Reese Witherspoon and Kelly Ripa Chat. Marinka Can't Stop Vomiting.

Last week Reese Witherspoon was a guest on "Live with Regis and Kelly" and let me just get this out of the way--her appeal is completely lost on me. I just don't see it. But you know who sees it? Kelly. Reese comes out to thunderous audience applause and Kelly says "the women cheer for you the way that they cheer for a guy." What does that even mean? I think it means that Kelly is crazy.

And then Regis asks Reese what is on her Christmas list and she reveals that she just bought a farm and that the chickens were running wild and somewhere between Regis, Reese and Kelly it was determined that Reese needed a chicken coop and, Santa, if you're listening, that's what Reese wants, hee hee, ho ho.

The fuck?

I don't know about you, but I like my celebrities down to earth. I've always loved the "They're Just Like Us!" feature in US Weekly where stars are photographed doing every day normal things like grocery shopping, wedgie removing and fatwah issuing. "Buying a farm" is not on that list.

From now on, I want celebrities to answer the what do you want for Christmas question with Britney Spears' Fantasy Midnight perfume body set or anything else that can be purchased from Target or, possibly, Ann Taylor Loft. Because we need to give our economy a boost and it's not going to happen with Reese's Chicken Coop.

And then Reese said how much her kids loved the farm and how they were happy there and that there was no TV or video games there. I was nodding maniacally at this point, thinking that finally, Reese and I have something in common because when we go to my parents' house in upstate New York, there's no TV or video games there either and although the kids seem to love it anyway, I do miss the quality time of plopping them in front of the screen and relaxing while they absorb important media messages.

Except that wasn't where Reese was going with this. Instead in complete disregard and violation of the Mom-code, she and Kelly went into this "our children don't need tv and videos" spiel that made me vomit uncontrollably.

Kelly said how great it was because when they go to the Hamptons, the kids play with sticks and rocks and those are like the best toys. Seriously, did anyone else see this show, because now that I type it out, it seems even more insane. And let me just say that I call bullshit on that. Ok, maybe they poked around with sticks and rocks, but who believes that they are really electronics and manufactured toys-free?

I think that part of being a celebrity mom is making sure that you never say anything that may possibly offend a non-celebrity mom.  Especially if that non-celebrity mom is me.  And if you think that I'm just a bitter hag, I'd like to congratulate you on your good call.

Super Secret Topics That I Will Never Blog About, Ever

A few years ago I was having dinner at my favorite NYC restaurant. John makes fun of me because Husbandrinka and I always go there. And also because John makes fun of me always, for no good reason. It's very painful. The restaurant is a block away from our house, so it's convenient, it's where we had our first date, so it's romantical and it's where Husbadrinka looked into my eyes once, when I was sure that he was going to propose and said, "You know, I've been thinking, and it's really hard for me to understand The New York Times' attitude towards Israel," so it's chuck full of precious memories.

So, we were eating there and I see that Yoko Ono is sitting at the table next to us. She was there with her son and a younger woman who I guessed was the son's girlfriend, but the only reason that I recognized Yoko was that she was wearing those enormous sunglasses. At night. Indoors.

I'm assuming that she wears them for the sake of privacy, to go unnoticed, so if none of her minions have the balls to tell her, I will. Wearing those sunglasses at night and indoors is exactly what makes you get noticed. It's exactly what made me whisper to Husbadrinka "Yoko Ono, six o'clock" and he said, "What?" and I said "Ono, Yoko over there," motioning to her table with my right eyelash, and he said, "I have no idea what you're talking about," and I had to stand on top of our table, naked, and bellow, "YOKO ONO IS SITTING OVER THERE WEARING SUNGLASSES, JESUS CHRIST, HOW COULD YOU NOT HAVE HEARD ME?!" Seriously, you try doing that and not spill that martini. And all this could have been avoided if she just wore normal glasses like a regular person or if Husbandrinka attended any one of those telepathy for couples classes that I'm always trying to enroll us in.

I mention this because as I keep blogging, I've been wondering if there are any topics that are really off limits for me. I mean, there's the usual, I won't blog about work, the intimate details of my friends' lives that I assume they wouldn't want publicized and I'm trying to be sensitive to the fact that Husbandrinka is a private person. But I also wonder if identifying an "off limits" list is sort of like donning those Yoko Ono glasses.

Oh, what the hell, she looks great in them. And besides, aren't we all attention whores?

So here is my list of Super Secret Topics That I Will Never Blog About, Ever, So Don't Even Ask.

1. Anyone's job. Except people who I don't know and who do their job badly. Hello, Starbucks cashiers!

2. Sex. Except if I have something interesting to say about it. This excludes Porn Sunday, of course.

3. My children's diaries. Because one doesn't keep one and the other one keeps it locked up. But I'd like to think that I have enough integrity to respect other people's privacy. (God, that looks pretty all written up like that).

4. Spanking. I'm talking about children, not perverts, here. Not that people who like to get spanked are perverts, mind you. I have had so many discussions about whether spanking is a good method of discipline and they never go well, so I'm not going there again. Unless I run out of stuff to blog about, and then I'm all over it.

5. Thermonuclear power. I have no idea what that is, so blogging about it would be awkward.

Other than that, I'm an open book. Which may not be the best news for the people that read this blog.

But I promise not to go all Yoko on you.