February 28, 2006
Last weekend I took my children to Borders so they could hang out in the children’s books section, browsing new titles, reading aloud to each other, and incessantly whining, “Mooooooommmmmmaaaa, please buy me this book, please! Please, Momma! Please, please, PLEEEEEEEZ!” Because I’m DUMB.
Anyhoos, my son had been going on and on and on about some book search thingymabobber at Borders and how he totally needed to look up this awesome book his teacher had been talking about and did I know if it cost money to look up books because he remembered seeing a spot for swiping credit cards on the machine and would I help him figure it out because he REALLY wanted that book and how dumb is it to charge for looking up books, anyway?! He continued along this vein throughout the drive, while parking the car, even as we were walking up to the store, so it should be no surprise to anyone that the first thing I did as we walked through the doors was to make a beeline for that damn kiosk so he would just STEP OFF.
Unfortunately a whitish-blueish-haired octogenarian was using the machine, so we parked ourselves at a respectful distance from her and patiently waited for her to finish her search.
“See, Momma? See where you put the credit card? Do we have to pay to use it? Because that would be dumb, right?”
I leaned a little closer to the machine, and by golly, there was a slot for credit cards. By leaning a bit to the left I could just… make out… the side… of the screen, which listed the functions of the machine. “Oh, that’s just for pre-orders, Buddy. The search part I am SURE is fr–”
“ExCUSE me!” a voice interrupted. “Do you need to use this machine? Because I am ALMOST. FINISHED.” (Translation: “You better back the hell away from me and my search machine, Miss Rudesby McWhippersnapper, or I will freaking cut you! That’s right, biznitch!”)
Well, I never. Of all the ill-tempered… Grandma was being SNIPPY, y’all. She had turned from the machine, apparently bothered by my presence in what she obviously considered her “personal space.” Her tone was dismissive and her whitish-blueish helmet of hair actually trembled with the force of her righteous fury. But we so did not deserve her anger, I promise you. We were at a respectful distance!
I tell you what, my own dear grandmother would NEVER act this way. No, indeed! My grandmother rocks the hizzouse! But I digress.
I blinked at her. Once. Twice. Then, “Um, yes, but we’re just waiting… we’ve never used this machine before… we were just wondering how it worked… Wait. Why? Am I bugging you?”
She glared daggers at me and my son for a half-second, then– and I am so not kidding here– hissed, “YES! You are!” and stormed off in a huff. STORMED OFF! Well, okay, as quickly as an old bag can “storm,” that is. Which isn’t very fast, actually. It was more like she hobbled or tottered. Perhaps doddered? Yes, she doddered off. In a huff.
Of course I took the high road, you know, played nice in the face of her obvious rudeness… basically set a good example for my boy. “Okay, thanks!” I called after her. “Have a grrrrrreat day!” Okay, so my voice (perhaps) may have been laced with a bit sarcasm– just a tad, mind you– but honestly. I’m only human. And a little obnoxious.
“Ooooooo-KAY,” my buddy boy said to me, raising his eyebrows. “She was rude.”
We approached the machine and took a look at the screen she had neglected to clear in her haste to dodder away. In a huff.
Search: Gospel Music.
“Ooooh! Gospel music! Maybe she’ll find God and be nicer, eh?” I said loudly. Um, because I’m horribly rude?
Sadly, this conversion to God and the Golden Rule was not to be, as ten minutes later I saw Grandma Geezer approach a young boy using the book search machine, whisper something in his ear, then push him to the side so she could use the machine.
Search: Senior Romance and Sexuality.
Okay, fine, I am totally kidding about that last search topic. But seriously, if gospel music ain’t helpin’ the Golden Girl chill the freak out, maybe she should be looking into getting some octogenarian tail. That’s all I’m saying.
That being said, I hope she’s there the next time I am dumb enough to haul all my kids to the bookstore. That was the most fun I’ve ever had at Borders. No, really. Ever.
February 24, 2006
Man. Don’t you just love it when TV and reality come together?
I mean, seriously… how cool is that?! Turning on the television and seeing your life played out right on screen?! In front of God and everybody?! And you’re all, “What the freak?!” And jumping up and down with excitement? But also feeling a little scared? Like Twighlight Zone scared? Because of the freakiness? But still totally excited?
Last week, thanks to my mad TiFauxing abilities, I watched How I Met Your Mother for the first time (because… Willow?!) and experienced just such an extraordinary melding together of life and entertainment.
Okay, so I saw an episode in which Lily (Willow!) goes to her fiance Marshall’s hometown of St. Cloud to meet her future in-laws and it turns out he has five or six brothers and they are practically giants! With the tallness? And the aggressiveness? And the eating of fat-laden food in mass quantities? Seriously. The family consists of several huge men who eat seven-layer salad full of gummi bears, potato chips, sixteen cups of mayo, and funyons, and who play bas-ice-ball, a dangerous combination of basketball and hockey. (“What are the rules?” “There are no rules! We just wale on each other!”) Honestly. Lily looks like a Hobbit person next to these people. And of course everyone in town seems to know “those Erickson boys.”
Okay, creepy. I about peed my pants laughing, I kid you not, because that? Yeah, that would be TGIM’s family. Exactly. Well, except the seven-layer salad thing for which I am thankful because there is just not enough ew. Biscuits with sausage gravy would be TGIM’s family’s poison.
Live in a small, close-knit town? Check.
Eat mass quantities of fat-laden food, bitch-slapping anyone who dares get in the way? Check.
There are, like, a gazillion of them? Check!
Everyone in their home town knows them AND gets all up in their (and my) bidness? O. M. G. There is not enough check.
Shoot each other with paintball guns at point-blank range causing huge welts and bloody wounds, wrestle around on the floor until someone screams like a girly-girl begging for mercy, and play vicious games of tackle football on the front lawn? Ch-ch-ch-check.
Dwarf me like a little Hobbit person, even the girls? You better believe it. And check.
Just look at ’em, all big and shizz:
Keep in mind that TGIM (see his hair, in back there?) is 6’1″… and a half. Also keep in mind my youngest sister-in-law is scrunching down in front. Yeah. (I have no idea who the kid in front is. Probably a cousin who will one day be huge.)
And that is not even all of the boys! There are seven total. Yes, SEVEN.
At least my mother-in-law is not so much with the largeness. I don’t feel so alone. So very, very alone… you know, what with the shortness and all? Okay, fine, in my in-laws’ defense I should disclose that I am only 5’3″, but still! Giants. All of them.
However, since it is apparent to me even now that in a few years my Mack and TD are going to look almost exactly like the cuties in the pictures below, I suppose I can forgive TGIM’s family their freaky bigness.
(Did you know that in small towns you can carry around large shotguns while wearing an excess of camouflage– which pretty much flatters any figure, by the way– without anyone looking twice? It’s true! I am so serious.)
But I digress. The show ended with Willow– I mean LILY– getting arrested for public urination after going to the store to buy a pregnancy test. Honestly. How surreal is that?! Oh, not that I’ve ever been arrested for public urination, but it could have happened! You don’t know!
I’m totally watching again this week, I tell you what, just to see if anything else resembles my life. Ooh! Maybe someone will be arrested after she finds a hotel room key (while drying off with a towel she found on a deck chair after being thrown into a fancy shmancy hotel pool fully clothed), decides to take just a quick little peek at one of the fancy rooms, gets caught “breaking and entering” by the Chief of Police whose key she happened to swipe and whose room she happened to take a peek at while he was innocently chillin’ in the jacuzzi (even though he was totally drunk off his ass and confused, and she didn’t even go into his room at all, and she certainly didn’t steal his keg because, I mean, where would she have PUT it, right?!), then subsequently gets cuffed, escorted through a lobby of curious onlookers, and hauled off to jail! Hoo! FUH-NEE!
Not that I’ve ever done that either. As if.
February 24, 2006
As Simon would say: America, you got it wrong, you freaking idiots! (Okay, maybe I added that last part.) I mean, another week of Ho-Sway? Boomhauer? BRENNA?! (and oh, dear lord did you see her hair last night? Woo! ShaZAM!)
And I love that Ryan had to actually cue the crowd– and the OTHER GIRLS– to clap for Brenna when he announced she was safe. Because I’m evil. Like the devil. But hoo! Priceless. I SO hope that wasn’t orchestrated, because DAMN. Good times. But NOW who’s gonna have to bunk up with Brenna? Awkward.
Okay, I’m so not crying over Becky or Bobbie (although I thought Bobbie was fun, you know?), but I actually feel a bit sad for Stevie, as her performance last night was so much better (at least the first half) than on performance night. Too bad they didn’t mention she was sick when she sang on Tuesday night; it may have influenced voting. You know, sympathy vote and all that? Either way, it totally sucks for her, you have to admit. Not really a fair shake. I think she could have “brought it.” Girlfriend should have popped some Airborne, that’s all I’m saying.
But Patrick? Yeah. That was a mistake. What really chafes my sensitive, winter-dry skin is that I am POSITIVE the dude did not get the second lowest number of votes. Oh, sure, he probably got the second lowest number of votes out of the boys (which he so did not deserve and yes I’m looking at you Sway and Bucky), but no way did he get fewer votes than, oh, say Brenna or Hhhhhheather or Melissa or Kellie “Pick Pickler!” (I know, right? It never gets old!) In fact, I would guess there were at least five or six girls who received fewer votes than Patrick. But two guys had to go, so there you are.
Honestly, I find it unfortunate that a genuinely talented singer, who is charasmatic and nice to look at in his Ed Norton sort of way (and I thought he was hawt in the sunglasses at his audition, I don’t know WHAT Simon was going on about), was sent home before guys like Gedeon and Kevin, who– come ON– although talented singers, are not right for national television and do not have a shot in hell of surviving to the Top 12. Am I wrong? Hey! Kevin is NOT SQUISHY, people! NOT! And hello? Sway is not long for this competition either, with his pimptastic faketto and overall ick factor. And what the HELL is up with Boomhauer?! Huh?! Bucky? Growly McLooksLikeAss? How is HE still in this competition? Huh?! What is wrong with people?
Personally, I think Patrick could have made it to the Top 12. He’s definitely one of the six best boy singers. Not win, duh, because Katharine or Ace will SO win this competition (with Taylor and Mandisa— hopefully– giving them a strong run for their money), but he would have been entertaining. Because he can SING.
That being said, Patrick being booted is tragic in the classical sense: tragic heroes always have a fatal flaw, and Patrick’s was his stupid song selection. Everyone knows Come To My Window is the kiss of death on American Idol. Duh.
As an aside, kudos to the producers for giving us one hell of a group sing, right? Ah, the awkward group sing alongs! How I’ve missed them. Good LORD. Although I must give props to the producers for original product placement: “It’s a girl, my lord, in a flatbed Ford slowin’ down to take a look at me!” Tricky! Ah, well played, American Idol and Fox. Well played. Oh, and hee… who else felt the un!comfortable! when Mandisa’s pose at the end just went on… and on… and on…? Just me then?
Wow. This amount of verbosity over an elimination episode before we even have a Top 12 is indicative of obsession far surpassing that which is healthy.
Oh, and finally… Paula? One word: BOOOOOOOOOOOBS. Now put those bad boys away before you hurt somebody.
February 23, 2006
(Forgive me in advance. This? Is a bit on the longish side. Do not judge me for my AI weakness.)
Hey! Was my Ryan on last night or what?! Woo! He was cracking my shizz up, you know what I’m saying? I just want to put him on my keychain and carry him with me wherever I go, he is THAT cute. Quite honestly, he’s doing a fabulous job this year, in my opinion. I mean, what’s not to like? In addition to genuinely caring about the contestants (it appears, anyway), he’s a smooth and quick-witted host who doesn’t hesitate to joke at his own expense. Heh. I’m still laughing at his deadpan “I’m taller than Tom Cruise” comment from Tuesday’s show. And his jabs at Simon for not offering any constructive criticism, plus that Chippendale’s bit? Hoo! Awesome. I can totally forgive his blazing metrosexuality.
Ooooh, brain fart: He should totally be a judge. God knows Randy and Paula (AKA: Drunky McSmurf) are useless.
Which leads me to this… how many veiled Connie digs were there from the judges last night? So, SO many. I had to laugh. Gosh. They must have REALLY disliked him…
Oh, and Paula? If you stand up during EVERY SINGLE PERFORMANCE the standing O sort of loses it’s bloom, you know what I’m saying? SIT. DOWN. And stop hitting on the contestants in front of God and everybody! I mean, honestly. That look you were giving Ace? That’s right, the I Want To Jump Into Your Pants And Make With The Sweet, Sweet Love look? I don’t know about anyone else, but I felt like I needed to leave the room so I wouldn’t have to watch you jump him right there and have your nasty way with him (which… ew)? Good heavens. Girlfriend made me blush.
Enough o’ dat. Here’s my rundown:
Patrick – I like him, I do. That being said– and maybe it’s my Etheridge Hate talking– but meh. And why is Paula telling him to stay with what he does best? Contradict yourself, much? Seriously. “Go outside your convert zone!” “Be original!” “Take a chance!” then “Dude. Do what you do best…” The contradictions inherent in the judges’ comments constantly amaze me.
David – The judges are on crack. That song was absolutely perfect for him. I enjoyed it. That being said, how much do I HATE crooners? Unless they are Harry Connick, Jr.? Well, let’s just say a whole freaking lot, and leave it at that, okay? He must go. Which is sad, because, you know… dimples?
Bucky – Dude? Bo you are not. And you must shave the pornstache right quick if you want me to take you seriously, a’ight dawg? And maybe invest in some dental work? What?! I’m just saying! (Total veiled dig at Constantine from Simon, here. Rockers who play weddings? Heh! Poor Connie.)
Will – Johnny Bravo? Is that you? Oh, wait, that was GREG, right? My bad… Overall, good vocals, tons of charisma. But he needs to not dance anymore.
(And someone please shoot the writer who came up with “where theres a Will, there’s a Sway.” Please. And Ryan, If you made that up on the spot? Never do that again and I mean it.)
Sway – Urgh! Blech! The hell? Why would a person DO that his first time out of the gate? The falsetto was WAY weak even if he did have that one sweet note at the end. There is only one man I can think of right now whose falsetto voice I will willingly listen to, and since you are NOT Prince, I suggest you CUT. IT. OUT. And give Mario back his pimp hat, mm’kay? Again, the judges? CRACKHEADS! All of them!
Chris – LOVED THIS. I admit… I love me some Bon Jovi. Of course, he sang it with no originality whatsoever– which the judges so did not call him on, the crackheads– but so what? It was Bon JOVI. And he did it beautifully. Rock on, dude.
Kevin – I like his voice, I do, I really do, but he’s awkward, and lispy, and quite frankly rather painful to watch. I do not want to squish or pinch him. Vocally, he sort of impresses me, but he annoys me visually. And the blinking is reminiscent of He Who Shall Not Be Named And Yes I Am Looking At You, Scott Savol. That is never good.
Gedeon – I am having trouble getting past this dude’s fuh-REEKY personality (good LORD he’s a weird one), but the song was a’ight. Didn’t make want to shout, though. And just a thought: they shouldn’t let him talk, like, ever. Just sing. Because his intro? Again with the fuh-REEKY. ::whispering:: And his smile bugs me, too.
Elliott – Okay, I think Simon was simply trying to get a rise out off the Claymates with his “BEST. MALE VOCALIST. EVER” comment. Because come ON. And honestly? I am having a bit of trouble getting past Elliot’s teeth. I know, I know, right? *sigh* Me? Shallow. Get over it.
Bobby – Buh-bye, sweetie. Nice knowing you.
Ace – Ooooooh, PRETTY. And dude sang a George Michael song. GEORGE MICHAEL! Whom I adore! Honestly. Could he be any more perfect for me?! I want to pinch HIS *ahem* cheeks… Heh. He totally said “naked.” Heh heh. Naked… Oh, sorry, I was somewhere else for a minute there… Er, good on you, Secret American Idol Luvah. Good on you.
And hello? Ace is so much more talented than– Ooooh, um, that other guy from last season? Help me out here… What was his name again? Hmmm… with the eye-fugging of the camera and whatnot?… Okay, honestly, I do see why some are comparing Ace to Constantine, but there is a HUGE difference here that I think they must factor into the equation: Ace? Can actually SING, y’all. That’s right. I said it. He can! Thank God. I need him on my TV, guys. No, seriously.
See, Ace is the guy Constantine was trying to be, except he doesn’t have to try. He just IS. And, hey, bonus points for the HAWT brother, yes? Say it with me now: DAY-UM.
Taylor – Awesome. During auditions I admit I felt a little put off by the way he bobs around as if his knees can’t… quite… support his weight, but there is just something about the way the genuine musicality seems to pour out of him when he performs. That sounds strange, I know, but I don’t know how else to say it. (Oh, dear lord! I must be channeling Paula!) Anyhoos, dude can apparently rein in The Bob (well, at least until the post-song banter with Ryan, that is. But how cute was that?! Because of Ryan? Aaaw!) which I would strongly encourage him to continue doing. All I’m saying is this guy has some major talent. MAJOR. Which makes the Jay Leno hair all the more tragic.
Wow. If I would have known I was going to go on this long, I would have brought a snack. Chips, perhaps. Or a toasted coconut cake donut. Maybe even a fruit of some sort.
Man. I so need a life.
February 22, 2006
I have NO internet connection! I am hacking on to someone else’s, so I’ll be brief:
How cute was my sweet wee Ryan last night, huh?! So, SOOOOOO cute! What with his wisecracking and his red-checkered shirt that matched… nothing else he had on, and his darker, less highlighted, flat-ironed hair and whatnot… MAN. LOVE! And he finally cut Simon, and GOOD, right?! “Well, I would have worn a t-shirt under that sweater, but we all make mistakes…” Woo! Go wee’un! GO!
HATE Brenna Gethers. She must DIE.
LOVE Katharine McPhee girl. She must WIN.
No, really. I have a total girl-crush on her. She’s lovely. LOVELY.
LIKE Paris Bennett, althought the helium voice BUGS, yo?
LIKE Lisa Tucker. She’s way too talented and confident for a 16-year-old. AWESOME.
The rest of the girls are pretty, but memorable? Not so much.
But tonight? BOYS! That means *sigh* Ace Young will be on! ACE! My NEW Secret American Idol LUVAH! Oh, he is PRETTY. I absolutely cannot wait! Sing for me, luvah. Don’t think I don’t see you looking at me with those bedroom eyes…
OMG. I just said “bedroom eyes”!! Who says “bedroom eyes”?! Old people, that’s who! Good LORD.
Well, now I’m just depressed.
Okay, totally over it. William kicks ass, too, the little cutie-pie, but he is, what? Like 12? So obviously we can’t be secret luvahs. Sorry, dude. Wasn’t meant to be. Really. You gotta move on.
So, I should probably bail. People are staring at me. What?! Haven’t you ever seen anyone stealing bandwidth (or something) before?! Move it along, people! Nothing to see here!
Gosh. Freaks. And seriously, if I don’t even know the proper term for this internet access theivery in which I am apparently engaging, I really don’t think I can be held responsible for my actions. Right?