I love football and I LOVE the Super Bowl. That being said, this Super Bowl crap going on here is getting out of hand.
The local news is so full of celebrity sightings that they don't have time to report all the murders, carjackings, rapes, burglaries and school shootings that go on everyday.
The Houston media is so starstruck. I'm waiting for these guys to pull their heads out of Jennifer Aniston's and JLo's asses.
The little news ticker at the bottom of the screen during today's local newscast actually said, "Celebrity Sightings: Madonna at an Uptown Starbucks, Pamela Anderson at Hobby Airport, Jennifer Lopez, Cameron Diaz and Justin Timberlake at the Galleria." This is news???
I was a little excited about Jim Rome broadcasting from Houston, though. I wish I could have slipped in and watched him do his show.
This is the biggest thing to happen to Houston in years, especially after all the bad press we got after the big Enron goatfuck. Millions upon millions of dollars have gone into making this city presentable including the mammoth Reliant Stadium and Metro's new light rail.
Yes, this is exciting but I'm glad I'm watching it from my couch.
Have you ever been in a foul mood for no reason? One of those moods that you can't blame on hormones, illness or stupid people?
I was in one of those this weekend.
Everything anyone said or did pissed me right off. It also seemed like people were actually TRYING to make me have a meltdown like the stupid tellers at the bank and Domino's new policy of not taking checks if the address on the check is not the same as the delivery address. What the hell is that?
I just wanted to sit in my apartment with the blinds closed, watch movies and eat pizza with as little human interaction as possible. But no, the fucking universe was against me.
Is it no wonder I want little to do with people?
I longed to take it out on someone, to scream or throw a proper tantrum but my lovely boyfriend is not fair game. How could I take my bad mood out on someone so undeserving?
Enter the exboyfriend. Yes, Kids, there is a reason to keep these guys around: to heap abuse upon.
They are the perfect receptacles for your aggression. You're no longer sleeping with them and who gives a shit if you piss them off?
It's also a big bonus if they did you wrong in your previous relationship and feels bad about it. The guilt enables them to put up with a lot more shit than your average person.
So, after the exboyfriend meltdown and a few glasses of wine (RED WINE, of course!) I felt a little better.
Maybe Key can perform an EX-periment of her own.
Fox News had a link to the dance version of Dean's Speech N Screech. Classic.
Also, there is an article on the impact of bloggers on the presidential campaign. Sheck eet oot.
Ignore The Woman Behind The Curtain
I'm sorta back and I'm sorta not. I haven't yet solved my connectivity issues but I'm posting from Mommy's house.
I was excited to see the new season of American Idol started last night.
I admit it. I love this show. It's contrived, conceited and completely corny but I can't wait to see it every week and crave for the new season to begin.
This doesn't mean I'm unaware of the damage reality TV does to society.
Reality TV: the purest sign that humanity is on its last legs.
As sickened as I am by the false sincerity of The Bachelorette, I found myself drawn into it. Maybe it was the warm, golden lighting, or the flowers or the beautiful clothes and limos.
Maybe it was the impossibly gorgeous men with fake smiles and tailored suits.
A beautiful mansion is the setting. Throw pillows, strategically draped afghans, candles, designer furniture, and marble floors are all there to distract us from the utter insincerity of the whole show.
It is impossible for me to believe that you can choose your soul mate from a coterie of specific men.
This is not fate. This is a television corporation choosing 25 cookie cutter personalities that she may or may not like.
Can you conceivably fall in love with ONE man when you’re surrounded by so many? How can you choose a favorite brownie from a plate full of them?
Honestly, if it weren’t televised to the entire world, this would be a girls dream come true. Aren’t we always complaining that good men are hard to find? Here they are girls! One of the largest corporations in the world has chosen them for us!
This is also our revenge. Now guys get to look like the shallow, malicious people that women have been made to look like for so long.
I’d be willing to bet anyone of those men would scratch the other’s eyes out if given the chance.
I find myself cringing and changing the channel periodically. I can’t stand to see the obvious humiliation; I don’t care who it is. When the camera does a close up on the heartbroken face of a man who doesn’t get that all-powerful rose, I’m so embarrassed for him. I have to remind myself that he got into this willingly, knowing exactly what could happen. My own fears of rejection come through when I watch this show and my heart goes out to these people.
What the hell is wrong with me? These people are allowing themselves to be victimized on national television, why should I feel sorry for them?
All of these guys are attention-seeking braggarts. They obviously have no self-respect or they wouldn’t be pouring their hearts out on TV. The women from the previous shows were just as bad. They cried over their broken hearts after knowing this man for a few shorts weeks AND sharing him with several other women.
The use of limos, evening clothes, roses, diamonds, mansions and capped-tooth smiles to sell love is false and misleading. It is no wonder men cannot win in this game of love. We have been led to believe that every man should ride up on that gallant steed, sweep us off our feet, and we are secretly disappointed when he doesn’t. We want that man to gaze seductively in our eyes as he kisses our hand, leading us into a candlelit room full of roses and make 1940s Cary Grant movie-style love to us. This show allows us to live in that fantasy world, believing we’re being deprived of the fairytale by our "ordinary men".
This is just further proof that reality TV is only reality in our dreams.
Hi Kids
Yes, it's me. I am having internet connectivity issues these days so blogging will be light to nonexistent.
Please try not to miss me too terribly and visit all my cool blogroll Piper!
Wet Pussy
(That oughta fuck with my google ratings)
Hemingway is my white, extremely overweight, deaf cat. Many people don't hear much about him because I fully admit I prefer my dogs because they are so affectionate. Hemingway cares fuck all about me unless he's hungry.
Because he's deaf, I've been VERY careful about not letting him outside. I'm a little afraid of him not hearing a car or a predator.
I do let him out on the patio but it's surrounded by a 6 foot fence that he can neither climb nor crawl under. He loves going out there and checking things out in the courtyard and smelling all the great outdoor aromas.
Every so often he'll sneak out the front door when I leave it open too long but he never goes far. When he gets to the top of the stairs he has NO idea what to do. He's never seen stairs before.
He quickly gets put back inside.
Last night, as I was getting ready for bed, I was closing the patio door and I checked to make sure he wasn't out there. The patio was empty. I didn't see Hemingway anywhere else but that's not unusual. He loves to hide out either under the bed or between the side of the couch and the wall in the livingroom so I went to bed.
This was about 2:30 am. I woke up at 11:30 am and realized that Hemingway never jumped up on the bed during the night, I never heard him scratching around in his litter box or crunch loudly on his food like he always does in the night.
I jumped out of bed and started checking all his usual places. He wasn't to be found.
I had a bad feeling. I opened the front door and to my horror, there he was. Being deaf, he didn't hear me open the door and he was trying to get under the patio fence but his fat ass wouldn't fit. I knew he was trying to get under there thinking that if he could get into the patio, surely he'd be able to get into the house.
What I failed to mention is that it rained all day yesterday and all through the night. It was cold and windy too.
Hemingway entire head was wet and dirty but his feet and underbelly were clean so I knew he never went down the stairs.
Apparently, when I went to take the trash out last night, he slipped out and I didn't see it. That was about 1 am.
>From 1 am until 11:30 am, that poor kitty lived a night of hell (for him). He probably didn't sleep the whole time and definitely didn't eat or shit. He ran in the house when I opened the door and he went right to his food bowl and then to the litter box and spent quite a while making up for lost poop time.
I wonder if he'll try to pull this shit again? I'm sure it sucks being a wet pussy.
My Five Finger Discount
Usually I'm pretty careful about checking new clothes for price tags before I wear them. I always check for the tags that hang from the arm or inside the collar as well as the "Inspected by #12" stickers you sometimes find on the inside of the article.
Today, I pulled a blouse (purchased for me by my lovely boyfriend) out of my closet to wear and I cut the tag off, did a hasty search for others and then threw it on.
It was a lovely rose-colored blouse that drew compliments when I went into work today. The color was so flattering to my complexion, they said.
I thanked them and felt good about my appearance...for about 5 mins. For some reason, I was fidgeting with my shirt and smoothing it down along my sides when I felt something odd.
My boss was talking to me at this point about something important, I'm sure, but I wasn't listening because I was trying to figure out what this small bulge was in the side of my shirt.
The horror of the realization hit me and I stood there in shock.
The plastic security tag was still attached to my brand new blouse.
I was at work. With the security tag bulging out from the side of my shirt. Oh. My. God.
I realized that my boss was asking me a question and my brain wouldn't even come up with an answer, I just stared at her and then bursted out laughing saying "Oh my God!"
At this point I had to show her and also try to convince her I didn't do a bit of shoplifting before going into work today.
We determined that if I kept my right arm down, you couldn't see it. So, I spent the day walking around without moving my arms like Molly Shannon from that Seinfeld episode.
I'm about two seconds away from total insanity.
I think I fucking curse too much
While Lovely Boyfriend was here, we had dinner at some friends' house. The friend told about how he did a google search and found my blog. He was shocked at my filthy language.
"You don't talk like that around us." He said.
Lovely Boyfriend responded with, "Uhh, that's because she has social skills."
Doesn't he rule?
It's true, though. I curse like a fucking sailor on my blog and when I'm around certain friends but I can automatically turn it on and off. I don't do it purposefully most of the time but if I'm hanging with people who don't curse a lot or who I don't know that well, I just leave out my favorite word (fuck) when I'm talking.
Besides, these were originally friends of Lovely Boyfriend's before I met them, so I wouldn't want them thinking he was dating some uncouth double-wide dweller.
But that doesn't mean I can't tear it up with the nastiest fucking truck driver, cuz I sure as shit can.
New Year's Revolutions
I don't make resolutions. They're useless. Today is usually when people start breaking their resolutions.
For years, my resolutions were always to lose weight and obviously I never kept them. It's too much pressure.
We're expected to come up with something we want to quit or start for the New Year and we're supposed to announce it to the world then admit to everyone our failures when we immediately break the promise we made while we were drunk on cheap champagne at 11:59pm.
This year, I am setting goals for myself. Not strict goals but laid back ones. Goals that can take a year or two. Goals that can be started and stopped. Goals that won't make me feel guilty if I don't achieve them. Goals that can change at a moment's notice.
Resolutions suck. My goals rule.
Too Much Of a Bad Thing
I think the news has finally reached Outer Mongolia. Britney Spears got married.
Guess what? I don't fucking care!
I was sick of this story by 7:40am.
Do reporters realize how ridiculously vapid they seem? I switched between 4 radio morning shows today and they all had the SAME story, worded the same way and used the term "pop-tart" to describe Spears.
I actually almost miss Ben and JLo.
Happy New Year
I know I haven't been blogging for days but Lovely Boyfriend is still here and I just want to spend every possible second I can with him.
I'll have plenty of time to blog incessantly once he's gone and I'm depressed.
We've had a wonderful time. Christmas was great and we had a silly romantic New Year's Eve.
We saw The Last Samurai yesterday. My GOD, this movie was amazing. It was unbelievably beautiful. There was nothing wrong with it, from the score, to the cinematography, to the costumes. At one point, I was tired of holding back the tears and finally busted out. I felt stupid at first but then realized you could hear the sniffles of all the other crying people.
The most unfrickingbelievable moment came when someone's cell phone rang and instead of quickly turning it off, the man actually ANSWERED it and had a conversation. Everyone in the theater could hear him and after about a minute, people started "shushing" him and someone even screamed out, "Get off the PHONE!!". I couldn't believe this dipshit.
I actually looked at Lovely Boyfriend and said, "Is this guy really on the phone?".
I had this strong urge to run down to his seat and ask him what the FUCK he thought he was doing. Luckily, the screamer got to him before I did.
Anyway, I hope you all had a lovely Christmas or whatever you happen to celebrate and a wonderful New Year.
Go see The Last Samurai!