Things I’ve Learned From TV This Week

It’s May sweeps, and I am television’s bitch. Let’s run down all we’ve learned so far.

Don’t ever take flu medication and get into a bus crash.

Fatties are beautiful, and Top Model is still rigged.

Little children are evil.

I hate Meredith Gray and her stupid, whiny, squinty face.

America loves the song stylings of an abused pre-adolescent and a gigantically cranium-ed bartender.


Barney Stinson is the most legend-wait for it-dary character on television.

Michael Scott often makes me sad.

Today’s Actual Conversation: Customer Service Edition!

Scene: CVS checkout. Feeling rather fabulous in my kick ass new t-shirt (thanks, Krista!!!) that reads: “Rehab is the New Black.” All I want is to pay for my contact lens solution and a pack of cigarettes and proceed with my day. No such luck.

Wonky-Eyed Cashier: *hushed weird whisper* Your shirt…Rehab is the New Black…I don’t get it.

Me: Oh, it’s a joke-

WEC: Is that…like…when black people call other black people n—

Me: NO! No no no! It’s like “pink is the new black” or “skinny jeans are the new black” or something – it’s a joke!

WEC: So…it’s a racial thing?

Me: Jesus, NO! Nothing like that!!! It’s a FASHION thing, don’t you watch Project RUNWAY, it’s a joke, oh my GOD.

WEC: Oh…I don’t get it. Do you need matches?

Me: I am so blogging about this.

Today’s Actual Conversation: Happy Mother’s Day!

And she wonders why I blog about her.

Happy Mother’s Day, mama. Thank you for this conversation.
Scene: Kitchen. Dad is “making breakfast”, which translates to destroying the kitchen like a whirling dervish, using every single pan, plate, and utensil, and almost setting the kitchen ablaze. Mom and I look on in horror. Over the din of crashing flatware, this conversation arises.

Mom: We’re supposed to use…chee-a-bata? Cee-a-a bata bread?
Me: Ciabatta.
Mom: C-eye-a-bata? Cia-Obama?
Me: (head in hands) Ciabatta.
Mom: Cymbalta?
Me: That’s an antidepressant. Ciabatta. It’s Italian.
Mom: Chewy-bacca?
Me: That’s a Wookie. CIABATTA. CIABATTA. CIABATTA.
Mom: (triumphant) It’s like Star Wars bread!
Me: Mom, why don’t you sit down before you hurt yourself.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

Michelle Duggar is pregnant AGAIN.

For the three people who don’t know, Michelle and her extremely fertile husband already have seventeen children. SEVENTEEN. They’re also Krazy Kookoo Khristians, who wear garb not unlike the (also terrifyingly fertile) polygamy sect that has so recently been inundating the news.

Now, I love kids, don’t get me wrong, and people can go and do all the wackadoodle things they want, but COME ON, LADY. I’ve had the delightful pleasure of seeing the numerous TLC specials on the Duggars and their “parenting” “methods.” Basically, the older children raise the younger ones, leaving plenty of time for Michelle and her husband (Lord help me) Jim Bob to read the bible and boink their brains out for Jesus. They have a huge compound in the sticks somewhere that they (read: the kids) built themselves, and if they are finally outed as having an arsenal of automatic weapons covered in needlepointed prayer doilies, well, you can just knock me down with a feather.

These kids don’t have a life. They’re homeschooled, they only interact with each other; hell, even their “church” is in their house. Someone’s going to snap. Hopefully, all of them will. I’d love to see them all grow up and form an 18 member death metal group, entitled “Fuck You, Mom and Dad.”

As someone more witty and astute than I once said: “It’s a vagina, not a clown car.” Close your legs, Michelle, before your whole reproductive tract falls the hell out. GAH.

My big girl blog!

Well, here it is. A real blog. Oh, I’ve dabbled. A livejournal here, a myspace there. But then I realized that I am not, in fact, fourteen years old, and should get on this whole really real bloggy thing.

I am very sick of the word “blog.”

I’ll be importing a bunch of my old stuff, but should get up to date fairly soon. Until then, hang tight, my naughty little monkeys. Mama’ll be back soon.

Best Movie Poster Ever

Best. Movie Poster. Ever.

Now, everyone knows I am a comic book nerd. I’m one of those people that will hiss “It’s a GRAPHIC NOVEL” through gritted teeth. I was very popular in high school.

Now, I’m an X-Men girl all the way, but I do love me some Batman, especially in the Arkham Asylum vein. And I loved “Batman Begins” and not only because I want to do very, very, very dirty things with Christian Bale.

(but that’s a factor too.)

Now! “The Dark Knight” is almost upon us. And as sorrowful as I am that this was Heath Ledger’s last film before his untimely death, I will soldier on through that and continue to be wicked excited about seeing this movie. This movie poster only makes my little fangirl heart soar all the higher. Witness!

Awesome, right??? I mean, I was excited simply because this was a Joker That Was Not Jack Nicholson, but…zowie. If I was a college freshman again, this poster would totally be on my dorm room wall.

PS: Heath’s Joker makeup looks not unlike what I look like in the early stages of washing the makeup off my face at night. Because I am bringing sexy back. Call me, boys!