Enough Already!

Well, our journalistic integrity is alive and well. Too bad it is focusing all of its steely gaze at reality TV. In yet another stupid incident, it was "revealed" that the Deadliest Catch may have made things look a little more deadly than they were.

Again, I am going to ask the question, WHO CARES?? These guys are really up there, catching crab so you assholes can have your jumbo crab legs. Do we really need it to be "more real?" Is it an actual death scene you want?

But, my real question is, where is this desire for the truth from shows like The Hills, The Real World, Survivor, or any of the other reality crap that is out there? Why do you have to bring down shows people actually like? Or better yet, why don't you take those investigation skills and go to Washington and put them to good use. God knows, the real reporters aren't cutting it anymore.

Leave our TV alone. It's bad enough Hollywood only puts on reality shows. Then, it has to tell us all how real they aren't. Make up your fucking mind.

Wasted Time

I have spent eons of my life trying to be cool. If I could add it all up, it would probably be years. I'm not sure exactly when it started, but I'm pretty sure I was too young to know what cool really was. I thought my older brother and sister's friends were so cool. I was desperate to fit in, desperate to be older, cooler. Just like them. It wasn't until much later that I realized they weren't really that cool either.

But, by then I had moved on to the next thing. I rode the trends, followed the crowd, even though I was desperate to "stand out." I wanted to be that cool girl with the right outfit, the right look, the right attitude. But, I always felt like I fell just short of the mark. I would have the wrong shoes, or the right shirt in the wrong color. I never quite pulled it off, never make anyone believe that I was cool, different or hip. I wanted to be different, just like everybody else. The kind of cool that only "non-conformist" conformity could give you. I hung around the fringes of "cool" groups, but never really got inside. At least, I never thought so.

I was just so desperate to hear someone say that I was cool. If anyone did, I never heard about it. Which means, to me, it never happened. I still have moments when I feel like this, even though I am way too old to be concerned with this stuff anymore. I'm over the hill, on the downtrend. Being cool left the station a long time ago. It would have been nice to feel it, just for a little while. Even if I would leave the house and feel cool, there would always be someone else at the show, at the mall, at school, who made me feel so uncool. And, the fact that I can still be made to feel this way drives me nuts.

But, after spending some time recently with people just like I used to be, young people desperate to be cool, I can see how futile it all is. They try so hard, they preen, they pose. I see myself in them almost to a scary degree. Their whole lives are wrapped up in it, just like mine was. I want to pull them aside and tell them to save their breath, their money and their time. You will never be as cool as you want to be. There will always be someone cooler than you. There will be music you will never know about, culture you will never know about, and some day you too will feel old to be a part of anything anymore.

So, in my quest to be cool, I've come to one realization. I am. But, not because anyone else thinks so. But, because I think so. Fuck what the world thinks. The only way to truly be cool is to just be yourself. Whatever that may be. Trying to be something you're not is not cool. See, that was my problem all along. I'm a dork. And, while I may like some cool things, that is not why I am cool. I'm cool because there is no one else I would rather be.

Hobbies, People

If only these people would use their time and energy for something that mattered, like voting, or cleaning up the environment. But, no. Let's try and keep a television show on the air.

You're right, that is much more important.

Obama Can't Ball

After all I've done for the democratic party, this is how they repay me. I recently switched my allegiance from no one in particular to the democratic party, so I would be able to vote in this year's primary. I finally came to a decision about who I wanted to vote for. And, as much as it pains the feminist in me to say it, I gotta go with Obama.

That is, until I saw this. In my home state. You're going to come to my home state and bowl a 37. 37!! Seriously, come on. That is just awful. Great bowlers can get nearly that much in three frames. If only he had come to our bowling alley, we could have helped him out. But, bowling a 37 is shameful. My nephew, when he was two years old, could bowl better than that. Duder, when you put on the shoes, and pick up that ball, you gotta bring it.

I can deal with lying about snipers, I can deal with blowjobs in the oval office and alleged cocaine use. What I can not abide is a bad bowler. So, Barrack, step it up, or we might have problems. Next time, come a little further east, and we can show you how to bowl the right way. Or, try it with two hands.

How Do I Pick?

To honor Mr. Fred Roger's 80th birthday, Mr. McFeely wants us all to don our favorite sweaters to honor the memory of the man who rocked a cardigan like no other. This poses a conundrum for me, as I own quite a few fine cardigans. But, which ever one you choose to wear today, take time out to think about the man who probably touched your life as much as he touched mine. I used to think that Mr. Rogers could hear me through the television. I loved him.

So, I think maybe I'll go with a classic today, my o.g. sweater if you will. $5 at a thrift store, and despite some wear and tear, it still makes me feel neighborly. Won't you join me?

Lot in Life

Sometimes, we women have to put up with a lot to be with the man we love. Recently, Greazy came to me and announced that he wanted Direct TV, so he could watch Australian Rules Football. A perfectly normal request around these parts, I assure you. I balked at first. After all, we were comfy with Comcast, even though the bastards charge an arm and a leg. But, he convinced me. So, I am sitting at the computer right now while the transformation is taking place.

Greazy is spoiled, you see. He gets what he wants 99% of the time. Playstations, trips with buddies, poker/fantasy football drafts in my basement, albums featuring WWF stars. Sometimes, I worry that my boy doesn't know the meaning of no.

But, then I realize that he makes me laugh, he loves me and often buys me presents as well. And he has never made me stand by his side whilst confessing to whore-seeing or intern-fucking or I'm-a-gay-Governor. So, I guess I should consider myself lucky. Because in the grand scheme of things, having to learn new channel numbers isn't that much of a big deal.

*Sidebar - I typed a few things into google images to find a picture for this post, and it asked me "Did you mean wife honoring husband?" No, I typed humoring, dumb-ass sexist search engine.

Catharsis for Fun and Profit

Look around your house right now. How much of what surrounds you is stuff you actually like, need or want? It sounds like a stupid question. I mean, who doesn't want their own stuff. But, since I've started weeding out all the crap from my life, it has become clear to me that there is only so much stuff one needs. I'm sure at the time everything I've bought seemed like a good idea. But, right now, I'm looking at an ever-growing pile of yard sale items, and wondering why some of it was ever purchased. Some are gifts from others, some of it was impulse. But the bottom line is, it is all useless to me at this moment.

I'm hoping that I can find some worthy souls to take this stuff off my hands. I'm sure someone out there needs an ironing board, or seat cushions, or Spongebob Uno. But, it's not me. I actually am one of those people who enjoy cleaning and getting rid of stuff. It is so soothing to me. It truly helps me de-stress to toss things out, clean them up and get rid of them. In fact if any of those clean-em-up shows need a new face, let me know. I would love it. I think Neecy and I would make a great team. Until then, I'm here, dear friends, if you need someone to help you clear out. I promise, I'll be gentle.

Lying Liars

Another day, another lying author. It is amazing to me how these people get editors and publishers to buy their stories, most of the time for big bucks. If that isn't enough, the book comes out to huge fanfare. Hell, you may even get yourself on Oprah. Then, after one person does a little digging, the public finds out the book is made up of lies. James Frey and JT Leroy are just a few names in the long list of people who got paid big bucks to tell their stories. In most cases, heart-wrenching, tragic and amazing stories. Problem is, they are all full of shit. Hell, JT Leroy isn't even who he/she says he is.

I don't know why we are so surprised. Hell, I lie all the time. We all do. And, it seems the only way you can get people to pay attention to you is to lie. Football coaches, Food Network stars and the guy in the next cube have all lied on their resumes. Hell, I have. So, if we all do it, then why do we expect so much truth from everyone else? I'll be the first to admit, that if someone says their book is a true story, I'm more than a little skeptical. Come on, Augusten Burroughs. I'm not buying it. There is no way that some of those crazy things that "happened" to you aren't a little made up. I don't know anyone whose life is as over-the-top crazy and interesting as these books make them out to be. I'm sure those people are out there, but they are not as plentiful as they appear to be.

I guess my real question is; why do these people feel they have to lie at all? Why is the publishing industry only interested in damaged and flawed people who've struggled against all odds to succeed? Those stories are great, but most often fiction. If these are the standards that people need to meet to write a memoir, no wonder people lie. And, come on Food Network. The guy did a good job. So he lied to get in the door. Isn't it just as much your fault for requiring people to be larger than life, as it is for this guy pretending to be so? I think expectations are just too damn high for everyone. You can't lie, you can do drugs, you can't change your mind, you can't offend anyone, you can't be sexual, you can't be fat, you can't have flaws. Who can live up to these standards? And, more importantly, who would want to.

So, ease up, everyone. We're all just humans. Lying is part of who we are, no one is immune. Next time, check a little harder before you send that manuscript to the printer.

Jesus!

*Duder, we've all been there, but just break your leg, it's easier.

*This would totally be me.

Happy Leap Day!!

I wanted to write and wish everyone a happy leap day. I hope you all have the chance to take a literal or figurative leap today. Myself, I prefer a dancer's leap. Funny, I used to be so much more graceful when I was 12. Oh well, not much can be done about that.

So, enjoy your extra day, everyone. Hopefully you got to do something fun. If not, there is still time. Get out there and leap. It is worth it.

Show Review: Quarterlife

Quarterlife started out as a web show that got the green light for real live television. I think, after watching the first episode, it should have stayed on the web. It's not that the show is terrible, it is pretty basic and unremarkable. But, it does suffer from the fatal flaw of most shows in this vain. It is unlike any life you have ever known, and the dialogue is ridiculous.

Shows like Dawson's Creek, My So Called Life and Felicity made us believe that young people sit around and talk in these deep and flowery ways, asking each other probing and provocative questions. And there is so much tension between people, it is a forgone conclusion that sex is just a few episodes away. Who do you know who has a life like that? Most of the time when you are out with friends, it is just random nothing talk. And, I don't secretly want to sleep with everyone in my circle of friends. (I know this will disappoint some)

This show, Quarterlife, centers on Dylan, a lowly employee at a magazine, who does a video blog that is suddenly popular and revealing secrets left and right. Totally typical, no? Dylan is in love with her friend Jed, who is in love with his best friend's girl. Then, of course there is the obligatory slut, who is hot but has low self esteem, so she sleeps around. Classic.

It was no surprise to me when I heard that this show's ratings sucked. It is just so lame. Navel-gazing-self-important crap. Sure, when you're young, you are self involved. Hell, most people are their whole lives. But, if that is the case, then at least make the characters interesting. I don't care what happens to Dylan, or her friends. But, if I had to guess, I would say the angst and heartache will be horrible and super depressing. I'm not going to stick around to find out. And, you shouldn't either.

Typical

So, I'm sure you all remember the bitch I used to work with, who drove me insane and made me quit. Well, guess what? She's leaving. That's right, all. She's leaving and going back to where she came from, and basically came to my job to ruin my life and then leave. I am not surprised, but I am, in fact, pissed off. Not that I liked my job, or really wanted to stay. But, the money would have been nice, and the three weeks paid vacation. But, no. She had to ruin everything. I hope she is happy in her new (old) home.

I hope she chokes on some chowder and dies. I mean that. Sincerely.

Is it Just Me?

After reading this article, I got to thinking. With all the diseases that are being researched and all the funding that is available, why is it that the only things we seem to be able to fix are guy's problems. First it was Erectile Dysfunction, and I'm sure we're all glad that Ditka can get it up again. Now baldness. I'm not saying good work isn't done every day for a variety of things, but come on.

Are baldness and limpness so much easier to ease than say menstrual cramps, breast cancer, cellulite and the symptoms of menopause? Or is it just that you know when you crack the baldness thing, sales will skyrocket because of all the vain, newly rigid men out there looking to score, and think hair is all they need to close the deal?

I'm just saying, throw us ladies a bone. Give us something. A period four times a year, cool. What else you got?

Really???

So, in response to his girlfriend making this video, Jimmy Kimmel makes this video. And, it is actually really funny. Who knew??

That's Absurd!!

I don't watch the Grammy Awards any more, because honestly, I don't really care. But, I felt the need to give an example of why I don't care anymore. Thanks to Herbie Hancock, I didn't have to look very hard.

Herbie Hancock is a fine musician and performer, and deserving of accolades and awards. Just not this one. Grammys are for popular music, well most of them. Lord knows they have more catergories than any awards show should. But, a fusion Jazz artist's tribute to Joni Mitchell featuring Lenard Cohen and Nora Jones. Yeah, that screams album of the year. You're right. Come the hell on Grammy voters. Get it together. Young people buy and listen to music and they don't know who Joni Mitchell or Herbie Hancock are. Get it together. I guess you should just be thankful that Kanye West didn't storm the stage.

Burn, Baby Burn

I really didn't like my old job.

Better Late Than Never

I hesitated to make New Year's Resolutions as they never seem to last very long. Mind you, I do have a laundry list of things I'd like to change, and I plan to, but doing it on January 1st always seemed so arbitrary.

That is why I waited until January 16th to pack in my shitty job. That is right, loyal readers, I am sans employment at the moment. I told my job to shove it. I had planned to wait until after our return from Australia. But, circumstances and assholes conspired against me and forced my hand. That place was looney tunes, and not in a good way. So, I had to leave.

But, despite my fear about not having a job, it is still one of the best decisions I've ever made. When things make you miserable, you have to move on. A little financial strain is worth my sanity.

So, these photos are my homage to another job quitter who saw the light, as I did. May you all get the chance to take this photo one day, it is truly liberating. Long live hope, dreams and bitches everywhere. There is a place for all of us, I promise.

I Need an Enabler

One of my favorite shows on TV is American Dad. Busted on for being a Family Guy rip off, I find it not only entertaining, but topical. This week's episode spoke to me on a personal level. The resident alien Roger, was being told to change his ways to be more nice. The quote that said it all for me was this.

"Roger, is being nice killing you?"

"My people need to let our bitchiness out, otherwise it turns to bile and poisons us."

After two bouts of sickness recently, I am beginning to feel like I am being poisoned by my life. The stress, the bullshit, the unmitigated stupidity I am confronted with every day, all of which I must suffer with a smile, is turning my insides to bile. And, it is poisoning me. I really, honest to god, don't know how people do it. All I know is, something has got to change or I am liable to fade faster than my latest hair color. I need help, and hopefully somewhere out there, I will find it. Until then, I need to find someone to tell me it's okay, to tell me that I can let my bitchiness out. Let my freak flag fly. If you are out there, let me know. I'm accepting applications.

Karma is Not as Much of a Bitch as I Am

Sometimes, I wonder if I have done something very wrong in a past life. My cousin once said we must have been baby-eating dictators or something, as our Karmic life seems terribly out of whack. As an example, there was a woman I worked with that I hated. She gave me stuffed dogs as a secret Santa gift, she didn't pull her weight, and she was really annoying. She finally quit before Thanksgiving. And, give thanks, I did.

Her replacement began work right after Christmas. As cruel fate would have it, she is even worse than the last one. She is slow, annoying and needs her hand held for the simplest of tasks. No amount of explaining seems to sink in and no amount of ignoring her shuts her up. My karma has sent me another albatross to replace the old clunker that used to be around my neck.

Now, I'm the first to admit, I'm a bitch. I'm not very nice, it seems, and if I don't like you, you'll know it in about 3 seconds. But, for the most part, I do what every one does. I hide my true feelings and muddle through. But, this woman is about 30 seconds away from a punch to the face. I can't deal with her and I am actively searching for ways out of my job from hell. I was hoping to hold on until May, take my three week jaunt to Oz, come back and quit. But, this whore is forcing my hand. To really top the cake with an big scoop of irony, she lives right down the street from me. How's that for bad Karma? Next thing you know, she'll want to car pool.

So, I guess I better go build some houses for the poor, go green or vote democrat to get my karma back on line. I need some good stuff now more than ever. And, pray for this woman, or she might just find herself with an Inky knuckle sandwich.

Humble Beginnings

Today is the 11 year anniversary of Greazy and my first date. The day started like any other in the life of a college student. I got up to do a radio show with Greazy and XL. He had invited me, and I spent the night before being giddy. See, I had been harboring feelings for him for a couple months, despite my continued relationship with a douche bag. I dumped his sorry ass on Thanksgiving, and once I returned to campus, I put Greazy to the back of my mind. I needed some time off, or so I thought. Turns out it was not to be. He and I flirted on the air, like the severe dorks we were (and are) and we ignored XL. I went on about my day, but took the time to happen by Greazy and XL later on, you know, just taking a detour totally out of my way to "run into" him. Then, he did what I thought he might. He asked me out.

I went home to panic and prepare. We met late as you often do when you are 20 years old. We drove in the light snow to Denny's and split the sampler. We tried to make sense of what was happening, as we were and are an unlikely pair. We just couldn't believe our good fortune. He drove me home and we hugged. Less than 24 hours later, things got decidedly more serious.

All these years later, I still remember the way I felt that night, freezing to death in his car. I remember the butterflies, the disbelief, and ultimately the smitten kitten he turned me into.

The rest, as they say, is history. Now we are the old balls and chains. But, of all the things I've ever done, that trip to Denny's was still the best. He's my questions 4. Greazy is the love of my life.