(Yes, that spelling is intentional. Work with me a moment.)

As we know, 23-year-old professional cradle robber Taylor Swift LOVES boys. And boys they usually are. Taylor Lautner, Conor Kennedy, and now One Direction star Harry Styles, age 18! You rock your cougar freak flag in training!

I have an idea . . . let’s go raid the local high school and find boys!

Now, I think after this latest PR set up relationship ends–which looks like it may be VERY soon–Taylor Swift needs to date a REAL man. And I’m not talking about that sensitive John Mayer–anyone over the age of 21 knows that crap like “Your Body is a Wonderland” is something that only a high school slut would want to be about them.

I’m talking about the original Styles . . . Stiles Stilinski, from the 1985 movie Teen Wolf (I can’t believe I even have to specify this, but blame MTV).

Yes I AM looking at you Dicknose!

While technically Stiles WAS a high school student when he came into my consciousness, the actor who played him, Jerry Levine, was 28. But he was wise behind his years. He made Scott Howard (Michael J. Fox for you heathens) a very successful wolf, but ultimately Scott dropped it all to be with Boof. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, I suggest you rent the movie.

Heck, you can buy Teen Wolf and Teen Wolf Too for $5!

And Taylor, Stiles and his pals will ALWAYS help you find a keg. of beer.

Some people are just so selfish. Here they are in a courtroom trying a very important case, and all they can think about is their hair!

I’ve got the urge to tell you to get a new job, counselor! But then again, you can’t really blame a girl for wanting natural botanical locks.

This looks more natural equine to me.

In the early 1990s I was suffering from an affliction called puberty, and it was not pretty.

Exhibit A

I found solace in things like George Clooney on the show Sisters, Ben Affleck in Voyage of the Mimi and of course Golden Girls. I DREAMED about being a widowed lady in Miami, slutting it up at the Rusty Anchor. No shuffleboard for me!

Blanche Devereaux, my role model

The early 1990s were such an awesome time because they made being old look like SO. MUCH. FUN. And perhaps no other movie encapsulated that than every red-blooded American manly man’s favorite flick, Fried Green Tomatoes.

I assume you got this DVD for your boyfriend for Xmas, that is if you are a considerate girlfriend!

(Okay, so it’s not a television show, but you KNOW Fried Green Tomatoes will be on basic cable soon enough so you can DVR the sh– out of it.)

Who else still has fantasies about some young hussy with a bad perm stealing your parking spot so you can crash into her car and explain, “Face it girls, I’m older and I have more insurance!” Kathy Bates–you are the reason why I put money in my FSA! Love you girl!

Is anyone else throwing up a little about the upcoming series premiere of The Carrie Diaries?

Just what New York City needs, another pretty young blonde!

Now, I loved Sex and the City as much as the next girl/gay man. I was a college student in North Carolina and then a working adult in Boston when the show aired. By the time I moved to New York City in 2006, the show had been over for two years. But damn, you could feel the remnants left behind. Proof? The fact that I even KNOW what a Manolo Blahnik is and that no one wears pear-shaped diamond engagement rings anymore.

I choose to live in Queens which mercifully is devoid of the young Sex types (like they would ever step into an outer borough! They keep their feet planted firm in Murray Hill and the Upper East Side thankyouverymuch). But I DREAD next summer’s college interns because they are going to be all about Carrie and writing personal essays about their struggles being young and beautiful (yes, I get the irony that I write a blog from my point of view, hehe) and how unfair it is that their dads will only buy them a Louis Vuitton handbag when they really want a Birkin (Again, I am ashamed I know the name of both of these products). Plus it drives me bananas that the name of the actress starring as Carrie is AnnaSophia Robb. WHY IS THERE NO SPACE BETWEEN ANNA AND SOPHIA? That’s more pretentious than spelling “Liz” as “Lyz!”

Who knows if I will give it a shot. Probably not. But then again I do hate-watch Girls on HBO (returning for its second season on Sunday, January 13, one day before Carrie premieres) which is about young and average-looking self-absorbed ladies in New York City so the jury is still out . . . .

Oh to be a youth who loved musical theater in the 1980s. It was a TRIP let me tell you. I grew up in the greatest Valley known to man–the Merrimack, duh, 30 miles North of Boston–but I had this uncle who lived in MANHATTAN and worked in the entertainment industry and did all sorts of cool things like meet famous people and go to Broadway plays.

This is the Liz we are dealing with in that era. Of COURSE I liked musicals. With all that flare? OF COURSE I did.

My Uncle John used to send me tape cassettes for my birthday and Christmas of the cast recordings of all my favorite shows like The Music Man, Starlight Express, Cats and The Phantom of the Opera. I would steal my sister’s Fisher-Price Tape Recorder and listen the bejesus out of them. What a “Memory” indeed!

No musical had a greater impact me, however, than Les Miserables, which I of course called Les Miz because I was no French master. I received the Original Broadway Cast Recording for either my 8th, 9th, or 10th birthday (sue me for not remembering. Oops!). As a kid, my favorite songs were “Come To Me” because I loved to cry about people dying and “Master of the House” because hearing swears gave this devout Catholic girl a rush. As I grew up, my tastes evolved and my passion for Les Mis increased . . . I acted out the “Confrontation” between Valjean and Javert, I dreamed of “One Day More,” and I prayed that I would not die in “A Little Fall of Rain” even if it was in the arms of a handsome French soldier.

I finally saw the play in Boston the summer before my freshman year in college and my heart was certainly “full of love” because it was so amazing. I continued to listen to the soundtrack a couple times of year on the dual cassette portion of my 50-disc changer stereo (you are talking to a fancy girl here).

At this point you, my loyal readers, are probably all, while this is a critical insight into the divine person you became, what the hell does this have to do with TV. And to that I reply just you wait . . . I will get there “At the End of the Day” if not sooner.

Okay, it’s going to be sooner. So anyway, I loved the soundtrack, finally saw it live, blah blah blah. But there was a point in high school where they broadcast Les Miserables: The Dream Cast in Concert on PBS to celebrate the 10th anniversary. You better BELIEVE this girl watched the hell out of it!

I thought my life was complete, but then fifteen plus years after THAT they decided to make it into a movie. I was a bit nervous–I can never trust Hollywood after they wasted Bronson Pinchot’s talent in Blame it on the Bellboy–but I decided to give it a shot anyway. So on the day after Christmas I headed to the Loop in Methuen with my aunt, uncle, and cousin Morgan and watched it. And it was awesome. I cried when Fantine died. I got up to pee during “Lovely Ladies” and “Look Down” (two of my least favorite songs after “Castle on a Cloud” even though I do adore Gavroche’s spunk). I even felt a little bad when Javert killed himself. I cried when Valjean died. And through it all, I sang along!

So all you fellow Les Mis geeks–there is still a place for us in the world. And if you want to get pumped, watch the trailer below. Woohoo!

One of the best things about the holidays is the drinking!!! Oh it’s fun. As I mentioned yesterday I’m super popular so I was invited to like a million and one parties so that meant I had like a million and one hangovers because I drank a LOT of Carlo Rossi.

Carlo Rossi, the Miller High Life of Wine!

Kidding, folks, kidding! I am over the age of 19 and not in college so I don’t drink jug wine anymore!

But if it’s champagne out of a can we can talk. Am I right Sofia Coppola or am I right?

As a preferred guest of nearly every affair in New York and beyond, I was treated very, very well wherever I went. As in, I drank microbrews and non-Charles Shaw Trader Joe wine EVERYWHERE. Now, lest you think I am a snob, let me assure you that I do imbibe the cheap sh– when I am paying for it myself. But if someone else besides moi is footing the bill, you best BELIEVE I’m going top shelf.

So that’s why today I am seriously doubting the authenticity of one of my all time favorite commercials. You might remember it, say, when you are at baggage check at the airport and you need to wait in the long ass line for the cabs or heck if you’re REALLY slumming it the bus. You just want to go home, and then you see a chauffeur holding a sign. It says Galazkiewicz. Your last time is Smith but you’re all, f— it, I’m tired! “Gallaweekich?” you announce with a wee bit of trepidation because your Polish pronunciation was never any good, even though your favorite movie is An American Tail and Fievel Mouskewitz was your jam (and yes, I know he was a Russian-Jewish mouse, but Poland and Russia are somewhere out there in Eastern Europe so they all sound the same to me.). “You mean Dr. Galakawitz?” the driver asks. “Yes I am!” you declare.

But here’s the thing . . . you get to live as a high roller for all of the ten minutes that it takes you to get from LaGuardia airport to your duplex apartment in Astoria, Queens . . . and you drink a f—ing Bud Light??? Really??? You don’t ask for, say, a bottle of Cristal champagne, or heck, even just a nice cold one of Sam’s Seasonal? You are THAT low budget that you ask for a Bud Light??? Why not a Milwaukee’s Best then, or a Natty Light. Hell, you’re so fancy pants, let’s just SPRAY the borough of Brooklyn with a case of PBR tallboys? The hipsters would love that!

On the bright side, at LEAST his last name is not Koojooewskee!

Oh wait . . . .

In case you were wondering, I am a really popular person. I’ve got like 18 billion friends on Facebook, and that’s only counting people from MAINE. You don’t even want to HEAR how many folks love me in China! (Hint–it’s a LOT. As in more STDs than Paris Hilton has meds for).

You think I treat this lollipop well? Just wait till you see what I can do with a — ! 

Oh Paris BEHAVE. I know you are still upset that NO ONE talks about your sex tape anymore. It’s always Kim, Kim, Kim!

But I digress. So one of the closest of my 1.38 trillion friends is a really swell and talented guy, Paul W. Downs.  Paul, along with another cool cat I know named Lucia Aniello (why yes I DO name drop, thankyouverymuch), writes, produces and stars in a series of wacky and amazing videos under the name Paulilu. While all their sketches are brilliant, perhaps the one that hits closet to home (besides Ghost Tits costarring Olivia Munn) is The Real Housewives of South Boston.

Can someone pick me up a six pack of Coors from Jackie’s Packie on Route 34?

Now–I did not grow up in Southie. I was raised 35 miles away in a mystical land called North Andover, part of a beautiful region called the Merrimack Valley. In the Valley, you can eat delicious roast beef sandwiches at Harrison’s, you can buy Girl Scout cookies at a dive bar in Salisbury Beach, and you can shop for bargains at Building 19 in Haverhill. It’s pretty much heaven on Earth.

Yes, that IS a menu of Jello Shots you see . . .

. . . Right next to the Girl Scout cookies a sweet sixth grader was selling at a dive bar. L’chaim!

Now, for those of you not familiar with the Valley, it would make an EXCELLENT setting for a Real Howives series. We have just the right amount of high/low to make it spicy!

For example . . . in North Andover there is a fancy high class grocery store called Butcher Boy located just one mile away from a whore house a woman used to run on nearby Bonny Lane a decade ago! I wonder which one has the better sausage? Zing! I’ll keep them coming people. (But wait . . . that’s what the Madam said, and she’s out of business. Zing again!)

And while the plebeians of the Merrimack Valley get their foodstuffs at local chain Market Basket (formerly known as DeMoulas for all ye old timers out there), those yuppies of Andover buy their produce at the wicked overpriced Whole Foods.

Anyway–between the grocery wars, prostitution, and classy beach bars, I think the Valley is RIPE for a tv show.

Any volunteers? I’ll be casting at the end of the month!

Happy New Year bitches! I know it’s been AGES since we’ve talked. I have been super busy being popular over the holiday season and now that it’s over I FINALLY have time for you again! PHEW.

I was too busy eating Harrison’s Roast Beef to write the last couple of weeks.

First things first. 2013 is going to be the BEST YEAR IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE. Why, you ask? Are they remaking Bride of Boogedy? Will Jo from The Facts of Life compete on Survivor? Will LeAnn Rimes and Brandi Glanville become lesbians together?

Hopefully yes to all three. But the one guarantee for 2013 that makes it the best year ever is that the world’s most narcissistic baby will be born! That’s right, I’m talking about the spawn of Kanye West and Kim Kartrashian Kardashian!

Such a modest, selfless woman. I am sure she will always put her child first.

The Kardashian family is the gift that keeps on giving, and I’m not talking STDs, though I am sure they do that too. After Kim’s pregnancy was announced (via concert by Kanye, of course!), her ever klassy brother Rob declared that he was going to wait for marriage to knock a girl up. What old-fashioned values, especially coming from a gentleman who declared (or not?) that his girlfriend is a regular old whore.

So 2013 is going to be EPIC. Let’s start predicting baby names now. Kash? Kandy? Klamydia?

Hey all–

As you may have learned from reading The DVR Files, it takes a lot to keep me quiet. Nothing is off limits if it appears in the pages of People Magazine is the motto I live by.

And then Friday, December 14 happened.

Since the devastating shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, CT where 20 innocent babies and six of their teachers were killed, I just haven’t had the desire to write. I’ve teared up every day. When I do laugh at something, I feel guilty.

I will be back writing soon about silly, mindless things. I’ll try and write every day, I just won’t post it on social media as much because the sh– just seems frivolous. Because it is frivolous.

Please keep those babies in your prayers.

Love-

Liz

What the f— Golden Globes?

You didn’t nominate Quvenzhane Wallis as Best Actress, Drama for her flat out AMAAAAAZING performance as Hushpuppy in the best movie I saw all year (out of three, granted), Beasts of the Southern Wild?

Yo, cute little duckling? Can you believe this sh–?

What the flying F—! No I can’t even pronounce her name! And no I don’t even LIKE child actors. They make me all jealous that they’re all so successful so early in life while I have to buy generic sweet peas from Key Foods. I will never forgive Dakota Fanning for explaining overcoming her biggest adversity in life to date:

As a preschooler, Dakota Fanning couldn’t get roles because her hair was too thin: “I had really short, wispy hair, and the girls with perfect long, straight hair with bangs and a butterfly clip would always get picked.”

But anyway. I don’t trust the Globes regardless . . . I mean, I frigging LOVE me some Jessica Lange in American Horror Story, ridiculous Boston accent and all, but please someone tell me how the HELL AHS  is considered a mini-series???

Time to move on. All I can tell you is to watch Beasts of the Southern Wild. You will want to adopt Hushpuppy as much as I want to. For evidence, see below.

For a full list of nominees, many who are deserving, many who are not, click here.