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Statistical sore spot

6 Mar


The Centers for Disease Control just released data that my home state of Georgia ranks fourth, nation wide, in reported cases of Syphilis. What a dubious title. Apparently, 7 out of every 100,000 residents find themselves with festering mucus membrane lesions. Ewww! Having watched my fair share of The Bachelor, I just assumed that a single swipe from the residence hot tub would have secured California for top honors in the Syphilis Awards. Somehow California showed up for eighth place. Well, we know what happens when one assumes, right? It turns out that all contestants are tested for STDs and the house plus “Fantasy Suite” are fully stocked with condoms at all times. Ewww number two.


However, it actually makes more sense that our nation’s capital city, Washington D.C. “came” in first place with 27.7 people per 100,000 infected. Turns out that they indiscriminately screw more than just the economy around Capitol Hill. But, we already knew that, didn’t we?


What is truly a shocker is that the pride of North Amereica, Florida, did not register in the top five. I know! This is such a head scratcher, considering the stories of true romantic love that the AP routinely reports on from the sunshine state.


Did you hear about the Weeki Wachee couple that landed in central booking on a recent Monday morning? Swingers Tina Norris (39) and her beau, James Barfield (56), graciously hosted an impromptu orgy in their home. Invited were two men, another woman or two, but NOT their roommate, for fun, games and a boat load of drinks on Sunday evening. (This blogger wouldn’t be shocked to learn that bath salts were also in attendance) It’s the Florida way. Things boiled up when the host and hostess made eye contact and didn’t like the way the other was getting on with the guests. Specifically, James didn’t like Tina tag-teaming the men and Tina didn’t appreciate having to see James sexing up the other chick. Tempers flared and a naked rumble from one end of the house to the other left scratches, bruises, bloody lips, busted furniture and broken dreams in its wake. Sounds like someone forgot the safe word and to never make eye contact. The guests did the skedaddle as Tina and James continued to brawl. The sleeping roommate awoke and called the po-po before trying to peel Norris off of Barfield. Arrests were made to the nude and combative couple at 6am.

According to the CDC,

“The surest way to avoid transmission of sexually transmitted diseases, including syphilis, is to abstain from sexual contact or to be in a long-term mutually monogamous relationship with a partner who has been tested and is known to be uninfected.”

Consider this my Public Service Announcement for 2013.  The more you know.

Do you love Black History Month?

27 Feb

The old adage says that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.  Well, that remains to be seen.  What I do know is that February is just about played out, which means that Black History Month is fixing to close up shop for 2013.


Black History Month began as a Negro History Week way, way back in the 1920’s.  Then, during our country’s bicentennial year, 1976, President Gerald Ford said, “Aw, hell.  As long as we’re celebrating all this making of America shit, let’s make Negro History Week a whole month and quit calling it Negro…sounds too much like nigger.”*  And so it was in motion that each February we would set forth to acknowledge the contributions and accomplishments of the African Diaspora.

Don Cornelius (1936-2012): Dick Clark's brother from anotha motha

Don Cornelius (1936-2012): Dick Clark’s brother from anotha mutha

During the 1970’s the most obvious uptick in black awareness took place in popular culture, and nowhere was it more accessible to a li’l Hot Damn than on the tube.  TV shows like Sanford and Son, The Jeffersons and Good Times were mainstream fare.  On Sunday afternoons the only thing on TV to watch was Soul Train (you MUST click this link!), dotted with commercials for Afro Sheen.  Based on the later, I figured that all black teenagers were happy-go-lucky Negros that dressed funny and who, more than anything, liked nothing better than to smile, sing and dance for the man.  This notion continued into the 1980’s with must-see t.v. Diff’rent Strokes and Webster, shows where stuffy white people’s lives were greatly enriched by adopting plucky, yet stunted, black kids.  Although there was that one time they showed Roots, but that was during the school week.

That's Atlanta's own Nipsy Russell on the far right

That’s Atlanta’s own Nipsy Russell on the far right

And in cinema there was much ado about “all black ensemble” movies.  That’s cool and all.  Who can’t dig on Shaft?  And where would Quentin Tarantino be without the muse of Foxy Brown or Cleopatra Jones???  But there was a weird movement to release “black” versions of “white” movies.  You may remember Michael Jackson’s acting in The Wiz, co-starring Diana Ross, or the reimagining of Cinderella into the urban Cindy.  In this version, Cindy is too ghetto to have a glass slipper and instead loses her dirty sneaker.   I’d be pissed if I was a black chick…just sayin’.  There was also  Blacula, Blackenstein, The Black God Father and Black Shampoo to only name a few.  Of course this trend continues today, with the recent black version of Steel Magnolias with Queen Latifah and the just announced new Annie with little Quvenzhané Wallis revising the lead role of the loveable ginger-haired, freckle-faced Annie.  I think about how African-Americans would feel if we turned the tables on their art, but then I remember that “we” have Vanilla Ice.

I was also acutely aware of the Negro College Fund along with Ebony and Jet magazines, which I thought of as being like the Thunderbolt Newsletter for black folk.  But it seems like it’s really happened more in recent times that Black History Month is actually about more than Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” speech, working together or that George Washington Carver invented peanut butter…btw, something that I can’t believe the hysterical hippie-white women that run the Peanut Allergy Police Squad haven’t jumped on and vilified.

Soul shake 2013!

Soul shake 2013!

I live in Atlanta, which I think is kinda like ground zero for black history.  We are home to scads of historically black colleges, many civil-rights leaders, and several music legends (and rappers…ugh!) while boasting big-city credibility. During this past month our city made a point to participate in a day of service to honor Martin Luther King, Jr. plus Atlantans have been enjoying seeking out gallery showcases of specifically African-American artists, taking walking and eating tours of the Sweet Auburn district, sitting in on museum lectures, strolling educational exhibits, visiting jazz festivals, listening at literary events at the Margaret Mitchell house, praising in gospel choir concerts and clapping at dance theaters.  Oh, and then there was the Bronner Brothers International Fantasy Hair Show

This is how Atlanta celebrates BHM

This is how Atlanta really celebrates BHM

I think that this picture really tells you everything you need to know about how far we have come with our civil relations.  There’s no way this could have happened in 1953.  I mean, three of those cheerleaders are brunettes!

* This may not have been an exact quote

And, what in the hell is “Black Love”?  Anyone?  Do black people have a special kind of secret love that whitey can’t get in on?

Old and Crotchety…Moi?

29 Mar

I know.  I know.  I’ve been absent a bit lately.  Okay, a lot.  Sorry, if by chance you have been counting on me.  Here’s the deal:  I left my full-time-part time job helping pageant queens, prom organizers and bridezillas get their whole-sale sparkle on a few months back.  This was a good thing.  Everybody wins and I had the opportunity to really pursue writing as a full-time gig.

What happened instead was holiday bullshit and an opportunity to get to know Kelly Ripa better….damn minx.  How much do we LOVE Kelly?   I wrapped packages, made merry and took care of stuff.   And then God never sent me winter.  I had to take advantage of nice days while thought I could….and here it is almost April and not a full-length fur made it out of this house in 2012.  Some mink car coats maybe made it out twice. But not any more than that?  Sads.

Imagine this over and over plus, 2+ acres. Sometimes I hate my yard.

So, I have thrown myself in to full-on Stepford.  For instance, today?  I gave my front loading clothes washing  robot a mechanical colonic with white vinegar, then bleach, then a hot rinse, finished by a diluted bleach wipe-down, coupled with a dry cloth buffing.   My hands now smell  like a tidy rest-stop.  Yesterday, I painted my kids’ bathroom ceiling sea-glass green.  ‘Cause why?  I dunno.  Seemed cool.  And the day before that?  I  divided and transplanted perennials, wrote sympathy cards  and re-heated left-overs.  Are you as satisfied as I am?  Doubtful.

It is entirely possible that I am either having a midlife crisis or an existential crisis.  Either way.

And the ring goes to…

13 Mar

I would be remiss if I did not mention that last night’s episode of The Bachelor was brought to you by Fairy Tale Fantasy Capes for Villainesses and Good Girls Alike. Both Bachelorettes arrived via chopper to a staged Swiss vista, complete with added bits of snow and a single remaining rose, wearing long capes clasped at the neck.

So, on last night’s The Bachelor finale it was no surprise that there was lots of talk about “seeing a future” which continued between Bachelor Ben and Bachelorette Courtney, Bachelor Ben and Bachelorette Lindzi, and also Bachelor Mom Barbara and both Bachelorettes, Bachelor Sister Julia and both Bachelorettes. But none of that mattered as much as whom Bachelor Weiner was seeing a future with, using his one good eye. It was a hard decision for Bachelor Ben, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know it was going to be with often naked Courtney. And thank heavens for that, because Bachelor Ben is certainly no rocket scientist.

Separated at birth: Francine from Arthur and Bachelor Ben

Knowing that squeaky-voiced Courtney was going to be winning, it made the rejection of Bachelorette Lindzi excruciating. It was like listening to the lamb going to slaughter as Bachelorette Lindzi’s voice was heard saying, “I want Ben to be my husband. I’ve never felt this kind of love for someone. I can’t believe we’re here at the end of this journey, but it’s sort of a beginning…the beginning of a lifetime of bliss. I’m confident that I could spend the rest of my life with him and be really happy. I hope I live happily ever after with Ben. I love Ben. I love Ben. It feels really good to say that. I love everything about him…just being with him, and how he makes me feel. That’s love. This is the moment that girls dream of their whole life. To see him down on one knee and to just finally know how he really feels is going to be special…I hope that I am engaged after today. I’d like to throw it in.” Then Bachelor Ben hits Bachelorette Lindzi upside the head with a verbal frying pan when he tells her that she’s what he’s been looking for his entire life, and how he had a big moment at her hometown visit in Ocala when he could see himself with her and with kids in their future and that he has fallen in love with her. Then once she is good and stunned, he goes for the jugular when he tells her that he, “needs those moments to last a lifetime and, uh, I’ve found that with someone else…I’m in love with someone else”.

Bachelor Ben gave a gigantic Neil Lane sparkler, final rose and his manhood to Bachelorette Courtney. She exhaled a little girl giggly “of course I will” and was awash in the look of self-congratulation. Then they played kissy-face, exchanged “I love yous” a lot then gloated about happiness and forever.

The truth

Now, if you believe the tabloids…and I do, Bachelor Ben has been hooking up with chicks left and right between the final rose ceremony taping and it’s public reveal. It’s only unbelievable because he’s still working his Peking Man hair-do. Bachelorette Courtney was seen making out with someone, too. I guess what I want to say is, Congratulations Lindzi. Girl, you just dodged a bullet. You win!

Planet of the Bachelor

1 Mar

My shame is great, as it should be.  In the last week or two, I somehow fell into watching The Bachelor.  Sure, I’m a little late to the party, but let’s be honest…it’s only the last few weeks that really count any way.  Right?

I do have to respect that the franchise isn’t afraid to admit to what it is.  Back in December, when ABC was trying to get audiences amped up for the then-coming season, the preparatory commercials just showed a close up of a chick bawling her eyes out, with mascara juice flowing out of her eye-holes, bemoaning, “Whyyyyy?”  I knew that’s pretty much how the first few episodes would go and that’s why I’ve only just recently checked in.  You know, my time is precious.

This is the face that has launched a thousand cat fights?

Let’s just talk about Bachelor Ben for a minute.  The chicks vying for him are all acting like he’s the second coming of Elvis.  I hate to be snarky, that’s not my style at all (go on and insert your eye roll here…I just did).  But, can I be the only woman alive that recognizes that he could also be called “Link”?  As in, he is the missing one… 

I swear that now going forward, any Monkey Shines nightmares that I have will have Bachelor Ben’s face superimposed in them.  The thought that simian singleton, Bachelor Ben, could be coming for any of my single girl friends now haunts me in my sleep.

The need of all of the contestants to sound profound and how they go about it is simply baffling to me. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard any Bachelor say, in their going-in-deep interviews, how he can, like,  “See my life with (insert hometown date bachelorette’s name here)”.  Gag.  That’s not, like, special powers, Bachelor Ben.  I can picture my life with all sorts of people.  Call me imaginative, but don’t call me in love, pensive or smart.  Can I see my life with Adolf Hitler?  Sure!  I could see me dumping him because he is a total ass, plus I’d never be able to abide that dumb toothbrush mustache.  Could I picture a future with Kobe Bryant?  Yes, it involves me looking the other way while he cheats on me and then I get kick-ass jewelry and shop away my sads.  Just because you can picture something doesn’t necessarily mean you do any of it!  Or even want to. Picturing an alternative future doesn’t mean that can can bend spoons with your mind.

Like a Tom-cat in a patch of kittens…dumb kittens.

And then the women.  Oy vey!  Let me just pause here to note that out of 25 women, 44% have names that end with the long “e” sound and 32% have names ending in ‘”a” and 24% have names ending in a consonant.  There were 2 Ambers, 1 Casey and another Kacie, 1 Lindzi and another Lyndsie.  I believe there was one Biblical name represented.  I don’t know what it means, but it must mean something.  “I mean, I am really in love with Ben now!  I know it.”  “I knew I was falling for Ben that first time we were in the jacuzzi.”  What is wrong with them???  This week, the girls all had special dates and overnights with Ben in Switzerland.  They are all in love with Ben, and then knew that he could see a future with all of them, too.  Because that’s what he told them all, right before he forked over the invitation to forgo their single rooms and spend some “alone time” in the “Fantasy Suite”.  And btw, you know that “alone time” is Bachelor code for boot knockin’, right?

Bachelor Ben was on a “I just did it with three girls high” when last week’s discard, Kacie B., made a surprise! trip to the land of neutrality to tell Bachelor Ben that she only wants for him to be happy.  Because she loves him.  From the beginning, all she cared about was his happiness.  Because she is selfless and self-sacrificing when faced with the love of Bachelor Ben.  Oh, and she also wanted to know “Whyyyyy?  What did I do wrong?”  Why can’t they all just move to Utah and become polygamist, since none of them seems to be too bothered that they are all nailing Bachelor Ben?   Well, except that the other girls might see to it that Bachelorette Courtney has an accident that leaves her horribly maimed and unable to speak.  Back to that impromptu visit by Bachelorette Kacie…Hell, I can barely pull it together to get to appointments five miles from my house on time.  How did love-lorn Bachelorette Kacie manage to have her passport ready, alongside a bank account that could afford a less than 14-day advance ticket purchase fare to Switzerland, where she just happened to know where she could find Bachelor Ben, alone in his hotel room, in between all of his international wooing, looking camera-ready in a tie and a head full of dried dippity-do gel?

The episode ended with Bachelorette Nicki leaving sans rose.  Next week is the big season 16 “Women Tell All” reunion show, so it’ll be two nail-biting weeks before we white-knuckle through Bachelor Ben’s mother and sister meeting their possible future skank-in-law to find out if Bachelor Ben will choose Bachelorette Courtney or Bachelorette Lindzi (yes, that is how her name is spelled).  I will NOT be watching the tell-all show.  After watching a Flavor of Love reunion, there is no way that this could ever stack up to my expectations of what a reunion show should be.

Flav knows how do do right be his Baby Mama

Choking on chunked and formed movie scraps

2 Feb

I have long been popping a gasket about how there just seems to be next to no original ideas left for Hollywood and television executives to make do with.  TV shows get made into movies; movies become TV shows.  Why?  I will spare you the full, unedited, throbbing forehead vein version of my disgust and just toss out some examples and then some.

Last year had me contemplating building an ark in which to save myself from the flood of reprocessed films of yore that squirted out of 2011 and 2010 like commercial chicken nugget paste.  And I am not even going to count sequels (there are a ridiculous amount!), prequels, installations, novel-to-screen or adaptations of foreign language films in this.  So, let’s see what that left us: 2011 coughed back up Footloose, Arthur, Rise of the Planet of the Apes, Conan the Barbarian, The Three Musketeers, and The Muppets to name a fewThen 2010 reintroduced us to Nightmare on Elm Street, Robin Hood, The Karate Kid, Avatar in 3-D, Grease Sings-A-Long (actually the same flick, but re-released as a sing-a-long…shoot me now!), The Last Exorcism (it’s the same as The Exorcism, but new), I Spit on Your Grave, The Tempest, True Grit, The Crazies (featuring ex-pat fellow blogger and mother of Hot Tub’s BF, Kathryn), and Clash of the Titans.  And upcoming for 2012?  Get excited to re-rendez-vous with modern versions of: Total Recall, Halloween, Spiderman, The Great Gatsby, A Star is Born (The first R movie Hot Damn saw in a theater.  It was 1976.), Les Miserables, Logan’s Run, Dirty Dancing, Anna Karenina, The Crow, King Lear, Mad Max, Frankenweenie…and blah, blah, blah.  This week Reese Witherspoon was asked about a remake of her 1996 movie Fear, starring Justin Bieber.  She responded, “Fine. Great. That would be cool. Would he be playing me or Mark Wahlberg?” reports The Huffington Post.  Love her.


But recycling old celluloid and “reimagining” past plot lines isn’t that new.  I accept that updating a black and white movie with people speaking in those stilted 1930s accents opens up an audience base for a great movie to be enjoyed by a younger audience.  But then, the big studios decided to recreate successful TV shows.  I’m sure we’ll all be camping out for the likes of The Three Stooges, Dark Shadows, and most certainly 21 Jump Street this year.  Again, why?  Those shows eventually got cancelled for a reason.  There is also going to be a Glee  movie.  Just yuck.  Then studios twisted Saturday cartoons into big-budget movies like: Yogi Bear, Alvin and the Chipmunks, The Smurfs.  And so many movies based on comic books!  Recently: Batman, The Avengers, Superman, The Green Hornet,  X-Men, Iron Man, Fantastic Four, The Incredible Hulk (what were you thinking Edward Norton?), Captain America and so on.

Last year’s success with 3-D reissues such as Jackass 3-D, Saw 3-D and The Lion King 3-D got studio moguls all kinds of worked up to dust off and tweak “old” money-makers and suck them drier than when they were licensed on Betamax, VHS, DVD, Blu-ray, cable, in-flight, on-demand and in some cases to network channels.  Moving into 2012, you can pay an up charge and re-see Titanic 3-D, Finding Nemo 3-D, Beauty and the Beast 3-D, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace 3-D, The Hobbit 3-D, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3-D.  In discussion are 3-D re-releases of all of the Harry Potter flicks, all of the Lord of the Rings.  On a side note, how long until Vivid Entertainment penetrates this technology?  Ron Jeremy in the glory of 3-D, can you imagine??? 

But Hollywood hadn’t hit bottom yet.  This year will give audiences movies based on dolls; G.I. Joe 2, comes out in June.  Rights have been bought by Relativity Media to base a movie on Stretch Armstrong.  I suspect a story line will explore Stretch being pulled too tight and how the hard, red gel that bursts from his “skin” is contained.  My brothers used Band-Aids.  The sequel will introduce his pal, Stretch Monster, who also oozes red.  It will be a lesson about how we may be different on the outside, but on the inside, we are all made of the same goo.  But wait!  There’s more!  In “oh no, they di’nt” news is the dearth of movies being released inspired by board games.  Not video games like ­Lara Croft: Tomb Raider or Tron and it’s update with a CGI Jeff Bridges (awful, both times!).  I’m talking about the likes of Ouija, based on the banned-at-Church-lock-ins game where a group of girls summon spirits from beyond to answer burning questions like, “When will I get my period?”,  “Has Sonya Adams done ‘it’ yet?”, or “Does Mark Hood like me back?”  No shit.  You’ll have to wait until November 9, 2012 to find out how it all goes down.  In boo-hoo news, Universal Studio has benched plans to make its movie about Clue.  But this is my inspiration for this blog:  Deep breath… 

Sony and Happy Madison have conspired, with the blessings and partnership of Hasbro, to bring to life on the silver screen…wait for it…Candy Land.  Plans have yet to be released referencing follow-ups with Hi Ho Cherry-O and Chutes and Ladders to complete the unholy trinity of the dumbest board games ever to be cinematized.  I am pretty sure that “Hungry, Hungry Hippos” or “Tic-Tac-Toe” would provide more riveting story lines. Worse still is that Adam Sandler intends to both co-write and star in the live-action/adventure-family film.  Mon dieu!  Of the forty four titles he’s acted in, thirty seven he’s produced and seventeen he’s written or co-written, I can vouch for only four…three of which he neither wrote, produced nor developed. 

I should probably consult an entertainment attorney or something first, but I am pumped to announce that I am soliciting to receive funding for a screen-play that I am going to write about sitting in a Cracker Barrel playing the triangle/golf tee game while drinking sweet tea out of a mason jar.  The working title is I Ai’nt no Eg-No-Ra-Moose, I’m Just Plain Dumb.  Cathchy, no?  I will also need to find out whether or not Jim Varney has been cryogenically frozen and if not, I need a contact number for Jesco White.

I’m not jerkin’, you can buy a merkin

19 Jan

Feeling fancy?

I thought about getting snarky about Paula Deen’s outing as a diabetic this week, but it’s kinda already been done to death by other bloggers and Anthony Bourdain. There isn’t much more to be said on the subject. Besides, I couldn’t let this jewel slide past y’all…

Apparently, the merkin business is making a come back. Seriously. Aren’t sure what a merkin is? Did you think I was talking about George W. Bush being proud to be a ‘Merican? No. It’s merkin. Sit down and take a deep one while I explain. Merkins are “pubic wigs” that are documented as being “worn” as far back back as the 1400s by hookers to either a) camouflage STD blisters and lesions on their money-maker or b) cover up a hoo-ha that was shaved to combat crabs and lice. Eew. Nowadays, merkins are occasionally worn by actors or actresses whose roles require a frontal nude scene and they need to either a) skirt around “technical” nudity issues or b) appear more faithful to the era they are portraying. For instance, Evan Rachel Wood smeared on some spirit gum and slapped on a bushy merkin for her role as Veda in the Golden Globe Award winning “Mildred Pierce”. Her 1930s era character, it seems, would not have sported a landing-strip styled coochie.

Flair for your fair

It should be no surprise that a “star” of the “Real Housewives of New York” franchise, Cindy Barshop, is championing today’s merkin revival. Is it ironic that a klassy reality “star” would be pedaling the wares of old, diseased and crusty prostitutes? Not in the least. Barshop owns a waxing salon where she is hawking two varieties of luxury wigs for confused clients. First, they get their downtown lady bits waxed bare and then replace their God-given nether-mane with either a plume of colored feathers, called the “Carnivale” or with a thatch of fox hair, which can be custom dyed. Think baby-doll pink or sky blue. It’s called the “Foxy Bikini”. Be prepared to spend upwards of $200 for this special look, which is touted to typically last about 3 days.

My head mind is swimming. It has just never occurred to me to get that kind of spiffy down there. Certainly, a lavender fox pelt is much less aggressive than some other recent trends in tootie grooming. The fetish community goes wild for piercings and tattoos down there. One of my favorite moments from “The Jerk” is when Steve Martin’s Navin R. Johnson is recounting Patty’s tattoos and pointing to his crotch says, “And she’s got one up here that says ‘slippery when wet’!” For the less committed, there are temporary tattoos that can be applied for some kinky flair.

Another trend that I find to be a real head scratcher is Vajazzling. This is the professional application of clear and colored Swarovski crystals in designs to accent the no-no place. Of course, if you are good with tweezers and a mirror, you could get one of the DIY kits. The results should last about 5 days. Looking at the company’s official website, it is noted that one may choose to Vajazzle because, “For some people, vajazzling is just about feeling good while others have significant reasons to go for the bling, which may include coping with a terrible break up or getting back the lost attention of your partner.” I can’t imagine that I would even want to regain the attention of a partner who is only lured in by shiny objects. Are these sad women sleeping with The Situation?

Apparently some men are also glamming their ham. Dudes could also sport a merkin, though I think that the “Carnivale” could be a bit tricky, looking more like a crazed mutant peacock and less like a festival. Vajazzing is not sexist.

Pucker up, Man!

You aren’t the special person this year

16 Dec

So here we are on the cusp of knotting up another year.  This means that people are in a shopping frenzy, a decorating tizzy and in a state of baking mania.  Parents with waaay too much time on their hands are doing precious, clever and generally creepy as hell things with their children’s elves.  Teenagers are taking exams and foaming at the mouth over what their Christmas get is going to be.  Working adults are wringing their hands over their “holiday bonuses”.  But news rags and publicity pimps have been busy compiling their lists of the most “Intriguing/Interesting/Fascinating” people of the year.  They got rolling en mass this week.  People Magazine and Time Magazine hit stands, Barbara Walters did her televised celebrity lap dance and again I was amazed just watching her frozen Joan Crawford eye.  And America’s aging sweetheart, Katie Couric, got in the game and did a wrap up of the big news of the year, too.  Isn’t that nice?  Honestly, Katie’s recap was a bit too legit for me.  I like to read or watch trash and then feel all highbrow and sanctimonious by blogging about it later.


Barbara Walters ran down her “10 Most Fascinating People of 2011” this week.  Of course, I have issues with it.  Didn’t catch it?  Not to worry, that’s what I’m here for.  Big Daddy and I made our own predictions last week.  We nailed six of them.  That is a big, fat D-.  I guess my expectations were a bit too lofty.  Since I blogged 2010’s list here and here, I figured you people would be expecting a recap again this year.  In keeping with her usual droll style, Barbara picked mostly jack-wagons.  And another thing?  Barbara needs to learn how to count.  There weren’t ten people; there were fourteen.  Well, except one has expired, so really it was thirteen.  It went down like this:

Katy Perry:  She is fascinating for being the human embodiment of an overly frosted and jimmied cupcake.  She dropped out of high school, kissed a girl…and she liked it, and married a former heroine addict.  Bravo!  She’s kinda cute and harmless, I guess.  But one of the most fascinating people to come across my radar in the last year?  Maybe if I lives in a paper sack or in an Occupy Anything tent city.

Simon Cowell is honest, generates a load of revenue and makes people’s dreams come true and yet, he’s still a tool.  He admitted that he wanted to get busy with Paula Abdul when they were on American Idol together.  The best I can say is that he would have been able to save the cost and liability of slipping Rohypnol in her drink.

Pippa Middleton is fascinating because she rocked a bridesmaid dress.  Really?  Baby is fascinating because she got back?  I am certain that had Sir-Mix-A-Lot been asked to weigh in on this topic he would have said, “Aw hell no!  Maybe if she’s 5’3″.”  God, help us.

Shucky-ducky, Herman Cain made the list!  I wonder if he would have made the cut if he hadn’t suspended his campaign amid lurid skirt chasing rumors.  Would Barbara have found him fascinating were he in a position to Obama bash while on top of the world?

Amanda Knox has actually held my attention for the past few years.  However, Barbara didn’t manage to score a sit-down with her.  Instead she just showed a newsreel mash up with Barbara’s own voice over.  That’s a fail.

Donald Trump allowed Barbara to tug on his coiffure to prove that it’s not a piece.  Who actually thought that follicular mess was fake?  No one would manufacture something like that.  I kinda half expected it to spring to life and bite her though.  I never thought it was a toupe.  I always assumed it was a yellow ferret draped across his pate.

Duo Eric Stonestreet and Jesse Tyler Ferguson, you know them as openly gay couple Cam and Mitchell from “Modern Family”, were featured.  Are Eric and Jesse fascinating, or is it their television characters that we clamor for?  Well, straight Eric plays the flamboyant Cam, while the more reserved Mitchell is played by for-real-duh-gay Jesse. That’s not fascinating.  It’s acting.  I guess I can be thankful that Babs didn’t try to shove the cast of “Glee” down my throat.  That would have bumped the 10 turned 14 even higher.

Derek Jeter, thankfully, refused to answer Barbara’s probing questions about his romantic dalliances.  She’s such a dirty old lady!

Now, much has been made about Barbara’s hard line tactics with the four main chick Kardashians.   That’s right, four train wrecks for the price of one.  Reuters reported of the segment, “Walters actually went there, telling Kim, ‘You don’t really act, you don’t sing, you don’t dance … you don’t have any — forgive me — any talent!’”  Wow.  She really went in deep.  That was such a risky line of questioning.  I wonder if anyone has ever pointed out that Barbara also neither acts, sings nor dances.

But the mostest fascinating of them all?  Steve Jobs.  Barbara said that he was intended to be her number one all along, but he crossed over the rainbow before she was able to score some face time.  I don’t want to put words in the man’s now silent mouth, but that is one way of having to avoid intrepid questions like, “If you were a tree, what kind do you think you would be?”  Too soon?


This week, Time Magazine released their annual proclamation of their “Person of the Year”.   I didn’t think they could get any lazier than that 2006 gimmick, when they named You as their top pick.  Remember?  The magazine cover had a shitty reflective panel on the front so that you could gaze at a distorted version of yourself on the special cover!  Aren’t you so important?  Aren’t you just the most special little snowflake?  Puhleese.  It was like a participation trophy for grownups.  No, this year Time proved once more that they could just dial it in when they crowned Protesters as their whatever in the hell it is that they are calling it now.  Protesters?  I doth protest!  They didn’t even whittle it down to a type of protestor.  I protest about crap all. the. damn. time.  Hot Tub protests by walking mad to his room and then slamming the door.  If he isn’t sure that the message was received, he’ll open the door and slam it again, extra hard, for good measure.  Store clerks at Toys-R-Us protest with a colossal eye-roll if you ask them anything other than where they get their crypto-gel done.  Don’t we all protest?  About work, other people, The Man, our health, the weather, school, our kids?  Without being specific about the type of protestor, we all just got Person of the Year again.  That means that everybody is special, which to those of us who don’t live in a jar of glitter know means that no one is special.  Congratulations, Time just made us all blah.  Again.  Awesome!

Really, this whole matter of an end of the year naming of people to lists of fascination is really just a roll call for the main players in the country’s own News of the Weird.    These aren’t necessarily people who are truly intriguing or have accomplished much of anything besides distracting the collective from the sputtering economy, expanding health problems, abductions, child murders, foreclosures, overweight kids, neighborhood meth labs, garden variety jihads, and personal responsibility.  To that end, I am aghast that, by far, the most fascinating rose of all was not plucked for the Top of the Everything list:

Sixteen-year-old child bride Courtney Stodden is like something created in the basement of Perez Hilton while tweaking out on a meth-mushroom bender with a side of speed-ball and Lindsay Lohan assisting.  She is so fantastically awful and over-done that I can not turn away!  And her fifty one-year-old geezer husband gives me some serious heebie-jeebies.  I have yet to dedicate a post to Mrs. Hutchison, because I just don’t think that I can summon the right words to capture all of my feelings.  You understand, don’t you?  I vow, though, to spend a chunk of 2012 bringing her story of courage and love to the people so that next year, Courtney will take her rightful spot in Barbara’s hot seat.


30 Mar

This weekend the WWE is bringing WrestleMania to Atlanta.  It’s been a while since we’ve bounced against the ropes in this town.  In fact, it was Black Saturday in 1984 when we saw our last good elbow drop.  There are all sorts of events tied together in this spectacular…there’s a charity golf tournament, a fan “experience” and even an auction of wrestler art at our Fabulous Fox. That last one kinda threw me, too.  There is going to be a new round of wrestlers inducted into the Hall of Fame with Abdullah the Butcher making the cut. 

Hall of Famer Abdullah the Butcher

Abdullah “The Madman from Sudan” the Butcher, who was really from Canada, was a regular with the GCW here back in the day. Grandma Hot Damn can get a little wistful thinking back on the glory days of Georgia Championship Wrestling.  That was before the state of Ohio conspired to take over our city and when wrestling was pronounced “wrastlin’”.  If you have a spare couple of hours to listen to someone giddily detail an era, ask any Southern man of a certain age about Mr. Wrestler II, Midnight Express, Tony Atlas,  or Ole Anderson.

My brothers loved to watch GCW on Ted Turner’s WTBS Superstation when we were kids.  Because it was the 1970s and we had one tv for kids, I also watched a lot of wrestling.  I got just as excited as my brothers did when we saw and met “The American Dream” Dusty Rhodes, who kindly autographed every piece of paper we could dig out of my mother’s purse, while we were at a gate at the old Atlanta airport.  He had on light blue boot cut jeans, a tan leather jacket and stacked boots.  And of course, his hair was the color of maize.  He was larger than life, but not as large as he is now.

Champion Dusty Rhodes

You can’t talk about Dusty without having a conversation about “Nature Boy” Ric Flair.  Flair, later part of the evil Four Horsemen, dressed like a pimp from south Florida.  His bottle blonde locks were perfectly zipped and feathered, he always had on Foster Grants tuned to “sun”, some sort of suit and big gold jewelry, when he wasn’t in one of his fancy, custom robes.  For the Nature Boy though, it wasn’t just about looks, because “Whooooo!!!  To be The Man, you gotta beat The Man!!!”  Nature Boy was not modest.

Limousine ridin', jet flyin', kiss stealin', wheelin' dealin' son of a gun Ric Flair

I don’t know what the deal was with wrestlers and the peroxide, but “Wildfire” Tommy Rich must have gone to the same hair stylist as Ric and Dusty.  I like to think of them on an off day meeting up at the salon for a little process and trim then going out for a light lunch together afterward.

Breck model Tommy Rich

As a special treat, a love gift really, my mom took us to the GCW live taping a time or two.  Okay, I had to go because I wasn’t old enough to stay at home alone.  I don’t really know that this was the best place to take a child.  Forget what was going on in the ring with figure four leg locks, sleeper holds, bleeding, superplexes, and atomic drops.  The real action was the sideshow outside of the ring.  To this day, I am unsure whether the audience really thought the wrestling was real, but they sure were enthusiastic.  Fights regularly broke out ringside, with people attacking one another with metal folding chairs, shoes and belt buckles.  One time a guy next to us bawled my mom out for chuckling at the on stage antics.  Then there were certain wrestlers who were allegedly so hated that they needed police escort through the room to protect them from being pelted with cans of Billy Beer.  And an unforgettable sight was manager Jimmy Cornette, with his ever-present tennis racquet, getting into vein-popping shouting confrontations with the wrestlers, the refs, crowd members, girlfriends…whoever was within earshot.  And yet, Jimmy’s character was so upper-crust that we were supposed to believe that he only abandoned the clay courts at PDC for these matches.

This weekend’s WrestleMania is sparing no expense in making an impact in the town from which it sprouted.  It’s going to be hosted by The Rock, and Snooki is going to be here doing something for it, too.  What in the hell has happened to professional wrestling?  It’s not classy like it was in 1981, as seen here.

Oscar high

28 Feb

The Oscars, or as I call it “Super bowl for chicks and gay dudes”, happened last night.  Much was made in the weeks preceding about it being co-hosted by oddly matched Ann Hathaway and James Franco.  WTF?  Like his character on Freaks and Geeks, Franco looked absolutely baked out of his mind the whole time.  He pretty much disappeared for a solid hour after the opening.  I imagine while Anne was out there going it alone and slamming jello shots during commercial breaks, James was in the green room looking for some Hot Pockets to scarf down.

The actual awards themselves are not really the point for me.  When in the hell would I have seen any of the Best Short Films?  And I have absolutely no opinion about sound editing outside of movies with talking dogs or babies and kung fu flicks from the 1970s.  It’s about the clothes, the faux pas and flubs.

There was no shortage of old women to make me feel badly about how little I’ve accomplished with my temple.  Sharon Stone, Helen Mirren, Annette Bening and Marisa Tomei all had it goin’ on.  And then Celine Dion just had twins; Penelope Cruz just dropped a baby friend too.  They looked amazing.  I’m just barely scraping forty and am 9 ½ years post partum.  What is my excuse?

My favorite dress is a multi-way tie between Hilary Swank’s silver and grey glittery, feathery confection.  She may have won if she had coughed up some jewels…

Cate Blanchett’s quirky dress that reminded me of a Victorian window made out of delicious candy…

Jennifer Hudson’s tangerine pouf…

and Nicole Kidman’s Art Deco column…

Of course everything Anne Hathaway wore was super fly.  But did anyone catch her with designer Valentino on the carpet?  It was like watching Weekend at Bernie’s with a spray tan.

The most quizzical choice (I’m being nice) would have been Natalie Portman in her garnet hued Mother of the Bride moo-moo, but she IS preggers, so I’m a give her a pass.  For the most part, no one was too out there.  That disappoints me.  Gone are the days of Cher in a Bob Macke engineered acid trip or Bjork in a swan dress.  Even stalwart fashion offender Helena Bonham Carter reined it in somewhat with her black velvet saloon madame costume.  ScarJo’s Banker’s Note circa 1992 dress made me want to go take a nap.

The weirdest quip of the night happened during the ABC Red Carpet pre-show.  Actually, it’s a toss up between two actresses.  First, Whitey McWhite Girl Gwyneth Paltrow said that it’s her “dream to do a duet with Jay-Z”.  Jigga Whaaa?  Make her stop.  Really.

Then there was Halle Berry, after pointing out that she is “a woman of color”, calling herself a “slave to fashion”.  That wouldn’t be so weird but for her recent dirty laundry airing with her Baby Daddy about racial stereotyping.  Of course, there was also Melissa Leo slipping back into character with a case of the potty mouth during her acceptance speech.

Um, and I don’t even know if I’m going to hell for talking about the Kirk Douglas situation.  When I could understand him, he was charming, but there are six words that sum up the whole vibe: Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Years’ Eve.  Don’t hate on me.

Overall, I probably could have gone to bed earlier and been better for it.  It was kinda boring.  Okay, it was lame.  There has got to be a happy medium between well behaved, buttoned up celebrities taking themselves too seriously, gushing about the business and Charlie Sheen giving me the creeps by flying off of his rocker in public.

Belly ache

29 Dec

Atlanta's own pickle chugger

On a recent episode of the Real Housewives of Atlanta, Phaedra and Apollo had a photog come over and capture Phaedra sitting on the deck steps in a tank top while sucking on a forearm size pickle that Apollo was lovingly holding for her.   Cue the Casio music and musk incense now.  What. A. Classy. Mommy Moment.

Classy baby holder

Back in my fertility heyday, pregnancy was a gift from the Baby Jesus, and was treated as such.  Being pregnant meant that you were in the process of fulfilling your highest evolutionary destiny.  And it said other things about you, too.  It said that you were, at the very least, in a regular relationship, financially secure enough and a planner.  A budding mother’s swelling belly wasn’t intended to be tarted up and put on parade.  It was meant to be swathed in a nice, feminine floral print and revered.  Think Lady Di, she did it just right.  You weren’t supposed to plaster-cast it like Jimi Hendrix’ most famous instrument.  Or paint it like a pumpkin on Halloween.  No one called it a bump; it was a bun and it stayed in the oven, with the door shut, until it was finished.

This is not what regular people look like

The sea-change of outing your pregnancy can be pinpointed to when Demi Moore posed for THAT Vanity Fair cover in 1991.  But that was famous, rich, pretty, photo-shopped Demi Moore.  Despite it’s shock value, it was tasteful by today’s standards.  Somewhere along the line, maybe during the call center genesis, Indian culture hit the pregnancy circuit and women were putting jewels in their shallow belly buttons or encircling them with henna Mehndi tattoos and wearing midriff bearing sari style dresses.  Then it got figured out that there isn’t enough derma-blend to cover nor shea butter to minimize the stretchmarks.  Cue the move to wearing low-cut, tiiiight tube dresses.  Besides, just ‘cause you’re preggers don’t mean you can’t be sexy, right?  Whaaaa?  Why the need to be sexy?  If she’s knocked up, clearly she’s got game.  Duh.

What for?

Pregnant Chicken, a girl with more time than I do, has spent countless hours gathering a collection of pictures from far and wide and calling them “Awkward Pregnancy Photos”.  You can check it out, but I warn you: These are not for those who are adverse to much.  Think People of Walmart on Clomid and government cheese.

Lucille Ball's sexy maternity look

For the life of me, or the two that sprang from me, I cannot imagine wanting to memorialize the dumpiest, most uncomfortable and freaked out time of my life in any kind of way.  I can still see a photo from a baby shower and wince.  I like how Lucille Ball hid behind cabinet doors and divans while incubating Ricky Jr.  on I Love Lucy.  But then again, I was raised right and have exceptionally good taste…just ask my Glamour Shots consultant.   Maybe being pregnant has simply lost its panache for me and now it’d just be knocked up.  Who knows?  That ship has sailed.  However, I know chicks that are plugging away at population expansion today.  Holla to Kim, Jeanne and Katie.   I wonder if any of them will have the guts to buck the current trend and go retro with a “Baby on Board” tunic, some cotton paneled drawstring jeans and a pair of moccasins.

Ho! Ho! Hol!day

16 Dec

There is a “new” Charlie Brown Christmas special and it is awful.  Okay, truthfully, I had to tap out once I heard the wonky voices and I didn’t actually watch more than five minutes.  Only the Charlie Brown voice even sounded remotely like what I was expecting and that was just too weird for me.  I’m a purist.  But my children, who have very low standards, have watched it twice.  From what I can tell, it’s so bad that Snoopy’s brother, Spike, and Linus’ brother, ReRun, have key roles.  It’s like Cousin Oliver all over again.

It's actually for sale

But, it made me think about the original, beloved Peanuts Christmas Special.  It came on once a year and had me craving Dolly Madison pies and wanting to get MetLife the next day.  In the event that your brain fog is that thick and needs a refresher, Charlie Brown is in a funk because he feels like the real meaning of Christmas is so engulfed by commercialism that it has been lost under tinsel, social engagements and frivolous spending.  Check, check and check.

There is a whole lot of pressure associated with getting “in the spirit” of Christmas.

What does that electric bill look like?

To begin, you have to re-decorate your house inside and out, lest you be called out as being Scroogy.  This irritates me because I have everything where I want it already and the blood red/kelly green color combo. doesn’t match any of it.  I do it though.  Boxes upon boxes of themey crap get moved around between the attic and the rest of the house.  And I cuss all the way through until I am still vacuuming pine needles out of the rug fringe in April and discovering a looked-over snowflake hand towel in the powder room.  Outside, I do the bare minimum.  Different wreath, balls in a tree and some light up presents.  Oh, and the blow-up Snoopy as the Red Baron.  That’s it.  That’s where I absolutely draw the line.  There is a nameless house, not too far from mine, that actually has a forest of blow up creations staked to the yard.  It’s weird.  I may have to drop a note in their mailbox this year.  Scroogy.

Guess who!

Yesterday afternoon in the carpool line at my children’s school I was wedged between two SUVs that were masquerading as reindeer.  I was not fooled, by the way.  Why are people dressing up their cars?  WTF is up with this?

Say cheese!

Then there is the garish theme dressing that people feel obligated to participate in during any holiday season.  Christmas gets the worst of it and the Christmas Sweater has actually spawned parties devoted exclusively to it.  Because of this campy attention, many have smugly eschewed the sweaters in favor of Ho!Ho! Ho! ties, socks festooned with garlands, necklaces with blinking lights and headbands with soft antlers attached, to name a few of the available options.  I don’t care how subtle your theme-wear is.  If you aren’t a pre-school teacher, a pre-pubescent child or working at the Santa photo stall at the mall, I implore you give it up and move on.

Why can’t Christmas just be about wearing pajamas and eating breakfast casseroles all day long?  I wish it could be about watching a marathon of favorite t.v. episodes, napping (hey, you’d already be in pajamas), playing games and looking through new books without anyone hassling you.  And then at some point, maybe around, 9pm, getting dressed and going to someone else’s house to loaf around and spread cheer.  The next day,when it has passed, all you have to do is just put away the pillows, fold up all the blankets from the indoor fort, run the dishwasher and hit the sales.  What a gift!

Barbara Walters’ snooze fest

10 Dec

Barbara should get an award.

Did you wet your pants?  Did you drool on your shoulder from the snooze fest that was Barbara Walter’s 10 Most Fascinating People of 2010?  If you missed it and your DVR flaked out don’t fret.  Let the recap begin:

“The year Betty White felt the love.”  Even Betty admits that’s she’s been over-exposed.  She loves animals more than people.  Barbara asked her THAT sex question to a woman who is 88 ¾.  As in, wanting to know if Betty still drags out the Fredrick’s of Hollywood pasties and cat of nine tails.  It’s just so undignified…and who, exactly, is fascinated by the answer?

Mark Zuckerberg.  Damn, I called it.  Holla to me!  Described as “Just another college student who couldn’t get a date”, was about as much editorial as we got.  Um, what the hell happened?  She didn’t actually interview him.  Not in person, on the phone, the internets or Pony Express.  She gobbled on about his Facebook profile and strung together clips from the Social Network, Oprah’s show and stock photos.  I learned absolutely zip.

“Baby, baby, baby; you have Bieber Fever!”  Always hard-hitting, Barbara asked the Pubescent wunderkind, Justin Bieber, about when he was going to cut his hair, how his mom grounds him and then she really went for it by asking “If you were going to write an autobiographical song about your life right now, what would you call it?”  Digging deep, Babs.  Thank the Lord that bits of this interview leaked earlier in the week were edited out.  In particular, there had been a creepy interrogation about his budding sex life and probing questions about a snapshot of him making out with a girl.  It made me more uncomfortable that be over-hugged by an old man.

Snookie, from The Jersey Shore said, “When I see Barbara Walters, I’m like ‘Oh my God’, this is like Elvis.”  For a group of hooligans, their interview was b.o.r.i.n.g.  and devoid of fist pumps and wardrobe malfunctions.

Sandra Bullock garnered the fascination moniker “for humor and grace in the face of adversity”.  I think she’s a hoot and I’d love to do lunch with her (call me, Sandy!), but I must have nodded off and missed when Barbara delved into the sideshow that I wanted to hear about: THE DIVORCE.  I want to have that hot mess laid out and explained to me.

“Jennifer is the first A list, fashion icon, red-carpet-movie-star to ever be a judge on American Idol.”  That narrows the field.  She doesn’t want to be mean to people.  But, that’s why I watch American Idol.  I guess I can thank her for letting me know what I already suspected; it’s going to be dull.  Babs amputated two of her marriages and seemed to just talk about what she was contractually allowed to.  But then she socked her with the crazy, outlandish question “where do you see yourself in ten years?” and JLO was all pensive and surprised by it.  I guess she can act, after all.

LeBron James got the Zuckerberg treatment.  Just a bunch of Barbara’s white noise chatter over other people’s work.

Poor Kate Middleton basically got skewered for getting the Prince.  It was laid out as though she devised a crafty Princess formula that includes being fancy, sucking up, looking hot, not having a serious job, losing your individual identity and keeping her mouth shut for nine years.  Then Babs went on to describe bad marriage choices and unhappy endings that hint at forsaking true love for duty.  It was weird.  Mazel tov!

Why did Barbara keep calling Sarah Palin Governor?  I love how Barbara managed to throw Katie Couric, fellow journalist and public endoscopy recipient, under the bus for exposing Palin as an illiterate hick.  Meow.  Palin then called out some anonymous Republicans as being “impotent and limp and (they are) weak”, hiding behind skirts.  Woof woof.

And drum roll for the mostest fascinating person???  General David Petraeus.  When we discussed it ad nauseam one night, Big Daddy totally gave me the side eye when I suggested he would be THE super secret fascinator.  She made him warm and fuzzy: a People’s General.  Really?!

By far, the most fascinating thing about this “special” was Barbara herself.  I know that she’s old.  I know she had heart surgery over the summer.  But she looked like she had been spackled in Mortician’s Wax and glossed in silicone.  The only thing that moved on her was the mouth.

Fascination Street

7 Dec

The Merriam-Webster website has a list of words that rhyme with fascinating. Here they are: aggravating, calculating, carbon dating, maid-in-waiting, nauseating, open dating, operating, penetrating, suffocating, titillating. I kid you not.

Serious journalist Barbara Walters

Do you know what makes me itchy and sad? Well, I guess that’s an open-ended question that I could spend all day snowballing into some great answers, so I’ll just throw something out there: Old people trying to be down with the kids. Let me narrow it a bit further. Barbara Walters has been pimping her upcoming “10 Most Fascinating People of 2010” special like it’s some some prize virgin on a Bangkok party boat. It airs on 9 December on ABC at 10pm, just after her Oprah fest.  This news has me reaching for the Cortizone cream. It’s always so droll. Even though Babs likes to keep a guest or two under cloak and dagger for a big, shocking finish at the end of her “special”, she has already disclosed eight of the people who have captivated her this year. Let’s discuss. Among Ms. Walters guests this year are:

Justin Bieber. I’ve read that she gets him to show her some dance moves. Oh, how exciting! How riveting! I hope we get to see her break a hip. I have children ages 9 and 12 who think that he is THE punch-line to fart jokes. I’m sure in real life he’s a real cutie-patootie, but fascinating? Like, for reals?

Jersey Shore cast member close up

The Jersey Shore cast. Shut the front door! The fact that they are referred to as a cast tells me all I need to know about the scripting of that show. I personally am far more amazed than fascinated by this carotene colored sensation. How do these jack wagons have nicer cars that me? I mean, I finished college, don’t have a probation officer and have never been on Valtrex.

Sarah Palin. At some point between Tina Fey’s spot-on impersonation and Barak Obama’s Presidential win, we were all supposed to dismiss her as a kinda kooky cartoon character of herself. I admit that I still would love to go gut a bear over a cup of hot tea with her.

LeBron James The only way that I could care less about him is if he were a professional athlete. Who is he?

Kate Middleton. What has she gotten herself into? Kate, if you are reading this; call me. I love a good wedding reception.

Looking fresh

Jennifer Lopez Where has her ass been? Literally. Years ago she became famous for having a huge trunk and wearing “that dress” to an awards show. She was a fly girl, an actress and a marginal auto-tuned singer. Then she carried Ben Affleck around in her purse like a chihuahua. And she married that dancer. Or was that before Ben? Then she married Skeletor and so on. Now she is helming the sinking ship, American Idol. So what, she’s just Jenny from the Block?

Sandra Bulloch. So Sandy married porn drenched, tatty McTat-tat Jessie James and he turns out to be a dirt bag just days after giving the moist eye during her Oscar acceptance speech. And they just bought a baby. Okay, I’m mildly curious what that’s all about.

Same old bump and grind

Betty White. Walters has already leaked that Betty White “still wants to have sex”. Gaaad. Why do I need to know this? She’s sparkly and old. I get it. Some old people are cute, especially when they say things that are naughty. Her resurgence has been fueled primarily by a Facebook campaign to get her on SNL. Come to think of it…I’d like to be on SNL. Anyone? Anyone?

This brings me to THE question: Who can the other two possibly be? The overexposed enough Lady Gaga? Country fairy Taylor Swift? Angry black man Kanye West? Snooze inducing Tiger Woods? James Cameron’s creepy Avatar? Lindsey Lohan or Charlie Sheen to represent the re-hab set? Mark Zuckerberg? Who are your dark horse bets?

Back to the salt mine

6 Dec

I am going back to my day job today.  I have been home since late October…it’s been a while.

Normal people might have been a little down by being benched for weeks from having a bad-ass surgery.  I, apparently, am not normal people.  It has been glorious.  Every morning I have felt like Snow White waking up with chirping birds and a bastion of dwarves doing her bidding.  It has been like getting in the Hot Tub Time Machine and going back to college they way I had always hoped it would be.  Friends have brought meals, I’ve had a steady supply of muscle relaxers and pain pills, all expectations were removed, and there’s been no exams to take nor classes to attend.  I went days without a shower and no one said a word about it.   But the best part of all?  A new pair of AA batteries in the remote control and a dual tuner DVR.  Oh, hell yes.

Say what you will, but Reality TV is chicken soup for the soul.  It makes me feel important, smart, sexy, thin and proactive.  I have been inspired to clean my home; after the first episode of A&E’s Hoarders I ever saw, I was whistling Dixie and merrily tossing everything out of my refrigerator except the box of baking soda.  Then I got my kids hooked on it.  My daughter’s room has gone from Junkyard Vomit to Institutional Chic.  However, it’s just made my son smug and judgmental that his room isn’t as bad as Augustine’s house (season 2, episode 7).  I am still looking for the show that really speaks to him; he’s only nine.  We have time.

During this special time with my tv, I have gotten to know Hoarder’s rip-off: TLC’s Hoarding: Buried Alive.  I prefer the former, mainly because TLC’s programming unnerves me.  That said, let’s go there.  Does TLC stand for The Loser Channel?  Oh. My. God.  In the same way that The History Channel’s tagline should be “All Hitler, All the Time”, TLC’s should read “Be an Awful Bride Then Spend the Rest of Your Life Punishing Your Uterus”.  This network’s weekday mission is mostly dedicated to buying wedding dresses, pregnancies with multiple births and associated macabre issues.  We can singlehandedly thank TLC for assaulting us with the likes of the Duggar Family, douche bag duo Jon and Kate Gosselin and now that cluster of estrogen and kids, Sister Wives.  There is a show called Pregnant and 70.  It made my cervix hurl.  There’s another one called Paralyzed and Pregnant.  Um, I am less curious about the awkwardness of a paralyzed pregnancy and more interested in that baby-Daddy.  There is a whole dedicated series called I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant.  Can you guess what its about?  It should be called “I’m a Dumbass” or better yet, “My Parents Failed”.

This is what an angry uterus looks like.

My hard candy exterior wants to come off as intellectual and highbrow, but my gooey center is pure trash.  I’m off the pills now, back to driving and have taken a lingering look at the cultural sty where I’ve been wallowing.  I have winced so much that the casual observer could have mistaken me for having Parkinson’s Disease.   But now I’m ready for some of my down time habits to graduate.  Going forward, I promise to stay friends with soap. I am going to put some distance between me and Baby (you remember my Snuggie).  I will do my best to stay awake at the dinner table.  And now that I am all growed up, I’ll always keep a cache of fresh batteries on hand.