My Milkshake Brings all the Boys to the Yard?

After a Silkwood style shower and multiple hand washings I still can't get the smell of chocolate and vanilla milkshake off my person. I know what you're thinking, "Kris what's the problem with smelling like heaven dipped in rainbows? Well, sugary dairy confections don't tempt me. And after tonight, I will forever associate this sickening smell with one thing- humiliation.

Occasionally on The Dish, we writers get the opportunity to do on-camera walk-ons. Most people would see this as a cool perk of the job. I liken it to a yearly pap smear- super fun, but I go into it just knowing I'm going to fuck it up.

Tonight, I had a simple task in my walk-on. I was to walk on set after the girl eating a chocolate frozen banana, say 6 words while wearing a milkshake hat, wait for the girl in a pizza costume, then we all walk off set with our not exactly a star guest star.

First let me tell you about the hat. You know those crazy plastic hats that hold beer cans and have long plastic straws so men at sporting events can have their hands free to punch babies or roofie cheerleaders? It was just like that, except instead of beer, I had two giant glasses full of chocolate and vanilla milkshake on my head. You're probably thinking, "that sounds like trouble for a girl known to run into the walls in her apartment on a regular basis." Yeah, I thought that too! But life is short and it's not like I am going to turn down an opportunity to humiliate myself on national television.

Plus, given my natural ability for physical comedy, I'm sure no matter what happens I can make it super funny!

Read that last sentence in a really sarcastic voice. Thanks.

So, first take...I walk one, take a drink from the straw, say the words- "I have milkshakes on my head," in what I imagine is a super seductive voice, but I'm pretty sure is a cross between Little Edie and Phyllis Diller. Out of nowhere, milkshake starts spewing out of the straw, all over my face, all over my shirt, all over my expensive new boots, all over the green screen...you get the point. Hilarious right? Trust me, it wasn't. Oh, I almost forgot, my back was to the camera the entire time- that's right, because I am a professional.

After some wet naps and annoyed direction to look at the camera, we were up and ready to go again. It's not like anyone viewing at home would notice the entire front of my body covered in milkshake.

And it's not like I would blow the entire second take by keeping my back to the camera again right? I mean, that would be pretty stupid and incredibly embarrassing! Did I mention humiliating yet?

"BUST!" Kris- Look STRAIGHT at the camera please. And your line is, "Two flavors Luke, chocolate and vanilla, NOT I have milkshakes on my head." (In my defense, I think my line is funnier, but at this point, there really was no saving myself.)

Rest assured, we got through it, despite my commitment to blowing every take with my complete and utter lack of awareness regarding walking, talking, breathing or standing.

Can't wait to see the show.

Stop Telling Me to Swim With Dolphins

I have friends with “careers,” who go on “vacations,” therefore I am regularly assaulted with this command;

“You must swim with the dolphins Kris- it’s magical. When I held onto that dorsal fin I felt so close to God. Plus the resort had the best margaritas.”

I’m not going to swim with dolphins. I have social anxiety. I can get anxious in a group as small as three. I have trio anxiety. You can google that, but you won’t find it, I just made it up.

I rarely go to parties and when I do, I have a set list of questions I ask before I agree to attend:

Do you mind if we drive separately?
Are there multiple exits?
Is it in the valley?

I have never mastered the art of small talk. I say all the wrong things at all the wrong times, like bringing up the conflict in the Congo a little too soon after the flash of an engagement ring. Apparently there’s never a good time in light conversation to bring up genocide. Oh well, live and learn!

Dolphins are just another group of highly intelligent mammals that I have to impress. And I have to wear a bikini?

No thanks.

I would perhaps consider it, if the situation were super casual. Like if it took place in some type of naturally formed lagoon. Obviously cocktails and quesadillas are being served continuously. Then I can wade in the pleasant blue lagoon with cocktail in hand, a dolphin can leisurely swim by me, if the two of us seem to groove, some serious dolphin nuzzling can ensue. I don’t want to feel guilty about forcing dolphins into some type of performance situation.


One caveat, this open lagoon should have some sort of force field that only allows dolphins through. I am not interested in swimming with sharks. I don’t think any number of banana daiquiris will alter my judgment on that. Only dolphins can get through the force field. And white baby seals. Who doesn’t want to swim with white baby seals? They’re adorable!

I know my dolphin fantasy is controlling, but it’s nothing compared to the hellish rules and regulations one is forced to endure during an actual dolphin tour. Let me make it clear that I haven’t actually been on a guided tour with dolphins but I have been to Hearst Castle and I’m 100% certain it’s exactly the same.

Jan, my tour guide through Hearst Castle was less concerned about imparting the fascinating details of Mr. Hearst’s mansion than constantly reminding us, the obviously mentally impaired tourists to keep our “feet on the designated mats,” and “turn off those camera flashes.”

Of course my immediate reaction to her demands were to step off the designated mats and use a flash continuously. But I didn’t. Because I quickly became distracted by despising every one else on the tour.

You know how it is, there’s always that guy that’s gotta let everyone know HE knows just a little bit more about Hearst Castle than Jan. Hey buddy, we all saw Citizen Kane. Zip it!

Or there’s the lady who has to ask fifteen questions in every single room of the mansion. For some reason she just has to know even more details about
the extremely complex system for authenticating the 14th century roman tapestries hanging in the dining hall. Really? You can’t google that later? I have a life I’d like to get back to at some point. I could be back in my hotel room drinking wine and watching Rachel Maddow.

And then there’s always the one hanging in the back, ya know, too cool to be on a guided tour. Rolling their eyes at all the questions, smirking at the fanny packs. Hanging back just enough to let everyone that they aren’t a part of this gang.

That would be me by the way.


I don’t set out to be the Fonzie of the guided tour, but if someone has to play that role I suppose it may as well be me. Plus, I am usually the only one on a gorgeous day in San Simeon in a leather jacket and a white hot fury over the behavior of probably perfectly nice people.

Can you imagine that much rage inside of me cavorting with giant toothed mammals of the sea?

I would be that person that gets eaten alive by the normally docile dolphin. The dolphin guide will be interviewed by the local news and you know what she’ll say- “I never believed something like this would happen. They are such loving, gentle and sweet creatures. I can only imagine she must of done something to provoke him. Ya know, if I can be perfectly honest, she didn’t really fit well with the group.”

Introducing The Hug Me Pillow

Last night I was on Overstock.com purchasing new bedding. Look, just because I am not gainfully employed at the moment does not mean I am not going to do my part to stimulate the economy. Besides, I have to do something to offset the “Spencer’s Gifts,” theme I have somehow managed to adopt in my living room/bedroom (hint: it’s the same room). All I need is a lava lamp and a velvet Iron Maiden poster and a Claire’s Boutique is going to spontaneously sprout up next door.

While I was perusing the deals, I was horrified to come across “THE HUG ME PILLOW.”

Okay. I can support any kind of personal pleasure devices out there. I myself am a single girl in a big city that is known for attracting douche-y men from all corners of the globe. I understand that there are potentially going to be long stretches in a person's life where there may be very little human contact. Whatever gets you through the night. But this is sick. Just sick.

A one armed headless torso to provide “comfort as well as piece of mind?” (those words were taken directly from the ad, no joke.)


What kind of depraved human being came up with this? With that being said, if they ever decide to do one of those late night infomercials, I’d LOVE to write it:

Are you lonely? No, I mean are you REALLY lonely? Well wipe those sticky ice cream fingers off and grab the phone because that frown on your face is about to get a little less frownier.

Introducing the “Hug ME Pillow.”

the Hug ME Pillow is 100% NOT a real human being. That’s right! No more of those long lonely nights sleeping alone, you will now be sleeping with NOT a warm human being holding you close, but a one armed headless torso that will NEVER hug you. But you can hug the HUG me Pillow's unmoving synthetic fiber filled form whenever the urge hits you. The Hug ME Pillow is machine washable and the soft microfiber shirt is perfect for absorbing tears.


Did we mention that you are ALONE?

If you act now, we’ll throw in AT NO EXTRA CHARGE the “LIFELESS HAND”

Perfect for movies, dinner parties and those awkward family dinners!

Call within the next five minutes we’ll throw in a tuxedo for your cat.