I don't know. When Juno went into labor, she announced it to her father by shouting "Thundercats are go!" Remarkably, he knew exactly what she meant, and they zoomed off to the hospital (rather frantically, I might add). Since I learned everything I know about life pregnancy from movies and television, I assumed I too needed an 80s cartoon catch phrase to sound the arrival of the blessed child. I'm a big fan of Jem. She's truly outrageous. When she would transform from Jerrica to her rock star alter ego, Jem, using her holographic computer (as you do), she'd say "Showtime, Synergy!" If only I could touch my Jem star earrings (featuring remote hologram micro projectors, duh) and be magically transported to the hospital, into a designer hospital gown a la Tori Spelling, with my epidural already administered. I don't think that's asking too much.
Anydiva, Steve and I have spent the entire pregnancy speculating as to whether our son will be born looking like me, with a red pompadour, or like Steve, who was nicknamed "possum" during infancy because, well, he looked exactly like a possum.
Now I'm off to the hospital for some child birthin'. I'm all verklempt. Talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic. Am I about to give birth to Possum Junior, or Mini Conan O'Brien? Discuss.
I've been saying since the very beginning of this pregnancy that I'm gonna go to the very end, past my due date, and straight on to induction town. Nobody believed me then, and nobody believes me now, because I still get lots of emails, messages, and texts asking "Baby?!?" Always with the question marks and the exclamation points. It's kind of funny, as if after all this time--40 weeks of pregnancy, a baby shower, a baby blog, baby Facebook status updates--that I would now conceal the existence of a child.
I'll be induced Thursday morning and by dinner time I should be holding a big, fat baby. He better be fat. I've been pregnant so long, he could be born with a full set of teeth and I wouldn't be surprised. I crossed a threshold when I passed my due date and transformed from calm and patient to miserable and disgruntled. I can't wait to not be a pregnant lady anymore. I'm especially excited to stop looking like present-day Val Kilmer and return to better days. Top Gun Val Kilmer, The Island of Dr. Moreau Val Kilmer, Batman Val Kilmer...I'm not asking for The Doors Val Kilmer, that's just too much to hope for, but The Saint Val Kilmer or Tombstone Val Kilmer would be nice. I'm just sayin'.
Jarred: care for a Misty update to brighten your day? Me: YES! Jarred: 1st, she got clearance to speak to female prisoners. In some sort of "Scared Straight" program. Me: Like that SNL sketch where they tell stories about their scrapes with the law but they're really just telling the plot of a movie? Jarred: 2nd, she regaled us with a story of how she once beat a drug test by filling the cup with hot water and Mountain Dew. I wonder if she will tell that story to the convicts so maybe next time they can trick their parole officer. Me: I can't believe that worked! Jarred: She said they mailed it off and she never heard back. Guess they don't test them all. She even put it in a glass bottle and brought her lighter in case she had to had to heat it up.
Well, I've tried to be a good sport about this whole going-past-my-due-date thing, but this is a little bit much. I still think that this child won't be born until labor is induced on Thursday, but rather than spending the next three days shopping, nesting, getting my nails done and having fun, I've been sick since yesterday. I don't know anybody who gave birth and was sick at the same time. I hope I'm better by Thursday. I'm either having major allergy problems, or it's a cold or sinus infection. If I could have sneezed myself into labor, it would have happened yesterday. Now I'm just fighting a horrible sinus headache and sore throat and I only sleep 20 minutes at a time. I'm having trouble forming a coherent sentence, so I'm gonna stop, but I figured if I didn't update my blog that people would think I was in labor. No such luck, the bun is still in the oven.
Too soon? Too vulgar? Probably, and yes. I prefer my Mel Gibson with a mullet and Danny Glover, not with a substance abuse problem and a string of racist, misogynistic and anti-Semitic tirades. [Blogger's note: Lethal Weapon 2 and What Women Want are both on TV right now. Seriously?] I don't think anybody is supporting or defending Mel Gibson right now, and I certainly am not. Domestic violence is no laughing matter...so why did this t-shirt give me the biggest case of the giggles? When I listen to the Mel Gibson audio tapes threatening baby mama Oksana Grigorieva, it chills me to the bone. When I read the transcript of the Mel Gibson audio tapes, I can't help but chuckle a little bit.
Here's a little sample of "Mel Says the Darndest Things: The 'Blow Me' Edition":
“I deserve to be blown first! Before the fucking Jacuzzi! Ok, I’ll burn the goddamn house up, but blow me first! How dare you?”
“I should’ve woken you up and said fucking blow me bitch! I should’ve fucking woken you up and said blow me! You would’ve liked that better, yeah? But you need the goddamn sleep!”
"You should just fucking smile and bloooow me, because I deserve it!"
"I am going to come and burn the fucking house down...but you will blow me first."
Ok, I'm sorry if you're super offended by the above quotes. Those weren't very nice things for Mel to say to the mother of his child. I don't think it's funny that he's threatening Oksana. I'm laughing at the idea that Mel is telling Oksana that he is going to inflict harm or damage in some way, but prior to carrying out said threat, he will have her do him a "favor". It's not the "blow me" part that's funny. He could have chosen from any number of "favors". For example: "pick up my dry cleaning", "cook my dinner", or "shine my shoes". I'd still laugh. Let's try it out:
"I am going to come and burn the fucking house down...but you will pick up my dry cleaning first."
"You should just fucking smile and cook my dinner, because I deserve it!"
“I should’ve woken you up and said fucking shine my shoes bitch! I should’ve fucking woken you up and said shine my shoes! You would’ve liked that better, yeah? But you need the goddamn sleep!”
I do take objection to these audio tapes, but not for some of the reasons people may think. Whenever I make a bold, declarative statement, and Steve looks at me with raised eyebrows, I always respond with, "I'm just sayin'". It's my go-to expression. So...here's what I think about these audio tapes. And again, I do not like, support, agree with or defend Mel Gibson...I'm just sayin'...
1. Prior to the leaking of these tapes, Oksana Grigorieva was just a Russian homewrecking hussy whose name nobody could spell or pronounce. All anybody knew about her was that photos of her frolicking on the beach with Mel Gibson were the catalyst for ending Mel's nearly 30-year marriage. We also learned that she has a child with James Bond's Timothy Dalton. There's a name for women like her. To me, she's still that same hussy. I'm not saying she deserved to have her porcelain veneers knocked out. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, and sometimes bad things happen to Oksana Grigorieva. I'm just sayin'...
2. I believe that if a conversation between two people that is believed to be private is being recorded, and only one person in the conversation is aware that it's being recorded, that is sketchy. The State of California agrees with me, because these tapes are inadmissible in court. I can't excuse anything that Mel said, but Oksana certainly benefits from being able to carefully select her words because she knows they're being recorded. She also benefits from pushing all the buttons to provoke a reaction from Mel. I'm just sayin...
3. Radar Online only released the portion of the phone conversations that include Mel's tirades. I am more than a little curious to hear what was said leading up to Mel's breakdown. Hypothetical example: If I post a video on Youtube showing me getting attacked by a swarm of bees, I look like a total victim. If I let you see the beginning of the tape, where I took a baseball bat to a beehive, that might explain things a little bit. I'm just sayin'...
4. For me, the sheer volume of the tapes lessens their impact. After the first two tapes, this just became pathetic. For starters, it shows that Oksana is regularly able to provoke Mel to this level of erratic behavior. And remember, we don't have the benefit of knowing what exactly prompted this reaction from Mel. Secondly, it's one thing to hear him lose his temper and go crazy once or twice, but the fact that he is capable of getting so aggressive, with the heavy breathing and screaming, and maintain that level of intensity for several minutes over several phone calls, I can't help but think that there must be other factors at play. Hearing one tape: I thought Mel was a pig and a monster. Hearing five tapes: I think about mental illness, psychological disturbance, drug and alcohol abuse. I would never let Mel Gibson babysit my child, and not just because I think he's a jerk. Something is wrong with him. After one tape, I believed that his acting career should be over, his parenting privileges should be revoked, and he should be shipped off to a-hole island. After five tapes, I think he needs to be institutionalized where he can receive professional help. I'm just sayin'.
I think that Mel Gibson is a very broken human being, and that Oksana Grigorieva is an unsympathetic victim. Mel needs help and should have to face consequences for the things he's said and done, but they need to stop using the court of public opinion to argue Oksana's side of the story. I think this whole thing is sick. Funny t-shirt though, Jack Osbourne.
I love me some parodies, and this one is good. It's a sassy redheaded pregnant chick (I guess I'm not the only one) re-creating Beyonce's "Single Ladies" while 38 weeks pregnant. I'm impressed with her vocals and her moves, her clever re-writing of the lyrics, and her ability to fit into a leotard. I would not be up for the task at this point.
My friends and Facebook "friends" have given birth to some of the most beautiful, exquisite babies I have ever seen. They're prettier than any baby in a movie or GAP ad. Mom is so excited that I'm about to have this baby, and she keeps going on and on about how cute he's gonna be, but I tell her to hold on just a minute. Let's not count our genetically gifted chickens before they hatch, ok?
Mom: Robinson is going to be so cute! Me: Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We don't know he's gonna be cute. Mom: What? How can he not be cute? You and Steve are both so cute! Me: Well, thanks for saying that we're cute, but that doesn't mean our baby will be cute. Steve and I have discussed the possibility that our baby will be born with Rumer Willis Syndrome. It's a very real concern of ours. We're optimistic he'll be cute, but we're not getting our hopes up. Mom: Rumer Willis Syndrome? What's that? Me: It's where the child of two attractive people tragically inherits all their worst features. Named for Rumer Willis, the child of Bruce Willis and Demi Moore. It's very unfortunate. Mom: Oh. Rumer. Is that the one with the chin? Me: Bless her heart.
I Googled "Rumer Willis Syndrome" and it turns out that it doesn't exist. Steve and I made it up. But we maintain that it is very real. Look at this picture that was hanging proudly in my doctor's office along with other Christmas cards and birth announcements for cute babies:
I know that this entire post is going to be used against me when I'm trying to get into Heaven later, but I had to take a picture of this picture so that Steve would believe me when I said I saw a baby whose forehead was covered in hair. Of course he made a joke about this being a Kardashian baby. I made a joke about it being Teresa Giudice's baby. And we're going to hell together.
We're gonna love our baby, even if he looks like a crazy ginger, even if he looks like Teen Wolf. He's ours and we love him. We'd like it if he was cute, but we're really just thrilled to be having a healthy baby. And you know what? If he's not cute, that means he'll just have to compensate with a great personality and talent...
I was a big fan of The Hills during seasons 1-3. Times were simpler then. Heidi had all her original parts, and Lauren was simply known as "The Girl Who Didn't Go To Paris." Towards the end of season 3 is when all the blogs and tabloids were aflutter with "Is The Hills Fake?" stories. I felt the show had jumped the shark and stopped watching it, convinced its days were numbered. Well, I was wrong. I. Was. Wrong. As part of my 101 Things in 1001 Days project, I committed to watching the final season of The Hills in its entirety. I'll be honest, it was like working out--painful at times--but I'm glad I did it. I actually really liked the ending. It was provocative, like The Sixth Sense and The Sopranos (not really). Seriously though, it was one of the better television series endings I've seen. Steve thought it was dumb. He probably thinks Justin Bobby is dumb too, where as I think he is one of the most profound philosophers of our generation. I'll share some of my thoughts with you. I hope you packed a lunch...
1. The first scene has all the girls--Kristin, Lo, Stephanie and Audrina--sitting together in a completely authentic-feeling round table discussion (as you do with your girlfriends). It was such a Nuvaring commercial. While they're sharing their existential thoughts with one another (yeah I don't think any of them know what "existential" means...maybe Lo does) I expected somebody to explain the benefits and the risks of a once-monthly vaginal birth control ring. It never happened. Lo said she wants babies, and they got all excited, as if she announced she was pregnant. Simmer down now, ladies. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Kristin is bored, Kristin wasted her time with Brody, Kristin doesn't want to grow up. Kristin needs a change. The girls all seem really concerned. They really needn't be. Stephanie announced that she's reached her happy place. I'm so relieved that her fake story arc is complete [eye roll]. Audrina says she still hasn't found happiness. If I were a fly in her chardonnay, I would tell her that happiness is located about one foot above her ass, and it's called a 22" waist. Now shut the hell up.
2. Backing up just a click: The Hills producers were kind enough to lead up to the finale with a couple of retrospective pieces to help refresh my memory and catch me up on the two seasons I missed. It helped to remind me how bitchy and volatile Kristin is. What it didn't show is how Kristin winds up being "friends" with Audrina, Stephanie, and Lo by the end of the series. I know that the Spencer/Heidi conflict helped unify the girls in a way we haven't seen since "We Are the World", but after reviewing clips of all the nasty things Kristin has said to these girls, I'm kind of surprised they even speak to her at all. You know, aside from the fact that MTV pays them to speak to her.
3. Brody goes to the driving range with his friends, Taylor and Frankie. They act like chicks. Brody asks Frankie who he's dating, presumably so Frankie will in turn ask Brody about his love life. And isn't that what this scene is all about? This driving range is just a rouse so they can talk about their feelings. Like chicks do. Frankie laughingly tells the guys about his "you know, the flavor of the week." Uh, you wish, Frankie Delgado. You wish. Moving on, Brody makes mention of a girl he's dating now. If you read celebrity gossip, you know that he's Avril "I'm not punk rock" Lavigne's new Sk8r Boi. Then Taylor asks Brody how Kristin feels about all this, and in doing so reveals that he knows way too much about how voodoo dolls work. Brody answers Taylor's query by saying that he thought he and Kristin had a clear understanding that he was only interested in sleeping with her and he had no idea she'd get attached. Taylor and Frankie both get this look on their faces like they just started their periods and need to ask Brody for a tampon.
4. Lo asks Stephanie how things are going with her new boy, whose name I can't be bothered to remember. Lo encourages Stephanie to "put yourself out there," which in this case involves driving two hours one way to watch the boy ride a dirt bike. This could make Stephanie look like a Stage-5 Clinger, which nine times out of ten would be horrible advice. I can't recall specific instances, but this would not be the first time that Lo's relationship advice made me feel as confused as a stoned Britney Spears.
5. Kristin discusses her future with Stacie while relaxing on Kristin's patio. Do we know how Kristin is able to afford such an extravagant home? Is this just a set that's paid for by MTV? Is Stacie really the person best qualified to discuss major life decisions? Los Angeles is the second largest city in America (I think) but Kristin has apparently experienced all this thriving metropolis has to offer and determined that the only thing left to do is...move to Europe. Even Kristin knows this is the dumbest idea ever. She can't even sell it. It's the most ill-conceived hasty plan hatched on this show to date, right? Sadly, it's not.
6. Stephanie watches her boy ride dirt bikes and says things like, "you just like, ride a dirt bike, but then like, you're just like, Care Bear." Nice way with words, Steph. You marginalized his profession, compared him to a gay animated bear, and overused the word "like" all in one sentence. Is she reading cue cards? Half the time she's talking, she's not looking at the boy. She's looking off. In fact, all the girls have been doing that this whole episode. Can they not be bothered to memorize their lines?
7. Nothing says "I'm over you" like showing up at a guy's house unannounced to tell him in person that you're moving to Europe and that it has nothing to do with him. Ugh, I'm bored. Moving on...
8. We visit Audrina's new house at the beach, but it's really just a pretty backdrop for a completely unnecessary narrative between Audrina and Stephanie re-capping everything that's happened in the episode so far. I mean, we're only 15 or so minutes into the show, and half the show has been commercials, so I'm pretty well up-to-speed on what's going on. I don't think the viewer needs the two least articulate cast members to describe to me what I just watched. Fast forward my DVR...
9. Wow. A flashy party at a hip Hollywood hot spot. Why haven't we had more of these during this show's run? Frankie's dancing, and it answers any lingering questions the viewer might have had as to why Frankie can't get a girlfriend. Then we see Stacie. It's like they're putting all the third-tier supporting cast on parade. I miss Jen Bunney. Then Stacie uses Audrina's absence from the party as an opportunity to join the group hug with the main cast members, while they talk about how happy they are with the way the writers decided to end the show. Cut to images of each of the girls kissing their boyfriends. Aww, no boyfriend for Kristin. Better luck in Europe, girlfriend! Then, as if on cue, Brody shows up. Lo tells Kristin she doesn't have to speak to Brody. Umm, when a guy shows up for a party that's in your honor because you personally invited him, and then you ignore him, it's considered poor form. Terrible advice once again, Lo. Stephanie respectfully disagrees, insisting that Kristin needs "Closure!" She excitedly blurts out the word "closure" a few times, like it's the one word the producers wanted her to remember to say. I bet she wrote it on the back of her hand. [Blogger's note: It is my opinion that nothing has caused the female species so much trouble as the pursuit of "closure". It makes bitches be crazy.]
10. Scott and Lo are a cute couple. Scott's totally the trusty boyfriend in the romantic comedy type of guy. They are the only members of the cast I would consider letting babysit my child.
11. Stacie is helping Kristin collect her belongings. Kristin's driver is here. Is Kristin like, Mr. Big or something? Then...the video montage. They're trying to make me cry, but it's not working. I do like the arrangement of "Unwritten" that's playing. Then we discover that they're not really in the Hollywood Hills, they're on a Hollywood soundstage. Because this show is not real. So that's why they stopped referring to it as a "reality show" and began referring to it as a "docu-soap". It all makes perfect sense now! See what I mean? Just like the ending of The Sixth Sense.
This took longer to read than it took to watch the actual show. Recap FAIL.
P.S. I forgot how much I used to love Heidi 1.0
P.P.S. I found the Heidi 1.0 tribute during the after show a little too much like a eulogy. Holly seemed to as well. Unsettling.
Apparently I provide such gracious and cozy accommodations that Robinson never wants to leave. I'm too nice to kick him out, so unless he comes to the decision to be born on his own, we're inducing on Thursday, July 22! I am comfortable with this because I like the number 22. The doc promised me that if we induce on July 22, I will have a baby in my arms on July 22. None of this making-me-labor-for-36-hours business. I'm grateful for that.
The baby and I are both doing well, so there is no medical reason to induce earlier. My doctor and I have agreed to try and let nature take its course. There are plenty of medical reasons to not want the pregnancy to continue beyond 41 weeks however, so that is why there is an induction date on the books just in case he doesn't get here the old fashioned way by the deadline.
I'm super sleepy today. That's why I haven't blogged about The Hills finale yet. George and I barely slept a wink last night, because around 3:30am, we both heard this really loud "boom" sound. I guess I've seen that ADT commercial too many times, because I immediately had an image of a strange man with pantyhose or a ski mask on his head trying to kick in my door to invade my home.
In my nightmares when this happens, I always try to hide or escape without the burglar seeing me. Also in my nightmares, I'm mute. When it happened in real life, George and I jumped out of bed and were running around hollerin' (I really tried to type "hollering" just now and I couldn't do it. Must be a southern thing). Well, I was hollerin'. George was barking. It was just the two of us. I couldn't believe the entire house didn't wake up. I made Steve join me in the investigation. Laney and Libby stayed in bed. They are the worst watch dogs ever. I felt kind of dumb later, because usually George runs around the house, barking all by himself and looking like a jackass and everybody just points and laughs at him, but last night we were both jackasses. It was like we had this one moment where we were on the same wavelength. Being on the same wavelength with George is about as cool as being on the same wavelength as Stimpy, so I might be losing my mind.
Also in "I've been pregnant forever" news, the friendly staff at Cache called to check on me because I haven't shopped in their store since December. They wanted to let me know there is a terrific sale going on now! In my pre-pregnancy days I was a loyal Cache shopper. What can I say, I'm a big fan of slutty cougarwear. Unfortunately, they don't manufacture their clothes in size: Goodyear blimp so I've had to do without.
I suspect they're calling because business is down. I had to finally unsubscribe to their email updates last week because they were sending me emails every single day. It just reeks of desperation, like Lady Gaga's publicity stunts. I haven't been donating my disposable income to their cash registers for the past seven months, and now they're probably gonna go bankrupt and I won't have a place to shop for MILF attire. The day I go to the mall and their store is closed will be a sad one.
Elegance has a name, and it's Teresa Giudice. Last night's episode of TheReal Housewives of New Jersey consisted of a roughly seven minute edited-for-tv altercation followed by forty minutes of the ladies re-enacting it. It was a hot mess. Teresa was the hottest mess of all. Let's tally all the bad decisions she made.
1. She got wasted. Tamra from Real Housewives of Orange County calls it "Naked Wasted".
2. She hunts down Danielle at the country club under the pretense of "saying hi".
3. She references the past by saying that everyone knows how sweet Teresa is.
Yeah, "sweet" is not the word that comes to mind.
4. She calls Danielle "honey" using a condescending tone. Nice move, Teresa. Every woman knows that "honey" + condescending tone = "c*nt". This prompts Danielle to say, "Don't call me honey". This is the first time in history that Danielle said exactly what I would have said. I am angry at Teresa for helping me to identify with the prostitution whore crazy train that is Danielle Staub. Don't put that on me, Teresa Giudice! Teresa spends the rest of the episode telling anyone who will listen, "What, I just called her 'honey'. What's wrong with that?"
5. Teresa's reply to "Don't call me honey": "How about 'bitch'? Is 'bitch' better?" Actually, 'bitch' is better.
6. This is when it starts to get shrill. Teresa begins doing this mysterious head bobbing thing that disturbs me. It disturbs Danielle too. Dammit, now we have something else in common. Then Teresa jumps out of her chair wearing her ridiculous chinchilla coat and announces, "I'm from Patterson!" As if this explains the head bobbing. Survey says "no." I have never been to Jersey, and I'm not familiar with Patterson, but this is apparently intended to convey to the crowd that Teresa is down with hood rat shit. It was lost on me. It's not like she said "I'm from Queens" or "I'm from Compton". I haven't been to those places either, but I've heard enough references to those places in pop culture to know that if somebody says they are from there, that means I would not win against them in a knife fight. And that may be all I need to know. I've heard no such references to Patterson, New Jersey.
7. Then Teresa exposes her jugular to Danielle and invites her to slash it by uttering these words: "I live in a five million dollar house now, bitch!" Danielle (and America's) reply: "And it's in foreclosure!" And with those four words, Danielle lit the North Jersey Country Club on fire. Figuratively speaking.
8. From there, the 200 or so middle aged women in attendance at this event become hysterical, form a mob and begin running outside like there's a Rob Pattinson sighting. Not to wanting to be excluded from the excitement, Jacqueline's daughter Ashley decides to yank out Danielle's weave and spend the rest of the episode bragging to anyone who will listen about how she yanked out Danielle's weave. I guess Ashley was skipping school on the day we all learned that "yanking out the weave of another" is the dictionary definition of "trashy ho behavior". I read an entertainment blog called I'm Bringing Blogging Back, and IBBB is known for his recaps of The Hills, The City, and Real Housewives. His sister once made the smart observation that Ashley from Real Housewives is Meg Griffin from Family Guy. I'll go along with that
If only I could have found a picture of Ashley wearing one of those damn beanie knit hats she always insists upon. Somebody (who hates her) must have told her that the memaw crocheted hat was a good look. [eye roll]. Ashley needs to stop. She's going through this super annoying "I'm 18 and I can do and say whatever I want and I don't care what you think!" phase. Ugh. I have to applaud Jacqueline for not slapping the snot out of Ashley on a regular basis. It would be so hard to resist.
9. The cops arrive. They try to take Danielle's statement, and she just wants everybody arrested. The cops ask her if she's physically injured. She admits that she isn't but she's emotionally injured. That counts for something, right? Then the cops question Teresa. Teresa is drunk enough to believe it's a good idea to play it all casual and act like she doesn't even know why the cops are there, let alone why the cops would want to take a statement from her. She suggests they take a statement from Danielle instead because she's a coke whore.
10. During all the subsequent re-enactments and re-tellings of the fight, Teresa is animated and takes great delight. She was so drunk when all of this went down, I expected her to be embarrassed and filled with regret the next day. I. Was. Wrong. I guess her hazy recollection of the night's events lead her to believe everything she said and did was fabulous.
Now Danielle thinks that they are all trying to kill her. She goes on and on and on describing all the scenarios that could result in her being killed. Teresa locks her in a bathroom, shoves or punches her, she hits her head on something. She's dead. They're running through the country club, Teresa spots a knife, picks it up and stabs Danielle. She's dead. It just never stopped.
That's pretty much all I have to say. If I had recently given birth...to my fourth child, engaging in combat with Danielle Staub would be at the very bottom of my "to do" list. But I'm not from Patterson, so what do I know?
Didn't we all grow up watching Hayley Mills movies? This is the part where Steve says, "When I was a kid, we only had two channels, and one of them came in real fuzzy." Then I feel guilty for growing up in a home with a VCR. Anyways, Hayley Mills was a childhood favorite of mine, and I fondly remember her classic, Pollyanna. If you also grew up without Disney movies in your VCR, or if your memory has been wiped out by recreational drug use, Pollyanna was a high spirited orphan from the early 1900's. She goes from living a modest lifestyle as the child of missionaries to living with her aunt, the richest woman in town. Also, her aunt is a frigid bitch. Some people in Pollyanna's position would have a case of the sads, but Pollyanna is unfailingly optimistic and cheerful. She likes to play a game she calls "The Glad Game", where she lists all the things she has to be happy about. This really pisses off the bitter old hags in her town. Spoiler: Pollyanna falls out of a tree, everybody realizes what assholes they've been, and the whole town plays The Glad Game. The End.
Well, in the final month of pregnancy, I've had moments of misery and self-pity, but as I'm entering my 39th week of pregnancy, I seem to have adjusted and learned how to accomodate the physical changes in my body. While I am at many times uncomfortable, I can't help but think of all the things I have to be glad about. After all, I've had an uncomplicated pregnancy and am merely days away from delivering a full term baby. A boy, no less. Just what I always wanted! And I didn't even have to log my basal temperature, use ovulation test strips, or consult a fertility specialist to get to this point. If that doesn't put a smile on my face or a bounce in my step, I'm in need of a stern talking-to.
Steve says, "The Glad Game sounds super-gay". Fair enough, it's a little more negative and perhaps mean spirited, but we could flip this game around and call it "It Sucks To Be Them". That's where we point out other people who have it worse than us and say to ourselves, "It sucks to be them!" I've been doing a lot of that lately, too. It helps to keep me from complaining. Here are some examples of people who, in the last month, have led me to think: "It sucks to be them!":
1. Lindsay Lohan
This is Lindsay, learning that she'll be serving 90 days in a jail that prohibits makeup, hair extensions, booze, and cigarettes. Oh, and Twitter. Why don't you prohibit water and oxygen too, Lynwood Correctional Facility?! Everyone knows Lindsay can't survive without all that stuff. If I were in prison, I'd need cigarettes. I'd probably get a tattoo denoting my membership in a prison gang that I joined for my protection. Then my lawyer would be like, "Uh, Samantha, you were only sentenced to 90 days, of which you'll only serve 23. You really didn't have to take such drastic measures." Boy, would I feel dumb! I'm not cut out for life behind bars. It sucks to be Lindsay!
2. Mel Gibson
First he called a female police officer "sugar tits". After being stopped for driving under the influence. Then, while on a drunken tirade, he blamed the Jews for all the wars in the world. Then he left his wife of nearly 30 years, the mother of his 7 children, to be with a Russian woman he knocked up. I know that karma is a vengeful slut, but even I didn't know that Mel would knock the teeth out of said Russian baby mama, tell her she deserved it, use the N-word, hurl racial slurs at Latinos, let's see...am I forgetting anything? Mel is nothing if not consistent. Consistently hateful. His venomous words know no bounds, and I think he's pretty much insulted every gender, religion, race and ethnicity, insuring he will have no friends or supporters...except for maybe the KKK. Oh, and it's all on tape! All I can say is, it sucks to be Mel!
3. Jeremy London
At first I thought it sucked to be Jeremy London when I read that he was kidnapped from Palm Springs and forced to smoke crack and buy booze for gang members. What a nightmare! Turns out it was all lies. Lies! Jeremy is a crazy crackhead [allegedly]. Forcing a crackhead to smoke crack isn't torture at all! Note: if my Facebook status ever says that I was kidnapped in Cabo and forced to have a pedicure and eat hot fudge sundaes and drink apple martinis, call Dr. Drew. Time to ship my crazy ass to rehab. Anycrackhead, then I learned that Jeremy and his wife (the ventriloquist dummy photographed above) lost custody of their child, and that Jeremy ran away to a Ramada Inn and tried to shimmy up a palm tree. I can safely say: It sucks to be Jeremy!
4. Tammy Lynn Michaels
When I first saw Tammy Lynn, she was on a sitcom. You know, the kind that gets cancelled after a few episodes and you quickly forget the title of it. But I remember Tammy. She was funny! She gave up her career to be Melissa Etheridge's wife and give birth to and raise their twins. And what does she get? She gets unceremoniously dumped and left with nothing. That's cold, Melissa. Come to my window, and let me give you a piece of my mind: You wanna marry a woman? You wanna give her your name and call her your wife? You wanna leave that woman? You better be prepared to leave half of everything. It's how they roll in California. Unless you holla, "We want prenup! We want prenup!" Perhaps justice will prevail, but either way: It sucks to be Tammy!
5. Ed O'Neil
Ed was the biggest star to join the ensemble cast of ABC's hit sitcom, Modern Family. I agree with critics that it's one of the best new shows of the year. In the spirit of being part of an ensemble, Ed opted not to submit his name for consideration to Emmy voters in the category of Best Actor, but instead submitted his name for Best Supporting Actor. Come nomination day, Ed was the only member of the Modern Family cast not to be nominated. It's possibly the biggest snub of this year's Emmys. In many ways, it's great to be Ed O'Neil, but in this way, it sucks to be Ed O'Neil!
6. Jessica Simpson
Oh, Jessica. Poor, poor Jessica. Jessica wants to be an icon. Jessica wants to be a legend. Jessica wants to rule the world. Instead, she gets no respect. No respect at all. She's mocked for her music. Mocked for her films. Mocked for her television shows. Mocked for her endorsements. Her ex-boyfriends kiss and tell and nickname her "Sexual Napalm" (I'm referring of course to one ex-boyfriend: John Mayer). Guys she casually hooks up with pretend they barely know her (I'm referring of course to one Jeremy Renner). She's dying to be in magazines, but when she is in magazines, it's because they're reporting on how fat she is, or how nobody wants to marry her, or how Dallas Cowboys fans hate her, or how a coyote ate her dog, or how her new boyfriend is technically still married. I dunno. She's rich and all, but I still say: It sucks to be Jessica!
7. Tori Spelling
Tori begged her husband Dean to give up his juvenile, unnecessarily dangerous midlife crisis pastimes, and old squinty eyes refused to listen to her. Where did he end up? He ended up getting thrown off his dirt bike and puncturing a lung, landed in Intensive Care, and got a catheter stuck in his junk. And who's left worrying that she narrowly missed being a dirt bike widow? Tori. Also, Tori has wasted away to nothing, which makes her boobs look really weird. She blamed it on swine flu, but I'm beginning to suspect there's more to it. It's none of my business, but I think she looks really frail. Whatever the reason, for right now I'd say that it sucks to be Tori!
8. Lady Gaga
Lady Gaga is a highly celebrated, world famous pop sensation! How could I possibly think it's better to be a chubby preggo melting like an M&M in the hot Texas sun than to be her? Let me count the ways: 1. She lives in disguises--hiding behind costumes and an alter ego. That would exhaust me. 2. She constantly craves attention (if you attend a baseball game in your underwear and attend your sister's graduation dressed like a crazy beekeeper, something is wrong with you), 3. Half of America thinks she has a penis (the other half jokes that she has a penis), 4. Jerry Seinfeld thinks she's an asshole. 5. She was recently photographed falling on her face in an airport while wearing yet another ridiculous outfit and impractical shoes. The public consensus was "HAHAHA!" I think it sucks to be Lady Gaga, but it must have sucked even more to be Stefani Germanotta. Why else would she reinvent herself so dramatically? I'd love for Dr. Phil to get to the bottom of this. For those who think it's perfectly fine for her to be so eccentric, imagine this: What would happen if one day Steve began dressing in spandex and declared he wanted to be called "Lord GooGoo". He'd say, "What? I'm simply expressing my theatricallity". I would have my boo on a 5150 psychiatric hold so fast, Jamie Spears would say, "Atta girl!" That is absolutely insane. It sucks to be Lady Gaga!
I've seriously been looking forward to nesting this entire pregnancy. After the nausea, bloating, mood swings, fatigue, and cravings that accompany pregnancy, nesting was a pregnancy symptom I could get excited about. I imagined waking up one day with this burst of new found energy, and I would set about the house cleaning and organizing everything like some kind of domestic wonder woman. I could picture it in my mind, and it was glorious. Like that time I took Adderall.
We thought I might be nesting a couple of weeks ago when Mom was in town:
Mom: You've been a lot more active today. Me: Yeah, ya think so? Mom: Yeah, you're really up and moving. I think this might be it. You might be nesting. Me: Really? Well, I am getting more accomplished, but it doesn't feel compulsive. Know what I mean? Mom: It doesn't? See, for me it was compulsive. But that's not how you're feeling? Me: No, I definitely don't feel compulsive...I feel...diligent. Mom:Diligent.
[silence] Me: What if "diligent" is the closest I get to nesting? What if "diligent" is my "compulsive"?
The past two weeks I have been lethargic to the point of worthless, so I have let a lot of chores and action items accumulate because I told myself, "Ehh, I'll save it for when I'm nesting!" Yeah, my due date is in seven days, and while that doesn't mean that nesting will never happen for me, I am beginning to think I better drag my lazy bones out and finish taking care of business in case the nesting instinct doesn't kick in before I deliver this baby.
I'm 39 weeks pregnant and feeling great! Here's the scoop: I am due Saturday, July 17. I have a doctor's appointment next Wednesday, July 14. At that time, we will tentatively schedule Robinson's birth for the following week so we have a plan in case he doesn't arrive on his own by his due date. Normally my doctor would give me up to a week beyond my due date to allow nature to take it's course, but with my due date falling on a Saturday, she's going to opt to evict Robinson 3-5 days post due date rather than 9-11 days post due date. Makes sense to me.
It's entirely possible this will all be moot and that Robinson will arrive ahead of his due date, but I don't expect that outcome. I have experienced zero signs that labor is imminent, Robinson seems quite content, and my brother and I were both late arrivals. That, along with my "mother's instinct" tells me that we will be going in after him!
This leaves the possibility that I will have the opportunity to choose my child's birthday. I hadn't considered the possibility before now. This is where I start to reveal my weirdness. If my child is to be born the week of July 19-July 23, I definitely want to do it early in the week so that Robinson is a Cancer and not a Leo. No offense to Leos out there, but the simple fact is that Leos don't tend to like me or get along with me as well as Cancers do. In fact, if you're a Leo you probably already find me and this post annoying and should stop reading my blog. Having a child who likes me is sort of important to me. Don't try to tell me that he'll like me no matter what. I need a Cancer baby and that's that. Also, I don't think I like July 19th. It's not only an odd number, but a prime number. July 20th is better, but then he'll share a birthday with Billy Mays (the bearded pitch man who annoys me even in death) and Larry Craig (the self-loathing closeted senator who provides one of Steve's favorite quotes--say it in a deep, booming "man" voice: "I am not gay, nor have I ever been gay!") This leaves July 21. I like the number 21. It's a perfect blackjack score and it's divisible by 7 and 3. There are several notable people who share that birthday, all of whom are talented and influential, but also rather strange (Earnest Hemingway, Cat Stevens, Robin Williams). I can live with that.
So, if Robinson doesn't come into this world on his own, the way nature intended by Wednesday, July 21, we're hopefully having a c-section. I don't know if Doc is gonna go for the scheduled c-section, but I say if we're gonna schedule this birth, let's go all-out!
Y'all know what Captcha is, don't you? Here's Wiktionary's definition:
A distorted image of letters and numbers used to prevent automated use of websites; Anything that a human must do to prove that they are not a computer
This is what Captcha looks like:
Every time I post a link to my blog on Facebook, I have to complete a Captcha request. Usually the words are very innocuous, like the words above, "contribute" and "of". The Captcha words I have been asked to type for the past two days make me wonder if Captcha has hired a juvenile crop of summer interns, perhaps Beavis and Butthead, to select the words.
Google says "cumstance" and "asside" are not even real words. Spellcheck agrees. I had to double check to make sure they aren't actually some rarely spoken SAT vocab words and that I'm the one with the filthy mind. What in pottymouth hell is going on here?
Am I the only one being sexually harassed by Captcha?
Ehh, maybe not. However, he could be born at any time and has wisely chosen to stay indoors. Did he know what events would transpire in the hours following my obstetrician appointment yesterday?
2:30pm Weekly doctor's appointment 2:41pm I arrive for my weekly doctor's appointment 3:15pm The doctor will see me now 3:30pm No baby today, and probably no baby this weekend, to nobody's surprise 3:45pm My car (Caroline) won't start 4:00pm It begins pouring rain. I am grateful to be in a parking garage. Yes, it's hot. And I'm thirsty. 4:15pm Hospital security guard unsuccessfully attempts to jump start my car 4:50pm Steve arrives and unsuccessfully attempts to jump start my car 5:10pm After calling several tow companies, I find one whose truck is short enough to enter the parking garage. I am slightly less grateful to be in a parking garage. 5:20pm We leave a key under my floor mat for the tow guy as instructed, and begin driving towards Sears Auto to drop off my other set of keys in their after-hours drop box. 5:40pm Steve says, "I think I locked your car". We turn around and return to the hospital to double check. In rush hour. In the rain. On the access roads, because of Steve's refusal to get a Toll Tag. 6:00pm We arrive back at the hospital. Yep, he locked the door. We unlock it and resume our journey to Sears. Yeah, I don't know why the tow company requested I leave a key and the door unlocked. A locked door and the absence of a key has never stopped tow trucks from hauling my car away. 6:30pm We're back home. As Steve watches me ungracefully shimmy out of the Tahoe (named Lola in case you were wondering) he stares at me like I'm a two-headed alien. Me: It's harder than it looks! Steve: That's what she said. 9:30pm The tow truck dispatcher confirms my car is parked safely at Sears Auto.
Today: 10:30am Jennifer from Sears Auto calls to say I need a new battery and new wire kit. Luckily, the alternator is fine. I will also need to take my car to Auto Electric Systems for a full diagnostic to ensure there is not an electrical problem with my car that will cause further problems.
As I said yesterday, Caroline is mighty fine, but I need a golden calculator to...tabulate the grand total for the towing, diagnostics, parts and labor: $543
So, while there is excitement in the air and questions of "Is Robinson here yet?" The answer is "Nope!" and I'm stranded at home with no car. Maybe Robinson is one smart little baby. I'd relax and stay put if I were him, too.
I've already told you all about my evil ex-boss, Ursula, whose evil ways caused me to say "peace out" to my job two weeks ahead of schedule. Well, my last paycheck was issued two weeks ago, and I emailed Fairy Godmother asking to have the check mailed to my house so I can avoid driving the 60 miles round trip while nine months pregnant to retrieve my check. Seems like a reasonable request, right? Well, I still don't have my check. How am I handling this?
After a string of "Where is my paycheck?" emails over the past week between Fairy Godmother and me that are filled with reassurances that "the check is in the mail", and still no paycheck in my mailbox, this the email I received today from Ursula:
So sorry I assumed you would be in to pick up your check last week since I did not recieve a call from you. I had to look for it and only just sent it out yesterday. You should recieve it this week.
Hope you had a great Holiday week end!
I kept her typos so you could get the full effect. You see what Ursula did there, the way she made excuses and turned it around and made it my fault? Yeah, I picked up on that too. Mommy no likey. I fired back and made sure to copy Fairy Godmother. I am substituting Fairy Godmother's real name with "F.G." Get it?
I see, so it's my fault I haven't received my paycheck. I'm not at all surprised you'd take the time to point that out to me. As for your assumption that I would call you, I didn't call you because I went straight to F.G., and on July 1, I received an email from F.G. stating that she spoke to you and you told her you would mail my check that same day. I trusted that you did exactly that. I thought at the very least, you'd delegate the responsibility of mailing my check. You're so good at delegating.
I will once again trust that you've done as you were told and that this matter will soon be resolved.
Do you see what I did there? I basically called her a lazy, incompetent, lying bitch without using the words "lazy", "incompetent", "lying", or "bitch". Don't underestimate how immensely gratifying this was for me. I designed the email so as not to illicit a response. I mean, what can she say? Imagine my (somewhat) surprise when I received a reply from Ursula several hours later:
It is great hearing from from you. I am certain your anxiously awaiting your bundle of joy and are a bit stressed. I won't take your e-mail personally.
I seriously hope your doing well.
Once again, I kept the typos for your pleasure. This was actually her second attempt to send this email. In the first attempt, she had even more spelling errors and omitted words, and she forgot to copy Fairy Godmother. Now I can add "insincere", "weak" and "ineffective" to her growing list of negative qualities. Ursula can "take" my email any way she chooses, but any interpretation other than: "I think you're awful and look forward to the day you are unceremoniously fired" is incorrect. It's just like I've been saying for months: pregnant women are like Sophia from The Golden Girls. We are free to be as bold and outspoken as we want and everyone will excuse it because we're pregnant, whether we like it or not.
Steve: Did you blog today? Me: No. I don't have anything to blog about. Steve: Sure you do! I can think of lots of things for you to blog about. Me: Really? That's great, let's hear it! Steve: Well, you could blog about how people in Dallas are douche bags, and you could make a list of your top ten hip hop songs. Me: Wow. Well, I agree that a lot of douche bags live in Dallas, but I don't really have enough material to expand on that topic for an entire post. And my top ten hip hop songs? Steve: Yeah, you could be like 'Steve and I were watching the 100 Greatest Hip Hop Songs on VH1, and this is my top ten list.' Me: Why would anybody care what my ten favorite hip hop songs are? Plus, my list would shock people. I used to listen to stuff like Kilo's "Love in Ya Mouth" and Eazy-E's "Gimme That Nut". Steve: [incredulously] Umm, you are the least promiscuous girl I know. You say those are your favorite hip hop songs, and it's just not gonna hold water with people who actually know you [popping a Pringle in his mouth]. Me: Also, I'm extremely white. Steve: That too.
Confession time: As a teen, I was a complete goody-goody priss who happened to enjoy listening to explicit rap music in the privacy of my own car. I'm a paradox dipped in an enigma. And I know nothing about old school hip hop. Steve is seven years older than me, so when we were watching the VH1 countdown and a NWA or Public Enemy song would be featured, Steve would ask, "Do you remember that song?" And I'd be like "No. Didn't you just hear the man say that song came out in 1991? I was not listening to NWA in 1991. I was nine. I was rollerskating in my cul-de-sac listening to Amy Grant." Steve laughed and said, "Don't tell anybody what you just told me!" Whatever. Heart in Motion was a great album.
So...although I lack all credibility and qualification to craft such a list, here is my completely personal, not at all comprehensive list of the top ten hip hop songs of all time, in no particular order. I had trouble narrowing it down to ten, but as I was compiling the list, I discovered that some of my favorite hip hop songs are actually classified as dance or R&B, further proving that I don't know what I'm talking about.
10. Tootsie Roll: 69 Boyz
What this jam lacks in sophistication it makes up for in universal recognition. You can walk up to any American born between 1974 and 1984 and utter the words "cotton candy, sweet and low, let me see that tootsie roll" and your command will be obeyed. For that reason, I think this song deserves acknowledging.
9. Gangsta's Paradise: Coolio
I did own the Dangerous Minds soundtrack, and this song is a classic. Also worth noting: Weird Al Yankovic's fantastic parody, "Amish Paradise". Even better? Seeing how much "Amish Paradise" pissed off Coolio.
8. Ice Ice Baby: Vanilla Ice
All the cool kids on the playground knew the words to this song.
7. Roses: OutKast
I feel my list would be incomplete without something from the boys of OutKast. I could have easily chosen from about a half dozen favorites, but there's only one OutKast song that inspired the name for my car, and that is "Roses". My 2004 silver Jeep Grand Cherokee is named "Caroline", because all the boys would say she's mighty fine, but you need a golden calculator to divide...the monthly payments. Note: Jarred named my car. It's bad luck to name your own car. Write that down. Incidentally, it's the summer of 2010, and I'm just three payments away from owning Caroline outright. Whoop whoop!
6. Gimme That Nut: Eazy-E
Owning this CD garnered lots of street cred for me because Eazy-E is a legend and an icon. I didn't know who Eazy-E was, or who NWA was, but I knew this was a great album.
5. Love in Ya Mouth: Kilo
This song is horribly raunchy, and I owned the CD. I don't know what to say. My friend Tyler and I liked to listen to it when driving around in her car. The lyrics would make a stripper blush, and we had absolutely no business singing along.
4. Tha Crossroads: Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
This ode to fallen homeboys from the streets struck a chord with this teenage white girl from the suburbs. The Thugs rapid flow lyrics were more than I could keep up with, so I didn't understand most of what they were saying, but we could all join in on "I miss my Uncle Charles y'all". Again, the references to Eazy-E in the song and video were completely lost on me. Steve finds my hip hop ignorance disgraceful. Did I mention that Steve grew up in the projects? This apparently makes him a hip hop aficionado. He thinks I really missed out by being raised in a predominately white, upper middle class community because I lack street cred and I never dined on government cheese. Nor was I aware that something called "government cheese" exists. How do I respond to that? I don't know.
3. Back That Azz Up: Juvenile
I owned this CD too, and I played this song constantly. What, what, what, what drop it like it's hot!
2. Shoop: Salt-N-Pepa
They don't make songs like this anymore (I'm looking at you, Ke$ha) "You're packed and you're stacked 'specially in the back/Brother, wanna thank your mother for a butt like that" Lyrical geniuses, yes?
1. My Name Is: Eminem
This guy changed hip hop, y'all. But I don't have to tell you that.
If you put your summer vacation plans on hold because I might give birth soon, go ahead and take that trip. Baby Robinson is exercising his option to stay in the womb for the duration. I fully expect to go beyond my due date. I'm doing fine, other than the fact I'm not sleeping well and am pretty uncomfortable most of the time. I spend my days eating, sleeping, and trying to sleep, and I walk away with a grand total of 7 hours sleep over a 24 hour period. I'm pretty worthless. Also, I'm craving sugar worse than Buddy the Elf. No good can come of this.
I'm blogging less, because I have less to say. I'm home alone with the mutts most of the day, so I don't have funny stories from work...or from any interaction with anybody for that matter. Y'all are bored with my dog stories. I have nothing interesting to contribute regarding the latest in movies and television. I'm neither Team Edward, nor Team Jacob, I have no vested interest in who Bachelorette Ali is going to pick, and I have no plans to see Despicable Me or Knight and Day in the theatres, though I have been subjected to endless advertising and promotion for these films. So, that leaves me with...a whole lotta nuttin'. I'm looking forward to seeing Danielle's weave get yanked out on The Real Housewives of New Jersey next week. So I have that going for me. Until then, I have a doctor's appointment on Thursday afternoon. I'll let you know if anything good happens!
I haven't been this proud to be from Alabama since I saw the news footage of the Alabama Leprechaun sighting in Mobile. This little nugget of of insanity comes to us from Huntsville, Alabama. Bubba is pissed because he thinks people who run for fun are "chauvinistic pigs" who are just "struttin' that ass" and that he doesn't strut because he has to walk. From Huntsville to Guntersville. Because he doesn't have a Mercedes Benz. Language is NSFW, but it's so worth it. Must watch til the end.
My Velcro baby, my tiny dancer, my Clumsy Smurf, my little pixie stick, the mutt caboose, Libby Leigh is three years old today! Thanks to her broad muzzle, sturdy frame, and my tendency to get lost in her candy-colored eyes, Steve and I agree she looks like a cross between Nick Lachey and a Shetland pony.
Jarred: If Libby were a person, a judge would require her to wear an electronic monitoring device on her ankle.
Me: You're probably right. You know Libby shares a birthday with Lindsay Lohan?
Jarred gives me the side-eye. He thinks it's pathetic that I know this. But it's true. Libby shares a birthday with Lindsay Lohan, George shares a birthday with Hitler, Laney shares a birthday with Tiger Woods, and my childhood dog, Max, shared a birthday with Jesse James (the American outlaw, not the Vanilla Gorilla).
I adopted Libby because I thought George had run away to live with a second grader*, never to return, and because she so strongly resembled Laney. I love Laney so much that the thought of one day living without her is unbearable, so I thought it best to have a back-up. This dog, who began as a George replacement and as Laney 2.0 has become a special member of our family member in her own right, and has risen to the ranks of Steve's Favorite Dog. We love Libby!
*Pure speculation. He disappeared before school one morning, and when I didn't find him on the side of the road, I assumed he went home with a kid who asked, "Mom, can I keep him?"
I just realized something that happened last night wasn't a dream, but actually took place. I need to go ahead and have this baby already, because I'm losing my mind babying these dogs.
I was rudely awakened in the middle of the night by a spooked-out-of-her-mind Libby, who had frantically jumped onto the bed beside me, hit me in the face with her back end, knocked over my water bottle on the nightstand, and was acting skittish. There wasn't enough room on my side of the bed for her badonkadonk, so I felt startled and bombarded. I was in a dead stupor (thank you, Benadryl!) so I fussed at her and told her to get the hell off the bed. A minute or so later, I regain my senses and realize that Libby jumped on the bed because she was scared, and that she was still scared, so I said this to comfort her:
"Oh no, Libby. Did you have a bad dream? I'm so sorry. Here, come get in bed next to me. It's ok."
Yeah, I said that. To a dog. I was seriously convinced she had been awakened by a nightmare and that was the reason for her scurrying about our bedroom like a maniac. I felt so guilty for fussing at her, when she clearly has been through quite the ordeal already. She's a child, afterall, and nightmares are very scary for children. What kind of mother am I if I don't comfort and reassure her? I then used all of my strength to hoist myself closer to the center of the bed so there would be room for this horse-dog to sleep beside me. She seemed grateful for the gesture, taking a place at the foot of the bed before we all fell back asleep.
I didn't even know this was possible, did you? Steve has a friend who shops in his golf shop. We'll call him "Doug". Doug is a 40-year-old mentally handicapped man who lives in a group home, loves golf, and calls Steve "Uncle Steve". I know, it's enough to defrost your frozen heart. I met him at the Colonial Pro-Am last year, where Doug was caddying and Steve was playing. He's darlin'. Well, the IRS put the screws to our friend Doug over the past 16-some-odd years and didn't give him the correct tax refund. I'm fuzzy on the details. I don't work for the IRS (lucky for me), and I'm nobody's accountant (lucky for you). All I know is that earlier this week, a van from Doug's home came to the golf shop, and a big group of residents piled out. While all the other residents (who incidentally aren't golfers) browsed the store and basically scattered Steve's meticulously merchandised inventory, Doug and one of the people from the home were working with Steve to help Doug go on a shopping spree. Why? Because the IRS acknowledged their mistake and that they owe Doug $60,000 in back tax refunds, or from Doug overpaying his taxes, or whatever, but he only has a short time to spend it or he loses it forever. Are you effing kidding me? Now mind you, I was in bed trying to fall asleep when Steve told me this, and he wasn't rock solid on the details. While I was hung up on the whole "sixteen days to spend $60,000" angle, I actually think the purpose of Steve's story was to tell me how his day took a turn for the weird when a van full of mentally handicapped adults mysteriously filed into his store and quietly trashed the place. I should probably call him to clarify if I'm gonna post this, but if I called him right now he'd be all, "Are you seriously interrupting me at work to interview me for your blog? Are you telling me that's what you're doing? Please don't let that be why you're calling me." Steve is a big fan of the rhetorical question.
So I read on one of the gossip blogs that Bradley Cooper might have a case of the grumpies because his new film, The A-Team didn't do so hot at the box office. My question is, why does Hollywood keep remaking classics that nobody asked to have remade, and then get all fussy when nobody buys tickets to see their crapfest? Seriously, which one of you wrote a letter to Santa asking for the TV show The A-Team to be re-imagined in modern times with a new cast of characters? It wasn't me. I'm still waiting for them to remake The Facts of Life. And "I pity the fool" who tries to remake The A-Team without a bejeweled thumbs up from Mr. T. For the record, Mr. T hates the new A-Team movie.
I could riff on this topic for a few more paragraphs, but why? My point has been made. Carry on.