Satan’s Little Helper 2.0
Friday April 29th 2016, 9:25 am
Filed under: General

Sitting in the dark watching t.v.  I reboot my phone.  The “Verizon” start screen must be making my face glow red.

Michael asks, “What kind of demons are you messing with over there?”

I rebuff his nosiness.  “Whatever kind of deals with the devil I’m making are my private affairs, thank you very much.”

He offers up tech support, “You know that some of those deal-with-the devil type apps can spy on you.  Did you read the user agreement?”

“Yes, it said blah blah immortal soul blah blah blah.  I hit ‘allow’.”

 

 

 

 

 

 



Beep Beep Zoom Splat
Monday March 14th 2016, 1:19 pm
Filed under: General

I like predators.  I do.

I even like “Predator 2” with Danny Glover.  I get judged harshly over this one, but I think it holds up well as an action movie.  They aren’t trying to change the world with these films, so we don’t have to be snobs about them.  As far as I can tell, their main thrust is just to show the audience how various things look through heat-sensitive goggles, and I am so down with that.   Show us a microwave burrito!  A gas station hot dog that is cold in the middle!  Holy shit, show us a dog peeing on a hydrant on a clear autumn day!  I love it all.

But, mostly I love cartoon predators.  The Looney Toons variety.  I adored Sylvester and hated Tweety Bird.  (Nobody likes a tattletale, kids.)

Mostly, though, I hated that fucking smug roadrunner as much as poor Wile E. Coyote ever did.  I mean, the bird never had to pay its dues –  just kept eating free bird seed and running away.

Where is the sympathy for the coyote who is starving in the desert and wasting all his money on defective gadgets?  I never understood why he didn’t just have some pre-killed roadrunner shipped to him, but I guess, like the T Rex in “Jurassic Park,” he did not want to be fed, he wanted to chase his dinner.  I suppose I’m always gonna root for the underdog – the guy who keeps getting knocked down and standing back up, because those characters are portraying our human condition.  There are no roadrunners in real life.  They are a myth.

Michael and I saw two coyotes walking near the side of the road as we were driving to Lexington this past weekend. We do not know anything about coyotes and their habits, but we found it strange they were so visible.  It was early morning but long after sunrise.  I surmised that maybe these coyotes held jobs on the city council there. He suggested their primary concern as concilmen would be to have speed bumps installed to “slow down all these damn birds.”  I got that joke after a few beats and decided I married a genius.

Anyway, today I am gonna attempt to declog our basement drain.  I’m going to science it using vinegar and baking soda. And, because I am actually Wile E. Coyote, our house may explode.  Don’t worry though, we’ll just draw a new one.

That’s all, folks.



Ye Olde Krogertowne
Tuesday February 16th 2016, 2:36 pm
Filed under: General

So, I am losing my mind to try one of these lemon blueberry bagels.  I love and need my carbs.  They help me stay bootylicious, you know.  (Yes, my references always range between being 5 to 30 years out of date.  If you have a problem with that, I don’t think you are ready for this jelly.)

My first mistake was speaking to someone before I finished my morning coffee.  I had only swigged down half of it before my conversation with the man I will henceforth refer to as Ye Olde Breadguy.  Now you should know, before I go into this, that I was kind and gracious throughout this exchange, and post-coffee the silliness of it might not have even got on my radar.

But, it did get on there, and now I am sharing, because it has started to tickle me a little.

It started when I asked Ye Olde Breadguy if he had seen any lemon blueberry bagels.  He said he had never heard of them, so I told him, “Oh well, no worries.  They may not even be out yet.  Thanks, anyway.”

That could have been the end of it.  But, no.  He goes on to say, “I don’t have any kind of blueberry bagels.  Blueberries are not in season.”  Then I felt somehow ignorant for not having checked my “Farmers Almanac” on that point.  I’m only half joking.  I was actually a bit shamed.

On the other hand, he was standing directly in front of several packages of blueberry bagels even as he was generously bestowing this information on me.  No kidding.  They were right behind him.  I did not point this out, because I am a fucking super hero of niceness today.  Except for this snarky-assed blog post.

Super.

Hero.

Of niceness.

Anyhow, the whole thing was disconcerting. Not because he was in such close proximity to the very animal he was professing not to have.  That added to the goofiness, of course, but that’s not my issue.

My problem is this.  Blueberries being out of season is, at best, only tangentally related to the question at hand.  The season is not particularly relevant, because….wait for it…..

FUCKING PRESERVATIVES EXIST!!!!

Yes.  Yes, they do.  They have for some time, in fact.

So, what we have here must be a time travel situation.  He is obviously from a time well before mono and diglycerides, maybe even before the very first grandma took fresh cucumbers and popped them in a jar with vinegar and spices.  Hang on there.  I need to look this up.

Googling.  Googling.  Ok, here we are.

The first recorded canning started in France in the 1790’s, while dehydration of fruits and vegetables was accomplished by people in the Middle East as early as 12,000 BC.

Either way you look at it, it’s high time to shut the hell up about the seasonality of things unless we are wanting to eat them fresh, and even then, there are greenhouses.  Yep, greenhouses exist as well.  I don’t think I’m blowing anyone’s mind with these facts, but I want to shout them from the rooftops just this one time, in hopes of never having to talk about this ever again.  Ever.

Fresh blueberries do sound really good right now.  Too bad they are out of season.

 



Alas! Poor Yorick! I Knew a Guy Who Knew Him
Thursday February 11th 2016, 12:24 pm
Filed under: General

My hairdresser was in a movie.  She said it was an original indy version of a Jennifer Aniston flick called “Catch and Release.”  I googled that and found it starred Jennifer Garner.  So, I must have one of the details confused.  We aren’t close friends, so a call out of nowhere for clarification on this matter seems kinda stalkerish.  No worries, I will grill her about it after my hair grows out a bit more.

Anyway, she played a hairdresser.  To me, that seems a bit too on the nose, and I asked her if she has concerns about being typecast.  She said she does.

Brace yourselves, people!

She almost cut Susan Sarandon’s hair.  She didn’t actually meet her or do her hair, but she could have, if her portfolio had been chosen by Susan Sarandon’s personal assistant, or maybe even by Sarandon herself.  I didn’t try to do research on this point.  Let’s just pretend, for now, that Susan herself rejected the portfolio and bask for a moment in that warm glow.  Imagine she held the folder in her delicate hand and possibly muttered, “Nah” before tossing it aside.  Dear god, to be a fly on that wall!

That seems mean-spirited, but I assure you I trust this woman more than I do my husband and have mad respect for her.  Yet, I find our seemingly universal fascination with celebrity intriguing and sometimes laughable.

None of us are above it.  I’m not.  I saw Darryl Isaacs, a local personal injury lawyer, after he got out of a yoga class, and I stared way too long.    He’s a big guy, and apparently had had his first yoga class in one of the more advanced rooms.  I was in the bunny hot yoga class, and almost died.   It wasn’t even my first class.  Seriously, I felt bad for like two days after.  So, part of me was fascinated that he was still able to stand, and the other part kept yelling at me, “HE WAS ON THE TV!  HE IS ONE WITH THE MAGIC BOX!  ALL HAIL THE MAGIC BOX!”

My dear Michael has had two run-ins with celebrity.  He saw a former Miss America having lunch at “Hometown Buffet.”  He also saw the owner of Papa John’s ordering lunch at Qdoba.  Go figure.  The guy is a huge asshole politically.  But, you know, MAGIC BOX.

When Charlotte was in middle school, she met Dawne Gee of Wave 3.  Dawne Gee must have been very friendly with her.  Charlotte never recovered. We heard about their meeting every time she could work it into a conversation. In fact, it’s become a running joke in the family for whenever one of us won’t let something go.

I guess if I’m honest, which sounds like a phrase one uses when she is about to lie, ’cause why the disclaimer? Anyway, if I’m honest, I would like to be a little more focused on the people I really do know than all the people I don’t.  Keep in mind that I said that.  It’s a noble thought, and I want credit. We have made plans to go to a comic con where we could meet Walton Goggins.  I want to sniff his armpits.  I hope that doesn’t make you think less of me.  I am the one who had that noble thought, remember?



Yesterday
Tuesday January 19th 2016, 2:10 pm
Filed under: General

The older a person gets, the more she loses touch with her natural body clock. Studies have been done on this.  There is science behind it.

Now, if I were you, I wouldn’t check this site regularly for unbiased reporting on medical phenomenon. I am both a seasoned hypochondriac and as prone to embellishment as a cake decorator.  But, I have some real life anecdotal evidence on this topic.  And, last I checked, on the internet that is as good as any PhD.

I just woke up.  At 2 a.m.  I think I might be up for the day.  This is early even for my insomnia.  Usually, it’s 4 a.m. right on the nose. But two?  How do I even pretend this is normal and get on with my day?

Coffee at this hour feels like defeat. Moreover, coffee is a dirty lie.

Coffee says, “Anything can happen.  It’s a brand new day!”

It is not a brand new day.  It is still yesterday.

You can get technical with me on this, dear reader, but the cave woman in me will ask you, “Where the fuck is the sun then, Neil DeGrasse Tyson?”  No sun? Yesterday.

Michael will wake up maybe two more times to pee before he finally gets up for good at 8 a.m.  On at least one of his bathroom trips, he will see me lying here awake and grunt, “Go to sleep.”  If only he were a hypnotist…

I must explain this over and over to him. He will say, “Why can’t you just lie there and go back to sleep, sweetheart?”

Because “Why can’t you not wake up five times to piss?”  would be a mean-spirited response to a sincere question, I tell him that I get up to pee sometimes, too, and on those occasions,  I can fall right back to sleep.

But, other times I wake up, and I am just fucking wide awake.  No other way to say it. When that happens to you, you either get up and do other shit, or you stay in bed, but sleep is no longer part of the equation.

It’s like startling the day rather than starting it.  I jump awake with moonlight and stars outside my window as if I’m late for an important meeting with Dracula.

It’s disconcerting.

It’s also lonely to be up at this hour.  If you call anyone at two in the morning, it better damn well be an emergency.  You can’t call to say, “Hey, you watching that new series on PBS?  It’s called ‘Mercy Street’, and I already love it.  So catty. Meow…..Um, it’s Debbie.  Sure, everything is fine.  Just wanted to chat about television and maybe get your opinion on redecorating my bathroom.”  You lose friends that way. People “forget” to give you their new cell number.

Maybe I should meet with Dracula after all.  I’m up anyhow, and he’s got mad skills as a hypnotist.

What is the weather like in Transylvania right now? Or, he could fly here. In bat form.

Maybe he will be kind enough to tell me, “Go to sleep.”

 



50 First Date Rapes
Friday January 15th 2016, 3:40 pm
Filed under: General

Have you seen”The Cobbler”?  Well, you don’t need to.  It was so bad, it actually pissed my whole family right off.  Michael, Charlotte and I all sat around afterward and had a unified bitchfest.  The consensus being, “WTF was that even supposed to be?”  I think he was trying to do something substantive, maybe?  But, the best response to it is to quote another Adam Sandler movie:

“Mr. Madison, what you’ve just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.” –  from Billy Madison

So, needless to say, we’ve kinda soured on Sandler of late.  Along with most of the the rest of America, we were not fans of “The Ridiculous Six.”  Not  because it wasn’t PC.  Satire is satire.  But, satire should be funny.  That’s kind of how it works.  The man has lost his way.

Oh, and then there was “Pixels”, a movie aimed directly at my people – those of us who grew up playing and loving arcade games.  My review in five words: It sucked Donkey Kong balls.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved him in his “Happy Gilmore” phase.  I am a twelve year old boy at heart.  Ask anyone.

But, my fave Sandler film is “Fifty First Dates”. It has always seemed hopelessly romantic. The woman he loves wakes up every day not knowing who is, and he must win her heart over and over again.

The one true love of my life refers to it as “the date rape movie.”

He and I have discussed this movie, sometimes heatedly, on and off for ages.  As you may have noticed from previous posts, when we get bored, we find something inconsequential and pick it apart.  Usually over dinner.

This is how it all started. To the best of my recollection:

He asks me, “Are you watching the date rape movie again?”

I am actually watching the movie, so I pause it. Harumpf.  “What are you even talking about?  She falls in love with him every day. It is not rape.”

“He scams her into sex by studying her likes and dislikes.”

“We all scam each other into love and sex.  That’s part of it.  We all pretend we don’t fart or burp for the first six months of any relationship, and we are, without exception, full of hot air.”

“Why, from his perspective, would he even want a woman who cannot remember who he is?  Isn’t that kinda twisted in and of itself?  What can he get out of it besides sex?”

“He can love her for who she is.”

“But they can never grow together, and they can never have shared memories.  And, she is never going to grow as a person. She is stunted at that same age.  Again, why would he want a woman like that?”

“So, just because she has this very specific disability, she should be doomed to being alone?  If he can overlook the fact that they can’t have little “in jokes” together, then it’s lucky he found her and you didn’t.”

I am irate… Leave Britney alone!!!

“Well, that means a lot to me.  That we share memories and get the same references.  The relationship is richer for it.”

He is such a suck up.

“Sure.  I agree.  I wouldn’t want to date someone even ten years younger than I am for that very same reason, but I don’t begrudge others that option. What if that same thing happened to me?  Would you stop loving me?”

I think I have him here.  But, as you’ll see, he’s wiley.

“Well, if he knew her before it happened and she had any kind of memory of him from before the accident, I would look at it differently.  She wouldn’t be waking up with a complete stranger.  She would have just lost some time with him.  You’d know me.  I’d just be grayer and more wrinkled.  And, I’d still have all our years together.”

“But, that’s just bad timing.  He loves her, and he is willing to do whatever it takes.”

I am a girl.  Really, sometimes, I am such a girl.

“What about at the end of the movie?  She has a kid with him.  How was that pregnancy for her?  A nightmare!  At some point, she had to wake up nine months pregnant, not remembering that she’s pregnant.  She can’t recall planning this child at all!  She’d think it was an alien spawn until he explained it to her.  How terrifying would that be???”

He makes such a good point here.  But still, something about determining for her that she isn’t allowed to reproduce troubles me deeply.

“Once again, we are deciding for her that she can never have love and must also remain childless?”

“It’s just fucking creepy on his part.  That he would even put her through that.”

And on that point, I must concede.  The poor girl wakes up every day to Adam Sandler’s goofy face, and some kid she doesn’t know is spilling orange juice on her.  That is unimaginable weirdness to deal with before you’ve even had coffee.

The way any of us get through the day has a lot to do with remembering the shitty circumstances that put us here.  We acclimate to the crazy shit in our lives slowly over time…

Poor Drew Barrymore.  E.T. was so much cuter.