Mr Darcy he's not...

I confessed my love for Holmes on Homes today to a co-worker. THAT'S my kinda dreamboat. Give me a master at what he does over a pretty Mario Lopez type any day. I think I horrified her.

Along those same lines, Jack Reacher may be my new literary husband (Sorry, Atticus Kodiak). Jack Reacher doesn't believe in laundry. My heart went pitter pat.

I heart cheap, mass market fiction and strong, capable men. Who don't believe in laundry.

The Heartbreak of The Flops

So, part of me wants to laugh and mock the commercials for "Restless Leg Syndrome" like I do pretty much any commercial with disclaimers like "Be sure to advise your doctor if you've ever had a Liver transplant."

WTF? My doctor's visits require medical history in triplicate, even if It's just for the yearly. Wouldn't your doctor KNOW if you have a giant fucking scar?

But let's get back to my point. Because RLS sounds like the winner in a pharmaceutical sales rep's "Make up a Syndrome" contest. Like Nanwrimo for leeches.

Except...

My hubby has them beat. He's got the Flops. It's not just his legs, people. His arms go flying, he kicks off the covers and then pulls them back up. He flaps the covers. That's my favorite. But he snores through it all.

He says I don't love him enough because we have not actually said vows in a legal type way.

Tonight he asked me to come to bed early and then (in his sleep) held his hand up over and over again to block my view of the show I was watching on the idiot box.

He doesn't understand that the fact that he wakes up each and every morning, not a bruise or a pinch mark on him, is the proof that I love him.

And in local news...

The crazy local happenings at the legal epicenter of our fine (okay downtrodden) county? That whole family is batshit crazy and ruuuuude. Soon as I heard the name, I thought, oh, well it WOULD be one of them.
Yes, I realize that I am going to burn in hell for my thoughts.

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Speaking of hell, what in the hell was ABC thinking, cancelling Life on Mars?

WAAAAHHHHHH. Every.single.show.I.like.

I am the goddess of death for great TV shows. I am the Gorgon. As soon as I turn my gaze upon it, it's as good as dead.

ARGH!!!

I love Life on Mars. Have you seen it?

Well don't look for it anytime soon, because it's gone until FRICKaFRACKIN FEBRUARY!!!!!

I truly enjoy this show, which is almost a death sentence for network television. I am the curse of good shows everywhere. (I have this unfortunate ability at Bath Body Works, too. If I like it, it's gone out of production within months.)

I want to Netflix the British version now, just in case.

sob!

I dislike the drama.*

You know what? I could care less about Sarah Palin's wardrobe.

Gimme a break. As if the Republican National Party was going to send that money to orphans in Africa, or even to build houses in New Orleans. If they had NOT bought her the clothes befitting a concubine she-devil of the third Bush regime* (they hope), it would have been slipped into the coffers of some other Republican hopeful. Why is this news?

By the same token, on a local note, the city council of Sacramento was just outed for their scandalous discretionary funds--They get $50k apiece to spend as they see fit. The TV reporter said one of them even spent 250.00 on a CRAB FEED. Um, yep. When they showed the report on TV, it said they had given 250.00 as a sponsor of a charity crab feed.

As a retail manager, I got hit up A LOT to sponsor things. My little failing store was asked for a ten THOUSAND dollar sponsorship for the Asparagus Festival. Donations and sponsorships are part of community involvement, and I think that's exactly what those discretionary funds are for. Is fifty grand apiece appropriate in these times? Hell, no--but just make the announcement that the council has been told they will get five grand a piece until the police and fire departments are fully staffed again. Don't act like your news crew caught them spending the taxpayer's money on midget porn and new swimming pools at the homestead.

*I dislike drama, but I looove some good old fashioned Hyperbole. (did I use that right?)

Blog? What Blog?

OOOOOHHH.

Sorry about that.

No time for a post right now, but can I thank Bill Gates for no longer shaking his ass while Jerry Seinfeld watches?

I find the new ads a huge improvement.

Beautifully said!

I loved the late late show when it was Tom Snyder's, and I love Craig Ferguson (again with the spelling?).

Maybe it's because they think no one's watching that they are allowed to voice opinions?

I dunno.

I swear this blog is a gift.

I watched my little one blow me a kiss at the Kindergarten gate this morning and I could have just burst with love.

 

Her tales of Tai Chi* and classroom visitors are so animated and enthusiastic. 

 

Someday when she's an emotional, drama-laden 13 year old who hates me and everything that I stand for, I will look back at my blog and today will be like a shiny white box with a sunshiny yellow ribbon (Just like the ponytail holders on her pigtails today).  I will unwrap this blogpost and remember my five year old who loved school and blew me kisses with sparkly brown eyes and an impish little grin.

 

I wish I'd had a blog to remember Big O's cheerful Bonzai dashes from the car, already in motion and headed for the playground like a tasmanian devil.  You think these things will never fade, but oh, God, I could surely use some warm fuzzy reminiscences when dropping off a surly teenager, reminding him to get his assignments written down so we can review them tonight.

 

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*Tai Chi!  I know I live in California, and we should have lots of crunchy granola features like that in our schools, but this is the real California, folks.  Great weather, terrible schools.  Especially living in the stinky armpit of CA, we have school districts that suck pondwater, and ones that suck ass.  By all accounts, the district we are in belongs in the latter.  We're in a great school for this district, but it's still in this district.  I'm LOVING my daily re-enactments of the tai chi.

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Let's finish off that touching blogpost with a true Little O moment.

"Good night, baby..."

"Good Night...And Big Balls."

Thanks, ABC.

And now for something completely different...

Let's take a break from our fish themed --jeeze, MONTH?
**although I DO have one more fishy item...okay, two**

We have been sucked into the Olympics. Remember, this is a cable free household. We are GLUED to NBC until waaay too late in the morning.

Really, it all started because NBC played women's beach volleyball every Sunday morning. Kerry Walsh and Misty May-Traynor just rock.

(I'm sure I misspelled at least one of those names, possibly more. Google? Who the hell are you talking to? It's eleven thirty and I'm waiting for my washer to finish so I can throw things into the dryer!)

So we HAD to watch our girls kick some ass.

Speaking of assThen we watched the Men's synchronized diving. Now, I have a lifelong fear of being a BMHG, but those boys are just chiseled. *ahem*
It's kind of like mini trucks. Trucks are utility vehicles. They serve a purpose. Once you spend thousands of dollars on rims and a paint job and lower it, you've killed the utility, so why not just buy a stupid CAR? I honestly think a lowered pouffed out truck is about the most horrifyingly effeminate thing anyone could drive. Body builders at the gym are the biological equivalent to the mini truck.
The muscles on those divers (okay, all of the ...aquanauts?) are a functional thing of beauty. IF Michael Phelps did not have the unfortunate Eli Manning problem of not closing his mouth enough, I'd probably have a wee crush on him, too. Even though I think I'm old enough to be his mom. (EEEWWWWW)

What? Oh, yeah, Olympics. So I totally think those Teeny Chinese gymnasts are about twelve, tops, but I love watching Bela Karolyi (again with the google spell check? lighten up, people!) just call 'em like he sees 'em.

Okay, laundry safely transferred, must sleep sometime...

Bullets a la CRSE

• Little O has been counting down to the 23rd for weeks, having decided it was Floaty's Pink and Purple Rainbow's birthday. I convinced her that the large Dora cake she thought Floaty (c'mon, who am I kidding?) would like might scare him/her (it's a fish--who can tell?), and maybe we could buy the brightly colored mini cupcakes, instead? She agreed and set a tiny mound of pink whipped crisco next to the fish all night, slowly taking licks on Floaty's behalf until it was gone. (It was Norm's B-day over at the CRSEUM, too---happy day, buddy!)
• She came charging down the hall the other night demanding the "bug slapper" to get the mosquito in her bedroom. I don't know why that cracks me up so much, but it totally does.
• Big O, in a fit of madness, decided that his bangs were driving him nuts, grabbed them and hacked them off while over at his dad's house. After letting him wander town like Frakenstein for a few days, I took him to see what they could do, but there was no salvaging the shaggy skater look he'd been working so long for. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.
• Anyone out there have rabbit ears on the TV? Wondering about the whole Digital thing? I have no answers for you. But the Honey bought a new TV from a desperate salesman at the dealership (yes, sales ARE that slow) and wow. Just wow. Did you know they are hiding extra channels?
• On that note, isn't it expensive to hire a 24 hour meteorologist type? Because each of the local major network affilliates also runs it's own HD weather channel. ALL THREE of you? Nobody thought maybe NEWS or LOCAL INTEREST or SOMETHING? I didn't really need one Weather Channel. Now I have three.
• But wow. I've been able to put the Honey off about cable for another two years at least based upon the picture we get now.

That's all I've got, kids.

Once again, speaking out of my Ass.

I totally stole this from Bulletproof Bracelets. Montel Williams fought the good fight. Has Daniel Day Lewis struck anyone else as a little odd? Because I think Heath Ledger's death is a damned shame, and a tradgedy beyond measure for his family, but is this just my cold hearted cynical nature getting the best of me? DDL dedicated his SAG award to Ledger? I get expressing shock, horror, and sadness upon learning of his death--it was obviously news to him when he appeared on Oprah. Days later, to still be bringing it up seems wrong to me. I think I would feel differently if they had known each other--then dedicating a win would seem a little more natural.

Perhaps I just don't have the patience required for the artistic temperment. I identify a lot more with what Montel had to say than with any bizarre tributes to Heath Ledger from a man who admits they never even met.

Life without Cable: Day 3,652 Writer's strike:day 185

We sank to a new low tonight.

The rabbit-ear elves that rule my living room are cruel, cruel, little fae indeed.

Some would blame it on the storm overhead, but I know it's those damned pixies. Like the legend of the changeling child, my English stations have all been swapped for Spanish. Unlike the dull, half lit children in the old tales, the Spanish channels are brightly colored! There's lots of screaming and jiggling flesh abounds! The English channels are fuzzy and cutting out--the Spanish stations have never been so stable and clear. The English stations are all reruns, or stuff so bad nobody wanted to watch it in the first place.

Tonight we were mesmerized by...

Well, I guess it would be Mexican Circus Act Idol.

I am ashamed to say it's not the first time we've been sucked in, but it was CLEAR tonight. I could see the makeup used to paint on muscular definition on the eight to ten year old boys--each team has one--and on the buffed twenty year olds with all the definition they needed. Somebody got creative on one of them and quite frankly, his torso looked like a sea monkee.

We could not look away. If we were able to break the hold and check the English stations for something--anything to watch, it didn't matter. The MCAI lasted for like THREE hours.

The teams didn't have names, just colors. WHY didn't the rope guys wear team colors when dangling 20 feet up? I don't know. But it bothered me.

When the yellow team's rope dancer started losing his blue spandex pants, the honey and I placed bets on whether or not we'd see his underwear (if any) and whether or not they would be thong. (FYI, I totally called it- thong. The honey was a little traumatized)

A new low.

Why couldn't these elves be like the elves and the shoemaker, and make us NEW, better rabbit ears overnight, or come on, a nice new HDTV ready flat screen appearing on my wall.

Shit, I'd settle for them matching the loose DVD's to their cases.

Let's get Real, shall we?

Reality TV is the deep fried Twinkie of junk food TV.

The Bachelor is such an appalling show. People are up in arms because the latest guy declined to choose in the last episode, taking a pass on both of the "heartbroken" women.

Right.On.

What is wrong with these women? How can one human being be such a vapid ball of quivering need? They are crying in the limo on the first episode, because they went home in the first round. They don't even have the ovaries to say they are embarrassed to be rejected in the first round, they were hoping to buy themselves a new pair of tatas from their fame, and now no one will know who they are. No, they sob that there had been a real sense of connection when they chatted at the cocktail party.

Even if you DID make it to the final round, what in the fucking hell is wrong with you that you think six weeks or SIX MONTHS in front of TV crews is going to establish a long and lasting relationship? How many of these have there been? I think there has been one successful couple? These women are so screwed up in their priorities. Where is some pride? Some...dare I say it... common sense? Where is the grandma who, on the home visit, says her granddaughter is acting like a damned fool over a guy she just met?

(See what happens when I accidentally log on through AOL?)
All of the trailer park commentors talk about how eeevil this guy is.

He's a tail chasing dog--who ever thought anything else about a man going on reality TV to find a mate? If anything people should give him props for saying upfront that he's not interested, instead of faking it for the six weeks after the show finishes so ABC gets to pretend it was a love match.

The girls are always horrified to learn that he was kissing another woman the same way he kissed them. The junior high lesson in social diseases should tell you that you have probably (in effect) kissed every girl in the house--since this isn't one of "those" blogs, we won't talk about what else your little microbial community may have shared.

The fact that they televise this shit so some little girl whose parents aren't paying attention will soak it all up like a sponge and think that life is like this....ack. Probably the same little girl who's wearing the Bratz line of pre-teen thong underwear. sigh.

I want to get the Honey cable for Christmas. I do. But then Little O will be soaking up whatever that sweet sixteen crap is on MTV. Say what you will about telling your kids "no" and controlling their TV viewing, but if it's on, they will FIND a way to watch. Don't kid yourselves.

PLEASE lord tiny baby jeebus, give me the ability to teach my daughter to THINK. I see the Honey's nieces dumbing themselves down the older they get, and it KILLS me. At least three of them would sell a kidney to go on one of those shows. Maybe not their own, but hey--that's what parents are for, no?

To answer Stewart:

I have a question. I'm asking this with genuine curiosity. As a parent, exposing an eleven year old is a concern to you. What about violence? Does your child play videogames? Watch violence on TV? What is his exposure to that?

It is the hardest thing about being a modern parent. I try to ensure that he isn't over-exposed, but he's also a curious kid, and there is a lot out there!
I DO try to monitor which video games we bring into the house. When Big O was in the second grade, we took he and a buddy somewhere in my car. The longer I listened, the more appalled I became. Because this sweet cheeked, velvet painting-eyed adorable child in my backseat was spouting absolute garbage from his newest video game, one of the early versions of Grand Theft Auto. gaaaaaah. I was biting my tongue and forming the discussion for later, when my own sweet boy, missing teeth and all, said "really? you get extra points for killing policemen? hah-that's funny!" At which point I pulled the car over and probably scared the other little boy to death explaining how and why that was so NOT funny.
In spite of that lovely vignette, I don't forbid Big O from going over to houses where those games are played, because it IS the modern world we live in. But he knows my feelings on the issue, and knows that those games won't be coming home. (Ask me how bitter I am that Jak & Daxter changed from an adventure game to a cartoon shoot-em-up. No, don't -that would be a whole 'nother post.)
Big O is dying to play games online, and is still forbidden. He hasn't really expressed an interest in a My Space page, thank dog. Is that more of a girl thing? My other attempt at monitoring what he's exposed to is that we don't have cable. Saturday morning is still golden for my kid because that is his weekly dose of cartoons. I don't want to give the impression that he's living in a purity bubble or anything--his father buys him the occasional crap game and takes him to movies that I don't approve of. In a way, I think that's a dad's role, and especially in the case of a divorce, kind of par for the course. I am fortunate that I have a pretty good relationship with his dad still, so when he called me to ask if the 300 might be too much, I could just say "Ya think?" and they chose a different movie. You have to pick your battles.
He doesn't watch medical gore, and the sci-fi violence of Supernatural and Smallville are his favorites right now. I can't keep him cut off from everything, and I'm not sure it would be fair to make him a total social pariah, unable to discuss anything on television except Ugly Betty. He is a big Simpsons fan, and I really debated that, but again, can't keep him away from everything, especially when our local Fox affiliate plays two episodes a day, before I am home from work.
I just want to make sure that I give him age appropriate but still challenging stuff. He has the sense of humor that is sooo ready for Adams, but I got him watching the holy grail not so long ago, and I had forgotten the virgins and the spankings. Not incredibly raunchy by today's standards, but I had forgotten all about it. He's eleven. There is far worse on MTV, I guess. There's such a short window on being a kid anymore, though.
sigh.
There you have it.