Crap. Got Blog-Tagged...

THE RULES: Elaborate on the words below, kids! Pass it on to your Blogger Friends.

Accent – Kentucky born and raise. More hillbilly than charming southern. Dammit.

I Don't Drink – Gin. Some nasty shit right there...

Chore I Hate – Litter pan. Not only is it freakin' nasty, but all the litter dust is detrimental to my asthma.

Pets – Lhasa apso: Little Gypsy Lay Dee Dot (stupid registered name) - we call her Gypsy or Doodlebug; Cat: real name is Darby, but we ceased to call her that as her waistline swelled. So she's Porkfat now.

Essential Electronic – My laptop.

Perfume/Cologne – Since I have anosmia, I go with what Bill likes, which is Chanel Coco Madamoiselle

Gold Or Silver – Silver (used to be gold. I now wish my wedding set was in platinum)

Insomnia – Sometimes. Getting better. Thank you, Rozerem!

Job Title – Managing Editor

Kids – BooBerry, age 4

Religion – shopping (shut up. If effing SCIENTOLOGY is a religion, so is shopping)

Siblings – One bro (I'm about to be an aunt for the first time!!), age 28

Time I Wake Up – Alarm goes off at 6:10; I finally drag my sorry carcass out of bed around 6:40

Unusual Talent/Skill – Can remember sequences of numbers, like my library card (yeah, just call me Rainman)

Vegetable I Refuse To Eat – Beets and sweet potatoes. Freakin' wrong-colored foods freak me out. Freaky.

Worst Habit – Sarcasm. My biting tongue could end the war in Iraq. Just let me over there...

My Favorite Meal – Homemade: Taco Soup (my grandma's recipe); restaurant: homemade granola with fruit and honey-vanilla yogurt at Lynn's Paradise Cafe

I got tagged by Charmed, so I'm passin' on the luv to Twinkie.

File Under "Random"

So I like Amazon.com as well as the next bargain shopper. The fact that I can buy the latest smut-filled romance novel, a bag of cheesy poofs and a new hair dryer all in one order is appealin. Plus, I can do it all while sitting on my ass, drinking a glass of cabernet and watching "Big Brother."

Every Friday, the online mega retailer has a "Friday Sale." It's usually a hodge-podge of random shit that people don't need but can't resist at the low, low bargain price of only $x.xx.

Today's Friday Sale seems to be even more random than usual. I know some group of Amazonians sit around a coffee cup-littered meeting room and pour over their inventory to see where sales are slumping, but c'mon guys, who really needs:


...a ferret cage ($159.99)? I'm sure this is a lovely one, and the reviews from white trash faithful ferret owners are quite nice (the white trash party is based solely on the two ferret owners I have ever know, and is aptly applied in those cases). But, damn -- "I'll take 'Random Pet Items for $200, please, Alex!"










Then, there's also "Spa in a Box." ($1098.41)WTF, man? Even the price is random. It's friggin' portable -- so, what, you can travel with it? Somehow, I'm thinking this isn't TSA approved. Gonna take it to the next kegger, are you? The idea of taking this "convenient" toy to a party probably isn't the most sanitary thing to do (I've seen what can happen in a hot tub. And it was fuuuuuun). But, whatever -- if anyone actually buys this stupid thing, let me know. I'd actually like to have a hot tub ...



Next, let's examine the two-man deer stand. ($79.97) While it's true that chicks dig guys with great skills, (especially those who use bowstaffs), I'm thinking that bragging to that hot chick you just sidled up to at the club is not going to be impressed when you brag that this deer stand is your latest purchase. It just can't complete with a Porsche or an uptown condo. Better keep this purchase to yourselves, boys.









Finally, we come to this: A turn table. ($106.95. Hell, I've probably got one in my attic I'll give you.) Hey, mister DJ -- if you're still spinnin' on one of these, it should be duly noted that "scratching" is sooooo "In Living Color" (what up, Fly Girls!). Word up.

Lest we forget...

That Britney is bat-shit crazy, here's further proof:



Who forgets their pants? I mean, seriously... you're surrounded by bodyguards, camera men, "support" staff -- and nobody thought to say, "Hey, Brit! In your cocaine and tequila-fuel haze, you seem to have forgotten your pants!"

Sweetie, I think that is a shirt.

Ho bag.

Boots are sweet, though.

Read the full article, and see the naked truth from behind HERE. Check out the comatose kids toward the bottom of the page. Niiiiice.

Shameless begging.

If any of you have some extra scratch in your checking account, please feel free to support BooBerry's attempts to get into one of the best public schools in the county. She's in paid pre-school there right now, and we're hoping to get her hardshipped in for kindergarten next year.

She's selling wrapping paper, small gifts and some fabulous looking chocolate at INNISBROOK.

The school ID = 103393
Student ID = R10094C

We're really trying to do what we can to make a name for ourselves in hopes that when the times comes to hand out hardship transfers, BooBerry can get one.

So go SHOP!

Today, let's talk about ...

... manpris -- capris for the modern male.

I've never actually seen manpris before, but my buddy Jeremy swears he loves them and contends that if women can wear them, the modern male should be able as well (although I haven't actually seen him wear a pair before and would probably give him hell for at least 48 hours over it.).

So, Bill I were waiting for a streetcar in SF last week, and I look in front of me and see this:



Discuss.

(Bonus points if anyone can translate the saying on the shirt. Dude was soooo not American, as only a foreigner could get away with sportin' this pair of manpris without getting his ass kicked here. Or maybe that's just a Kentucky thing and San Franciscans wouldn't understand.)

$251.

... the cost to repair a three-year-old air conditioner for a SECOND TIME THIS SUMMER.

Bastards.

Wanna know what Hell feels like?

Our house right now.

I came home from work today and it was 80 degrees in here. Walked around the side of the house, and the motor was running, but the fanythingy wasn't turning.

Called the repair dudes and they can't come down tonight. Luckily, Bill's dad has an old window unit. We've got it upstairs in our bedroom, with BooBerry camping on her little pink princess couch at the foot of our bed. We're calling it "camping."

She wanted s'mores and roasted hot dogs. Don't know where that comes from, as Bill & I are most certainly not camping material. Unless it's camping for a Wii (in Bill's case) or a new Anya Hindmarch bag (me).

Martinis. Martinis will help me sleep tonight in this heat ...

Heartbroken.

Perez Hilton is reporting that my TV boyfriend, Wentworth Miller of "Prison Break" fame, is actually gay.

I'm down with the gays; in fact, I'd love to have a gay man as my BFF -- they're so much more fun than bitchy straight girls.

But, um, fellas? Could you throw this one back into the pool? It's breaking my heart that I have absolutely no chance with him. (Well, there is the small matter of my marriage, but *sigh* this is WENTWORTH MILLER.)



So dreamy. *sigh* If I were a 12-year-old, I'd have his pix Scotch-taped to my wall...

I have to say ...

By ep 7 of The Two Coreys, I'm half in luv with Feldman. Apparently, my 13-year-old self still hearts the hunky Haim, but the adult me wants to completely beat the shit out of 105-pound Susie Feldman for smart, sophosticated, sexy Feldman. And force feed her some Ho-Hos.

GO figure.

Adaptation!

I just read that Owen Wilson and Jennifer Aniston are set to star in the screen adaptation of John Grogan's Marley & Me. This might be the most adorable movie is ages... not even including the dog. If you haven't already read this book, you must buy it now.

Not cool.

You know what is Not Cool?

* Sitting on an airplane for 11 hours (four of those on a runway).
* Getting diverted to BIRMINGHAM, instead of Atlanta, to pick up fuel on the runway because the jet was too damn big to pull up to the gates at that shitty little airport.
* Finally arriving in Atlanta. At 2 a.m. Only to find out you've missed your connecting flight (duh).
* Sleeping in the airport, only to learn you haven't made the 10:29 a.m. flight you've been waiting since 2 a.m. for.

Just for the record, I looked totally gangsta while attempting to sleep with my hoodie pulled tight over my head and the fake Coach sunglasses on I bought at Fisherman's Wharf on Thursday after I forgot one of the three pairs I brought with me back at the hotel.

I've had an hour of sleep (8:35 a.m. to 9:32 a.m., for the record). I'm too exhausted to think. Here -- have some random trip photos to tide you over:

Bill at the Chinatown entrance. He's not the tool in the sportcoat.

Me shopping in Chinatown. (A brief aside, here. My highlights look good. Props to my bat-shit crazy hairdresser. She's psychic, and colby cheese helps her "powers." I am not shitting you.)

A Streetcar Named "Holy Jesus, We Found Somebody to Take Our Pic Together."

I drove over this. In an SUV.

Finally, boys and girls, I leave you with these. We watched this poor couple try to drag this little schooner out of the bay for, like, 10 minutes. (I want a schooner for Christmas, BTW. Bill wouldn't buy me one, but I'd be the only cool kid on the cul-de-sac if he did. All the Desperate Housewives who live here would be totally jealous of my backyard schooner.) Bill thought it was humorous to watch and took pictures.

No, we didn't bother to offer to help. Which, in retrospect, might have been a little heartless... But I was COLD. And like I really know how to get a schooner out of the ocean.

"My Heart Hurts."

Today has been a roller coaster of a day. While in the dressing room at Old Navy (yeah, I'm still shopping there despite their shitty, holey clothing and bad customer service; and yeah, I fly cross country to shop at the SAME FRIGGIN' STORE we have at home), BooBerry's teacher called. I lunged for the phone, but missed the call. She then phoned Bill, who called me. BooBerry was complaining of her "heart hurting" and was rubbing her chest.

We immediately called her grandmother, who's staying with her at our house. She rushed to the school and took her to the doctor, who checked her blood pressure and her heart and proclaimed her just fine.

Still, it was scary. And it ruined my shopping trip this morning. Hard to check out couture purses and eyeliner when your daughter might have heart problems.

Tonight, we went to Alioto's. Bill had calamari, a sauteed seafood combination of prawns, crab, scallops (ick) and oysters in a white wine musroom sauce served with rice. My buddy Rick had a spicy calamari appetizer, the same entree as Bill -- and both boys enjoyed fabulous bricks of tiramisu. I enjoyed a cup of clam chowder, a whole dungeoness crab ($39!) and chocolate cake. Yum.

Rick then walked us down to the uber-touristy Pier 39 to see the sea lions!



I totally want one. Makes me want to pull a total Veruca Salt. (A note to ppl who visit this blog - that's one of the pictures I took!!)

Here's a picture of us...


not the best one tonight, but the other one had two business-casual-on-expense-accounts-and-talking-on-their-cell phones nerds in the background.

www from the W.

I'm coming at you live from the W San Francisco, where both Bill & I are on business. He's attending a conference at the Moscone Center, and I'm here to do a couple of stories for the magazine. For once, our friggin' plane was ON TIME (albeit a 4.25-hour flight).

We drove to Mill Valley yesterday afternoon for the first interview immediately upon arrival. I GOT TO DRIVE OVER THE GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE! AND WE COULDN'T SEE IT! BECAUSE OF THE FOG!

Bummer.

It was bright and clear on the way back, however, which also afforded us a view of Alcatraz.

The hotel is fabulous -- a mix-up at check-in resulted in three free bottles of Voss water and an upgraded room, and we are now sharing a "Fabulous Room" rather than a "Cool Corner Room."





We also had to call for a remote control for the flat-panel television. Apparently the remote fairies took off with ours and we had no way to get Judge Judy, which was on when we entered the room, off.

I have to admit, this city is nothing like I'd imagined. For one, it's warmer. I wanted to thumb my nose back home by bragging about 64-degree weather while they baked in 105-degree heat. Alas, it's a temperate 75-80. I wore a long-sleeved T and jeans to dinner last night at Ozumo, where Bill & I gouged ourselves on miso soup, sashimi and rice. (Yeah, I know, it's not South Beach-friendly. Nothing I stuffed in my fat face yesterday was South Beach-friendly.)

We walked out onto Pier 19 (or was it 17? Hell, I don't know. They all friggin' look alike.) long enough for some pix...





... and then hoofed it back a couple of blocks until we could find a taxi (what's up with that, by the way? I practically had to stand on the sidewalk and flash my girls to get one of the very few that came our way to stop. You'd have thought we were in Harlem or something.)

Last night, after dinner, Bill & I returned to our room, and it was stiflingly humid and hot in here. We called maintenance, and the little dude came up and put a thermometer into the air vent, proclaiming it 64 degrees. He then told us that the room is action-activated -- meaning when we leave the room, it shuts off the A/C. We felt super lame for having called him up here.

Room service just brought our breakfast. ($11 for about a half-cup of granola and some fresh fruit. $10 for steel cut oatmeal. $8 for coffee strong enough to make the biggest grown man cry like a little girl. You know it's bad when Bill and I are wrestling on the floor over the few Splenda packets. Ick.)




I miss Lynn's. Yes,Josh, I know you got food poisioning there, but that's what you get for eating biscuits and gravy. For lunch.)

Today, I get to bum around Union Square (shooooooping) while Bill's at the convention center. I have an interview at 4 p.m. (Yay. Work.)

Gotta go. Maintenance is here. Bill clogged the toilet. (Nice.)

Sweet Lovin' for your iPod.

Download these because I told you to:

MAROON 5: Wake Up Call
JOSHUA RADIN: The Fear You Won't Fall
TAYLOR SWIFT: Picture to Burn (bonus point here -- BooBerry loves it)
ELISA: Dancing
SELENA CROSS: Silence
JENNY BRUCE: Home
COLBIE CAILLAT: The Little Things

Schadenfreude.

The 'Mother-in-Law Sweep.'

Today, Bill & I are cleaning for my mother-in-law, who's coming to stay next week while we're in San Francisco. You never realize how completely filthy your house is until you give it the "MIL Sweep" -- as in, looking at it through the eyes of your mother-in-law. Such as that tiny speck of cat litter on the kitchen floor that Porkfat must have dragged in from her litterbox in the adjoining laundry room. Or the crooked rug on the stairs. Or the 367,500 stuffed animals thrown around BooBerry's room, making it look like an a-bomb hit a Build-A-Bear Workshop (Oh, the horror!).

I've been working all day and this place STILL looks like a war zone.

I have entirely too much to do today...

... that I really don't have time to work. It's seriously cutting into my errand-time.

Bill & I leave for a five-day trip to San Francisco on Monday. Today, I have to return things at the mall, go the drycleaners, return that damn book I read in 24 hours last weekend (boo yah, library lady), get a pedicure and go to Target, all before we go to Bill's aunt's house for dinner at 5. And I work until noon.

Off topic, but here's a funny conversation between my mother (Wee) and BooBerry last night about my dad (Po-Po). I'm paraphrasing the phone convo between them:

BOOBERRY: Hi, Wee! Can I talk to Po-Po?

MOM: Well, he's not here.

BOOBERRY: Where are you?

MOM: I'm at Target.

BOOBERRY: Well, where is he?

MOM: He's at home. But you can call him.

BOOBERRY: OK. (callling at the top of her lungs) PO-PO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wish I could take credit for this...

... but it came in an e-mail. From my mother:

Wine or Water

In a number of carefully controlled trials, scientists have demonstrated that if we drink 1 liter of water each day, at the end of the year we would have absorbed more than 1 kilo of Escherichia coli (E. coli) bacteria found in feces. In other words,we are consuming 1 kilo of poop.

However, we do NOT run that risk when drinking wine (or rum, whiskey or other liquor) because alcohol has to go through a purificationprocess of boiling, filtering and/or fermenting. Remember: Water = Poop, Wine =Health. Therefore, it's better to drink wine and talk stupid, than to drink waterand be full of shit.

There is no need to thank me for this valuable information: I'm doing it as a public service.

Decidedly unfunny today.

I have the mother of all headaches.

It started behind my right eye and has spread and it now feels like a freight train is doing circles up in there. Think its sinus related -- either that or its punishment from God for all the nasty things I've been thinking about people lately (but probably not, since I've been doing that for ages with no repercussions. I'm sure my time's a comin'.). I've downed three Motrin (6:40 a.m.), three Excedrin (10 a.m.) and tried eating an egg and some bacon, thinking it could be hunger related. If anyone has any other ideas, I'm open to suggestions.

The worst part of it is pretending to give a shit at work when all I want to do is go home, put my ass on the couch, get a soft pillow and a blankie and watch The People's Court.

An Open Letter to Old Navy Customer Service.

Dear Old Navy.com customer service:

You guys suck. It's not my fault the CHEAPASS DEEP V BABYDOLL TEE I just received via UPS yesterday as part of my $180 order has TWO FRIGGIN' HOLES IN IT. And yet, you won't expedite the shipping (read: pay for overnight) a new one (sans holes) to me in time for my trip to San Francisco (which, in case you forgot, is where your headquarter is located). You want me to take it back to the store so they can deem it defective. (Oh, it's defective, all right, and I don't need a minimum wage high-schooler to tell me that.) What's the point in that?

And by the way, if I had to shop online, there's obviously a reason for that –– I DON'T HAVE TIME TO GO TO THE EFFING STORE 15 miles away! That's why people shop online.

Whatever. I'll just make a pit stop by Old Navy HQ next week and personally drop off this piece of shit. Hope to see you there.

XOXO,
M

One Word.

Coco.

BooBerry and I are watching the Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends ep that parodies My Fair Lady. This might be my favorite ever. Since I eat sarcasm for breakfast, this one's right up my alley.

Here, Mac and Frankie are trying to teach Bloo the art of sarcasm while Mr. Harriman is teaching Coco how to be a lady:

MAC: Sarcasm Lesson #61: Making fun of others through fake compliments. Hey, Dino! Niiiice sweater!

Frankie: Hey, Cowboy Cow! Neeeeeat spurs.

Bloo: Hey, Dutchess! You're sooooooo beautiful.

Dutchess: I know. So nice of you to notice.

Bloo: No, I was being sarcastic. I meant you're ugly.

Dutchess: Yes, and you're a super genius.

That's what friends are for.

I sent this link to my brother, Scott an avid motorcyclist, this morning:

Japanese Biker Unknowingly Loses Leg, Continues Ride

Now, we all know that FOXNews likes splashy stories of no relevance whatsoever to the average American public. Why else would a freak accident in TOKYO be news here? We're talking about the company who had Paris Hilton's release from jail as its TOP STORY for, like, two days and thinks Angelina Jolie giving up her bisexuality for Brad is front page news (personally, I think that's a fair trade, but if she wants to revert back to her "nefarious" ways, I'd be happy to take him off her hands).

Still, this story made me think. Apparently, this Japanese biker hit a wall, it severed his leg, and he kept riding for another 1.2 miles. (WTF, dude? Whatever you're on, you need to share it with us white bread Americans because it must be some GOOD SHIT.) The icing on the cake? A companion rider stopped and picked up the guy's freakin' leg. Now that's friendship.

Scott said he'd already seen the news story, and clued me in to an AIM session he had with a buddy of his this morning (and you know how much I love posting his AIM messages. You can't make this shit up):

[09:01] SCOTT: what a friend...

[09:02] SCOTT: you lose a leg and you better call someone cuz I ain't touchin that thing

[09:02] C: hehe... you know how he noticed right? he stoped at a light or something and went to stabalize the bike with his legs and fell right over

[09:02] SCOTT: this ain't no tarentino film

Bluegrass state representin', y'all.

You betta recognize...

Kentucky Man Wraps Head in Duct Tape as Disguise for Attempted Robbery

(I'd post the picture, but I don't want to have to look at this dumbass's face for the next week.)

File under "Duh."

...see also: "WTF?"

Woman Buys Fake Cocaine, Calls Cops to Help Her Get Refund

I guess when you feel like you've been wronged by the establishment, you gotta take it to the next level.

I am a complete mess.

Bill and I just dropped BooBerry off at her new preschool. She's starting at the local elementary school after four years at Kayfield Academy (read: daycare). She looked adorable in her red gingham shirt, denim clamdiggers with embroidered strawberries on them, two "funky buns" atop her head, her princess backpack with attached lunchbox holding her snack on her back. (She's easily the cutest kid in her class*. I know. I checked during the open house.)

So why am I totally freaked out? Well, let's see...

There was figuring out how to send her snack to school (peanut butter crackers and a banana) and I still don't know if she needed a drink or not. I took the thermos out of her lunchbox and filled it with apple juice, then froze it. This morning, when I pulled it out, I realized what a freakin' moron I am -- I didn't take into consideration EXPANSION of the ice, and it bowed out the bottom of the thermos. I only hope that it can be popped back in to place (otherwise, it won't stand up). I also hope it didn't crack and subsequently leaks all over her snack.

There was also the matter of figuring out how to pay for her lunches this morning. ($2 a day! Jeesh! I remember when it was $1 and then got upped to $1.25 when I was in high school...) We gave a check to the lunchroom lady for $80, hoping that would take care of BooBerry for a couple of months.

Luckily, her BFF left Kayfield with us, so there's a familiar face amongst the mist. We're hoping to get both girls into the school by asking for a hardship (this is not our home school). I'll sell cookies, candy, wrapping paper, crack cocaine, sexual favors... I'll clip "Box Tops for Education" until my fingers bleed. I'll volunteer to head up the yearbook staff. Hell, I'll take each kid's picture individually at their houses -- whatever it takes. I'm not above it.

I'm not going to get anything done today... I see that already.



* Oh, please. Like you don't do that, too.

Taking down the library bitches.

Yesterday, I went to pick up my reserved copy of Queen of Babble in the Big City, Meg Cabot's sequel to Queen of Babble.

So I walked up to the counter, gave the librarian my card, and she pulled the book. It was the FIRST book, not the sequel. So I politely told her that was the wrong book.

She proceeded to argue with me, and even turned her monitor around to show me the computer says it was right. Um, no, it wasn't. It was the SEQUEL I wanted, lady.

After going 'round for a few bits, I finally marched over to the Bestsellers section, pulled that copy (which can only be checked out for 7 days), and took it back to the counter to SHOW her it was the wrong book. Two different covers. See? See here how Lizzie is covering her mouth on the FIRST book, and sitting in the second? See?

Her response? "So you wanna check that one out?", pointing to the Bestseller Queen of Babble in the Big City.

Whatever. Just give me the damn book. I can read it in seven days. So much for taking it to San Francisco with me.

No.

I am not watching Drake and Josh on Nickelodeon.

What? I'm not.

Target = Swirling Vortex of Money.

Why is it every time I enter Target, I spend no less than $50?

Today, BooBerry stopped in for tampons (sorry, guys) and deodorant. That's it. What did we come home with?

A yellow babydoll sweater (I needed this for San Francisco so I can be super cute. Because everyone cares that I'm super cute in SF.)
A matching bracelet (See above. Sweater needed accessories.)
Peanut butter crackers (Oh, delicious carbs. Alas, these are for BooBerry's snacks)
Barbie sunglasses (I'd be lying if I said I'm not sad they don't have these in my size.)
Tampons (yay! Got what I came for.)
Deodorant
Barbie Pop-Tarts (shut up. They're Barbie as the Island Princess. Totally different from Barbie Pop-Tarts: Barbie Fairytopia.)

All that for $60.

Plus, I got a coffee (WTH was I thinking buying a latte at 4:30 p.m. in 95-degree heat? Oh, right. I had a BOGO coupon I pulled off Slick Deals. So I now have an iced coffee for tomorrow a.m. Yay, me and my savings!) and BooBerry got an Icee. She was so cute as I waited for my latte and she walked over and ordered it all by herself and handled Target Cafe Girl $1.45. And, yeah, I watched BooBerry POCKET THE CHANGE instead of bringing it back to Mommy.

I've taught her well, Obi Wan.

Reality Round-Up

Just thought I'd check in with you folks and tell you who you should be rooting for (read: who I think you should root/vote for):

MONDAY: Hell's Kitchen
We're rooting for (underdog, all-around cutie and probable loser) Bonnie, the nanny/ personal chef.

C'mon! Not only is she as adorable as ROCK is an ass, she's pretty talented for a blonde/nanny and has been completely underestimated by chef Gordon Ramsay & her fellow contestants. Shit! I can't make a grilled cheese; I have no standards. I only know that (SPOILER ALERT: If you don't want to know the identity of the possible winner of Hell's Kitchen's third edition, please stop reading this post immediately!) Bodog.com has announced that suspicious betting patterns on Rock has forced it to stop taking bets on the third season of the Fox reality show. Lame.

TUESDAY: Pirate Master
OK, it's true that I'm the only person left in America watching this (and the fact that I have to watch the remaining eps on cbs.com proves what a loser I am). But if Jay's made it THIS far by lying, completely screwing his teammates by telling those in his alliance who are on the opposite team how to win challenges and throwing challenges himself (e.g. losing keys, lagging behind), I think he completely deserves to be called "Pirate Master."



(Um, dude, don't be flattered. You obviously should have been a contestant on Survivor, and whatever production assistant/ casting agent coerced you to compete on this stupid ass show needs to be shot and/or fired and/ or fed to pigs in no particular order.)

TUESDAY/ THURSDAY/ SUNDAY / TOO FRIGGIN' MUCH TIME:
Big Brother 8
At this point, I don't even care who wins. Given the fact that a banner ad that flew above the lot's backyard during the Head of Household comp called out Eric (and Amber) and has since skewered the "America's Player" idea (friggin' stupid to begin with, but hey -- who am I to judge?):



I feel it's all a set up to "out" the character that CBS introduced into the game and now regrets (no doubt due to the plethora of message boards claiming the idea complete idiocracy). Sure, Eric's done a lot (read: run his mouth and used mustard in some creative ways), but since he was nominated, and if that plane hadn't flown overhead during last challenge, I think he could seriously have done some "under-the-radar" flying and took the whole thing. Now it looks like he's on the outs tomorrow, and Amber's been flagged as an anti-Semitist on national news. NICE. (WTF, honey? Did you forget that little red light on the camera told you that YOU WERE BEING BROADCAST ACROSS THE NATION? Way 2 go, sweetie. Hope the Jewish mafia doesn't show up on your doorstep after Jameka & Dustin eventually kick your Nazi ass to the curb.)

Lamest season since season 4.

WEDNESDAY/ THURSDAY: So You Think You Can Dance
Hands down, no contest, I'm rooting for SABRA:



Friggin' amazing for someone who's only been "dancing" for four years (guess that's what separates those of us who boogie in our living rooms whilst our husbands play World of Warcraft upstairs from the real dancers).

With that said, I have to admit I'm proud of the fact that I didn't watch "Age of Love" this summer. However, ABC just revealed its newest BACHELOR, 34-year-old Austin bar owner Brad Womack:



HOLY JESUS, ladies. Can I get an "amen"?

The current topic around here ...

...is the heat. It is crawling-through-the-desert-because-your-camel-died* hot. But one has to put things in perspective, eh? For instance, my brother IMed me with this sunny-side-up outlook:

SCOTT: sweet! tomorrow is only going to be 100 instead of 104. it's been downgraded

ME: It's a cool wave.

SCOTT: it went from "OMG my face is melting" to "what's that tingle?"




* Don't Google "dead camel" looking for a picture because you WILL find them and it ain't pretty.

This just in!

< sigh >

According to OK!, bobs are the new haircut of choice, as proven by Posh, her BFF (read: mini me) Katie Holmes, Ciara and now Kristen Chenoweth.

This is fan-freakin'-tastic. I've been growing my hair out for the last year and a half from a bob. It's just now shoulder-length.

I'm sure if I give it a couple more months, bobs will be out, Katie and Posh will have extensions and long hair will be in again. (Bitches.)

A standing O for Josh...

... for downloading Firefox on my computer, which allows me better access to the Internet. < insert slow claps from LUCAS here > (Look, Josh, I managed to get another reference to Corey Haim in here just for you).

Random.

This morning, I'm feeling especially strange. Dunno why -- maybe it's the venti skim latte (extra hot with five Splendas) I downed on my way into work, and then promptly refilled the cup with office swill (minorly hot with three Splendas and an assload of Half & Half). I forgot my breakfast (eggs I fry in the office kitchen and turkey bacon) so all that caffeine is sloshing around in an empty stomach. It's about 283 degrees outside (not that I'm an outside girl, but I DO have to walk from the parking lot approximately 35 steps into my building, and that's 35 steps too many in this heat. Seriously. I saw people RUNNING this morning on my way to work. WTF's wrong with you people?). I'm PMSing.

It's not a pretty combination.

I switched on my work computer, only to find the screen faded and my e-mail fonts looked weird. I called Josh over and he took a look, shook his head and muttered "You're on drugs" as he left my diminuitive cubicle. Well, it looked funny to me.

Perhaps its the fact that 8 hours of this lay before me.

There are a few sites I check every morning. One is the For Better or For Worse Web site. I also like Funky Winkerbean –– that is, until artist Tom Batiuk began slowly killing off character Lisa Moore. WTF? You're reading the exploits of Kathy trying to stuff herself into yet another bathing suit, watching Garfield wig out (helloooo 1994 phrase there, I know) without his morning coffee -- then BLAM! BREAST CANCER. So not funny. And I thought the funy pages were supposed to be ... funny. Today's strip has her attempting to explain cancer to her pre-schooler. Hits a little too close to home, ya know?

Today, I need to piece together a list of all of the things Bill's mom needs to know when she comes to stay at out house to watch BooBerry while we're in San Francisco. Kinda starting to freak out over this trip -- we both have to work, him more than me, and I refuse to sit in a hotel room for 8 hours a day where there's things to see and do (BTW, if anyone has any suggestions, let me know). I also need to sanitize my house before my mother-in-law gets there –– that means all the smutty stuff like my Cosmos and Bill's Maxims and Stuffs have to be tossed (amongst other things). I have to clean, clean, clean. And I need to go buy food for a woman who eats such things as "spoon bread" and "prune cake" (don't ask). I'm sure they'll get along swimmingly, right?

Maybe I better do it PowerPoint just to be sure ...

Oh, no, LiLo.

So Lindsay's entered rehab again. For like the 12th time this month. This time, she's decided the hills of Utah might better cure her demons, as she has checked into the posh Cirque Lodge in Sundance.

Where's my freakin' rehab, hmm? There's not a mother amongst us who hasn't wished she could check in to some "facility" for some R & R and coddling. After spending a weekend listening to BooBerry whine about her dinner (she doesn't like anything save for dinosaur chicken nuggets and Spaghetti-Os these days), whine about not wanting to take a nap, whine about wanting to play outside in desert-like heat ... this mommy wants some rehab, too.

The only problem I see with rehab is the inability to have a martini after a strenuous day of exorcising you demons...

Happy.

Wee came and picked up BooBerry tonight on a whim. Which left Bill & I in a quandry ... what to do?

We drove around aimlessly until we (finally) agreed on The Bristol, a favorite of ours that we often overlook.

I had a yummy Hot & Spicy martini and the snapper. Bill had a steak of some sort.

My point? We're lost without our kid. There's infinite possibilites. Bowling? We're wearing sandals. No socks. A movie? Can't agree on one. So what'd we do?

Ended up at the liqour store and Blockbuster (always a fun night). I got a bottle of Absolut Peppar (yum), and we rented Little Miss Sunshine since Hot Fuzz was all gone (lame).

We LOVED Little Miss Sunshine. Abigail Breslin is my new favorito. BTW, her alternate ending is PERFECT and would have been the icing on this cake.

IF I STEP ON ANOTHER DISNEY PRINCESS DOLL SHOE ...

... I am going to completely lose my shit.

It won't be pretty.

PSA.

The guys over at 91, along with Kanye West, have alerted us white folk that it is no longer acceptable to say "bling" anymore. And while I don't necessarily think those boys need to be listening to a guy who once said he was famous enough to be in the Bible, I will concede that "bling" has run its diamond-encrusted* course.

RIP, "bling," and the more formal "bling bling."



ETA: While googling an appropriate "bling" photo, this popped up. And it is just wrong:




* "Encrusted" is just a nasty word, period. Too close to "crusty."

I want this.

Today, we're going to discuss five reasons why I need the I'm Not a Plastic Bag bag from Anna Hindmarch:



5) Because I'll never be able to find one in Kentucky. And if I have one, I will be infinitely cooler than everyone else. And I will TOTALLY WORK THAT BAG.

4) It's a BAG, for christsakes... you can never have too many. I've resorted to asking Bill to contact UK-based WORLD OF WARCRAFT players for help. That's just sad.

3) It's eco-friendly. So I can be cute when I'm saving Mother Earth.

2) Keira Knightley has one. It's bigger than she is, literally drawfing her. Doesn't look proportioned. Now, if I had one, it would look better. More proportioned. I'd be doing the bag, and Anna Hindmarch, a favor.

and the No. 1 reason:

1) I can't friggin' get one. I always want what I can't have.

I still have it.

Whatever it is.

I got macked on by the biggest black guy I've ever seen in the Kroger parking lot today.

As I was walking out, I saw a large, overweight (and I say this as in scarily, waddlingly huge) guy to my right walking down the parking lot. I went down my aisle, loaded the Tucson with my bags of tuna steaks, SmartWater, milk and pizza sauce, and went to put my cart in the cart corral.

The dude followed behind me, and moved to grab my cart, which made me think he was the cart guy that takes the carts indoors. Oh, he took my cart, alright.

"Thank you so much!" I exclaimed.

"Hey, where'd you get them sunglasses? I never seen them before," he says. "Those are bad."

He is, of course, talking about my fabulous gold-rimmed Michael Kors sunglasses I bought at the Saks Fifth Avenue Outlet during my trip to Tuscon. So it was only a partial lie when I smiled politely and said, "Saks Fifth Avenue" and went back to my car.

I walked back into my car and got in. In my rear view mirror, I saw him put the cart in the cart corral... and move toward his Jeep parked next to it. So not Cart Guy.

Unfortunately, there was a car blocking my path from backing out to the left, so I backed straight out parallel to this dude's Jeep. I put my car in drive and start to leave, and I hear: "'ey! 'ey! 'ey!"

I slam on the brakes thinking I'd hit something. I see Big Boy walking toward me and I crack my window.

Him: "Where'd you say you got them glasses again?"
Me: "Saks Fifth Avenue."
Him: "I never heard of that. Where's it at?"
Me: "Well, New York, for one..."
Him: (pause) "So, where you go out?"
Me: "I have to go..."

I floored it.

Why couldn't the tall surfer dude with the long blonde locks in the parking lot have been the one to hit on me? Oh, right. It was probably the blonde bimbo (in the white hoodie in 95 degree heat) with him.

But at least I still got a little bit of it...

My inner tween ...

wants to see this, even without Paula Abdul:



(and honey, we here at Mandyland firmly believe you were tossed out from the set on your ass).

Wow, I'm ashamed to admit that.

He who knows nothing.

Here's a convo between Bill & I on IM today. He's never even WATCHED a reality competition.

BILL
Beth said she IM'd you about BB earlier today

ME
yeah
lol

BILL
She asked me who won power of immunity - but I told her I didn't know said you would though. She doesn't have the feeds.

ME
Power of Veto

sheesh

BILL
veto. whatever

ME (muttering)
Immunity...

BILL
immunity...veto - it's all the same
power of me to put my foot up your ass
LOL

ME
NOPE
i already won that

BILL
i don't think so
I have a permanent power of foot necklace

ME
nope.
I stole it from you

BILL
no - you stole the fake I hid after finding it myself

ME
there was a second
more powerful
negates yours

BILL
I don't think so

ME
yes

BILL
I have the mighty, mighty, all-super-powerful, amazingly-wonderful, irrevocable power to put my foot up your ass

(pause)

ME
wtf? That went out first season. You suck.

Mommy = Orphanage Tyrant.

Last night, I had BooBerry down on the bed and was tickling her mercilessly until she said she loved my "smootch" (our version of kisses). After much breathless laughing, she finally said:

"We loooove you, Miss Hannigan."




Guess I shouldn't let her watch Annie anymore...

Public Enemy No. 1

Why? Why you gotta scrape my teeth so hard? I mean, c'mon! Give a girl a break. I went to the dentist yesterday for my twice-yearly cleaning and jeesh. I felt like the dental assistant was MINING FOR GOLD in my mouth. There's a lot of silver in there, sugar, but no gold. Unless, of course, you're Flava Flav, and there IS a lotta money in that grill.



BTW: I totally deserve a standing O for today's lunch. We had pizza at the office and I scraped the meager toppings off a pepperoni and tomato pie* and ate five hot wings that were not even breaded and ordered especially for me by my office buds. Yay me! Yay them! This was, of course, after I stepped on the scale to find myself down 10.3 lbs. today. Nobody can tell, but I'm sportin' my Tommy Hilfiger jeans that were too tight earlier this spring (Well, I can't actually stay this, since they ended up in the back of my closet and I forgot about them.)


*I ate one tiny bite of the crust. One.