Some things that happened recently (and by recently I mean within the last month, ‘cause you know, there have not been many updates):
1. I found my 7th grade diary in which there were way too many obsessive scribblings about boys and the like. Oh, it was fun reading for about five seconds until I remembered that at that particular time in my life, some adults found me to be a precocious little girl; there were always comments about how “mature” I was for my age. Many, many years later as I read now, I realize there are presently a lot of comments being made about how I “act” a lot younger than I really am which got me thinking. And so I started doing the math and if you add twenty, divide by two throw a couple of square roots in there, it seems – yep - I reached the pinnacle of my maturity at age 12.
It all became too depressing so I stopped reading.
2. Warner Bros. sent the DVD preview screener of Alex & Emma to work, and after he opened the package (former) cube mate Matt, who knows my love for Luke Wilson (normally) knows no bounds, handed it right on over to me.
Look, you know I love you Luke, but re: Alex & Emma? Just like your brother Owen and those Shanghai movies, I just cannot go there. Surely, you understand.
3. You know, my good pal Macy once told me of a recent Sex and the City episode where it was said candles are the new cats for single women everywhere, which I thought was pretty funny at the time. Until I found in my possession one of those catalogues from Yankee Candle and oh.my.shit. people. Are they for real?
Don’t get me wrong, I love a good scented votive on occasion, but this catalogue makes me realize that the Cult of Yankee Candle is just a wee bit out of hand. I mean, people really buy $30 snuffers? And that whole array of “tart burners” really threw me until I ran across the “wick snips”.
You know, “wick snips” = some fancy scissors specially designed to keep your Yankee Candle Wicks at 1/8” just like any proper lady should?
Uh-huh. Never mind they look vaguely like some sort of tool for circumcision which led my good pal Mel to observe that “wick” is also slang for “penis” which you know, leads to many sort of Freudian single women and castration associations. Which is kinda funny. Until you realize that many women probably already have a really tough time keeping up with all of that pubic hair trimming and things and if there is soon to be pressure about neat and tidy “wick trimming” for the single ladies, I will just have to go a little mad.
Please. Stop the madness.
4. I find there is a deep void in my TV watching since the O.C. went on hiatus (stop the hating, I will not be shamed) and Hotel Paradise wrapped up. God, I really miss that trash.
And please, do not tell me how The Bachelor is perfectly good for any reality teevee cravings. I never really got into that show as the false air of “classy” portrayed with formal wear, up-dos and (gag) roses makes my skin crawl. You know, as if cattyness and backstabbing is so much classier sporting a cocktail dress at Martha’s Vineyard as opposed to a halter top and hot pants poolside spring-break-style - I am just not buying it!
And umm, I know I am not making any groundbreaking observations with any of this, but really: Bob? Could someone explain Bob’s “specialness” to me? Because as my good pal S. pointed out - why the hassle of competing on national teevee when you could just go down to the local TGIFridays to snag a fella of “Bob’s” caliber?
Because really, is the “competition” any different? So you have to take some girl named Amber out by feeding her a healthy stream of Blue Hawaiians in a bucket, or whatever they serve, but at least your entire high school graduating class doesn’t have to watch it on tape, right?
Oh, I know, I know – Bob is supposed to be the Dark Horse. The Guy with Personality. The Average Looking Man who gets his shot at the hott ladees for all Men With Personalities out there who never had a shot at the hott ladees. You know, The Average Funny Wacky Dancing Bob for whom we are supposed to cheer.
And to that I say “fine.” And I look forward to next “Bachelorette” season where they take a good, average looking, sized (gasp!) 14 lady with a wacky sense of humor and have a bunch of the hot males throwing themselves at her Personality.
[side note spoiler!: the bachelor is on right now, and one of the competing ladies just got a phone call where one of her family members tells her her grandmother died. This contestant lady is understandably upset. There are tears - her tears. Her tears are not a surprise. What is really surprising are the tears of her competitors and their “off camera” comments with the “oh gosh! It is so terrible for her!” which is funny because we all know what these competitors’ tears are saying is, “lucky bitch gets this week’s Sympathy Rose! No way will she getting’ kicked off anytime soon!”
You see, if they were just to come clean with this stuff, then I might watch on a regular basis, you know?”]
5. I actually went to bed at 9:00 pm last night, which is not something I’ve done since … I don’t know, I spent time scribbling about boys in my 7th grade diary? At any rate, considering normal hit-the-sack time ranges around midnight-1:00am, this was something special! I went to bed at nine so proud of myself and all of the quality sleep I was going to get. Never mind I woke up like, ever two hours, every time thinking – wow! It’s only 11:00 and I’ve already had two hours of sleep! Wow – it’s 1:00 and I’ve had four hours of sleep! Etc etc, which I realize sort of defeats the whole idea of quality REM and things, but man – the dreams! I had about a thousand very vivid dreams last night, one which really pointed out my longing for quality (har!) reality teevee programming now that Paradise Hotel is off the air.
In this dream, I woke up naked. On a beanbag. Under a huge blanket. Next to a fireplace. In my best friend from (again) grade school’s finished basement (she lived in this huge faux-colonial-mansion-for-a-small-town house).
And I woke up alone, I might add – before y’all get too reality teevee on me.
At any rate, I did the logical-only-in-a-dream thing, and wandered out the door (naked), eventually going up some wooden stairs that led to the deck on the second floor of the house. And when I got to the landing, I ran into an ex-boyfriend from like, 10 years ago (also naked but desperately trying to cover his bits with this ginormous couch cushion.) And so before I could even begin to be surprised about running into a naked ex on my childhood friend’s deck, I noticed there, in the corner, sitting lackadaisically in some sort of wacky suburban version of a chaise lounge was Kelsey Grammer (whose dream-appearance I can only explain, with much sadness, as left over residue from watching him on Oprah as he tried to clumsily discuss Steinbeck.)
And so there we were naked with Kelsey Grammer watching and what is left but for Kelsey to say, “Oh-ho! This is pure 1930’s comedy!”
Which would seem really bizarre but can totally be explained as that exact quote is from Buffy writer Doug Petrie’s commentary on a season 4 episode.
Did I not mention I have been spending much time geeking out watching Buffy DVDs lately? Well, I have and that is for another entry.
At any rate, the dream skipped to a part where I am poolside with the ex chatting it up about old times (we are fully clothed for those of you who wonder) when all of the sudden Kelsey Grammer appears because: we are on some sort of MTV reality teevee show! And he is the host! And Kelsey is angry! He tells us that the producers of the show did not know we knew each other! The Ex must go off! Off the show! What are the chances they picked two people who already knew each other?! Kelsey says!
And I am all, hey man, his birthday is tomorrow, that is a bad time to kick him off the show.
Kelsey insists, no, no, it is not right! He must go!
Then I realize, hey man! That ex was a total DICK! He cheated on me with my best friend! Yeah! Boot him off!
And then there is some dream-gray area where I don’t know what happened but it’s decided we both are getting kicked off and I am happily yelling at Kelsey Grammer as I walk of into the world of non-reality real-life, “Oh yeah? Well joke’s on you MTV! I DON’T EVEN HAVE CABLE!”
Yeah, I know. But I totally woke up laughing.
And so, it can be said this dream isn’t all that interesting unless you care about faux-colonial-small-town-mansions and/or wacky Kelsey Grammer anecdotes, but I typed it all out, so it stays.
Plus, hindsight tells m the whole dream was sparked by the fact I was cold when I fell asleep but became a burning inferno just a couple hours later under the 5 blankets I had stacked on, and we now know that can only lead to dreaming about trying to cool off on a bean bag naked next to a fire in a childhood friend’s home, right?
So, lesson learned: no more 9:00pm bed times for me. Because you suffer, too, apparently, what with these long entries and all.
6. With this garbage strike going on in Chicago, I am superglad I no longer live anywhere near Wrigleyville what with the Cubs charging hard on their big-ass winning streak ** I can’t even imagine the Miller Lite bottle and can carnage that blankets Clark & Addison as I type. I mean the waste must be unbelievable.
And so, that. Is that.
p.s. thanks a half-million to the five nice people who signed up at HSX.com and used me as a reference. Be sure to email me your user names so I can put you on “my league” list and keep an eye on your money!
For those of you who have not: it is never too late to join!
Use my user name “Ispy” (case sensitive!) as a reference if you do. Because although I have never been on a reality teevee show, that does not mean I am not a virtual money-grubbin’ ho’!
*yeah, I know – Puh-lease.
**which, not being a real baseball fan is the only way I can describe it. Oh, I usually make it to at least a couple of Cubs games each year, but considering this is the first year in about ten I haven’t made it to a-one of ‘em, I’d say my staying away has caused this great winning streak. You know, if I were into sports’ superstitions.