Thursday, July 24, 2008
I wish I got more comments than I do, though apparently no one reads this thing. I got a comment from a stripper once, and after looking up her blog recently, it would appear she has about ten times the site visits I do. Sadly, she's had her blog for approximately the same amount of time I've had mine. And there aren't any nude pics, either. Just her thoughts.
I know I'm bad about posting regularly, but at the end of the day, a bitch has got to eat. I've been working my ass of lately, and when I'm not working, I'm taking French lessons. My French class will be the subject of a future blog, but right now I'm going to shove my hobbit feet under the covers and go to bed.
Monday, July 14, 2008
My friend Robert used to watch Intervention while stoned and raved about it. While comically ironic, I had dismissed his review as "impaired judgment".
That, friends, was a mistake.
This show is my new favorite thing. It's like an hour-long self esteem boost. I mean, I've got issues; but these folks have ISS-UUUEEEES. And their problems run the gamut, which I appreciate because I have a short attention span and would quickly lose interest if everyone was just addicted to booze. But some of these people are addicted to things (I'm proud to say) I've actually never heard of.
Which brings me to another great thing about this show: I learn things. I now know what DXM is thanks to Ben, the male prostitute with a genius IQ. While I'm not entirely sure I have the patience to methodically tear up lettuce into a million pieces before ingesting, I've nonetheless learned some great dieting tips from Emily, the anorexic. I have also learned driving is a bad idea in general, lest you get caught sharing a road with someone like Brooke, who takes two OxyContin pills, and up to twelve muscle relaxers and twelve Lortab painkillers...a DAY.
I would love to say that watching this show has made me never want to drink again. But as alcoholic Jill reminded me in episode 49, "You're always prettier when you're drunk." And as evidenced below, clearly she's right.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
A second topic is the zit I have on my eye. There's really not too much to this story except that, well, who gets zits on their eyes (seriously.) and somehow I've managed to scratch at it so much that I actually ran late to work this morning trying to stop the bleeding so as not to come to work resembling Massive Headwound Harry.
But the third topic is one that fills me with feelings of betrayal, anger and emptiness that are so deep, so severe, I will struggle to make it through this blog at all.
I'm talking of course about The Bachelorette finale.
WHAT. THE. FUCK. HAPPENED?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jesse??? She picked JESSE?!!!!
Before I go any further with this rant, I should say that I never watch this series. Haven't since the days of Firestone, anyway. Find the bachelorettes to be vapid and slutty and the bachelors douchey at best. But I stumbled upon this season one day while sick (literally, I had a cold) and desperate (I pretty much watched every episode of every show featured on abc.com that day.)
At the time, I was thrilled with my find. I LOVED Deanna. The girl was kick. ass. "I'm Deanna. I had my heart broken. That's not happening again. I want a husband and three kids before I'm thirty. If you're not on board with this plan and don't worship the ground I walk on, I'm kicking you out."
The girl ROCKED.
She was smart, cute, and Southern, but obnoxiously so. She navigated every rose ceremony with diplomacy, even kicking a couple of guys to the curb before the rose ceremony just to spare them the embarrassment. And she was always ready with the perfect break-up speech. "This is breakin' m' heart..."
After watching just two episodes, I wanted to write a book: "Everything I needed to learn about dating, I learned from Deanna." I had placed an initial order of 10,000 WWDD bracelets to be produced in China that I'd planned to sell state-side in support of what I was convinced would be the most powerful movement among single women since birth control.
And then last night happened.
A recap: I went into last night convinced she would pick Jason. How could she not? He's cute, has his shit together, clearly isn't afraid of relationships, and yes, has a "3-foot wild card", but Deanna said she wanted three kids before she turned 30 and she's 26. PERFECT. Granted, I was worried he wouldn't age well, and looks a bit like a monkey (completely unrelated to the aging), but I was convinced. He was the one.
And DAMN you, ABC editors. You had me fooled. You showed him cruising into her family - fitting in perfectly. He's asking Papa Pappas for permission to marry Deanna (YES!) and Zsee-Zsee and Poo-tard (I think that was the grandparents' names?) adore him. (YES!)
And then what? Then you show Jesse who shows up at her family's home like an overheated Helen Keller.
Papa Pappas: "Nice to meet you Jesse"
Jesse: "grs...uh...grrrrllll...t...um." (*wipes hands on pants*)
Papa Pappas: "Um, do you have use of your tongue, son? Can you form any words at all?"
Jesse: "sh....bllaa...tup...glug..." (*continues looking around, sweating and grunting*)
Deanna: "Daddy, he's a mute. But give him a nug...he understands that. Isn't he cute?????"
Oh, and back to the "nugs". The first time Jesse was able to form a complete sentence all night was after meeting Zshaa-Zshee, or whatever her name is. "Gimme nugs!" he commanded, and after a mother-fucking FIST BUMP told the camera, "We nugged, and it was rad."
But I wasn't worried. The family was sold on Jason. Zlar-zlar even blessed him. I'd called the whole damn thing macaroni by that point.
Then the one-on-ones. Frolicking on the beach with Jesse. Then he gives her a gift. It appears to be some sort of photo album cobbled together with figs and berries. Inside he's put pictures of the two of them with sentimental index cards narrating the photos and saying things like, "I like you. You like me too?" and "Jesse had big fun. First date. Glug."
It's time for "Dee" (*eye roll*) to go back to her room.
WAIT?!! What is this??? Did she just turn around and go back for more kissing??? SHIT!!! IS JESSE THE ONE??!!! NOOOOOOO!!!!
I continued to be concerned until I saw my boy Jason swim. with. SHARKS. for Deanna, then not give her a lame photo album made from fruits of the forest...no m'am...but instead, a BOARD GAME that he made himself.
I was all settled in for the rose ceremony. I was ready to pronounce Jason and Deanna man and wife. Jason walks out first in a completely ill-fitting suit. He gets down on his knee to propose. I've got the Kleenex ready to go.
"No," says Deanna.
I expected her to follow that up with "No, let ME propose to YOU." But she didn't. Just said no, after letting the boy go down on one KNEE. (Um, way to not be like Brad, "Dee.")
By the time Jesse came out in his equally ill-fitting suit (Jesus Christ, is there not a tailor anywhere on that island?) I was done. I was curled up in an angry ball on my couch with my friend Cat - who had predicted this all along - gloating beside me.
"YES! Yes, I'll marry you!!!!"
With this, I realized I'd no longer be able to retire on the profits of my WWDD bracelets. I'd never again be able to trust a Bachelorette not to fall for some incoherent lug from Colorado. I'd never again be able to eat tzatziki.
And her excuse? "I guess I didn't know myself as well as I thought I did." (Translation: Remember how I seemed to have my shit together? Turns out I don't. Who knew? But Jesse's fun!!! Wheeeeeeeee!!!!!)
But oh, kids, it gets worse.
My friend forwarded me this little gem shortly before lunch today. Normally, this would have sent me into orbit except about thirty minutes prior to viewing this nausea-inducing mess, I realized the hole Deanna left in my heart could be filled with an order of kao soi from the local Thai joint.