I couldn't be more grateful to have worked with such an honest, brave and intelligent woman. As an outspoken and visible member of the DID community, she took a big risk by stepping forward and working with us. I'll be watching the show with Leah tomorrow night, which is very cool.

Okay, on a totally unrelated note, here's a weird treat for Carpenters fans. I know it's not the same as hearing Karen, but it made me smile.

Dude, I'm blogging on a plane right now. I didn't know inflight internet service even existed! Me & Ms. Toni are en route to New York to do The View. Buckle up, Barbara!

The whole team did a press conference this morning, which I think went well; fielding mental health-related questions can be a little tricky, but we did our homework. I also met Katherine Moennig in the green room afterward. I've sweated her for years on The L Word ("Fighting! Fucking! Crying! Drinking!"), so I was jazzed.

You may also read something about me guest starring on 9021- OH, FUCK YEAH. A journalist I spoke to this morning SWORE that she heard that Donna Martin is going to be on my episode. If this is true, I may actually have to wear a diaper to set. I will leak like an overjoyed Pomeranian being reunited with its owner.

I never have any idea where to look in these situations. I'm just like, "Dude." (FYI, I was wearing five-inch heels and spent the entire night stomping helpless villages.)

If you haven't seen Episode 1 of Tara yet, I'm embedding it on my main MySpace page just in case. It should be there in a few minutes if it's not there already. Enjoy!

My mom and dad left this morning and I miss them already. This morning I went to put on my "Mr. Asshole" T-shirt and discovered that my mother had lovingly folded it. It was a nice moment.

This may be a smidge redundant, as I've already discussed my HUGE WETTIE for Tina Fey in several interviews. That said: TINA FEY ROCKS MY BOX. Her "suck it" speech at the Globes last night was classic. If you're gonna sit at your little eMachine and slag on someone all day, then by gum, you deserve to get shit-talked on national television! TINA! LET ME WASH YOUR FEET LIKE AN ADORING FUNDAMENTALIST HOUSEWIFE!

Tonight we're screening a few episodes of Tara for some folks; I'm psyched because Episode 3 is maybe my second-favorite of the whole season. There's this character named Gene Stuart that we all created together in the room. I'm not a great collaborator by nature, but this was one of those situations where it worked and we made a big, delicious, writerly tossed salad. And by that, I mean we put our tongues in each other's buttholes.

Thank you all for the fashion advice on Thursday. I wound up wearing one of the dresses (a scalloped cock-pink ‘70s nightmare) over leggings with black patent ankle boots from Forever 31. I was photographed for Nylon that day, incidentally. I kept doing lunges because leggings make me feel like I can KICK and STRETCH, and the photographer was like “All right, go to Lunge Town if that’s what you want.”

This week I’m taping The View (get ready, ladies) and I have this big press conference thing called TCA. This daunting information presents new wardrobe challenges. I work stylist-free these days, so I’ve been scrounging for nice rags to wear as we roll out Tara. I generally resist the hypergroomed, sandblasted, Zoom-whitened, 5 Factor, fake-ass Hollywood look; I may be the first female to wear combat boots and ripped tights on Letterman. But I've since discovered that some viewers actually feel insulted if you're "famous" (BWAH!) and don't bother to wear designer togs or slap some Bobbi Brown on your rosacea. Hell, people don’t understand why you’d wear a crazy leopard dress to the Oscars if you’ve got access to the navy YSL ball gown. Like it or not, when you’re a lady and you go on TV, people want to look at you and feel covetous, not challenged. I borrowed some cute stuff and hopefully won’t look too much like a dweeb. Man, this must be boring for the guys.

In other news, my parents are visiting and have been ideal houseguests. Usually, when people are staying over, the house feels crowded and cluttered. With my mom here, it’s the opposite; the place is actually getting cleaner each day. She even laundered and folded my ShamWows yesterday.

Tonight is the Golden Boobs awards-- I’m setting my DVR so I can fast-forward through some of it. Last year they didn’t have a show due to the writers’ strike; I didn’t really mind since I knew No Country had owned my ass. Plus, I managed to avoid the “Loser Cam”, a sadistic awards show fixture in which roving cameramen are stationed next to the people who don’t win. At the BAFTAS last year, one camera guy practically crawled into Julian Schnabel’s lap to try and capture that elusive look of disappointment. I’m totally gonna pull a Faith Hill if I’m ever in that situation.



(Yeah, I think Faith was kidding.)

I think it's cool that Kanye West gets so excitable on his blog. I love the Louis Vuitton Don, and if he's up his own ass, I wanna be up there with him.

Fashion question, for those who know better than me (aka all of you): I bought three cheap polyester dresses off the street today. They are reconstructed vintage and super cute (in that cool ugly way), but WAY too short. Could I wear them with, say, shiny leggings? Will I look like I'm pretending to be 22? How about regular leggings? Is there a specific shoe one wears with leggings? lI should add that I'm 5'9, prefer to downplay my calves, and am not afraid to look a little weird.

(P.S. For once, the Snuggie is not the answer.)

EDITED TO ADD: I'm attempting to drink that new Red Bull Cola. It tastes like your mom's Christmas incense fucked a Tab. (That's not necessarily bad.) Will update later...

As someone who grew up verily obsessed with title sequences (and theme songs, for that matter) it's very weird to be in the process of making one for Tara.

Yeah, I'm posting this again. Man, I spent many hours wondering what "streaks on vagina" meant.



Anyway, it was definitely a shock seeing my name in the Juno credits, but this is even stranger. Now I'm in the credits twice, like I'm Eddie Murphy or something. This show is totally my Harlem Nights!

(The credit sequence/theme song doesn't debut until Episode 2, just FYI.)

The whole process of making a new TV show is strange. Fun, but strange. Making a pilot feels particularly absurd; it's like 100 well-meaning cooks crammed into a galley kitchen. Everyone is trying to taste the broth and add a pinch of "Funny" or a teaspoon of "Edgy" (and on cable, the odd dash of "Bare Butt.") Plus, the writing in early episodes has to be super-expository. You gotta explain things-- if a new viewer jumps in at Episode 3, you want them to be able to suss out what's going on. The trick is making it seem organic.

GOOD: "You look tired, Sis. Late shift at the ward last night?"

BAD: "Oh hey, it's my sister, the registered nurse!"

(Actually, both examples are pretty bad. But you see my point.)

The cool thing about TV is how democratic it is. Your goal is to endear yourself to people, real people who make decisions about what (or who) they want flickering on their tube. Plus, people can stumble upon a TV show, whereas I've never heard of someone accidentally walking into a matinee. (Maybe it happens at the New Beverly-- like, some drunk horror fan wanders into The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. And is ironically scared shitless.)

Oh-- I don't even know if we're allowed to talk about F_cebook on Myspace. But the show does have a F_cebook page now. I've never used F_cebook, but I like that people are writing nice shit on that "wall" thing.

There are fun pics on there, too. This one is my favorite. Corbett's bowlin' good in the neighborhood!

I noticed that the Snuggie was mentioned in the comments. Of course I have one. A blanket with sleeves isn't a luxury, it's a necessity! How else am I going to open a bag of Mint Milanos without exposing my arms to harsh non-blanketed reality? Besides, you can strike a Messianic pose every time you stand up. Behold: Cheez-Its Christ, the lord of snacktime convenience.



"Suffer ye, all the Chihuahuas may come unto Me."

If they could just make one of these out of ShamWow! fabric, I'd be all set for apres bath snuggitude.

I find that New Year's Eve is one of those holidays that's totally front-loaded with (s)expectations and hence, tends to disappoint. (See also: Valentine's Day.) However, I had a good time last year; I went to a party and I have a vague memory of sitting in a utility sink. I went swimming, too. There were plumes of steam rising from the pool and a tremendous view of Hollywood at night. In situations like that, I always feel like I'm not quite a part of it. I feel like I've been slapped onto the scenery like a Colorform from the wrong playset.

(Did you ever do that with your Colorforms? Like, take G.I. Joe out of the shit and randomly drop him into "The Muppet Show"?)

I'm looking forward to taking down my Christmas tree. It never got fully decorated, so it's just a reminded of my inability to complete tasks. I got a Diet Coke ornament for Christmas, which is kind of like giving a cocaine addict a snow globe. Very apropos.

I'm very superstitious, so I'm not inclined to say shit like "I'm so excited for 2009!" Who knows? I remember last year at this time I was filled with fin d'anee dread as usual, even though I had a hit movie out at the time. A sane person would allow themselves to enjoy such a moment. (Note I said "sane.") Instead, I was just like, "Well, this means things can only get worse."

I blame a religion that rhymes with "Schmatholicism."

Okay, resolutions: Last year I made a resolution to wear girly shoes once in a while, which I actually kept. My holey/holy Vans have been retired. I've even been spotted in heels these days. Maybe someone will send me pretty new shoes, if I can refrain from picking fights with cobblers this year. HA! (Let's dance, Blahnik! Bring it on, uh, Nine West!)

This year, I resolve to reply to emails more quickly, play Wii Fit more often, and pay a lot of attention to Luca (you'll meet him soon-- hint, he's blonde, attractive, weighs five pounds, and inspires strangers on the street to yell "HEY, TACO BELL!" from 10 feet away.) I will write more. And I'm going to finish that friggin' book.

2009! I can't believe it was 10 years ago that I was a poetry buff in Iowa, living in the "Dodge Mahal" at 512 S. Dodge (OMG, it has a website now-- bizarre) and living off 'shrooms and Tuna Helper. Actually, I can believe it.

P.S. I shared the Dodge Mahal with FIVE PEOPLE. Don't be too impressed.

Since so many of you inquired in the comments, I must post a review of ShamWow-- the only infomercial product to actually contain the word "sham." It's a brilliant act of self-deprecation, really.

Okay, so I begged and begged for these. I'm obsessed with Vince, the ShamWow barker, er, pitchman. If you haven't seen the commercial, make like Baby Tomato and catch up!



You get it, right? Vince is totally wearing the Janet Jackson "Rhythm Nation 1814" headset, and that alone is awesome. I remember back in like 1999 I worked as at a place called APAC Teleservices. I sold Discover cards over the phone, which is a thankless gig. But I did get to wear one of those headsets, which means I spent a lot of time prancing around the sales floor yelling "HI! I'M BRITNEY SPEARS!"

(Yes, she's been around that long.)

So far, I've only used the ShamWows for drying dishes. They work well, but arguably, so would an old Hanes Beefy Tee. I have yet to see if that much-touted German technology actually delivers. Maybe I should hang out with more Olympic divers.

I promise to keep you updated on everything rag-related from now on. Wink.