Weekend Big Pimpin’

My first Draft Day Suit post went up this morning!  It took me HOURS to write.  HOURS.  So, please.  Read.  Even if you don’t like UFC or don’t know what this UFC thing is we speak of, go read.  Because you like me and think I’m funny and probably really pretty, too.  You can see the pretty gamma rays jumping off the screen, but they’re only at Draft Day Suit, so go read and you can see them.

http://www.draftdaysuit.com/2010/05/01/ufc-113-machida-v-shogun-2/

This week I am the Featured Blogger at Studio 30 Plus!  That means I’m probably super awesome now and über successful and stuff.  I’m going to buy a liger with my future endorsement earnings.

http://studiothirtyplus.ning.com/

And lastly for today, MamaPop, in typical Hollywood style, has had a facelift.  The site, which was perfect before, is even MORE perfecter now.  The beautiful and talented Sweetney has nipped and tucked and enhanced and has created a masterpiece.  The site is now divided into three sections: Pop Culture (that’s where I usually hang out), Gossip (up-to-date, as-it-happens, daily gossip), and Community (where we all – even you! – get to hang out and share all sorts of wickedness). 

I can’t even describe how much fun I’m having writing for MamaPop.  The writers are amazing, wonderful, talented people and I get to do what I like doing best, which is snarking.  I looove a good snarky rant, and I get to do that there, surrounded by writers I have admired for years.  I’m a total and complete fan girl.

http://mamapop.com

And I have one more thing to pimp, but I have to save it until Tuesday (another secret!).  Keep your eyes and ears peeled.  Yes, you will need your ears for this one.

That is all.

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2 thoughts on “Weekend Big Pimpin’

  1. I’ll say it again: I always knew you’d go big.

    I’ll say it very quietly: I liked the old MP better.

    I’ll yell it at you: Where is my email with this secret for Tuesday? You are not allowed to keep secrets from me. In fact, I’m upset you even were brewing a secret and kept it secret, even if it’s supposed to be secret. It’s 6:45 p.m. There’d better be a note from you by 7.

    I’ll ask nicely to make up for the yelling: How was the garage sale?

    But I’ll end menacingly: Email. Pronto.

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