Home Alone

SuperHusband is going out of town to a bachelor party this weekend and I hate staying home by myself. Not only because I have sole responsibility for DevilDog, but also because it's pretty boring. This weekend, it will be even more so because I'm on an antibiotic (from last week's battle with the evil sinus headaches) and can't meet the girls for drinks (or drink by myself for that matter). So, the plan is to clean, shop for our upcoming trip to Mexico (more on that later) and get a little work done. Of those, shopping is the only one I'll actually accomplish. If I even do that. But I have tons of birthday gift cards that REALLY need to be spent, so I'll try to find the motivation. Wish me luck!

Reason #264 why I love MySpace

I know. I am wayyy too old to be on MySpace. This is because:

1. I'm not seeking random hook-ups from guys with names like DeezNutz or CA_Baller


2. I'm not trying to catapult my band from my basement to super stardom with one whiny "emo" song


3. I don't even know what in the hell emo means


4. I'm not a creepy 40-something trying to pass myself off as Sk8RBoi13 or some other To Catch A Predator-worthy nickname

What I am, though, is DAMN NOSY. That's right. I'm talking nosy-beyond-fucking-belief. If it weren't for the whole peeing-in-a-cup-while-on-a-stakeout-thing, I would've been a kick ass detective. And MySpace is a voyeur's dream.

In all of five minutes, I can learn that the girl I hated in college is still fatter than me (SCORE!), that the slutty girl from high school is now married with super-cute kids (who all look surprisingly like the father - good for her!) and that my cousin is still going through her ultimate fighting phase. The BEST part about MySpace, however, may just be the people you don't know, but happen across. Like today, for instance.

I needed a little break from work, so I log in to my page to see if the girl I kinda knew in high school has sent yet another survey letting everyone know "the last thing (she) ate that started with the letter B" and the "three things (she) regularly drinks." I had a little time, so I went to my high school's message board. The topic was "Who was your favorite teacher?" and I was interested to see who my fellow former classmates thought was the most inspiring and why. That's where I came across this gem:

"Mr. ____ for History....easiest "A" I ever made! I can still write/say the Star Spangled Banner (1st verse) and the Pledge of Allegiance without missing a word."

That little gem was posted by 42-year old Nancy who, upon further digging into her page, only reads, "on a cold wet winters (sic) day, otherwise I'd rather be out in the country just being me" and "has better things to do with my time that to sit in front of the boob tube and get fat."

Now come on, Nance...frolicking among the cows and chickens and missing Project Runway aside...you didn't learn the Star Spangled Banner and Pledge of Allegiance until high school? Seriously? I know you went to a small-town school and all, but I learned that early in elementary school. And the fact that you can still recite the national anthem and pledge is not something to brag about - as an American citizen, you SHOULD be able to do this. Now if you could still recite the prologue to the Canterbury Tales, that would be something to write home about. For the record, I can. Well, the first 8 or so lines anyway.

So here's to you Nancy. Thank you for providing me with some blodder* for today and for giving me yet another reason to keep my MySpace account and be nosy on a regular basis.

*= blodder: blog fodder (I am so clever)

Beer, Buffett and BFFs!

I still have the crud. I don't really know what it is, but I basically feel like I've been hit by a freight train, have a massive headache (which has won the battle against Aleve, Advil PM and supersonic prescription-strength Motrin more times than I'd like to remember this week) and on-again-off-again nausea and sore throat. On the plus side, I think this week is going to end on a high note! Here's why:

1. Jimmy Buffett is coming to town! Who-hoooo! As much as I love my metal gods, there's nothing like the parking lot at a Jimmy Buffett concert. I mean, really. Where else can you take shots of rotgut Tequila off of a water ski, swim in a stranger's blow-up pool (complete with sand!), karaoke, bob for apples in Vodka and share food with 100s of strangers? There's nowhere else, my friend. Only at Buffett!

2. My BFF (TheProfessor) is coming from the cold north to go to the concert with us! This is a tradition that stems back to our college days. I've lost count of the number of times we've attended, but it just gets better every year! (Especially now that we don't have to take any green-haired sorority sisters with us....) Plus, I haven't seen her in AGES and I miss her like crazy! Our late-night weekend calls to each other (fueled by alcohol, generally) just aren't sufficing!

3. I received a belated birthday present in the mail today from TheProfessor. A pair of Reef flip flops, complete with beer openers on the bottoms. How cool is that!?! (Well, once you get past the fact that you're putting something that's been touching the ground on the beer bottle where your mouth will soon go. It's okay, though...I can drink faster than the bacteria can travel.)
Cute, huh? I'm generally a Havaianas girl, but these puppies are COMFY and super-cute!

So, the week is looking up! But I guess after laying on the couch and sleeping in between such cinematic masterpieces as The Astronaut Farmer, The Covenant (Shut up! Riggins from Friday Night Lights is HOT!), Selling Innocence and Vacancy...there's only way you can go!

I've got the crud...

I've caught the bug that's been sweeping through my office (although it's more likely I snagged it from sweet kisses from DoodleBug - my two-year-old precious-as-hell nephew, not Esther in Accounting).

Anyway, I don't feel like being witty or darling right now. I know you understand.

Ironic or Just Plain Mean?

So the other night I’m watching Law & Order, which by the way, after 18 seasons (yes, 18!!!) is still one of the best shows on television, and there’s a commercial for Biggest Loser auditions. Unfortunately (well…actually, fortunately) I’m nowhere near qualified for the show – I don’t chew Wrigley’s Extra gum, eat instant oatmeal or use Brita water filters. And I don’t have a houseful of kids to miss tearfully, I’d love the hard-as-hell workouts (so no whining) and I don’t like conflict. Plus the 15 pounds I have to lose wouldn’t be that dramatic or exciting to the viewing audience. Essentially, I’m not good weight loss reality TV (or any reality TV for that matter).

Anyway, the fact that they are searching for the next contestants in my city isn’t that that strange – I live in one of the “fattest cities” in America (as determined by at least one study). What I do find odd, very odd in fact, is that most auditions for television shows are held at a local sports stadium or a hotel. This audition, however, is being held at (name eradicated) Bar & Grill. Yes, the Biggest Loser is seeking contestants at a restaurant. Who in the hell thought this was a good idea? Aside from the snide comments that without a doubt a will be made by those in the higher-metabolism set, this show is a phenomenon. You know there will be tons (pun intended) of people coming out for their shot at free personal trainers, monitored weight loss and unlimited use of the 24 Hour Fitness-sponsored gym equipment. A smallish bar/restaurant probably isn't the best location for all the people who are thinking this show is their ticket out of Lane Bryant-town.

But I guess it could be worse. At least they aren't holding tryouts at a feeding trough like Golden Corral.

No "Hallmark Holiday" Celebration for Me

I’m not a big fan of Valentine’s Day. My aversion began in high school.

Picture it, a small southern town…early 90s. (If you are picturing Sophia from the Golden Girls starting one of her famous stories about Sicily, I love you, but you need to be thinking more along the lines of big hair, bigger shoulder pads and Friday night keg parties at “the third cattle guard.”)

At my high school it was customary for boyfriends to have flowers, balloons and/or stuffed animals delivered to school for their sweethearts. Each year on February 14, every class would start off the same way. The school secretary would read off a list of (usually) female students and ask them to come of the office. Everyone knew why – there were a dozen carnations or some other obnoxious gift waiting there. And so it would go….each class, you’d wait to hear your name. If you weren’t called, you just knew it would happen the next period. Between classes, everyone carried around their haul so others could “oooh” and “aahhhh” over the “totally rad teddy bear” in the “ohmigod-it’s-so-cute sailor suit.”

And so it went. The only thing worse than not hearing your name was actually being called and finding out that the 24-count balloon bouquet was from mom and dad, not the cute boy in Algebra you had a crush on. (Flowers from your parents? Totally lame!)

In retrospect, I can’t believe the school allowed (and seemingly encouraged) this practice. Somehow, in today’s world of not keeping score in pee-wee sports and otherwise discouraging competition at every turn, I don’t think it would fly.

So anyway, that ridiculous ritual I endured for four years of high school totally turned me off to Valentine’s Day. Thankfully, SuperHusband isn’t big on the holiday either so we agree not to exchange gifts. Tonight, he’ll cook dinner and clean the litter box…I’ll do some laundry. Then we’ll watch this week’s episode of Lost and have the Team Jack vs. Team Locke debate.
And, honestly, I’ll take that over a dozen carnations and bouquet of Mylar balloons any day!

Confession of the Day

I don't open my CNN updates to learn who won the latest primary. I only read them to see if Britney has completely self-destructed yet.

John Barrowman...He's a Good Gay.

Captain Jack Harkness puts the "wood" in Torchwood, dontcha think?

One of the highlights of my job is the lunch hour, when we watch movies, game shows (Queen for a Day, anyone?), Afterschool Specials and a current show from time to time. This is all courtesy of the EntertainmentDirector - one of my closest friends at work who has great taste in all things entertainment.

Anyway, a few months ago Torchwood was added to our repertoire and I must say, I am hooked. I'm not a sci-fi fan whatsoever, but this show is really good - sometimes its so bad it's good, but it's always entertaining. Plus Gwen is a big slut - she's cheated on her live-in boyfriend with a co-worker, a girl possessed by an alien, a dead guy, and I'm sure others I can't think of right now. Having an unpredictable woman of questionable morals on a show always makes for good t.v. (see Rock of Love).

We start season two next week and I can't wait!

Rock of Love 2 - A Ride on the Wild Side

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I'd like you to meet...

DEVIL DOG.

He's really not that evil. Well...not all the time anyway. Like when I get home from work and he is SO happy to see me. He demands at least 10 solid minutes of petting, sweet talk and belly rubs, which I am more than happy to provide. We don't have kids, thank (insert spiritual deity of choice here) and it's kind of nice to feel needed and so responsible for something else. Plus he's super-cute, right?

On the other hand...

He's definitely a...um...challenging pet. I've wanted a dog for so long, but I'm not into yappy little rat dogs - I wanted a big guy. Years of loft and apartment living didn't lend themselves well to acquiring that kind of dog , so we waited. Then we moved into a house, but didn't have a privacy fence (for some reason we thought this was necessary in order to have a dog. I now know why. More on that later). Thankfully, it wasn't too long until our evil neighbors' kids annoyed us to the point that we were willing to do whatever it took so we wouldn't have to look at their dirty little faces everyday. For us that meant building a privacy fence ourselves in the 100+ degree summer heat. But, oh my God...so worth it.

Anyway, we had the fence...time for the dog. We went to the SPCA and I (yes, I am taking blame) selected the cutest, fluffiest, sweetest natured puppy there. All was good for a few weeks...then the biting started. If it weren't for the tiny puppy teeth he had at the time, I'd be typing this post with my toes. We took him to "the best dog trainer around" and she kept him for two weeks to whip him into shape. When we picked him up, she told us he was the worst dog she'd ever seen. Encouraging. Then we hired another trainer to come to the house. Again...no improvement.

SuperHusband and I really struggled with whether or not we should take DevilDog back to the SPCA. I know, we're evil, lazy and cold hearted. But until you've had bloody scabs all over your hands, legs and any other area of exposed flesh...don't judge me.

So...30,000 bites later, we decided to keep him. He's not as mouthy these days. Instead he barks. And barks. And barks. There's a break in our fence and he goes crazy at every person who walks by (now we know why we needed the privacy fence - imagine the constant noise if he could see all the exciting things going on on every side of the house!). If we're outside and not playing catch, he barks. If anyone other than SuperHusband and I is in the house, he barks. The only time he didn't bark was when a friend who had to work late come in during the night and went into our spare bedroom to crash. Instead of barking to alert us of the "intruder," DevilDog snored.

As I type this there are men working on the telephone pole by our house and, of course, DevilDog is barking his ass off. I don't care. The door is shut and I can't hear him that much. Plus the neighbor kids are outside and I think I'll annoy them for a little while...

What? Me Blog?

I realize this should've probably been my first post, but I was just so blinded by rage at the DVR that the other had to come first. I mean, really. Don't fuck with my tv shows. I know you understand. While we're on the subject, I will say that despite my lack of Biggest Loser-fueled motivation, I did manage to run two miles this afternoon. (But I would've gone three if it weren't for the DVR. No, really. I swear!)

Anyway, a little about me and my impetus for this whole blog thing.

1. I grew up an only child. Not only that, I was an only child raised by my grandparents. This meant I spent a lot of time entertaining myself. It started with reading...
   
2. I was (and still am) a voracious reader. In second grade we had to read 30 books by the end of the year. I read 276 (Seriously. I recently found the list). Which leads me to another fact about myself...
   
3. I'm a people pleaser. I'm getting better about this, but it's one of those things that is a blessing and a curse (usually, a blessing to those who ask me to do things for them...and a curse to me who actually has to follow through). That doesn't really have much to do with my reasons for deciding to blog...I just thought you'd want to know (see...there I go again).
4. I've always enjoyed writing. My first (and last) full-length book was in second grade (I think that's the year I peaked...I haven't before or since been so ambitious). It was a powerful and moving book...about my teacher and the boy in my class who was her "pet." Yeah, I was jealous that it wasn't me. Then I graduated to teen angst poetry (although I didn't have any, I imagined what I'd say if I did.). In college, I was known for rewriting song lyrics to amuse my friends (if you're ever interested in trying this, $1 longnecks and/or $5 pitchers make the process a lot easier). And these days, as an adult, I do my fair share of writing in my day job.
5. I am funny. Well, I think I am anyway. Those around me a lot may disagree, but they aren't here to be annoyed by my cheesiness (or my overuse of parenthesis).
   

So, I decided to start one of these blog things all the kids are talking about. There's no "theme" or main focus. Well, I guess the theme could be lack of focus if you are one of those people who needs to label things. Anyway...I just wanted an outlet to vent, compose all those "Letters to the Editor" I always threaten to write (but never do), share some of the things I love a lot (or not so much) and brush up on my non-business writing skills. I can't promise what I write will always be of interest or entertaining to you, but stick around. At some point there will probably be something you can relate to. And if I say something you think is beyond stupid, I apologize. It was funny in my head.

An open letter to my DVR

Dear DVR:

You've brought me so much joy in our short time together. Remember the time you were simultaneously recording Criminal Minds and Gossip Girl, while I was watching the previous week's Rock of Love? Or that one time I thought I'd forgotten to tape Nip/Tuck, only to have you remember on your own and have it waiting for me when I turned you on the next day? Such good times.

Never before have I felt like ending it with you. Not when I first met you and realized your skip button was far inferior to the one on my former recorder. Not when you accidentally recorded every single Law & Order without me asking you to (this added up to about 50 episodes a day and I'm pretty sure some damn good reality television was deleted in the process). Not EVEN that week so many months ago when I had to restart you continuously because you were recently updated and a little "touchy." I understood.

But things have changed.

First, you didn't even TRY to turn on during the last new episode of Criminal Minds. I came home from dinner, put on my comfy clothes and went to watch my absolute favorite show on television only to find that you forgot. How could you??? I don't know how it happened. The title showed up on the list, but the episode was gone..."without a trace" if you will.

Then on Monday, I was ready for some New Adventures of Old Christine. Well...ready may be a strong word, but hell, with the writers' strike...you take what you can get. Again...nothing.

And the straw that broke the camel's back happened later that night. The entire two-hour episode of the Biggest Loser failed to record. You KNOW how important Biggest Loser is to me. It's my motivation to get my ass on the treadmill. It's what I need to stop me from ordering a large pizza and instead bake some chicken. Most importantly, it's a show that doesn't require my full concentration, allowing me to listen while I am searching the internet for celebrity gossip or nosing around pages on MySpace (you know I am too old for this, but you never judge me). It's a two-hour multi-tasking dream! I thought you understood my love of this show. I thought you knew me.

I know we should talk about this more, maybe we can work it out. But it will have to be later...the Domino's guy is here with my large pepperoni and twisty bread and I have a new NetFlix to watch.

XOXOX (?),
Ro