Below is a list of things that have been said quite a bit around the house this past week.
“Shut up, my boyfriend Michael Phelps is on.”
“But you said he was ugly.”
“Yes, but the lower those swim trunks go and the more gold he’s got, the better he looks.”
“Could you swim more and get a body like that?”
“I’d have to quit my job and swim all the time.”
“Then you’d have to get a job.”
“Oh. Never mind, then.”
“Oh, look! The stadium!”
“I hear they call it the Bird’s Nest.”
“Yes, and did you know it’s become a symbol of national pride?”
“For the Chinese? Really? Hm. You’d think they would have mentioned it.”
“More than six million times, anyway.”
“Shut up, my other boyfriend Aaron Piersol is on.”
“Those beach volleyball uniforms aren’t revealing enough.”
“The swimmers are wearing far too much fabric. Bring back the teeny Speedo, I say!”
“Shut up, Mark Spitz.”
“She’s gonna crash.”
“No, she’ll be… ooops. You were right.”
“That looked painful.”
“How come the men’s floor exercise doesn’t have music?”
“Maybe they figured gymnastics is gay enough?”
“I could totally do that.”
“Why not? How hard is that?”
“Shut up, my boyfriend Michael Phelps is on again.”
Category Archives: TV
Below is a list of things that have been said quite a bit around the house this past week.
Lost starts up again tonight! As much as I would love to think that I am above TV-watching, I have to admit that I am not. I even watch American Idol. But Lost is the one thing that I will kill people for interrupting, so let’s not call my house while it’s on, ‘kay?
I am angry at chocolate. I need to figure out what the hell is wrong with the chocolate sponge cake I want to make into a jelly roll and why it’s too dry and WON’T ROLL. It breaks. I can’t figure out why. Working on it, though.
My child is currently on a serious waffle kick. She will eat waffles for every meal of every day if I will let her. I’m thinking about getting a waffle iron so I can at least put fruits and vegetables into the batter. However, I know that as soon as I buy or otherwise acquire a waffle iron, she won’t eat waffles anymore. SHE IS NUTS.
My father is currently not speaking to my mother. Apparently, he got pissy about something and decided to sleep in his recliner. This was two weeks ago. He’s still there, according to the email that I got yesterday. Even for our family’s standards, this is taking it a bit far, I think. I’m going to have to call him and ask him what’s up so he can launch into a litany of petty complaints about my mom. Then I’ll have to tell him that he’s acting like a dick and should really stop.
I love the fact that I can talk to my parents this way.
What else… what else…
Freddie starts his new job at his old company on Monday. He felt like he had gone as far as he could go with his current job, and as he started looking for something new, he contacted his former boss for advice and was offered a job pretty much instantly. Sweet. I think it will be a good opportunity for him, even with his trepidation about going back to his old company. We’re going to spend the weekend going through his wardrobe and shopping for clothes to add to it. He’s been able to wear jeans for the last two years, so his suit & tie collection suffered immensely.
I have to paint my living room. It’s really starting to wear on me. Unfortunately, the previous owners did the worst painting job I have ever seen and now I have to paint the damn ceiling, too. The ceiling would need to be painted ANYWAY, but I might have been able to get away with not doing it just now if they hadn’t gotten shit-brown paint roller marks all over it. Fuckers. I hate them.
I keep going back and forth about painting the trim or not. It’s white, and needs to be painted anyway since when it was installed, they didn’t fill in the nail holes and there are hundreds of wee little black specks everywhere. Of all the crazy crap in this house, that pisses me off the most. So it does need to be painted, but I don’t know if I want to paint it white or if I want to do something a little more dramatic. Decisions, decisions.
I suppose the trim color can be decided once I decide what color to paint the walls. I can’t seem to make a decision about this and it’s driving me nuts.
In other Jillian news, she is finally starting to grow some hair. You can’t see the outline of her skull anymore, so that’s a nice change. People have stopped asking me what my son’s name is. Of course, it helps that her winter coat looks like we killed a gay Muppet to make it, but even in the summer when she’s dressed in pink and frills and stuff, people ask me what “his” name is. Teehee.
Whew. I need a nap. I’m battling the beginnings of a cold and I really really don’t want it to escalate because instead of being inches from death for a few days with a quick recovery, I tend to be utterly miserable for months. Between Alka-Seltzer Plus (cherry flavor) and yoga, I feel pretty good today. I have hope.
Speaking of hope, didja see the trade the Mets did? DIDJA?
I promised myself I wouldn’t do it.
I didn’t think I would.
But it’s done now, and there’s no going back.
My toddler is planted in front of the TV.
I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did.
After breakfast, we watch Sesame Street for an hour (during which time Jillian bops around the house and does 32 other things at the same time). Then we turn off the TV and we usually go for a walk or to the park or to a playdate or run errands. We’re busy people.
Sometimes, if the weather is icky or we just don’t have anything to do, we’ll watch Arthur, too, since it comes on after The Street. That’s all right because I dig the theme song for Arthur.
But then the TV goes off.
Unfortunately, a monster has been born.
We have been DVR’ing episodes of Jack’s Big Music Show because duh – music + puppets = genius. It’s a really cute show with lots of singing and musical instruments and songs and goofing around and stuff. Jillian loves it.
I mean, she LOOOOOOOOOVES it. And with her ever-growing Toddler Vocabulary, she is learning how to
request demand it.
She will point at the darkened TV. “Jack?” At first it’s a question.
“No,” I tell her. “Later.”
She gestures again to the blank screen. “Jaaack?”
“Not right now, sweetie. Later.”
We go back and forth like this for a little bit, then it becomes a demand.
“AAAACKKK!!!” We tend to lose the ‘J’ when we’re mad.
“FINE.” And away we go.
She then spends the next 20 or so minutes clapping her hands and dancing around as only a combination of my and Freddie’s genetic material can. As soon as it’s over, she smiles at me with all her teeth. “Mo? Peesh?”
How can I resist that?
It could be worse. It could be Barney.
When we moved, we found ourselves under the umbrella of a new cable system. Although the new cable company is much bigger, it sucks a whole lot more than I would have expected it to. The interactive channel guide is tres primitive, and WE DON’T GET BBC AMERICA ANYMORE.
On the other hand, we get this new HD channel, call Rave. It basically shows non-stop music, especially Glastonbury highlights and my new favorite show: Later… with Jools Holland.
Why don’t we have shows like this on regular American TV? OH, that’s right… Americans have shitty taste in television shows. And music. It’s okay, as long as this channel sticks around. I’ll just send the cable company people a letter a day until they add BBC America. After all, we get almost one hundred Spanish-language channels that I don’t want and can’t opt-out of, so why can’t I get one channel with accents and more Gordon Ramsay? Is that too much to ask? I don’t think it is.
I watch a LOT of bad TV, I have to admit. But I’m usually doing something constructive at the same time (knitting, sudoku, clipping my toenails), and that balances out the universe.
Also, I have no real problem with the bad TV I choose to watch. It’s the bad TV that I do not choose that gives me hives.
And I have limits. Freddie tried to make us watch the “Cavemen” show last night but it was so putrid, even HE couldn’t watch it. And this man thinks Christopher Titus is funny.
I have limits, you see. I can’t watch REALLY bad TV. It makes my IQ go down, and kids – if my IQ goes any lower, I’m going to be male.
I have limits with regard to bad movies, too. I generally steer clear of movies involving CGI-talking babies and/or animals but Garfield: A Tale of Two Kitties is on my TV right now and Jillian is mesmerized by it. She loves cats, and every time she sees one in a book or on TV, she goes insane. Imagine what she does when she sees our actual cat!
Thus, G:ATTK is befouling my TV. If it keeps Jillian from attempting to vault over the back of the sofa, so be it. I’m trying to ignore it.
VH1 Classic still occasionally shows videos (kids, you’ll have to Google that to find out what a video is, now that they’re all endangered and stuff), so I’m watching it today since there aren’t any crappy movies to watch instead.
I have already cracked myself up laughing at a White Lion video, was horrified because I nearly mistook the beginning of Tom Petty’s “You Got Lucky” video for a Night Ranger vid, and now I’m mourning the long, shaggy hair of one Michael Stipe from the “Pop Song 89” video. Sigh.
I know. He’s gay. But the HAIR.
You know what? I think I’m going to turn the TV off. I usually do have it off during the day because Jillian is fascinated by it and gets really close up to it. I’m sure it’s burning her retinas and further damaging her chances of ever getting into Harvard (between that and all the head-first landings, she’ll be lucky if she can get into AKRON. My GOD).
Our cable system decided to do its “Weekly Required Test” (whatever the hell THAT is) right in the middle of Vanity Fair. How am I supposed to pay attention to Reese Witherspoon’s humungous pregnant belly if I keep getting interrrupted? I’m so annoyed, plus the test startled the crap out of the cat who has enough problems already without adding Having A Stroke to them.
RIP Brett Somers.
Uh oh, with Gene Rayburn and Charles Nelson Reilly up in Game Show Heaven already, Richard Dawson better look out!
I didn’t do a Friday Random thing last week due to my bone-deep laziness. So I’ll do it today and we’ll start the week of right!
1. We are STILL waiting to hear about this house that we have been trying to buy. We are STILL in attorney review. I’m starting to get tired of waiting. We have continued to look at houses, but haven’t found anything that we like, except for one, but they are considering “multiple offers” right now, so we aren’t even going to bother throwing our hat into the ring. It’s a shame, too, because that house was really cute.
2. Except for the basement. First, you have to go down Danger Steps to get to the basement. At the third-to-last step, you need to bend over at the waist to avoid smashing your face on the support beam. Then, if you are any taller than I am, you have to stoop to walk around down there because the ceiling is so low. I can just barely walk upright and I’m only 5’7″! This confuses me SO MUCH that I cannot sleep for wondering WHY someone would build a house with a basement that you can barely access and use. WHY? That makes NO SENSE.
3. The other house that I really liked but definitely will not offer to buy was built in 1870 and has ghosts. I know this because when we went to look at it, the hair on the back of my neck stood up and my ears started ringing [more], which is always a sure sign that I’m not alone. The house itself was actually pretty awesome. Lots and lots of rooms connected willy-nilly by bathrooms and closets. It would be a great house for a bunch of kids. Alas, it would need some very serious updating and love (read: money) to make it truly comfortable. I don’t know that I’d ever be comfortable there, though, considering the fact that I passed by the attic door and realized there was no way in heaven or hell that I would ever, of my own volition, open that door. Nuh-uh.
4. I’ve been putting off washing the car, thinking that surely it will rain soon. Of course, as soon as I can’t stand it any longer and decide that today is the day I will get the car washed, there is rain in the forecast.
5. Jillian threw an entire bowl of peas at me today. It got on me, the fridge, the wall, and the ceiling. So much for letting her feed herself, eh? I am trying to phase out the pureed food in favor of actual pieces of food, but she does the whole gagging Drama Queen act. On the one hand, I don’t want her to starve, but on the other hand, if she gets hungry enough, she’ll eat. I don’t know where on that spectrum I actually am, though.
6. Football season has started, and the Jets are already disappointing me. Nothing unusual there. I just hope they don’t have to get the Reanimated Corpse of Vinny Testaverde again. Actually, I think Vinny is or was under contract to another team last year? I don’t know and am too lazy to look it up. At least the Mets are still in first place.
7. I’m amused to report that the cat is still stupider than the baby gates. This animal can launch himself from the floor to my bed or up through the kitchen pass-thru window, but cannot seem to figure out how to get over the baby gate. He is a stupid, stupid cat. In fact, he fell off the windowsill this morning before I got up, which caused the blinds to click and clack all over themselves and caused me to curse at him and them under my breath. Chester is deeply stupid.
8. The fall TV season is starting up and I have no idea when any of my shows are on. Good thing we have the TiFaux set to record most of them. Too bad I don’t foresee any actual time in which to watch them, what with us about to be homeless and all. We have a maximum of six weeks left in this house, no matter what. This is shaping up to be an interesting autumn.
…does the lobotomy hurt?
Seriously, though. Maybe it’s because Wheel of Fortune is on after Jeopardy in the NYC market, but the people on that show are jaw-droppingly stupid.
First off, there is never, under any circumstances, any reason whatsoever to buy a fuckin’ vowel. Maybe if you’ve guess a couple of consonants and you’re really, really stumped then I could see considering it, but for the love of Jeffrey, don’t buy a vowel on your first turn.
Shows like this only serve to underline and reinforce my raging superiority complex. Wheel of Fortune was challenging to me when I was ten. It should not pose a problem for any normal-IQ adult, I don’t think.