I said Mama but we're all crazy now...

Oh. My. God.

Reality television has hit a new low (or high...depending on how you look at it) and it's called I Know My Kid's a Star. This show is absolute greatness. And it's taught me one important thing that I have to pass on. The Britneys...the Lindsays...the Dana Platos...and all the other "fallen children stars" who we hear about all the time never stood a chance. If this program is any indication of how things work in the showbiz world...their mothers are to blame. Jesus, these moms are bat-shit CRAZY.

I'd planned to post about Rocky (aka Melissa Brasselle who you probably don't know from such cinematic masterpieces as Cheerleader Massacre and Black Scorpion - she played "streetwalker #1," by the way). From the first show when she asked her 9-year-old daughter if her "tampon string was showing" (seriously), she has stolen the limelight from everyone (with the exception of Danny Bonaduce who drops "the Partridge Family" in every other sentence..ooohhhh drinking game!), especially her super-cute daughter Hayley. But honestly, the other moms are catching up fast.

My new least favorite is GiGi Hunter. I don't care if she was a dancer in Coming to America in her heyday, she is just plain mean to anyone who does better than her daughter on a challenge (which is most of the kids, by the way). She even got sweet little Shannon to cross over to the dark side.

Shannon's daughter, McKenzie, freaks me out. A lot. In the first few episodes, she looked like a mime with her her super white face and red lips (shouldn't a former Miss Random-Small-Southern-State know how to apply make up to her daughter a little better?).Plus, every time you see her in the background of a shot, she has this creepy pained smile on her face that cracks every so often. And then the acting. OH MY GOD THE ACTING. They compare her to an overacting to Shirley Temple...yeah...if Shirley did about 12 lines of blow or so with César Romero on the back lot of Twentieth Century Fox.

If you haven't seen this show, it's well worth 60 minutes of your time. If for nothing else than to ponder why Gian (pronounced John for those of us in the more lowbrow set)'s mom looks so familiar. It's seriously driving me crazy. Not bat-shit crazy. But crazy nonetheless.

We're a movin' on up...movin' on up...

SuperHusband and I are finally entering the 21st century...

Tonight we purchased our first-ever flat screen T.V.s! Yes, T.V.s, plural.

We bought matching 42" plasmas. His is for PS3 and NFL Sunday Ticket (and college football...and hockey...and basketball...golf...tennis....curling...). Mine is for such intellectually stimulating reality programming as Rock of Love, Big Brother, I Know My Kid's a Star (which I MUST blog about soon. If you've seen it, you know why. In a word: Rocky), Top Chef, etc. etc. Plus I can finally watch Planet Earth, which I've been holding on to until we moved into the high-definition universe.

I am way excited, but they won't be delivering it until next week. I guess we'll keep slummin' it 'til then.

Sweet dreams are made of these...

Does anybody else have random celebrity sex dreams? I say "sex dreams" but usually there isn't actual sex involved, just some "heavy petting" as Dear Abby would say. For some reason, I've had several of these...and more often than not, they are about stars I've never really thought were cute in the first place.

Case in point...Mark Wahlberg.Is it just me or does he kinda look like he ate David Spade in this photo? Anyway...if you've read this blog, you probably know I had a little thing for brother Donnie back in my jr. high days. But I never thought much about Marky Mark. For one thing, he seems like he'd be short (I'm 5'9"). For another, I've never been a fan of the third nipple. Two is plenty for this gal.

Example #2....
Long before Sarah Silverman was fucking Matt Damon, he was in one of my dreams. I never really had a thing for him. He's kind of moley (and I like to be the most moley in a relationship, thankyouverymuch). Plus, he's really into baseball, which means I'd have to pretend to be a fan for too many months of the year, which would suck.

Example #3...Jon Bon Jovi.Oh Jon. Your love is like Bad Medicine. But I'd never really thought of you in that way before (I'm more of a Nikki Sixx girl). However, unlike a fine boxed wine, Jon has only improved with age.

Now, lest you think my REM sleep discriminates, I have had a lesbian dream. Just one. And let me tell you, it wasn't pretty.
Sadly, this is not an April Fool's joke. Of all the hot women celebrities, I get Kathy Griffin. Not Angelina Jolie...or Gwen Stefani...or Gabrielle Union. Kathy-freaking-Griffin. Now don't get me wrong, she is funny as hell. I love her stand-up and even her D-List show. I'd love to hang out with her and her gays. But I don't want to be getting it on in dreamland (or any other land for that matter) with her. (Note to readers: if you ever have an embarrassing lesbian sex dream, don't share it with your significant other...SuperHusband won't let me live this one down.)

Anyway, the point of this post is...dreams are weird. And I am, too.

Please make me feel better and tell me about yours...

Edited to Add: OK, not details. I'm weird, but not that weird. I just want to hear who they were about. Bonus points to anyone who can beat my girl, KG.

These are a few of my favorite things...

Today, anyway.

1. Crazy 1700s-era bitch of the week: Mary Toft - gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "fucking like rabbits."

2. Garfield Minus Garfield - Better without the cat. (Now if Family Circus would just get rid of Billy....)
3. Ink that Stinks - Will make you think twice before getting that Ryan Seacrest tat.

Jesus Rogers - my personal fave.

4. Alfonso from Silver Spoons wants to teach you to break dance:



5. DaddyLikey - Always a fave. Thanks for the link, W!

Flashback Friday: She wanna (pearl) necklace...

OK, this post isn't really about a pearl necklace, but since I've decided to do the whole lyrics-for-post-title thing, I can't turn back now. Plus I might get some blog hits from pervs searching for free porn. A hit's a hit, right?

So let's flashback about 20 years or so. It's Friday and that means only one thing - trying to con someone's parent into taking us to the next town over to go to the movies, to the mall or to Michael's. Yes, Michael's the craft store. It was a prime destination for us back then because, in addition to awesome paint pens and puff paint (this was the 80s after all...), it was also the only place in town to buy these things:


Hideous, right? But, back then, they looked so cute with stirrup pants and oversize sweaters. Plus the bells let everyone know you were coming (and I'm sure annoyed parents/teachers/anyone over 14 to no end). Of course if you were planning to sneak out of the house, this was not a good accessory choice.

Anyway, I had so many of those damn charms - and was always on the hunt for more. There was even a toilet (with functioning lid!). I think I told myself if I had enough of them, Donnie from New Kids on the Block would totally love me. That didn't happen (thank GOD). I, did however, certainly look cute wearing it while playing Ms. Pac-Man at Aladdin's Castle.

I'm a Cowboy, on the Steel Horse I Ride...

In case you haven't noticed, I've started using song titles/lyrics as my blog titles. Pretty fun, don't you think? (I guess seeing as how nobody reads this, I can do whatever in the hell I want!)

Anyway, today I was thinking about bad decisions. We're still steaming over the poor call in the UCLA/A&M game last weekend, and it got me thinkin'. We all make bad decisions in our lives. Whether it's going with a college major because it was what someone else thought was best or taking that "one last tequila shot," we've all been there. Thankfully, none of my major life decisions have been horrible. I married the greatest man in the world, I have a good job (although I am still figuring out what I want to be when I grow up...but aren't we all?) and I've never killed a puppy or harassed a hobo. I'd say I'm doing pretty good.

But alas, gentle reader, I am far from perfect and have made plenty of poor choices. In the interest of keeping this light-hearted, I won't go into the really bad ones (like the college boyfriend I stayed with despite the fact he thought TheProfessor and I were lesbians. Gayle and Oprah - I totally feel your pain).

That said without further ado, here is number one (in what may or may not be an ongoing reminder of my bad decisions in the fashion arena).

1. The cowgirl skirt I made - and wore to school - in pre-school. I wanted one so badly (I looked at that damn Sears catalog page every day), but my grandma refused to buy one (reason #459,890 she is the smartest woman I know).

(Click here for more Sears awesomeness. Thanks, Alinsane!)

But did I, in all my five-year-old wisdom, take "no" for an answer? Oh, hell no. I opted to make my own (this was before all those studies came out that said scissors and needles were dangerous for kids).

The finished product was absolutely hideous (I wish I had a photo, but trust me...it was bad. I mean, really bad). The skirt was so bad, in fact, that when the 18-year-old teacher asked me...through obvious laughter...if I made it, I answered with what was probably my first lie ever.

"No, I didn't make it. My grandma did."

Sorry, grandma.

Don't Close Your Eyes....

Yes, NCAA refs...I know that UCLA is probably a bigger draw than A&M in the whole March Madness thing. However, your blatent disregard for the UCLA foul against the Ags in the last 9 seconds or so totally sucks. Not that we'd win or anything. But still. Give us a fair shot. A foul is a foul. Bastards.