I recently learned that there is a support group for just about everything, even overeating. You have to pay to be in the support group and everyone talks about how they eat too much and how fat they are, and then they all probably go out for Krispy Kremes and Java chip Frappuccinos afterwards. Why would I pay to be in this group when it comes for free every year? From around the date of October 14th until January 7th, almost everyone gets a free membership to the overeating support group. October 14th is around the time that grocery stores start selling Halloween decorations and candy, which of course we all must indulge in because we suddenly believe that candy corn is the most delicious food on the planet and stuff ourselves full of those delectable orange Brach's bags. Imagine if we ate that much REAL corn. Corn is a starch and all, but at least we'd be getting something made from nature and not created out of the leftover candle wax from making "creepy" skull and "haunted" tree candles with which to deck our homes and terrify guests with our overzealousness for the holiday.
After Halloween, there is some residual eating due to leftover candy on sale at Target, plus the candy that you didn't pass out to the neighborhood children (after deciding at 8pm that it's past their bedtime so for their own good it would probably be best if you kept that extra 5lb bag of individually packaged Whoppers). It always feels better when you open a pack and there are only three inside. Until you eat 29 of those little packs. Anyway, the Halloween candy aftershocks only last about a week, giving you 2-3 weeks in November until Thanksgiving that you use to half-heartedly exercise. By then it's already getting too cold to want to get up, leave the house, and get into the freezing cold car, drive to the gym, and realize as you pull into the gym parking lot that the car has just started warming up and now you have to get out and repeat the whole process again. Most people just decide to do in-home workouts at this time. This is probably the most lucrative time of year for home exercise DVDs. Yoga for Beginners (for the older set) and Carmen Electra's strippercise (for the younger, more "adventerous" group) fly off the shelves as people sit on their carpet and pretend that they're getting a good workout. No. This does not work. I am not judging because I am one of those people, except usually I play DDR. And if there is no DDR, I do jumping jacks, which wreak havoc on my sacrum. My bottom 2 vertebrae are probably severely impacted as a result of my not wanting to brave the weather, sit in the car, feel the frustration of the slow heater, look at the people who really did have too much candy and are now wobbling around on the elliptical in front of me, etc.
The first few hours after a Thanksgiving meal are probably the worst for the Overeaters Anonymous club. This is the one day a year where almost all Americans complain about their weight. They speak eagerly of the meal to come all morning/afternoon and then as soon as the thirty minute frenzy remniscent of a pack of hyenas devouring a weak and elderly zebra, dentures and all, is finished, they suddenly realize that they are probably 14 pounds heavier and they've made a huge mistake. Eating 4 types of stuffing and the extra rolls (fluff food, really) was not the best of ideas. They unbutton their top buttons (if they were dumb enough to wear jeans to begin with; seriously, opt for the leggings or at least the roomy underpants) and groan about how full they are. Then the men watch football and pretend that it is them out there exercising. At halftime, the women come in to see Carrie Underwood or Celine Dion or someone important do the Halftime show and watch the cheerleaders parade around and pretend that is them out there with the flat stomachs. This is basically a day for complete and total self-deception. And it works.
Thanksgiving leftovers will last, at best, 4 days. After that, the turkey begins to turn and the pumpkin pie is a little harder than it was before. Having a shared Thanksgiving at someone else's house tends to be beneficial in keeping leftovers at bay because then as you're bagging and tagging everything, politeness takes over as you tell the hostess, "only one bag for us! We won't eat that much turkey." This is a lie, and 2 days later when you want a turkey sandwich, guess what? YOU CAN'T HAVE ONE, because you didn't speak up. While this is safe in keeping any extra fat from accumulating, it is also disappointing and brings about a lot of self-loating. Plus whoever decided to be courteous will be persecuted by their hungry family that is banging their elbows on the table chanting WE WANT TUR-KEY.
And then there's Christmas parties. I read somewhere once that you shouldn't go to a party hungry because then you'll just eat and eat and eat. Too bad, no one eats before a party! Again, manners come into play. You must be polite and try everything, preferably more than once if you want to be considered a really good friend. Christmas cookies, eggnog, the lure of frothy drinks in Starbucks red cups- it's all too tempting, and since everyone is in a loving mood (except the traffic cops at the mall- they hate EVERYONE), they give in to these tiny temptations which turn out to be tiny fat pockets on one's thighs and stomach.
The most common New Year's Resolution is getting in shape. Good luck staying at the gym, because it will be 1) Too crowded and 2) Said crowd will be comprised of really fat people who don't know how to accept that they should keep their junk in their trunk completely hidden. This group of overachievers should really just accept that they are overeaters and allow the pounds to slowly fall off until October 14th of the New Year.
Excuse me, I must go do my workout video now.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
What is it, a stampede of elephants? Har har har.
Everyone has heard someone say the previous sentence at least once, or they've said it themselves. Make no mistake- it is a relatively funny thing to say when used in the proper context with good inflection and appropriate comedic timing, but it stopped being an original and hilarious thing to say about 700 years ago, or whenever it was that multilevel buildings were erected.
Every single time loud noises are heard from above, we automatically think and/or say "WHAT ON EARTH IS MAKING ALL THAT RACKET?" This question may never be answered. After all, no one has ever given me a straight or definite response to this question ever, yet I still MUST ask it every time I hear stomping.
There are, of course, different levels of loud ceiling stomping. Here is a list of them including descriptions and a few anecdotes in order of least to worst stomping noises.
1) The Deliberate Stomp: This noise has clear direction and purpose. 50% of the time, it is a one-way walk that stops at the door upon which the stomper leaves and the walking noises can still be heard, albeit faintly, as they travel down the hallway. The other 50% of the time, this noise is a round trip ticket and is usually intended to go to the fridge or the bathroom. The one form of The Deliberate Stomp that I have never heard and kind of want to hear (but also kind of not because it's really horribly morbid) is the one where the walking ceases and a loud thud can be heard. This will probably mean that the person dropped dead.
2) The Uncertain Stomp, indigenous to those plagued with Attention Deficit Disorder. This type of noise sounds like the person is really not sure what it is they got up to do so they kind of meander around doing various things until they lose steam and sit down again or leave (after which TUS becomes TDS). This stomp annoys me because if I bear witness to it I keep thinking, "When will this person stop and figure out what it is they meant to do?" It's such an indecisive noise and it makes me upset because what if this is how they deal with their lives? What if they never have a purpose and end up aimlessly stomping around until the day they make that final meandering stomp towards the light? It's none of my business but I'd love to hear them get their act together. As much as TUS annoys me, what's worse is...
3) The Possible Sports Game In Progress Stomp: My family used to hear this stomping all the time when we lived in an apartment while we waited to move into a house. I was 5 or 6 and I remember listening to the inconsistent stomping noises that varied in volume and level on the Richter scale. After one of my dad's nightly fits of anger followed by much speculation as to what the cause may be, I remember watching the NBA finals and saying, "maybe they're playing basketball along with the people on TV." My mom told me that this would be rather difficult to act out, seeing as sports are so spontaneous and unpredictable, BUT you cannot blame me for offering up this explanation. It literally sounded like 11 men playing basketball up there. My dad went up to investigate and found the culprit. It was a little boy named Lloyd (seriously, TERRIBLE name for a small child) who later ended up going to my school. Needless to say, we didn't get along that well when he realized I was the daughter of the man who almost exploded on his doorstep. Lloyd was later cast as the lead role in our school's production of Willy Wonka. I hope that he has continued to allow drama to be his creative outlet to keep him from stomping anymore. Lloyd's jumping continued every night until we moved out. I don't know why Lloyd's parents, Mr. and Mrs. WeLikeNamesFromThe1950's didn't just let him run around outside to tire himself out.
4) The Unclassifiable Stomp: This is in some ways a more general category that often encompasses TPSGIPS. I hate this stomp. It drives me insane. I want to know what it is they're doing up there! It sounds like a bunch of people going in one direction while the other mops the floors with their feet and then a small quartet stomps out the trumpeting portion of "Tequila". This is the kind of stomp where the question "What is it, a stampede of elephants?" is asked, and rightfully so. I mean, what is it? A STAMPEDE OF ELEPHANTS? That's what it sounds like. Last night I heard this noise while walking in the hallway and as Bruno looked at me quizzically (he is foreign and not entirely familiar with stomp classification system), I said that a group of friends had most likely decided to dress as the cast of The Lion King for Halloween and this was the group of Wildebeest that trampled Mufasa. And I was probably correct.
5) The At This Hour? Stomp: Living on the first floor has its perks, like I don't have to drive down three levels of the garage which shaves off a good 52 seconds of travel time to get to every destination so I can leave a little bit later every day. But also, I hear every little sound. The people above me have luckily been pretty quiet except for the occasional moving of furniture; I suspect they are very into feng shui, as the furniture moving usually occurs every fortnight and they were especially active during the equinox. I believe that is when the moon is in the 7th house and Jupiter aligns with Mars. Or maybe that is the Age of Aquarius. I do not know. But the 4am stomps begs the question, At this hour? I mean, why? What could you possibly be doing at 4am that requires the running back and forth of one's apartment? This is the only stomp that makes me really want to go upstairs and ask them what is so important that they stomp around at this hour?
Obviously, stomping is not really intentional. I'm sure I'm a stomper, too, and I've probably been guilty of all of the above stomps, except for maybe the stomping out the beat to "Tequila". I would never do that. I only like shouting TEQUILA! the two times it appears in the song. Other than that, I'm guessing stomping really can't be helped, but that doesn't stop it from being quite possibly the most annoying sound to ever be made by a human being...besides a wookie call. But that's not necessarily a human noise.
Every single time loud noises are heard from above, we automatically think and/or say "WHAT ON EARTH IS MAKING ALL THAT RACKET?" This question may never be answered. After all, no one has ever given me a straight or definite response to this question ever, yet I still MUST ask it every time I hear stomping.
There are, of course, different levels of loud ceiling stomping. Here is a list of them including descriptions and a few anecdotes in order of least to worst stomping noises.
1) The Deliberate Stomp: This noise has clear direction and purpose. 50% of the time, it is a one-way walk that stops at the door upon which the stomper leaves and the walking noises can still be heard, albeit faintly, as they travel down the hallway. The other 50% of the time, this noise is a round trip ticket and is usually intended to go to the fridge or the bathroom. The one form of The Deliberate Stomp that I have never heard and kind of want to hear (but also kind of not because it's really horribly morbid) is the one where the walking ceases and a loud thud can be heard. This will probably mean that the person dropped dead.
2) The Uncertain Stomp, indigenous to those plagued with Attention Deficit Disorder. This type of noise sounds like the person is really not sure what it is they got up to do so they kind of meander around doing various things until they lose steam and sit down again or leave (after which TUS becomes TDS). This stomp annoys me because if I bear witness to it I keep thinking, "When will this person stop and figure out what it is they meant to do?" It's such an indecisive noise and it makes me upset because what if this is how they deal with their lives? What if they never have a purpose and end up aimlessly stomping around until the day they make that final meandering stomp towards the light? It's none of my business but I'd love to hear them get their act together. As much as TUS annoys me, what's worse is...
3) The Possible Sports Game In Progress Stomp: My family used to hear this stomping all the time when we lived in an apartment while we waited to move into a house. I was 5 or 6 and I remember listening to the inconsistent stomping noises that varied in volume and level on the Richter scale. After one of my dad's nightly fits of anger followed by much speculation as to what the cause may be, I remember watching the NBA finals and saying, "maybe they're playing basketball along with the people on TV." My mom told me that this would be rather difficult to act out, seeing as sports are so spontaneous and unpredictable, BUT you cannot blame me for offering up this explanation. It literally sounded like 11 men playing basketball up there. My dad went up to investigate and found the culprit. It was a little boy named Lloyd (seriously, TERRIBLE name for a small child) who later ended up going to my school. Needless to say, we didn't get along that well when he realized I was the daughter of the man who almost exploded on his doorstep. Lloyd was later cast as the lead role in our school's production of Willy Wonka. I hope that he has continued to allow drama to be his creative outlet to keep him from stomping anymore. Lloyd's jumping continued every night until we moved out. I don't know why Lloyd's parents, Mr. and Mrs. WeLikeNamesFromThe1950's didn't just let him run around outside to tire himself out.
4) The Unclassifiable Stomp: This is in some ways a more general category that often encompasses TPSGIPS. I hate this stomp. It drives me insane. I want to know what it is they're doing up there! It sounds like a bunch of people going in one direction while the other mops the floors with their feet and then a small quartet stomps out the trumpeting portion of "Tequila". This is the kind of stomp where the question "What is it, a stampede of elephants?" is asked, and rightfully so. I mean, what is it? A STAMPEDE OF ELEPHANTS? That's what it sounds like. Last night I heard this noise while walking in the hallway and as Bruno looked at me quizzically (he is foreign and not entirely familiar with stomp classification system), I said that a group of friends had most likely decided to dress as the cast of The Lion King for Halloween and this was the group of Wildebeest that trampled Mufasa. And I was probably correct.
5) The At This Hour? Stomp: Living on the first floor has its perks, like I don't have to drive down three levels of the garage which shaves off a good 52 seconds of travel time to get to every destination so I can leave a little bit later every day. But also, I hear every little sound. The people above me have luckily been pretty quiet except for the occasional moving of furniture; I suspect they are very into feng shui, as the furniture moving usually occurs every fortnight and they were especially active during the equinox. I believe that is when the moon is in the 7th house and Jupiter aligns with Mars. Or maybe that is the Age of Aquarius. I do not know. But the 4am stomps begs the question, At this hour? I mean, why? What could you possibly be doing at 4am that requires the running back and forth of one's apartment? This is the only stomp that makes me really want to go upstairs and ask them what is so important that they stomp around at this hour?
Obviously, stomping is not really intentional. I'm sure I'm a stomper, too, and I've probably been guilty of all of the above stomps, except for maybe the stomping out the beat to "Tequila". I would never do that. I only like shouting TEQUILA! the two times it appears in the song. Other than that, I'm guessing stomping really can't be helped, but that doesn't stop it from being quite possibly the most annoying sound to ever be made by a human being...besides a wookie call. But that's not necessarily a human noise.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sorry, I don't know you.
Waving at someone who you think you know but don't is a normal occurrence. It is embarassing, rattling, and always upsetting, and it will continue to happen for as long as people populate the earth. I unfortunately have developed the habit of exagerrating my movements when I wave at people. I swing both arms over my head like I'm trying to signal an entire fleet of fighter jets, and I jump up and down yelling, "HEY! OVER HERE! IT'S ME!" Most people find this funny; that is, unless they do not know me. Then they just think I'm a creep.
They are correct in this assumption.
Today I pulled perhaps one of the worst exagerrated-wave-and-yell maneuvers ever. Upon seeing someone who I thought was my friend Michael (honestly, how many boys wear periwinkle polo shirts carrying around styrofoam cups looking dazed and mumbling to themselves in a thick southern accent? Well, a lot, but still...he had an aura), I began jumping up and down. I don't get to see him very often. This was exciting. As I bounced around I thought to myself, "Why isn't he looking over here? We hardly ever run into each other!" so I just yelled louder. And louder. Mainly all I said was, "OVER HERE!!!! HIIIII!!!!! MIKE!!!!!!" Still no response. He seemed to be glancing at me and then looking off in the distance. Maybe he was talking to someone behind me. I figured I'd save him the time of walking over to me and bounded up to him with great joy and jumped up and hugged him. He didn't hug me back. When I finally pulled away to look at him, I managed to have the presence of mind not to go SILLY BILLY and squeeze his cheeks or something, because this boy was not in fact Michael. He was someone entirely different, with different colored hair and eyes.
I just stared at him and then said, "I don't know you." and he said "no you don't." I then told him he was a nice hugger and quickly backed away with my eyes cast downward.
I am not embarassed easily. I have no problem with public speaking and if someone brings up something idiotic I've done in the past (as they very well may do 5 years from now when recounting this experience), I do not feel any shame. Blushing is not my thing. But today, I blushed. And then I hid in the bathroom for a long time before calling my friend so I could re-enact everything with great vigor.
This was not a good thing that happened today. What may have made it worse was the people behind me sniggering and making remarks about how I'm stupid and also clueless. SHUT UP, PEOPLE. You do it, too.
They are correct in this assumption.
Today I pulled perhaps one of the worst exagerrated-wave-and-yell maneuvers ever. Upon seeing someone who I thought was my friend Michael (honestly, how many boys wear periwinkle polo shirts carrying around styrofoam cups looking dazed and mumbling to themselves in a thick southern accent? Well, a lot, but still...he had an aura), I began jumping up and down. I don't get to see him very often. This was exciting. As I bounced around I thought to myself, "Why isn't he looking over here? We hardly ever run into each other!" so I just yelled louder. And louder. Mainly all I said was, "OVER HERE!!!! HIIIII!!!!! MIKE!!!!!!" Still no response. He seemed to be glancing at me and then looking off in the distance. Maybe he was talking to someone behind me. I figured I'd save him the time of walking over to me and bounded up to him with great joy and jumped up and hugged him. He didn't hug me back. When I finally pulled away to look at him, I managed to have the presence of mind not to go SILLY BILLY and squeeze his cheeks or something, because this boy was not in fact Michael. He was someone entirely different, with different colored hair and eyes.
I just stared at him and then said, "I don't know you." and he said "no you don't." I then told him he was a nice hugger and quickly backed away with my eyes cast downward.
I am not embarassed easily. I have no problem with public speaking and if someone brings up something idiotic I've done in the past (as they very well may do 5 years from now when recounting this experience), I do not feel any shame. Blushing is not my thing. But today, I blushed. And then I hid in the bathroom for a long time before calling my friend so I could re-enact everything with great vigor.
This was not a good thing that happened today. What may have made it worse was the people behind me sniggering and making remarks about how I'm stupid and also clueless. SHUT UP, PEOPLE. You do it, too.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
I would use an Unforgivable Curse on the New England Patriots.
This blog is dedicated to my father, the only one who will actually fully comprehend everything I'm about to say.
This season it seems like the long-awaited prophecy has been fulfilled; yes, that's right, I'm talking about Tom Brady taking over the world one square-jawed idiot at a time. I hate that his receivers are so good this season. Wes Welker always looks like he has terrible flatulence and is trying to hold in his gas, hoping to God that the lousy fans cheer loud enough so that no one notices the small squeaks he's emitting on the field. I can't say much about Randy Moss, he seems like a pretty decent guy but still, that doesn't stop me from hating the New England Patriots more than any other team in the NFL.
If the NFL were Harry Potter, Tom Brady would be Lord Voldemort, easily, except he'd probably be more like Tom Marvolo Riddle prior to becoming Lord Voldemort. Tom Riddle had many various successes in scaring the daylights out of people and even killed poor Moaning Myrtle with the basilisk (even if it was an accident). Then Riddle became Lord Voldemort, probably after he killed (won) his fourth muggle (Superbowl). The fact that everyone is amazed by Brady and his superbowl wins and his team which is "arguably the best in the NFL" just upsets me more because the whole team is full of completely useless human beings.
Bellatrix Lestrange, quite possibly the worst and most horrible character ever written, is Bill Belichick without a doubt. Bellatrix killed my favorite HP character and now Belichick is killing my life. Their names even rhyme. It's too perfect. Bill Belichick is a. a cheater, b. a liar, c. a sore loser, and d. completely unsanitary. That sweatshirt is filled with more than just sweat and Wal-Mart brand gray cotton. If you squeezed that sweatshirt into test tubes and let it percolate for nine months after performing some sort of stem cell voodoo on it, you would have three whining crybabies. That sweatshirt carries the hidden sneakiness, unnecessary cockiness, and overall robotic nature of the Patriots with it; the three beings formed from it would basically be Tonya Harding's ex-husband, Michael Scott, and Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator.
Continuing with the hazy metaphors (and if you don't like Harry Potter and/or enjoy football, all of this is already lost on you), Peyton Manning is clearly Harry James Potter. The hero of the hour, every hour, every day. Just as Harry was "the boy who lived", Peyton is also, only in a few more words. He's more like "the boy who won even though everyone thought he would choke for the tenth time". He breaks records and does things that no one expected him to do. Harry survived the Avada Kedavra curse. What more proof do you need that he's the best wizard ever? Peyton broke his dry spell with his Superbowl win (okay, so it was the Bears, but who cares? At least their name sounds menacing even if they do suck), proving that he's the best quarterback ever. Both are humble and unwanting of attention, although Peyton does tend to give the impression that he likes fame, what with his 470 commercials currently in circulation.
Marvin Harrison = Ron Weasley. Easygoing and sweet in nature, both are the right-hand men of their respective heroes and know when to let the other have the spotlight. Naturally, Harrison was acknowledged for his achievements last season, just as Ron is always awarded points to the house of Gryffindor every year at the banquet by Dumbledore because he undoubtedly showed bravery in helping Harry. The love between Marvin and Peyton is unstoppable. Yes, Peyton has a laser rocket arm but where would he be without Harrison there to anticipate his moves and deal with his constant barrage of audibles? I trust Peyton's judgement but that has GOT to get annoying.
Then you've got Joseph Addai, the newcomer, as Neville Longbottom. Neville showed promise from the very first book where he tried to keep Hermione, Ron, and Harry from going out and rescuing the Sorcerer's Stone from the evil clutches of Voldemort, and now he keeps coming into his own as this season is underway. Did you see him in the game against the Jags? That guy is such a beast, he just keeps plowing through and doesn't stop for any man. I'm so proud of Addai and hope he keeps getting better because for a third round draft pick last year he's quickly becoming one of the many stars on the Orion's belt that is the Indianapolis Colts.
Tony Dungy is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. There can be no debate about this statement, except maybe to say that Tony Dungy isn't gay like how Dumbledore turned out to be. Still, he shows great strength as a headmaster and coach with his quiet wisdom. Granted, Dumbledore had half-moon spectacles and Dungy only has that larger-than-life Motorola headset that looks like a fake inflatable headset you win at a state fair game of balloon darts.
J.K. Rowling knows what she's doing when she doesn't let all the good guys win in her books. There are some casualties along the way and even though good defeats evil in the end, it doesn't come without payinga hefty price. At least Harry defeats Voldemort in the most unconventional way, and hopefully Peyton Manning will continue to do the same to that snake Tom Brady. No matter how many rings he has, Brady will always be the cube-headed oaf who puts those black oil things on his cheeks even when he's playing in a closed stadium. I know the lights are bright, Tom, but suck it up. Peyton Manning does.
This season it seems like the long-awaited prophecy has been fulfilled; yes, that's right, I'm talking about Tom Brady taking over the world one square-jawed idiot at a time. I hate that his receivers are so good this season. Wes Welker always looks like he has terrible flatulence and is trying to hold in his gas, hoping to God that the lousy fans cheer loud enough so that no one notices the small squeaks he's emitting on the field. I can't say much about Randy Moss, he seems like a pretty decent guy but still, that doesn't stop me from hating the New England Patriots more than any other team in the NFL.
If the NFL were Harry Potter, Tom Brady would be Lord Voldemort, easily, except he'd probably be more like Tom Marvolo Riddle prior to becoming Lord Voldemort. Tom Riddle had many various successes in scaring the daylights out of people and even killed poor Moaning Myrtle with the basilisk (even if it was an accident). Then Riddle became Lord Voldemort, probably after he killed (won) his fourth muggle (Superbowl). The fact that everyone is amazed by Brady and his superbowl wins and his team which is "arguably the best in the NFL" just upsets me more because the whole team is full of completely useless human beings.
Bellatrix Lestrange, quite possibly the worst and most horrible character ever written, is Bill Belichick without a doubt. Bellatrix killed my favorite HP character and now Belichick is killing my life. Their names even rhyme. It's too perfect. Bill Belichick is a. a cheater, b. a liar, c. a sore loser, and d. completely unsanitary. That sweatshirt is filled with more than just sweat and Wal-Mart brand gray cotton. If you squeezed that sweatshirt into test tubes and let it percolate for nine months after performing some sort of stem cell voodoo on it, you would have three whining crybabies. That sweatshirt carries the hidden sneakiness, unnecessary cockiness, and overall robotic nature of the Patriots with it; the three beings formed from it would basically be Tonya Harding's ex-husband, Michael Scott, and Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator.
Continuing with the hazy metaphors (and if you don't like Harry Potter and/or enjoy football, all of this is already lost on you), Peyton Manning is clearly Harry James Potter. The hero of the hour, every hour, every day. Just as Harry was "the boy who lived", Peyton is also, only in a few more words. He's more like "the boy who won even though everyone thought he would choke for the tenth time". He breaks records and does things that no one expected him to do. Harry survived the Avada Kedavra curse. What more proof do you need that he's the best wizard ever? Peyton broke his dry spell with his Superbowl win (okay, so it was the Bears, but who cares? At least their name sounds menacing even if they do suck), proving that he's the best quarterback ever. Both are humble and unwanting of attention, although Peyton does tend to give the impression that he likes fame, what with his 470 commercials currently in circulation.
Marvin Harrison = Ron Weasley. Easygoing and sweet in nature, both are the right-hand men of their respective heroes and know when to let the other have the spotlight. Naturally, Harrison was acknowledged for his achievements last season, just as Ron is always awarded points to the house of Gryffindor every year at the banquet by Dumbledore because he undoubtedly showed bravery in helping Harry. The love between Marvin and Peyton is unstoppable. Yes, Peyton has a laser rocket arm but where would he be without Harrison there to anticipate his moves and deal with his constant barrage of audibles? I trust Peyton's judgement but that has GOT to get annoying.
Then you've got Joseph Addai, the newcomer, as Neville Longbottom. Neville showed promise from the very first book where he tried to keep Hermione, Ron, and Harry from going out and rescuing the Sorcerer's Stone from the evil clutches of Voldemort, and now he keeps coming into his own as this season is underway. Did you see him in the game against the Jags? That guy is such a beast, he just keeps plowing through and doesn't stop for any man. I'm so proud of Addai and hope he keeps getting better because for a third round draft pick last year he's quickly becoming one of the many stars on the Orion's belt that is the Indianapolis Colts.
Tony Dungy is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. There can be no debate about this statement, except maybe to say that Tony Dungy isn't gay like how Dumbledore turned out to be. Still, he shows great strength as a headmaster and coach with his quiet wisdom. Granted, Dumbledore had half-moon spectacles and Dungy only has that larger-than-life Motorola headset that looks like a fake inflatable headset you win at a state fair game of balloon darts.
J.K. Rowling knows what she's doing when she doesn't let all the good guys win in her books. There are some casualties along the way and even though good defeats evil in the end, it doesn't come without payinga hefty price. At least Harry defeats Voldemort in the most unconventional way, and hopefully Peyton Manning will continue to do the same to that snake Tom Brady. No matter how many rings he has, Brady will always be the cube-headed oaf who puts those black oil things on his cheeks even when he's playing in a closed stadium. I know the lights are bright, Tom, but suck it up. Peyton Manning does.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
"Is 7 years-old too young to have a cell phone?"
The title of this blog is an actual sentence uttered to me a mere four hours ago in the coffee shop. There I was, innocuously typing on my computer, and this odd boy just saunters right up to me and stands there. I didn't look up because CLEARLY I was busy (playing text twist but who cares, the typing was furious and for all he knew, I could be hard at work writing my dissertation or something important), but he just stood there and didn't go away. It would be difficult to describe the rest of this encounter in paragraph form, thus it will be recorded in a manner similar to a screenplay, complete with stage instructions, etc. I will be referred to as "BITTER: Broad In The T-Shirt Eating Raisins". He will be referred to as "DORK: Dude Oblivious to Repulsed Kid". I know I'm not a "kid" but that's all I've got to make the acronym work.
DORK: Ahem.
BITTER (thinking in her head): B-A-R-E-L-Y YES I GOT THE SIX-LETTER WORD! B-A-R, L-A-B, E-A-R...
DORK: AHEMMM.
BITTER (not looking up from her computer): Would you like a cough drop?
DORK: No. Ahemmmm
BITTER (still not making eye contact): Sounds like quite a cold you've got there. Lots of phlegm. Spit it out.
DORK: You're funny.
BITTER: Are you ready for that cough drop?
DORK: Is 7 years-old too young to have a cell phone?
BITTER (finally glancing up and instantly taken aback by the daisy colored polo-clad creeptard in front of her): Why, are you considering getting one for your daughter?
DORK: No, I'm not a father.
BITTER: Shame. I hear its life's greatest joy.
DORK: I mean I just got off the phone with my cousin and she's 7. We talked for 20 minutes. She has a cell phone.
BITTER: You sat on that couch with your phone silently for 5 minutes before coming over here, so I disagree.
DORK: Okay
BITTER: Okay.
DORK: She's got a cell phone.
BITTER: Yes, I heard that. I saw a kindergartener with a cell phone once but I think it was an old one.
DORK: Kindergarten? Man that's young.
BITTER: What grade is she in?
DORK: Who?
BITTER: This cousin you so lovingly speak of.
DORK: Third.
BITTER: Did she skip a grade? You usually turn 7 during 1st grade.
DORK: Maybe she's 8 now.
BITTER: Well that changes everything.
DORK: Does it?
BITTER: I don't know. Or care.
(BITTER returns to her important computer work and ignores DORK hoping he will take the hint and leave)
DORK: So that's too young, right?
BITTER: Doesn't she have school right now? Why is she calling you when she should be using Model Magic at school?
DORK: She doesn't have school.
BITTER: Why?
DORK (realizing his plan is faltering and BITTER maybe catching on): ...she got sent home.
BITTER: Do her parents work?
DORK: Her Dad does but her Mom stays at home.
BITTER: Then if she got sent home, why would she calling you from her cell phone? Wouldn't she just use the house phone?
DORK: She likes her cell phone.
BITTER: Did she tell you what kind of cell phone it is?
DORK: No.
BITTER: Then its not hers. She'd brag about what kind of phone it was if she actually owned it. Or maybe she stole it. She could be on the run from the law, in which case you'd be aiding and abetting. I could turn you in for this.
(BITTER assumes since DORK is ridiculous enough to carry on this conversation, DORK will fall for her attempt to make him go away, preferably to Tibet)
DORK: No, I've got an alibi
BITTER (thinking that an alibi has absolutely nothing to do with this): Is this supposed to segue into you noticing that I, too, have a cell phone and you'd like the number for it?
DORK:..........(mouth breathing, uncomfortable shifting of eyes)......
BITTER (begins texting her friend who is sitting at a table nearby having lunch. They've already said hello but are doing work separately. Friend has been listening this entire time): SAVE ME FROM THIS CREEP
BITTER's phone rings.
BITTER: Hello? Oh hi! You're right behind me! Oh, isn't that funny? Well of course I'll come visit with you! I'll be right there!
DORK: Are you leaving?
BITTER: Yes, you're very astute.
DORK: Well....
BITTER: TTYL.
DORK (gets up to leave so it looks like he didn't completely get shut down): Nice to meet...uh...I better go..See you around...(seeing the look of surprise on BITTER's face) No? Okay...
BITTER starts to traipse away happily when someone grabs her arm. She shall be called "GIRL: Grumpy Is Rudely Listening"
GIRL (gruffly, grumpily, and every other g adjective with negative connotations barks this): Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude (she does) but did he just ask you if his 7 year old cousin should be allowed to have a cell phone?
BITTER: Yes.
GIRL: Well I don't mean to lower your confidence (she does) but he asked a friend of mine the same thing a few days ago. He does that.
BITTER: Well, I hate him and I'm sure your friend does, too. Thank you for your time.
I swear I did not elaborate on this conversation. If anything, I censored it by not punctuating it with the numerous sighs, rueful smiles, and eye-rolls that occurred. Now I must go and shower 10 times to get the slime of DORK off of me.
DORK: Ahem.
BITTER (thinking in her head): B-A-R-E-L-Y YES I GOT THE SIX-LETTER WORD! B-A-R, L-A-B, E-A-R...
DORK: AHEMMM.
BITTER (not looking up from her computer): Would you like a cough drop?
DORK: No. Ahemmmm
BITTER (still not making eye contact): Sounds like quite a cold you've got there. Lots of phlegm. Spit it out.
DORK: You're funny.
BITTER: Are you ready for that cough drop?
DORK: Is 7 years-old too young to have a cell phone?
BITTER (finally glancing up and instantly taken aback by the daisy colored polo-clad creeptard in front of her): Why, are you considering getting one for your daughter?
DORK: No, I'm not a father.
BITTER: Shame. I hear its life's greatest joy.
DORK: I mean I just got off the phone with my cousin and she's 7. We talked for 20 minutes. She has a cell phone.
BITTER: You sat on that couch with your phone silently for 5 minutes before coming over here, so I disagree.
DORK: Okay
BITTER: Okay.
DORK: She's got a cell phone.
BITTER: Yes, I heard that. I saw a kindergartener with a cell phone once but I think it was an old one.
DORK: Kindergarten? Man that's young.
BITTER: What grade is she in?
DORK: Who?
BITTER: This cousin you so lovingly speak of.
DORK: Third.
BITTER: Did she skip a grade? You usually turn 7 during 1st grade.
DORK: Maybe she's 8 now.
BITTER: Well that changes everything.
DORK: Does it?
BITTER: I don't know. Or care.
(BITTER returns to her important computer work and ignores DORK hoping he will take the hint and leave)
DORK: So that's too young, right?
BITTER: Doesn't she have school right now? Why is she calling you when she should be using Model Magic at school?
DORK: She doesn't have school.
BITTER: Why?
DORK (realizing his plan is faltering and BITTER maybe catching on): ...she got sent home.
BITTER: Do her parents work?
DORK: Her Dad does but her Mom stays at home.
BITTER: Then if she got sent home, why would she calling you from her cell phone? Wouldn't she just use the house phone?
DORK: She likes her cell phone.
BITTER: Did she tell you what kind of cell phone it is?
DORK: No.
BITTER: Then its not hers. She'd brag about what kind of phone it was if she actually owned it. Or maybe she stole it. She could be on the run from the law, in which case you'd be aiding and abetting. I could turn you in for this.
(BITTER assumes since DORK is ridiculous enough to carry on this conversation, DORK will fall for her attempt to make him go away, preferably to Tibet)
DORK: No, I've got an alibi
BITTER (thinking that an alibi has absolutely nothing to do with this): Is this supposed to segue into you noticing that I, too, have a cell phone and you'd like the number for it?
DORK:..........(mouth breathing, uncomfortable shifting of eyes)......
BITTER (begins texting her friend who is sitting at a table nearby having lunch. They've already said hello but are doing work separately. Friend has been listening this entire time): SAVE ME FROM THIS CREEP
BITTER's phone rings.
BITTER: Hello? Oh hi! You're right behind me! Oh, isn't that funny? Well of course I'll come visit with you! I'll be right there!
DORK: Are you leaving?
BITTER: Yes, you're very astute.
DORK: Well....
BITTER: TTYL.
DORK (gets up to leave so it looks like he didn't completely get shut down): Nice to meet...uh...I better go..See you around...(seeing the look of surprise on BITTER's face) No? Okay...
BITTER starts to traipse away happily when someone grabs her arm. She shall be called "GIRL: Grumpy Is Rudely Listening"
GIRL (gruffly, grumpily, and every other g adjective with negative connotations barks this): Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude (she does) but did he just ask you if his 7 year old cousin should be allowed to have a cell phone?
BITTER: Yes.
GIRL: Well I don't mean to lower your confidence (she does) but he asked a friend of mine the same thing a few days ago. He does that.
BITTER: Well, I hate him and I'm sure your friend does, too. Thank you for your time.
I swear I did not elaborate on this conversation. If anything, I censored it by not punctuating it with the numerous sighs, rueful smiles, and eye-rolls that occurred. Now I must go and shower 10 times to get the slime of DORK off of me.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Things That Shouldn't Happen on a Rainy Day but Inevitably Occur
I think almost everyone loves rainy days. Who could resist the romance of the dark sky, the relaxing sound of the rainfall (unless you have to pee) or the fun of snuggling into warmer clothes? Although I am among those who love rainy days, they are almost always accompanied by an unlucky circumstance in my life. Rain is nice, but it makes everything hellaz worse.
Today, it is raining. It's not torrential, but it's falling hard enough to be uncomfortable and also to wet my jeans up to my ankles. The following is a condensed compilation of unfortunate events that have occurred on rainy days and/or foolproof methods to predict the weather:
1) Whenever I finally decide to spring for a $7 carwash (I think it's called "Express Wash" but I always say "can I have the one that's only $7 please?" to Kompletely Khaki Kathy, the girl in charge of the carwash payments), it rains.It MUST rain at least 72 hours after I get my car washed. The "Rain Check" deal where you get to come back if it rains only applies to the 48 hour period after a carwash.
2) It has rained every time I have an outdoor lab experiment to conduct for Meteorology. This is probably because that is just too ironic and funny for the Lord Almighty to pass up an opportunity to rain on a group of people studying solar angles. If I were God, I'd make it pour.
3) Flight delays always occur due to inclement weather; however, the worst is this tiny airport near school that Bruno the Boyfriend and I sometimes fly out of. If anything resembling a drop of rain falls, a flight will not leave for at least 2 hours. Bruno and I sat on a plane for 5 hours once, and he got so bored that he threw up. Seriously. It probably wasn't even real rain. I bet one of the luggage guys was a mouth breather who had a lot of saliva and he managed to get a tiny drop on whoever is in charge of saying that its too rainy to fly. Oh and P.S., the flight was only 45 minutes long. Another time I was flying alone out of that airport and we couldn't recline our chairs that luxurious fourth of an inch because we needed to take caution while flying in such heavy fog (and by heavy I mean a screen door is harder to see through than this was). Having a chair in its upright and locked position is the safest thing you can do on a plane. No one wants to take that kind of risk.
and the best of all the rainy day stories, something I like to call..
4) The Worst 22 Minutes of my Life: September 14th, 2005 @ 7:38am. While walking to class down the very long boulevard, it began to pour. I mean REALLY pour. We're talking start-building-an-ark rain. Luckily, I had my trusty compact pink umbrella with me (courtesy of the Air Force Village version of Wal-Mart in San Antonio) and I pulled it out just in time to stop my Hollister ensemble from getting soaked. Faux vintage "Orange County" tees are hard to come by. At that moment, the sky darkened rather quickly and a large bolt of lightning forked across the sky. The wind began to blow harder and the thunder rolled on as I plodded my way to my class which was still a good 18 minutes away. Suddenly, a gust of wind came and turned my umbrella inside out, and just as I reached up to fix it, the top of the umbrella popped off. There I was, shivering in rain of Biblical proportions, holding a lightning rod. I quickly picked up the top of the umbrella and fashioned it into some sort of a crude bonnet by bending the wires beneath my chin. At precisely 8:00am when I reached the door of my building, it stopped raining.
So if you see me wearing a vintage t-shirt while driving in my clean car to a Meteorology lab, get your umbrellas ready. It's about to pour.
Today, it is raining. It's not torrential, but it's falling hard enough to be uncomfortable and also to wet my jeans up to my ankles. The following is a condensed compilation of unfortunate events that have occurred on rainy days and/or foolproof methods to predict the weather:
1) Whenever I finally decide to spring for a $7 carwash (I think it's called "Express Wash" but I always say "can I have the one that's only $7 please?" to Kompletely Khaki Kathy, the girl in charge of the carwash payments), it rains.It MUST rain at least 72 hours after I get my car washed. The "Rain Check" deal where you get to come back if it rains only applies to the 48 hour period after a carwash.
2) It has rained every time I have an outdoor lab experiment to conduct for Meteorology. This is probably because that is just too ironic and funny for the Lord Almighty to pass up an opportunity to rain on a group of people studying solar angles. If I were God, I'd make it pour.
3) Flight delays always occur due to inclement weather; however, the worst is this tiny airport near school that Bruno the Boyfriend and I sometimes fly out of. If anything resembling a drop of rain falls, a flight will not leave for at least 2 hours. Bruno and I sat on a plane for 5 hours once, and he got so bored that he threw up. Seriously. It probably wasn't even real rain. I bet one of the luggage guys was a mouth breather who had a lot of saliva and he managed to get a tiny drop on whoever is in charge of saying that its too rainy to fly. Oh and P.S., the flight was only 45 minutes long. Another time I was flying alone out of that airport and we couldn't recline our chairs that luxurious fourth of an inch because we needed to take caution while flying in such heavy fog (and by heavy I mean a screen door is harder to see through than this was). Having a chair in its upright and locked position is the safest thing you can do on a plane. No one wants to take that kind of risk.
and the best of all the rainy day stories, something I like to call..
4) The Worst 22 Minutes of my Life: September 14th, 2005 @ 7:38am. While walking to class down the very long boulevard, it began to pour. I mean REALLY pour. We're talking start-building-an-ark rain. Luckily, I had my trusty compact pink umbrella with me (courtesy of the Air Force Village version of Wal-Mart in San Antonio) and I pulled it out just in time to stop my Hollister ensemble from getting soaked. Faux vintage "Orange County" tees are hard to come by. At that moment, the sky darkened rather quickly and a large bolt of lightning forked across the sky. The wind began to blow harder and the thunder rolled on as I plodded my way to my class which was still a good 18 minutes away. Suddenly, a gust of wind came and turned my umbrella inside out, and just as I reached up to fix it, the top of the umbrella popped off. There I was, shivering in rain of Biblical proportions, holding a lightning rod. I quickly picked up the top of the umbrella and fashioned it into some sort of a crude bonnet by bending the wires beneath my chin. At precisely 8:00am when I reached the door of my building, it stopped raining.
So if you see me wearing a vintage t-shirt while driving in my clean car to a Meteorology lab, get your umbrellas ready. It's about to pour.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
I am the slobbiest slob in Slobville.
This morning I quite literally had ants in my pants. How did this happen? Well, let's backtrack approximately three weeks.
I had four or five people over for dinner and we ended up eating strawberries with turbinado sugar and some of it spilled on the couch, and as much as I would like to think that I am entirely blameless, I spilled some on the couch and simply brushed it off on the floor, knowing that I would vacuum later on that week.
The next day, I placed my coke zero mini can (how cute are those?) on one of the end tables by my couch and noticed several ants scrambling to make their way up to the top of the can. GROSS. I quickly squashed all of them with my finger (GROSS^2) and then ran away. After that, I began noticing ants on the couch and then I left a cup of strawberry milk out (as I said, I am a slob) and came back and there were ants ALL OVER IT and I freaked out. Unfortunately, I didn't have any ant repellent or anything so I sprayed them with air freshener and yelled "DROWN! DIE!" at the little creeps.
For the past three weeks or so, myself and my guests have been fending off little ants crawling on us while on the couch. I've tried Dust Busting with my schveet retro green Dustbuster and I now have three ant poison containers out, yet none of this seems to be helping. They even started crawling on my vase of lilies that Bruno* gave me.
So now to how ants came to be in my pants this morning- I have been throwing all my clean laundry to be folded on my couch for the past week because I live in Slobville, USA where the state flower is the Messysuckle and the state bird is the Slobjay. The clothes cannot be put anywhere except for on the couch because the tivo is in the living room and I MUST watch Dawson's Creek reruns while I fold laundry. Anyway, this morning, when I put my pants on, there were ants in them and it was absolutely terrifying. Luckily they don't bite, but I was so grossed out and then went on a cleaning rampage. I only paused to write this because I'm waiting for my kitchen floor to dry so I can wipe up the moppy water.
Have a clean day, everyone, and please, never move to Slobville. It is a bleak place to be and you might get insects in your clothing.
*Bruno is not my boyfriend's real name, but his mom considered naming him that until she found a better one. Sometimes I wish his name were actually Bruno because then in fights it would be more fun to yell at him. "BRU, NO!! NO NO NO!"
I had four or five people over for dinner and we ended up eating strawberries with turbinado sugar and some of it spilled on the couch, and as much as I would like to think that I am entirely blameless, I spilled some on the couch and simply brushed it off on the floor, knowing that I would vacuum later on that week.
The next day, I placed my coke zero mini can (how cute are those?) on one of the end tables by my couch and noticed several ants scrambling to make their way up to the top of the can. GROSS. I quickly squashed all of them with my finger (GROSS^2) and then ran away. After that, I began noticing ants on the couch and then I left a cup of strawberry milk out (as I said, I am a slob) and came back and there were ants ALL OVER IT and I freaked out. Unfortunately, I didn't have any ant repellent or anything so I sprayed them with air freshener and yelled "DROWN! DIE!" at the little creeps.
For the past three weeks or so, myself and my guests have been fending off little ants crawling on us while on the couch. I've tried Dust Busting with my schveet retro green Dustbuster and I now have three ant poison containers out, yet none of this seems to be helping. They even started crawling on my vase of lilies that Bruno* gave me.
So now to how ants came to be in my pants this morning- I have been throwing all my clean laundry to be folded on my couch for the past week because I live in Slobville, USA where the state flower is the Messysuckle and the state bird is the Slobjay. The clothes cannot be put anywhere except for on the couch because the tivo is in the living room and I MUST watch Dawson's Creek reruns while I fold laundry. Anyway, this morning, when I put my pants on, there were ants in them and it was absolutely terrifying. Luckily they don't bite, but I was so grossed out and then went on a cleaning rampage. I only paused to write this because I'm waiting for my kitchen floor to dry so I can wipe up the moppy water.
Have a clean day, everyone, and please, never move to Slobville. It is a bleak place to be and you might get insects in your clothing.
*Bruno is not my boyfriend's real name, but his mom considered naming him that until she found a better one. Sometimes I wish his name were actually Bruno because then in fights it would be more fun to yell at him. "BRU, NO!! NO NO NO!"
Thursday, September 20, 2007
She's way better than a dead phone line
To put it bluntly, most women in this day and age either loathe, envy, or wish all the plagues of Egypt on one another...and that's just towards acquaintances or strangers; friends are treated with even more contempt. Luckily, I like my friends. In fact, you might even say that I love some of them. Case in point: Cassie. That is not her real name but we decided last summer that it was appropriate for her if I ever wrote a novel and included her. We even tested its believability by using it as the name to put down for a table at the Cheesecake Factory. It worked!
I've learned a lot from Cassie, so without further ado, I present another list.
Things I've Learned From Cassie, or "She's Way Better Than a Dead Phone Line"
1) How to use magic. She knows how use her magic in more ways than one. For starters, she narrowly saved her sister's life by reminding me that "Crucio!" is an Unforgivable Curse (I meant to say "Confundo!", I swear. I'd never use the Cruciatus curse on anyone except maybe Bellatrix Lestrange) all while under the influence of very strong pain medication because even magical people have to get their wisdom teeth removed. She also knows how to work it with the gentlemen and casts a spell the likes of which you've never seen.
2) How to be independently happy. Although Cassie is beyond stunning and the second most radiant star in the galaxy next to the sun, she manages to keep the men at bay. This is a wonder to us all, but she is well aware of the fact that you can't love another person or be happy with another person without being completely happy with yourself. So all the women who're independent, throw your hands up at me! Awkward contraction, Destiny's Child. "Who're"? I dread the day when a 12 year old that doesn't feel the need to add apostrophes into her AIM Subprofile "SONG QUOTEZ I LUV" writes "all the women whore independent..."
3) How to see that every cloud has a silver lining. When I set my favorite blanket on fire because I thought it would be a good idea to put it in the microwave to warm it up, she didn't say "You are stupid and also unsafe." She said "This is almost as good as the time when Anna put that whole can of unopened Chef Boyardee in the microwave." Honestly, though, come on, who hasn't had one of those microwaveable heating bags with rice in them to put on your tummy when it hurts? Shouldn't all fabrics be microwave safe?
4) How to compliment and accept compliments. Granted, it is incredibly easy to give her compliments because she is, as they say, la creme de la creme. But prior to Cassie, I never would have said "THANKS GIRL" to any compliment or uplifting word I received from another person, mainly because I thought it was really awful sounding. But after much debating, we both decided it would be best if she incorporated a little more soul into her vocabulary, and now that same soul is in mine.
and
5) How to listen. She's way better than a dead phone line. Sometimes when I'm jabbering on for twelve decades, the phone will cut out. I never have any idea how long I've been talking for, but I assure you, a good amount of time can pass before I ever realize that there is no one on the other end of the call. Why is this? Because Cassie is such a good listener that when I talk to her on the phone, it sounds like dead air because she's quiet. I know she's listening to me because if she was typing on the computer, I'd be able to hear it because she likes the way her new wine-red nails look too much to ruin them by typing poorly on her keyboard, thus she'd have to use the pads of her fingers which actually make a very distinct noise over the phone. I love her for being one of the only people to never utter the words "Stop talking, please. I might die."
Cassie, this one's for you. I didn't know what I was going to say at first because this blog was intended for my angry ravings, but what can I say? You give me no choice but to be nice.
I've learned a lot from Cassie, so without further ado, I present another list.
Things I've Learned From Cassie, or "She's Way Better Than a Dead Phone Line"
1) How to use magic. She knows how use her magic in more ways than one. For starters, she narrowly saved her sister's life by reminding me that "Crucio!" is an Unforgivable Curse (I meant to say "Confundo!", I swear. I'd never use the Cruciatus curse on anyone except maybe Bellatrix Lestrange) all while under the influence of very strong pain medication because even magical people have to get their wisdom teeth removed. She also knows how to work it with the gentlemen and casts a spell the likes of which you've never seen.
2) How to be independently happy. Although Cassie is beyond stunning and the second most radiant star in the galaxy next to the sun, she manages to keep the men at bay. This is a wonder to us all, but she is well aware of the fact that you can't love another person or be happy with another person without being completely happy with yourself. So all the women who're independent, throw your hands up at me! Awkward contraction, Destiny's Child. "Who're"? I dread the day when a 12 year old that doesn't feel the need to add apostrophes into her AIM Subprofile "SONG QUOTEZ I LUV" writes "all the women whore independent..."
3) How to see that every cloud has a silver lining. When I set my favorite blanket on fire because I thought it would be a good idea to put it in the microwave to warm it up, she didn't say "You are stupid and also unsafe." She said "This is almost as good as the time when Anna put that whole can of unopened Chef Boyardee in the microwave." Honestly, though, come on, who hasn't had one of those microwaveable heating bags with rice in them to put on your tummy when it hurts? Shouldn't all fabrics be microwave safe?
4) How to compliment and accept compliments. Granted, it is incredibly easy to give her compliments because she is, as they say, la creme de la creme. But prior to Cassie, I never would have said "THANKS GIRL" to any compliment or uplifting word I received from another person, mainly because I thought it was really awful sounding. But after much debating, we both decided it would be best if she incorporated a little more soul into her vocabulary, and now that same soul is in mine.
and
5) How to listen. She's way better than a dead phone line. Sometimes when I'm jabbering on for twelve decades, the phone will cut out. I never have any idea how long I've been talking for, but I assure you, a good amount of time can pass before I ever realize that there is no one on the other end of the call. Why is this? Because Cassie is such a good listener that when I talk to her on the phone, it sounds like dead air because she's quiet. I know she's listening to me because if she was typing on the computer, I'd be able to hear it because she likes the way her new wine-red nails look too much to ruin them by typing poorly on her keyboard, thus she'd have to use the pads of her fingers which actually make a very distinct noise over the phone. I love her for being one of the only people to never utter the words "Stop talking, please. I might die."
Cassie, this one's for you. I didn't know what I was going to say at first because this blog was intended for my angry ravings, but what can I say? You give me no choice but to be nice.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Carrie Bradshaw, or "Why I Will Never Order a Cosmopolitan"
I hate Carrie Bradshaw. Anyone who knows me for more than a day can attest to this, and if you are not fully aware of my hatred for TV's favorite tousled it-girl, then you will be in the next three minutes, depending on your reading speed.
Pictures have just been released of Big and Carrie from the Sex and the City movie, set to premiere at the end of May next year. Of course I'll see the movie opening weekend because I love Miranda, Charlotte, Samantha, and Big, but those affections combined cannot overwhelm my animosity towards Carrie.
I could go on and on about the ten zillion reasons why I hate Carrie Bradshaw, but I'll keep this limited to a few select ones. I do have to say that I'm sorry, Candace Bushnell. I love your writing, but Carrie (i.e. your masterpiece) is a thorn in the side of every rational human being I know. NO EXCEPTIONS.
Don't get me wrong- I LOVE SARAH JESSICA PARKER. I own her perfume, and I applaud her for appearing in Gap commercials even though her singing is atrocious and she slaughtered "I Enjoy Being a Girl". Her clothing line is cute and affordable, and she puts on a valiant attempt to act as if she is unaware of the fact that she is one of the most heinous looking actresses in Hollywood, Bollywood, and every other genre of global cinema. That clarification aside, I now present to you my list.
"Why I will Never Order a Cosmopolitan"
Reason #1: Sarah Jessica Parker could SO act better than she does! Its as if she is trying to portray the role of a woman who cannot behave normally. I know all of it is scripted, but does it really say in italicized writing on her script, "Strut as if you have severe scoliosis and rub at your hair as if you have an incurable case of head lice"? NO. She was fantastic and sexy in Hocus Pocus. She was redeemingly funny in The Family Stone and didn't try to outshine Rachael McAdams- who could? But in SATC, she made everyone's life just a little bit worse.
Reason #2: Her voice. I would rather listen to the sound of scarab beetles eating the Mummy (aka Arnold Vosloo) alive than her voice. I can't hold this one against SJP- I've heard her talk in real life, and its nothing like Carrie's sugary sweet, breathy voice. It's awful, especially when combined with...
Reason #3: Her mannerisms. How many times must one jut out one's chin dramatically (as if it weren't promiment enough) to prove that one is confused, pensive, or unsure? Go ahead, go watch Sex and the City right now if you have the DVDs (if not its on TBS at 11/10c), and tell me if you don't notice it.
Reason #4: She has been called a fashion icon. This is a major problem that even SJP admitted to on the E! True Hollywood story of SATC. She said that normal women don't walk down the street wearing what she wears but its part of her job. In that same THS, someone said that her style was even Carrie-d to the fashion runways (that's me saying Carrie-d, not him); he also said that she made women become fashionable. FALSE. Anyone who copied something Carrie wore (except for a few choice items, like the orange dress she wears in L.A.) hopefully regrets that choice by now and looks at it as a lesson learned. I mean really, who one earth would take a cue from someone who wore a red cowboy hat, a yellow pleather tube top, and a sarong, all in one evening?
Reason #5: Her "cute" mouth twitch she developed midway through Season 3. I think that maybe all the people telling her how adorable she was finally went to her head and caused her to begin turning up one corner of her mouth to express "oh well" or "aw shucks" or "ya caught me!". It's the most infuriating smirk in the universe because I watch her knowing that not a single person had the guts to tell her that she looks absolutely ridiculous.
and finally,
Reason #6: Her snappy one-liners. I don't have a rant for this one. All I have is this: One woman's Titanic is another woman's Love Boat.
I hate to be so harsh on one single person. That's a lie. I love it. I will always point and jeer at people who I think look or behave ridiculously, just like a little child might do before his mother tells him its rude. No one has told me that this is rude so far, so until then, I'll just say
....you're only young once but you can be immature forever.
Pictures have just been released of Big and Carrie from the Sex and the City movie, set to premiere at the end of May next year. Of course I'll see the movie opening weekend because I love Miranda, Charlotte, Samantha, and Big, but those affections combined cannot overwhelm my animosity towards Carrie.
I could go on and on about the ten zillion reasons why I hate Carrie Bradshaw, but I'll keep this limited to a few select ones. I do have to say that I'm sorry, Candace Bushnell. I love your writing, but Carrie (i.e. your masterpiece) is a thorn in the side of every rational human being I know. NO EXCEPTIONS.
Don't get me wrong- I LOVE SARAH JESSICA PARKER. I own her perfume, and I applaud her for appearing in Gap commercials even though her singing is atrocious and she slaughtered "I Enjoy Being a Girl". Her clothing line is cute and affordable, and she puts on a valiant attempt to act as if she is unaware of the fact that she is one of the most heinous looking actresses in Hollywood, Bollywood, and every other genre of global cinema. That clarification aside, I now present to you my list.
"Why I will Never Order a Cosmopolitan"
Reason #1: Sarah Jessica Parker could SO act better than she does! Its as if she is trying to portray the role of a woman who cannot behave normally. I know all of it is scripted, but does it really say in italicized writing on her script, "Strut as if you have severe scoliosis and rub at your hair as if you have an incurable case of head lice"? NO. She was fantastic and sexy in Hocus Pocus. She was redeemingly funny in The Family Stone and didn't try to outshine Rachael McAdams- who could? But in SATC, she made everyone's life just a little bit worse.
Reason #2: Her voice. I would rather listen to the sound of scarab beetles eating the Mummy (aka Arnold Vosloo) alive than her voice. I can't hold this one against SJP- I've heard her talk in real life, and its nothing like Carrie's sugary sweet, breathy voice. It's awful, especially when combined with...
Reason #3: Her mannerisms. How many times must one jut out one's chin dramatically (as if it weren't promiment enough) to prove that one is confused, pensive, or unsure? Go ahead, go watch Sex and the City right now if you have the DVDs (if not its on TBS at 11/10c), and tell me if you don't notice it.
Reason #4: She has been called a fashion icon. This is a major problem that even SJP admitted to on the E! True Hollywood story of SATC. She said that normal women don't walk down the street wearing what she wears but its part of her job. In that same THS, someone said that her style was even Carrie-d to the fashion runways (that's me saying Carrie-d, not him); he also said that she made women become fashionable. FALSE. Anyone who copied something Carrie wore (except for a few choice items, like the orange dress she wears in L.A.) hopefully regrets that choice by now and looks at it as a lesson learned. I mean really, who one earth would take a cue from someone who wore a red cowboy hat, a yellow pleather tube top, and a sarong, all in one evening?
Reason #5: Her "cute" mouth twitch she developed midway through Season 3. I think that maybe all the people telling her how adorable she was finally went to her head and caused her to begin turning up one corner of her mouth to express "oh well" or "aw shucks" or "ya caught me!". It's the most infuriating smirk in the universe because I watch her knowing that not a single person had the guts to tell her that she looks absolutely ridiculous.
and finally,
Reason #6: Her snappy one-liners. I don't have a rant for this one. All I have is this: One woman's Titanic is another woman's Love Boat.
I hate to be so harsh on one single person. That's a lie. I love it. I will always point and jeer at people who I think look or behave ridiculously, just like a little child might do before his mother tells him its rude. No one has told me that this is rude so far, so until then, I'll just say
....you're only young once but you can be immature forever.
Fan mail
I used to send letters to my favorite celebrities up until the age of, um, 19. Sending a Christmas card to Peyton Manning SO does not count as fan mail because I did NOT include a self-addressed stamped envelope, nor did I include an 8x10 picture of him to be autographed and returned to me within 6 to 8 weeks. Really.
Before my love for Peyton, though, there was a very different blue-eyed man in my life, and that was Taylor Hanson. I was coy, of course, and didn't send him a letter specifically. Rather, I sent a joint letter to him and his three brothers, knowing that I would need to win their approval in order for them to break their "No Girls" rule for me.
I carefully read "TOTALLY TAYLOR!", my favorite book with color pictures in the center and garnered any information I could about Taylor. Then, when I finally wrote my letter, I wrote only about my interests. By some strange coincidence, I managed to have all the same interests as Taylor, right down to my affinities for mashed potatoes, Chumbawumba, and the word "weird". Who knew that their next hit single would be "Weird"? Not me...
I sent the letter off via snail mail and waited every day for a letter to arrive for me. After all, the book said that if I sent in an actual letter, I might get "something tangible in return". I looked up the word tangible. It has remained in my vocabulary since that day. The note never came, and while I occasionally sent letters to a few other celebrities (the 1997 release of Titanic allowed my friend Kelly and I to write a letter or two to Leo), Taylor always remained in my heart. Many years later, I found out about his marriage to his child bride while she was 4 months pregnant. I dearly hoped that she would get fat after giving birth, and now I hear that she has. THANK GOD. The only famous wife who I do not wish obesity on is Clive Owen's wife. I applaud him for being with such a heiffer. She must be a good cook. Good for you, Clive.
After years of waiting for Taylor to show up on my doorstep, I finally gave up hope. I waited for him, but he would never come. Until recently, I never thought I'd write a glowing letter again, but then I finished the book "Bitter is the New Black". I loved it more than anything and noticed that the author often included letters from her fans and her not-so-fanny readers, so I thought that maybe if I wrote something truly memorable, she'd publish it!
I vacillated between writing something scathing and pithy or warm and encouraging and finally decided on the latter. You attract more flies with honey, I've heard, although I hate flies and I would never leave out an open container of honey in an outdoor area where insects might show up unannounced. I thought it would take me hours to construct the perfect email, but instead I just wrote this:
To: jenwritesbooks@gmail.com
From: awebb@smu.edu
Subject: I can't think of a subject that would make you want to read this anymore than anyone else's email, thus no subject has been selected.
Hi Jen!
I just finished reading Bitter is the New Black (and yes, I italicized that because I am an English major and if this by chance gets printed in a future book, I don't want a professor to read it and say that I am a stupidhead for not properly writing out a book title) and LOVED it. I must say, I formerly thought myself to be the most bitter person on the planet and prided myself on being a malignant, albeit hilarious, tumor on the distorted face of society. This is not to say that I consider you to be the equivalent of a disfiguring facial growth. You are most certainly not. Anyway, if you remove all my digressions from this email you will see that what I am essentially trying to say is, you rock, and from now on I am going to be more careful with my spending. Right after I buy myself a pair of BCBG buckled riding boots that I will wear if I ever decide to take up horseback riding. Not that I'd be willing to ruin them in manure, ew. You are fabulous, your dogs are fabulous, your husband is fabulous, and I will love you until the end of time. Thanks for giving me the first book that has literally made me fall out of my poolside chair in hysterics upon reading about your scarfing of popcorn, anteater style.
Regards,
Alyssia
Aspiring Writer, but most likely to sell roses under a bridge instead.
Do you think she'll publish me in her next book? I hope so. It gets released May 2008....maybe there's still time for an addition!
Before my love for Peyton, though, there was a very different blue-eyed man in my life, and that was Taylor Hanson. I was coy, of course, and didn't send him a letter specifically. Rather, I sent a joint letter to him and his three brothers, knowing that I would need to win their approval in order for them to break their "No Girls" rule for me.
I carefully read "TOTALLY TAYLOR!", my favorite book with color pictures in the center and garnered any information I could about Taylor. Then, when I finally wrote my letter, I wrote only about my interests. By some strange coincidence, I managed to have all the same interests as Taylor, right down to my affinities for mashed potatoes, Chumbawumba, and the word "weird". Who knew that their next hit single would be "Weird"? Not me...
I sent the letter off via snail mail and waited every day for a letter to arrive for me. After all, the book said that if I sent in an actual letter, I might get "something tangible in return". I looked up the word tangible. It has remained in my vocabulary since that day. The note never came, and while I occasionally sent letters to a few other celebrities (the 1997 release of Titanic allowed my friend Kelly and I to write a letter or two to Leo), Taylor always remained in my heart. Many years later, I found out about his marriage to his child bride while she was 4 months pregnant. I dearly hoped that she would get fat after giving birth, and now I hear that she has. THANK GOD. The only famous wife who I do not wish obesity on is Clive Owen's wife. I applaud him for being with such a heiffer. She must be a good cook. Good for you, Clive.
After years of waiting for Taylor to show up on my doorstep, I finally gave up hope. I waited for him, but he would never come. Until recently, I never thought I'd write a glowing letter again, but then I finished the book "Bitter is the New Black". I loved it more than anything and noticed that the author often included letters from her fans and her not-so-fanny readers, so I thought that maybe if I wrote something truly memorable, she'd publish it!
I vacillated between writing something scathing and pithy or warm and encouraging and finally decided on the latter. You attract more flies with honey, I've heard, although I hate flies and I would never leave out an open container of honey in an outdoor area where insects might show up unannounced. I thought it would take me hours to construct the perfect email, but instead I just wrote this:
To: jenwritesbooks@gmail.com
From: awebb@smu.edu
Subject: I can't think of a subject that would make you want to read this anymore than anyone else's email, thus no subject has been selected.
Hi Jen!
I just finished reading Bitter is the New Black (and yes, I italicized that because I am an English major and if this by chance gets printed in a future book, I don't want a professor to read it and say that I am a stupidhead for not properly writing out a book title) and LOVED it. I must say, I formerly thought myself to be the most bitter person on the planet and prided myself on being a malignant, albeit hilarious, tumor on the distorted face of society. This is not to say that I consider you to be the equivalent of a disfiguring facial growth. You are most certainly not. Anyway, if you remove all my digressions from this email you will see that what I am essentially trying to say is, you rock, and from now on I am going to be more careful with my spending. Right after I buy myself a pair of BCBG buckled riding boots that I will wear if I ever decide to take up horseback riding. Not that I'd be willing to ruin them in manure, ew. You are fabulous, your dogs are fabulous, your husband is fabulous, and I will love you until the end of time. Thanks for giving me the first book that has literally made me fall out of my poolside chair in hysterics upon reading about your scarfing of popcorn, anteater style.
Regards,
Alyssia
Aspiring Writer, but most likely to sell roses under a bridge instead.
Do you think she'll publish me in her next book? I hope so. It gets released May 2008....maybe there's still time for an addition!
Excuses, excuses
Apparently, seven years at a private school and two years so far in college have taught me one true thing: In any given situation, at any given time, one can ALWAYS procure a rationalization, regardless of age, gender, or knowledge.
For example, today I rationalized that instead of going to the gym for a workout where I would inevitably lose zero pounds and zero inches because I lack the stamina to remain on an elliptical machine for more than 20 minutes unless there is something really good on TV, it would be a much better use of my time if I spent that exercising hour outside, tanning by the pool. After all, every good magazine tells me that tanning can make you appear 5 pounds slimmer at least!
Exhibit A: Mariah Carey does it all the time; the world has yet to realize that she does, in fact, have the physique of a body builder only without the muscles. Or maybe she now resembles Danielle Fishel of Boy Meets World fame, now the spokesperson for NutriSystem. Poor Danielle. I suspect the reason behind her weight gain is that off-camera, she devoured all those clown burgers at Chubby Checker's that Cory ordered.
Exhibit B: Britney, duh. Her abs were spray-painted on, according to inside sources at the VMAs. Honestly, who can judge her based on that? Given the opportunity and well-trained technicians (if that is a word used to describe people extremely adept at applying a faux bronze glow), I would allow ab muscles to be spray-painted on my body...and so would the rest of Hollywood and the world, if they could admit it. After having 2 children, I'm surprised she managed to hide her C-Section scar with those low-riding, love handle-hugging sparkle briefs. I noticed in one of the many pictures I was poring over, or maybe I noticed it when I was watching her performance for the 50th time on Tivo, that her tattoos on her hips (the one of the fairy and another one that I believe is a cursive "B" if I recall Teen People's article some 5 years ago) were much fainter in color. At first I thought, "Good for you, B. Way to not get your ink touched up and focus on your career." Upon further examination, I realized that the tattoos were not faded, they were STRETCHED OUT from being at a spot on her stomach which gets larger when one is with child. Seriously, nowadays, if you plan on having children with a slumming backup dancer, you MUST get your tattoos lasered off prior to getting pregnant. If the caustic mixture of her cheeto-scarfing, barefoot gas station bathroom-walking genes and his Sean John-clad seed inside her didn't cause her to explode like how it should have, she should have thought about the future of her once prized abdomen.
Exhibit C: Zac Efron. He doesn't need to look any slimmer, but his fake bake certainly makes the gay rumors seem a lot more plausible. It would also explain why Vanessa didn't send those nudey wudey pictures to him; clearly, that's not his thing. Maybe her Louis Vuitton purse in the background is better suited to his tastes.
Well, I've allowed the appropriate amount of time to pass between tanning and showering in order to allow my body to absorb as much color as possible, so I'm off.
For example, today I rationalized that instead of going to the gym for a workout where I would inevitably lose zero pounds and zero inches because I lack the stamina to remain on an elliptical machine for more than 20 minutes unless there is something really good on TV, it would be a much better use of my time if I spent that exercising hour outside, tanning by the pool. After all, every good magazine tells me that tanning can make you appear 5 pounds slimmer at least!
Exhibit A: Mariah Carey does it all the time; the world has yet to realize that she does, in fact, have the physique of a body builder only without the muscles. Or maybe she now resembles Danielle Fishel of Boy Meets World fame, now the spokesperson for NutriSystem. Poor Danielle. I suspect the reason behind her weight gain is that off-camera, she devoured all those clown burgers at Chubby Checker's that Cory ordered.
Exhibit B: Britney, duh. Her abs were spray-painted on, according to inside sources at the VMAs. Honestly, who can judge her based on that? Given the opportunity and well-trained technicians (if that is a word used to describe people extremely adept at applying a faux bronze glow), I would allow ab muscles to be spray-painted on my body...and so would the rest of Hollywood and the world, if they could admit it. After having 2 children, I'm surprised she managed to hide her C-Section scar with those low-riding, love handle-hugging sparkle briefs. I noticed in one of the many pictures I was poring over, or maybe I noticed it when I was watching her performance for the 50th time on Tivo, that her tattoos on her hips (the one of the fairy and another one that I believe is a cursive "B" if I recall Teen People's article some 5 years ago) were much fainter in color. At first I thought, "Good for you, B. Way to not get your ink touched up and focus on your career." Upon further examination, I realized that the tattoos were not faded, they were STRETCHED OUT from being at a spot on her stomach which gets larger when one is with child. Seriously, nowadays, if you plan on having children with a slumming backup dancer, you MUST get your tattoos lasered off prior to getting pregnant. If the caustic mixture of her cheeto-scarfing, barefoot gas station bathroom-walking genes and his Sean John-clad seed inside her didn't cause her to explode like how it should have, she should have thought about the future of her once prized abdomen.
Exhibit C: Zac Efron. He doesn't need to look any slimmer, but his fake bake certainly makes the gay rumors seem a lot more plausible. It would also explain why Vanessa didn't send those nudey wudey pictures to him; clearly, that's not his thing. Maybe her Louis Vuitton purse in the background is better suited to his tastes.
Well, I've allowed the appropriate amount of time to pass between tanning and showering in order to allow my body to absorb as much color as possible, so I'm off.
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