Desperate Working Mommas

New Digs. No, seriously.

2006-07-24T20:04:00.000-06:00

Okay. I am so over Blogger, y'all, I tell you what. Come and see me at www.desperateworkingmomma.com, mm'kay? It's a work in progress-- oh, my my my, yes it is-- but it's home.

Come on. It'll be fun. Pinky promise.

There may even be treats. I'm just saying.

I LOVES me some Ryan Seacrest! (But I HATE Verizon. A whole LOT.)

2006-07-21T08:27:00.000-06:00

Okay, so the internet is out at my house... again... and it is my off-day at work (wooHOO!) so I had to jostle and bite my way to the front of the line of way elderly library patrons this morning in order to score a computer. Seriously. Never underestimate the power of small and sassy. Those poor old suckers never had a chance. I mean, kick a few canes and you're in bidness, that's all I'm saying. Note it.

Okay, I didn't really. But I imagined I did, so I'm clearly the most awful person ever anyway, all right?! Are you happy now?! GOSH!

So... I was on TV. Me. And Ryan Seacrest. On TV. Together. E! Network, baby! I SAW it! Ryan said I have "natural talent." Ryan said my silly video was "very good." Ryan was "impressed." BOOYAH! How surreal is THAT?! I know, right?! Ryan and I are, like, total BFF's now. For reals. Me and my wee Ryan...

(*shakes head affectionately*)

So, in order to show my new BFF Ryan and the folks at E! that I am clearly the most perfect candidate for the Emmy Red Carpet with Ryan Seacrest Extravaganza Rama-Lama-Bing-Bang, I have decided to make a brand-spanking new video. See, next Thursday is my birthday, right? RIGHT?! And remember how last year I scored those free tickets to the American Idol concert in DC? Do ya?! Well, this year, I've decided I am going to have to top that kickass birthday experience with something absolutely SQUEEworthy, so I have decided that I am totally going to take the plunge... I'm going trapezing.

WOO!

I'll be soooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarin'! Flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyin'! There's not a star in heaven that--

Good lord. I have GOT to nip my High School Musical obsession in the BUD, I tell you what. It's a sickness, y'all. A SICKNESS! But they're so CUTE! And the music is so CATCHY! Shut up! It's true! It is! I don't care!

And I am clearly insane.

Hmmm... Okay, now to get into the swing of things before next Thursday (get it?! "swing"?! HA! I kill myself, I really do...) all I need are some hard-hitting trapeze interview questions.

(*rushes off to brainstorm and quite possibly watch self on TV with BFF... again*)

Okay, just BREATHE...

2006-07-20T10:14:00.000-06:00

OMG, y'all! O! M! G!

Is it true?! Is it?! Did Ryan FREAKING Seacreast introduce me and my insane little video clip last night on E!?! Did he?! Like, me?! On TV and e'rything?! With my wee Ryan?! Kind of?! And nobody TOLD me?! So I totally MISSED it?! Really?!

Well.

RUDE.

Oh, dear God. I think I'm going to pass out...

Sorry! Sorry!

2006-07-20T09:29:00.000-06:00

Okay, still having technical difficulties... all y'all didn't think I'd let a little thing like adulthood computer programming illiteracy stop me from creating a whole new website, now did you? Aw, you guys are cute.

I am currently playing with Wordpress... I should have a new site installed soon! (The .Mac one is way CUTE, but not at all manageable... completely high maintenance! I will be going along a more minimalist route shortly... and totally organizing and archiving all my American Idol recaps from the last two seasons into their very own categories! Eh? EH?! I know, right? SWEET.)

Until then! Click here for .Mac site

People Who Suck

2006-07-13T05:45:00.000-06:00

(DISCLAIMER: Mentally composed during a meeting of such excruciating boredom that I had to keep myself from nodding off and drooling all over the gentleman sitting next to me by internally ranting about perceived slights to actors that I do not even know and never will know, which is really quite sad really. We'd all totally be BFFs, I just know it.)

The Emmy committee. Not only was my favorite PI-playing girl Kristen Bell snubbed-- again-- but for the sixth straight year Lauren Graham was shut out. I know, right?! No Veronica Mars and no Lorelei Gilmore?! My mind? Blown! Honestly. How is this even possible? These ladies are phenomenal actors, and anyone who is anyone knows this. Granted, I do realize that historically actors from the netlets have had a difficult road to the Emmy ballot, but this year was supposed to be different, right? It was supposed to be the year of the netlets, right?! The year of the underdogs who are passed over every year because no one can believe there is actual quality broadcasting on UPN or the WB. But nooooooooo. We get actors such as Stockard Channing and Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Geena Davis and their shows were frickin' cancelled. That's right! Cancelled! The mind boggles.

Oh, and don't even get me started on the temerity, the insolence!, of leaving Hugh Laurie of House off the ballot. Are you fricking kidding me, Emmy committee people?! Do you even WATCH television? Hugh Laurie carries that show on his back! He's amazing! And where are Jim and Pam?! Huh?! And Earl? Where's EARL?! I mean, I know Jason Lee's a freaky Scientologist who named his firstborn child Pilot Inspektor Riesgraf Lee, but STILL! Funny?! And he skateboards, too! Not that it has anything to do with his acting skills, but seriously, dude's a professional sk8tr. I'm not even kidding. Rock on, Earl Hickey. Rock on.

No. We get Charlie Sheen and his dad. Brr! And Kevin James? From King of Queens? SERIOUSLY?! Que horror! Excuse me. I need to go throw up now.

Hey. On the bright side at least Emmy night is three plus hours of my life I won't be wasting lost in thrall to inane television broadcasting, I tell you what. No sir. I'll probably just read a book. Or write one! Yes! I'll write a book! And never believe in the Emmy process again! Ha! That'll learn 'em.

Damn.

Things that make you go "HA!"

2006-07-11T08:44:00.000-06:00

"Six words: Will Ferrell as a Nascar driver."

This was purportedly the pitch to the studios for Will Ferrell's newest cinematic vehicle Talladega Nights: the Ballad of Ricky Bobby. (Heh. Vehicle. Get it? "Vehicle"?! As in a medium through which something is transmitted, expressed, or accomplished? But also an actual vehicle that one can drive?! Because... NASCAR?!... Wait. I ruined it, didn't I? Damn my tendency to overexplain!)

By the trailer-- which I saw before Superman Returns (Superman! *sigh*)-- many of the scenes look highly improvised-- like one big SNL skit, but better-- by hilarious people who are at their best when they are given free rein. Case in point: Ricky Bobby (Ferrell), after a fiery crash on the track, is running around in nothing but his undies and his helmet screaming that he is on fire. Of course, he isn't on fire, and his crew keeps trying to explain this to him, but he's hysterical. And dude, nothing's funnier than Will Ferrell when he's hysterical:

Ricky Bobby (still running around in a panic): Help me, Jesus! Help me, Jewish God! Help me, Tom Cruise! Tom Cruise, use your witchcraft to get the fire off me!

Seriously, that scene struck me so funny that I laugh every time I think about it. Hee. (See?!) Plus, mocking Tom Cruise is always funny. Because he is way short and beyond strange and attacks innocent furniture and has Katie Holmes and her baby held prisoner in his freaky Scientological compound and must totally die? (Joshua Jackson, where ARE YOU?! Joshua! JOSH! Save them! PAAAACEEEEY!) Seriously, I think that scene has ingratiated itself into my comedic vault, right up there with Ferrell as Gene Frenkle of the Blue Oyster Cult playing that damn cowbell during (Don't Fear) the Reaper. I know, right? That's really saying something! Right?! RIGHT?!

Okay, it's really not. I'm easily amused. It's just a cross I bear, y'all.

But still! FUNNY. But don't take my word for it. I mean, I can't handle that kind of responsibility, I just can't. See for yourself, if you feel so inclined. Go on, do it. Do it. Do it. Do it!... Do it.

That being said, I probably won't see the actual movie (but I might). Hello? The end product is never as funny as the sum of its parts, or the parts of its whole (except when it is), or something to that effect, but whatever! My point is Aristotle be damned! I cannot in good conscience pay money to see this movie (unless I change my mind)! I mean, come on. Will Ferrell as a Nascar driver? Really? REALLY?! Good LORD, people... Say it with me now: What were they thinking?!

Lost in Translation. Again.

2006-07-10T11:10:00.000-06:00

I was reading an entertainment forum on the internet the other day when I came across an argument going on between several commenters stemming from a (written) conversation which looked something like this:

1st commenter: I guess I'm part of the 1% that doesn't agree.
2nd commenter: Yeah, there's always someone tasteless...j/k.

The 1st commenter took offense to this "tasteless" remark (witness me exhibiting admirable restraint by not pointing out the witty pun at work here-- aw damn it) which started a flurry of responses from others helpfully explaining to the silly, silly 1st commenter that duh, j/k means just kidding!

The thing is... have you ever noticed that when a person uses the phrase "Just kidding!" after saying something which could conceivably be termed rude or improper, much of the time said person is totally not? Kidding, that is? Not at all?

For instance, when someone does something stupid and is all, "Man! That was stupid!" and I say, "Hell yeah it was stupid!... just kidding," or "That's okay. You can't help that you're an idiot... just kidding!" I'm really not kidding. Because, for reals, it was a totally stupid thing to do.

Or say for example that same someone is trying to explain to me why I need to be more careful about how I load the spoons into the dishwasher in order to achieve maximum cleanliness and shine and I blurt out, "GAH! I don't care!... Oh, just kidding, continue..." I am totally not kidding. Because honestly.

Or when I see someone standing in my kitchen eating Ben and Jerry's Everything But The... straight from the carton and say to that someone, "Man, wish I could eat an entire carton of ice cream with no thought whatsoever of anyone else who may want some... just kidding!" well, I'm not really kidding. Because I really wish I could. And this wish obviously will never come to fruition because that someone standing in the kitchen is totally eating all the frickin' ice cream.

I call it the classic "just kidding!" retreat. It's the perfect strategy to say exactly what you mean-- good manners be damned!-- without any negative fallout. Because, dude, you were "just kidding." Right? Being all ironical and stuff! Come on! Loosen up!

But come on. A gratuitous "just kidding" (or the written equivalent: the *shrug* or smiley face) won't always take the edge off of "You are a big stupid-head with no taste because you have a different opinion than me." Nope. The way I see it, when a comment (especially in writing) is derogatory or satirical in nature, you can usually assume that a person has a very good chance of taking those words at face value, no matter how many smiley faces follow. And this can lead to "Shut up, you big meanie!" and quite possibly fisticuffs which is why you should never, EVER give out your address over the internet. Because, you see, verbal irony is very often lost in translation. That is why, in my humble opinion, unless you are prepared to stand your ground in the aftermath of remarks of extraordinary rudeness, it is best to just say what you mean (or if it is insulting... not).

Well, unless you are a big rude dummyhead and think that nobody is smart enough to realize that you are employing the classic "just kidding!" retreat, which HA! I am totally on to you, sucker! In which case, I wish I could be as clueless as you.

Just kidding.

Looks like I'm getting some new digs...

2006-07-08T11:12:00.000-06:00

OMG!
O! M! G!
Oh! My! GOSH!

*deep breath*

So I am in the midst of a huge life change. For reals. Like, earth-shattering. I am MOVING... my blog to my own domain! Woo-HOO! I'm moving on up to www.desperateworkingmomma.com (note the lack of plural momma-- no S). Now if I weren't so freaking technologically challenged, I'd know how to export all my Blogger archives to my new site (which is actually an iWeb creation). But clearly I am freaking technologically challenged and I have no idea what I'm doing and I don't want to accidentally delete my hundreds and hundreds of archived posts so I haven't exported all my archives from Blogger and my site is a mere shell of a blog but what can you do?

You can obsess about it for days on end, that's what.

*deep breath*

Do you see what TGIM has been living with for the past few days?! DO YOU?! Picture this:

SCENE: Cat following TGIM around the house, madly typing random stuff that she clearly doesn't understand into her laptop:

"Oh LORD! I think I just lost my posts! Oh MY... never mind. There they are. My bad... HEY! Look at this wicked cool page I made! Look! LOOK! HEY! Are you LOOKING?!... Should I post this picture? I think I should post this picture. Do you think this is a good picture to post? Because if you do I will totally post it... What the hell is an FTP?!... Ooooh! The links are working! The links are working!... I need a donut. Are you hungry for a donut? Because I could totally go for one, you know? MMM! Cinnamon!... I just posted a movie to my Movie Page! BOOYAH! Hey, I don't freaking care if you don't want me to post it! You look cute in it and it's going UP! Yes-HUH!"

Yeah. I'm that much of a spazz right now.

Honestly. It's a mercy he hasn't duct-taped my mouth shut and locked me in the hall closet until I get it all out of my system. Which is a good thing as this obsession will probably last for several more days and I'd get wicked hungry after a while, yo?

Anyhoos, feel free to roam around my new site which is totally not in any way shape or form a finished product. But I did create my first Cat-on-the-Street video and post it, so there's always that to watch and mock because, you know, I am ridiculously insane.

*runs off to figure out what the hell FTP is*

Decisions, decisions, decisions...

2006-07-06T13:32:00.000-06:00

So... I'm toying with the idea of starting a weekly (twice a month? monthly?) video podcast. I know, right?! Is it possible that I've gone completely insane? Seriously. See, I have this little Mac Powerbook and I've been slowly unlocking the mysteries of the Mac world (being a Mac convert and all) and I'm learning all about GarageBand and other cool stuff and my good friend who is, like, totally a big ol' podcaster (http://www.mommycast.com/) has been, oh, let's say encouraging me (read: hounding me day and night, for reals!) to jump into the exciting world of podcasting! Now, as I loathe my recorded voice with the burning passion of ten thousand suns-- because of the "I'm Twelveness"?-- I find that it isn't so bad when my face is attached to it. I don't know why. Weird, huh? It's inexplicable.

Now here's the thing: This jump into scary video podcasting waters would mean investing in microphones and cameras and tripods and batteries and updated software and my own Desperate Working Mommas domain and... and... and lots of other way important, possibly expensive stuff! Stuff that my children would break in a heartbeat if they were anywhere near it! So I must weigh this out carefully in my mind.

Good LORD! The agony of indecision!

But seriously? I think I am totally going to do it. Well, once I figure out how the hell all this stuff works, naturally. It could be a while. I am SO not even joking. Podcasting is hard, yo?

But still! Exciting!

Although I think my videos would be more like Cat-on-the-Street-casts, and I don't even know if that is technically "video podcasting." It could just be "acting the fool." Whatever.

Anyhoos, video podcasting... (*shakes head ruefully*) What will they think of next? TV shows we can watch on our iPods?! Ha! I know, right? Silly Cat. As if.

Alanis Morissette, honey? Pay attention.

2006-07-03T19:12:00.000-06:00

As I handed my DVD sale and checkout impulse buy to the Tower Records Cashier Dude, he raised his eyebrow at me.

Judging me.

"Tae Bo and a Twix!" I said overbrightly. Then, "Yeah. I'm aware of the irony."

I could still hear him laughing as I walked out the door.

Yep. He's SO on my laminated list.

2006-07-01T17:39:00.000-06:00

Holy mother of heaven is he PRETTY. Rrrrawr!

That is all.

Confessions of a Desperate Working Momma

2006-06-30T08:39:00.000-06:00

Sometimes during staff meetings, words tend to run through my mental sieve unheeded as I daydream about the yummy waffles I ate that morning or ponder why I always giggle and think of boobs when someone says "cahoots" or wonder why it is that a mile is exactly 5,280 feet because seriously, what is up with that?

I don't think Fun Size candy bars are fun at all.

I don't know why it is, but I can't help but sing. I'm a singing fool. Pretty much wherever I am, if a song I like is pounding across the airwaves, I will sing along. In my car, in the elevator, in American Eagle, at the doctor's office, while I'm jogging (especially while I'm jogging), wherever. In all honesty, there doesn't even have to be a song playing. I'm like that kid in About a Boy who burst out singing "Killing Me Softly With His Song" during math class, except, well, I'm not British, or a child, and I dress MUCH better. And sing better. And I'm not a geek. (TGIM, shut up!) Wait. What was my point again? Oh yes! I sometimes burst into song with no provocation whatsoever. To my chagrin, my colleagues will ofttimes tease me mercilessly when I break into a rousing chorus of Todd Rundgrens "Bang the Drum All Day" (my spontaneous song choices are often thematic in nature), but hey, someone needs to liven up those staff meetings, I tell you what. Honestly, it's a hardship for TGIM, but he powers through. But my most favoritest place to sing evah is in my very own bathroom because hello? mirror? and hairbrush? I mean really. If I can't SEE the choreography how will I know which dance moves make me look the coolest? Think about it. And everyone knows a solid vocal performance of Captain and Tenille's "Love Will Keep Us Together" is simply not as convincing without a mic. I mean, obviously.

I've been tempted on more than one occasion to set up a "Valet Parking: $5 (Tips Appreciated)" sign in front of Wal-Mart. Because I'm betting that would be good money, right there.

Sometimes in the night when I'm all alone in my home, I hear noises and get a little freaked out, so I grab a bat (or something equally smackdown-worthy; a tennis racquet will do in a pinch) and tiptoe from room to room, bat aloft, swiftly throwing open closet doors, letting loose with an ear-piercing "AAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEGH!", and swinging that bat with all I've got. This is called aerobic exercise and is very good for my fast twitch muscle fibers AND my heart.... once the violent heart palpitations stop pounding at three times the rate of my normal cardiac cycle, naturally. I don't recommend this particular brand of personal home security for the faint-of-heart, however. Tachycardia is nobody's friend.

I have a new obsession. It's a good one.

2006-06-29T09:27:00.001-06:00

(DISCLAIMER: Just so we're clear, I have never watched Sex and the City in my life, so don't even go there or I will freaking CUT YOU. I'm not even kidding.... What?! A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend. [tm Willow Rosenberg of BTVS])

For several years now I have had a secret desire to do something that some people may call crazy. No, not bungee jumping... I've already done that. No, not rappelling a cliff wall, hundreds of feet in the air... I've done that, too. Skydiving? Pshaw! Been there! Cliff-diving? Train trestling? Driving down a highway in the dead of night at top speeds with my headlights off? Did it, did it, totally did it... unless my momma is reading this in which case I absolutely did NOT do that last one because how freaking stupid would a person have to be to go screaming down Williamson Valley Road with a carload of (totally sober) sixteen-year-olds with her headlights off even if she was totally sober (hand to God!) and even if she did have her hazard lights on so she could clearly see every few seconds anyway so it really was wasn't as bad as it sounds and I was only SIXTEEN and whose dumb idea was it to let sixteen-year-olds have licenses to drive ANYWAY?! HUH?! Because hello?! Let me introduce you to DUH!

Seriously. I blame the government.

Anyhoos, in all honesty, I don't know why I crave these things. I don't know if it's the speed, the danger, the physical exertion, or even the sheer awesomeness of spectacular stunting. I just always... have. Craved them, that is.

I was the kid who saw the couch not as a place to sit, but as an obstacle to flip over. Or as a springboard for flipping over other *inanimate objects in the room. (*I learned early that you don't want to try flipping over things that, you know, MOVE. Let that be a lesson to us all.)

I was the kid who would suddenly be overcome by a burst of exhilaration while running across the neighbors' lawn which usually resulted in the execution of some sort of crazy, airborne somersault, with no idea how to land it but a willful determination to get 'er done, by damn! I mean, why run when you can fly?

I was the kid who defied the lifeguards at the public pool when they told me to get in the shallow end because I was too little to jump off the high dive. I was all, "Aw, hell no! I've been swimming since I was two, biznitches!" But it sounded more like, "No I'm not!" because seriously I was like five and who says "biznitch" when she's five? And then I jumped and swam away very fast and they decided I was big enough after all.

I was the kid who took sharp turns on her bicycle while riding with no hands and no shoes on a gravelly city street... which actually turned out quite badly, what with the crashing and the gaping wound and the infected toe and the blood poisoning and all, so forget I mentioned that one. But you get the picture.

Some would say, "Damn, girl. What up? You have a death wish or something?" But truthfully, I don't think the powerful rush I experience when I do these things is based on some sort feeling that I somehow cheated death. Because I'm not afraid of eluding life. However, I find that I'm vastly afraid of life eluding me. Which made sense in my head, but now... maybe... not so much? I think I do these things not to prove to the world that I am brave or strong-- because, duh! I rock solid!-- but to prove to myself that I am alive. And in control. And way cool, junior.

Because there's nothing like spitting in the eye of the blood-rushing, gut-wrenching fear that bulldozes you as you ascend in a crane to a height equivalent to a 14-story building with nothing but a few flimsy bungee cords between you and the pavement below where you can barely make out the ant-like shapes of your friends shouting things you can't quite hear because all sound faded out about eight stories ago and there is nothing but you, the wind, and the guy counting down from ten... nine... eight... (I'm going to die)... seven... six... (I'm clearly insane)... five... four... three... (Uuuh! No! I have to pee!)... two... one... (pleaseGodhelpmeohGodI'mdying)... GERONIMO! (aiiiiiiaiaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiighhhhhhhhhaaaarrrrrrrrg!... Oh yeah! WOOOOO!!!)

Hi, for those of you just tuning in, Cat is a crazy person.

And now? Guys? There's this new obsession that I am just so, SO excited about! Something I've always wanted to do but I always thought I had to travel to New York City to do it, and I've just never made it over there. And now I discover that they have a place to do it in Baltimore... right down at the Harbor, even. And Baltimore is not far away at ALL. How perfect is that? And it's not even very expensive and it is so much safer than skydiving, which is cool because there is a good chance I traumatized my children for life by flinging myself out of a perfectly good airplane as they looked on. Yep.

So guys? GUYS?! Guess what?! Just guess!

Okay, I'll tell you. This summer? At some point? Before the kids come home? I'm going to Trapeze School. I know, right?! "I'll be sooooooaaaaaarin'... flyyyyyyyyyin'..." (Oooh! Damn you High School Musical! Get out of my head!) And I shall fly through the air with the greatest of ease... and totally kick gravity's ASS.

BOOYAH.

In other news I watched The Producers last night and it was WAY funny. Just thought I'd share.

What they do when the momma's away.

2006-06-28T11:01:00.000-06:00

O. M. G. What the hell was TGIM thinking?! Look at these cliffs! Look at MY CHILDREN! And their COUSINS! Honestly! I CANNOT BELIEVE they did this...

...hiking in... Note use of Big Sticks to keep wild animals (and any cousins attempting to pass to the front) at bay...

...diving from big big big high rocks-- Geronimo!...

...daredeviling it up!...

(Wow. Good form, Tanner)

... and fishing (a much better use of Big Sticks I'd have to say)...

...all THIS... this... this CRAZINESS!... without ME!!!

Man. I seriously miss all the fun. And I'm the one who discovered the joys of cliff-diving at Sycamore Canyon in the first place! (except I'd actually be DIVING, but we can't all be as cool as me. I'm just saying.) Meanies.

*jealous*

The question ISN'T...

2006-06-27T13:23:00.000-06:00

"Why was Rush Limbaugh in possession of a bottle of Viagra that was not prescribed to him?" Oh no. The question should be, "Good lord! Who the hell is hittin' that?!"

I'm just saying.

I wish I could break free.

2006-06-26T07:38:00.000-06:00

So here's the thing... about a month ago, after a heartfelt explanatory treatise on the general kickassiness of the musical Grease-- despite the frequent sexual innuendo and the puerile tawdriness and the underlying message that compromising your value system in order to win your guy is a GOOD idea-- my good blogger friend Charlotte recommended that my kids and I check out something called High School Musical. "Nothing objectionable there," she wrote. "Well, except for the overt cheesiness. But it's kind of endearing."

Now, Charlotte's a good gal and totally cool so I took her advice to heart. But I tell you what, getting my hands on that movie was like trying to get my hands on Jason Dohring's tight, sexy abs... impossible. (What?!) Seriously. Every time I went to Blockbuster all fifty of their copies would be checked out and people were obviously NOT bringing them back because I'd ASK and the teen at the counter would be all, "People aren't bringing them back"-- which, see? So every time I'd check, I'd get near the H section and see the DVD covers and get all excited and rush over, only to be disappointed when all I'd see were those cardboard cutouts of the DVD cases that stand behind all the movies, and I'd see the smiling, happy kids on the fake front cover silently mocking me, all "Psyche! You thought we were in, but we're totally not! HA!" I mean really. Allow me to say rude.

Anyhoo, I finally had to put the movie in my queue at Blockbuster.com-- which smacked of capitulation, but seriously, what else could I do?-- and lo and behold, that sucker came just in time for TGIM's birthday. Which he obviously wasn't all that thrilled about, but hey, his birthday isn't all about him, now is it? Some people can be so self-centered. I'm just saying. So we ordered pizza and the kids made a birthday cake and we popped popcorn and invited a friend and her daughter to come over and watch the movie with us and it was just a whole big thing. And despite the fact that there were two Movie Talkers of the Obnoxious Question-Asker variety, and one little Drama Queen who kept jumping up in front of the television to dance and sing along (not my Drama Queen, amazingly, it was my friend's Drama Queen, but it goes without saying that it would have been mine also had she already seen the movie), let me just say, High School Musical equals Good Times For All. For reals. Good stuff.

So I simply wanted say... thanks a WHOLE LOT, Charlotte! I cannot get the damn songs from High School Musical out of my head! Gosh! So I had to go and buy the video, naturally. Er, and download the soundtrack. And now I'm sitting here at work and I Gotta Get My, Get My Head In The Game because those fruit fly regulations aren't going to consolidate themselves, but in my mind I'm all, "We're soarin'! Flyin'! There's not a star in heaven we can't reach!" I am embarrassed to admit-- but a little proud, too! mostly embarrassed, though-- that I now know the entire Bop to the Top song and dance number by heart. Because I may or may not have spent one or several hours yesterday afternoon pausing and rewinding the dance tutorial in the Bonus Features until I had it down solid. This is called aerobic exercise and is SUPER good for your heart. Plus the song is very catchy. "Ai ai ai ai! Quieres bailar? Mira me!" My favorite part is "...kickin' and scratchin', grinding out my best..." because I adore the little hip action she breaks out to "grinding out my best." Seriously. Way. Cute. I'm just glad all those salsa moves I learned from Dirty Dancing have finally come in handy.

Now I don't mean to knock Grease, because hello? still love it? but High School Musical is made up of actual teenagers (who, by the way, are just the cutest things!), has a much nicer, kid-friendly message to impart, and to top it all off features some admittedly zingy music and fancy footwork. Plus in the Bonus Features there's this way cool Sing-Along feature and when you turn it on it's like this whole big karaoke experience... while you're watching the movie! Right in you very own living room! Not that I've done that or anything because clearly it's for the children. Duh.

I've already called Grandma Sue in Podunky Small Town Arizona and have urged her to buy her own copy of the movie so my children can become truly obsessed with it (this summer's Phantom of the Opera, if you will) and learn all the lyrics and dance moves and when they come home at the end of the summer we can have friends over and dance and sing together (because I'm a totally unrepentant musical theater geek and there's no reforming me) and it will be this whole big thing.

Hey... check it out. It appears that in writing about the movie I have effectively purged my mind of the songs which have been running over and over and over in my head. Now I can finally settle down and do my --

-- We're gonna bop bop bop! Bop to the top! Slip and slide and ride that rhythm!...

*sigh*

Damn.

I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry

2006-06-23T10:18:00.000-06:00

The kiddos left last night for their annual Podunky Small Town AZ summer with the grandparents. Let me tell you, TGIM was absolutely thrilled when their flight was delayed two hours. Yep. They didn't make it in to Phoenix until 1 o'clock in the AM. Which, as you well know, is equivalent to 4 o'clock in the AM for our three cranky, overtired, east coast chillins! They are SO going to be the children from hell today. I'm not going to lie to you... it won't be pretty. Aaaaah, good times, y'all. Good times. Poor TGIM...

But whatever. Dorks are at a kick-ass waterpark in Phoenix RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND! (*jealous*) A WATERPARK! With slides called The Cyclone and Twister! FUN in the SUN! Without ME! The MOMMA!

Well that's just rude.

I miss 'em already.

*sigh*

Conversation over Appetizers at Staff Luncheon

2006-06-22T13:43:00.000-06:00

There I was, smack dab between two colleagues, busily engaged in an animated discussion about recent movies we had seen.

"The last movie I saw? Um, oh, yeah, it was X-Men 3: The Last Stand," said Tom (all names have been changed to protect... well, me.)

"Me, too!" I piped in.

Katie asked, "So how'd you like it? I was disappointed in X-3, myself. It was nothing like the comic books."

"I liked it," I said. "I mean, the special effects alone... But I've never read the comics, so... yeah."

Not to be outdone, Tom added his two cents: "Well, what bothered me was that the first two X-Men movies had this great subtext of nonconformity and minority discrimination, whereas X3 pushed that all aside and focused more on a mutant cure. And the whole cure thing just didn't work as a parallel for me because mutants-- who have powers and could conceivable be a threat to society-- had the choice to become 'normal,' whereas, say, Jews in WWII-- who were not a threat to anyone-- never had a choice to conform. It wasn't like they could just take a pill and stop being Jewish."

Okay, so maybe it was more like ten cents. Or twenty, perhaps. Fine, let's say he added his two hundred and forty-two cents and call it good, mm'kay? Geez. What an overachiever.

Anyway, I was still trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about when Katie nodded in solemn agreement and said, "You know, in the comics not all mutants had superpowers. Some were just different colors, but in the movie they were all superheroes. And don't even get me started on the Phoenix--

The Phoenix?! YES!

"Oooh! Oooh! I totally loved The Dark Phoenix! Man, Jean Grey looked WICKED COOL! With the flaming hair?! And the uber superpowers?! Because Famke Janssen?..." I whistled appreciatively. "WOW. She looked amazing, right? Right? DAAAYUM."

Tom and Katie stared at me. Which... rude?

"Well, she did."

Our food came then, and the conversation drifted to a classical music concert Tom had recently attended. Which was too bad, honestly, because I was just about to launch into my spiel-- which is simply brilliant, if I do say so myself, like Buffy brilliant!-- on how exactly Rogue could have worked around the whole sucks-the-life-out-of-anything-she-touches thing so she could totally get it freaking ON with Iceman without giving up her mutant powers.

Eh. Maybe next time.

Seriously. How do I not fall down more often?

2006-06-21T13:34:00.000-06:00

I am currently enamored with the word "tawdry." It just rolls off the tongue. Tawdry. Taaaaawdreeeee. You see? Unfortunately it has proved surprisingly troublesome to fit the word into everyday conversation in the workplace, which is totally strange because, you know, government? federal? hello tawdriness? So when I actually come across an opportunity to drawl "taaaaawrdry" while employing Joey Tribiani's trademark soap opera "I have a fishhook in my eyebrow and I like it" look, I just go for it. Lately, however, I have found myself so wrapped up in attempting to weave the conversation to a point where I can throw "tawdry" into the mix that I totally lose the thread of the conversation and end up missing my opportunity. Plus, I end up with no idea what the hell anyone is talking about. This is apparently "bad manners." And annoying.

It is entirely possible, in fact, that at our last staff meeting I volunteered to take on the next extraordinarily difficult, time-consuming docket coming our way because when asked if anyone wanted to tackle it, I may have expressed an interest due to the tawdry nature of the topic. I don't know for sure. It's all a blur now. But I believe my exact words may have been, "I'll take it. I like [topic]. It's taaaaawdry." Good lord. An extraordinarily difficult, time-consuming docket and tawdry topic equals... well, it equals something decidedly not good, of this I am sure. This is obviously "bad news." And annoying.

Clearly it's time for me to pick a new favorite word. Perhaps something a tad easier to integrate into any standard office conversation...

I'm thinking "misanthrope."

Little Things I Love About You: Birthday Edition

2006-06-20T18:47:00.000-06:00

That you blushed like a girlie-girl today when our waitress and the entire staff of T.G.I. Fridays commanded the attention of all the diners in the restaurant and proceeded to sing in clapping cadence, "I don't know what you've been told!... But someone here is getting old!" And I also love that you totally shared the free yummy birthday sundae they brought you which was absolutely free and for which we did not pay one red cent because they didn't charge us and it was totally free. Because it's your birthday, yo.

That you say things like "Woo! Hot mama!" and "HEY! You're plumb naked!" when I step out of the shower and then proceed to do your Happy, Happy, Hurray For Yay! dance.

That even though you pretend to be humoring me, all "Okay, okay, whatever, I'll watch Buffy with you tonight," or "Fine, we can watch the season finale of Veronica Mars again, but just one episode and then it's all about Sports Center..." I know you will end up spending hours watching all four episodes on the disk or flipping through the special features with me because you totally love Buffy and Veronica almost as much as I do. Which is a whole lot... you know, because Girl Power?

That even though you claim to hate cats (because you're a Dog Man, dammit! Cats are for sissies!), when there are kittens around and I suddenly realize I haven't seen you in a while, and everyone is all, "What happened to TGYM?", I have often found you hiding in a corner somewhere cuddling with the kittens, stroking their fur, and cooing softly at them. Which is the sexiest thing EVER. And also... aaaw! Cute.

That you get really, really excited when you talk on your cell phone and forget that this is the 21st century and you don't actually have to "speak up," so you talk really super loud and the person on the other end (usually one of your brothers) ends up modulating his voice proportionally to yours, thus spurring you to speak even louder, so eventually anyone within a hundred square yards could conceivably pass a pop quiz covering how much money you dropped on the the new pair of northern Virginia square-toed oxfords you bought totally on sale ($59 marked down from $175! SCORE!) or how often your wife has taken a turn doing the laundry in the past month (once!... what?!), which is more endearing than annoying, most of the time, because how cute is that? But still? Kind of annoying. But mostly endearing!

That due to my complete inability to take a joke, you have directed all your prankish ways toward our children who seem able to take it much better than I, but hey, that could simply be wishful thinking. They will in fact most likely need buttloads of therapy when they grow up in order to work through their Daddy Issues and their complete inability to take a joke. GOSH.

That when a HUGE glass of Dr. Pepper was knocked over during your birthday lunch at T.G.I. Fridays and the mess was so devastating that we had to switch tables, when the waitress came bustling out apologizing for the tall glasses of soda the new hostess had mistakenly brought for the children and handed my youngest a fresh Dr. Pepper in a child's cup complete with lid and bendy straw, you actually restrained yourself from gleefully informing the waitress and all others in the vicinity that it was in fact your clutzy wife who caused the whole commotion, which took enormous force of will, I am sure. It's quite possible you pulled something from the strain of holding it all in. Hey, in my defense, there were too many damn things in the middle of that table. It was like a freaking obstacle course to get to the chips and salsa, okay?! Not to mention that those glasses are super tall and have a way smaller circumference at the bottom in relation to the top, clealy a design flaw defying several laws of physics. Totally an accident waiting to happen, that's all I'm saying. Honestly. What's that about? Good lord.

That you are an extraordinarily loving and involved father to three of the most precious people in my life. They (and I) are lucky to have you.

I love you, gorgeous. Happy birthday.

I shall have nightmares.

2006-06-17T20:26:00.000-06:00

I'm sleeping in my in-laws' guest bedroom tonight...

Honestly. What in the world was my MIL thinking? You see? Do you? THIS is what happens when one's buttinski sister-in-law tells TGIM's mother that she doesn't use enough red in her paintings. Well thanks a whole lot, Aria! GOSH.

The room, guys. The room. It is TOO. FRICKIN'. LOUD.

Shut up, room! Some of us are trying to get some sleep.

Wedding Weekend Rama Lama Bing Bang Extravaganza!

2006-06-17T17:50:00.000-06:00

Wow. Arizona is all desert-like and shizz. Brown. Desolate. Hot. For reals. There are cacti, people. CACTI. I'm not even kidding.

*sigh*

Is it weird that I miss that?

So I'm digging the fact that I was able to get my bum on a plane and fly back to AZ this weekend for my big sister's Wedding Weekend Rama Lama Bing Bang Extravaganza!

I adore this picture of me and my two sisters not just because we are like totally cute and stuff in it but because just over my left shoulder my silly, silly niece is captured mid-jump, stone-cold busted in her valiant yet doomed attempt to jump high enough to bunny-ear her mother. Which... ha?

Okay, okay. I cannot in good conscience allow anyone to infer that my sister is capable of the utter geekiness involved in naming this oh-so-special weekend in such a ridiculous manner. Okay, I lied, she is absolutely geeky enough, but that is beside the point. Because "Wedding Weekend Rama Lama Bing Bang Extravaganza"? That's all mine, baby.

Good LORD, girls. This is for POSTERITY. And hee. My nieces crack me right up.

Aaaaw (and I mean this...) CUTE. Honestly. How cute are the happy couple? Huh?! So, SOOOOO cute, that's how much!

We are clearly giddy here. She's totally like, "nakednakednaked...mehimnaked...sexnaked...heeheeheehee...NAKED!..." and I'm all, "Now, Kim, when two people love each other VERY much..."

Congrats, my sistah. You found yourself a winner! Now go have lots of the sex, yo?

That Summer Feeling

2006-06-15T07:57:00.000-06:00

You know that feeling you get? You know, the one when you just KNOW that summer has finally arrived and then there's that happy, jittery feeling in your tummy and you know if you take a deep enough breath you could actually smell the tropical, coconutty tang of Coppertone sunscreen mixed with the heady, suffocating yet oddly enticing smell of chlorine? Do you know it?

Hallelujah. Summer's here.

Top 5 Things I Learned from My Agency Administrator at our Biennial Town Hall Meeting

2006-06-13T08:15:00.000-06:00

1) Shouting "Down in front!" at the freaking tall people who crowd right in front of you even though they can clearly see that you are too short to see anything over their big ass noggins is frowned upon in Biennial Town Hall Meetings with the Agency Administrator. Ditto "Oi! You make a better wall than a window, dude!"

2) Baby boomers know how to give good phone. Note it.

3) Standing Room Only is no fun at all. Always find a wall on which to lean. Don't be shy. Crowd those wall hoggers. They don't own the wall. Tell them so if necessary.

4) Spray-on tans look reeeeally creepy on women's feet. For reals. That ain't right.

5) Hello?! Sloppy dress equals sloppy work? Leave the jogging suits and beach sandals at home, GOSH! (Note to self: change out of flip-flops when get back to cube.)

Au revoir, water cooler buddies. Au revoir.

2006-06-12T10:52:00.000-06:00

It's a shame, really. My interpersonal relationships-- especially at work-- have suffered a most debilitating blow. You see, in our increasingly insular national culture (what with the globalization of the internet, cell phones, telework, and the undermining of indigenous cuisines by forcing a homogenization of world dietary preferences-- and yes I'm looking at YOU, McDonald's), network television remains one of the last positive vestiges of a more intimate, close-knit time, and as such is the only topic of increasingly infrequent moments during which I am forced-- I mean, given the opportunity-- to actually speak to people. You know, face to face?

So now that Taylor Hicks has successfully spazzed his way into America's heart, Veronica Mars has discovered who killed the busload of Neptune High students, and Jim has finally declared his love for Pam, what the hell are we supposed to talk about around the proverbial water cooler? Huh? Politics? Pass. Religion? Be serious. SPORTS?! Bitch, please.

No more impromptu meetings in Cat's cube where we defend our latest AI pick or speculate wildly about whodunnit on Veronica Mars. No more "JimtotallykissedPamandwasn'tthatlikethecutestthingEVAH?" and "Didn't my wee Ryan look especially fine last night with the scruffiness and the ironic tee under a suit coat and whatnot?..." Yep. It's arrivederci "OMG! Did you see Kat's boobs last night?!" and hullo "Did you do something with your hair? No?... Oh."

*sigh*

Seriously. There is nothing on television. NOTHING.

Summer hiatus is no fun at all.

sigh

2006-06-08T13:38:00.002-06:00

Conversation overheard outside orthodontist's consultation room yesterday (my 10-year-old inherited my teeth, poor boy):

"Wait... that's his mother?! I thought it was his sister!"

The hell?!

Now, I realize I look a tad young and I admit to being somewhat vertically challenged... but it's not like I'm a midget or anything. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Midgets are cool! And short! I mean, I'm totally almost 5'6"! If I were 3 inches taller! Honestly... just because I had my hair in pigtails... okay, that could have conceivably sent mixed age signals, but just because I was wearing cutoffs and my Aerosmith Live Bootleg t-shirt (don't judge! it was my Work At Home day! plus, comfy!) doesn't mean I'm a ten-year-old's sister. Come on. Do teenagers even know who Steven Tyler IS? I don't think so. 'Sha! Way to be perceptive, Mr. Ivy League Orthodontist Guy. Nice to see that outrageously expensive education didn't go to waste or anything. And it's not as if I can do anything about the freckles either-- hey, I've tried, believe you me-- but geez. I had the CREDIT CARD, people. Come on.

Okay, sure, sometimes the youthful appearance can be useful, even downright fun. Oooh! Like there was that whole thing that I used to do when I was a teacher and parents who didn't know me personally would come into my classroom and ask me when the teacher would be back and I'd be all, "Gosh, she won't be back for, like, at least 45 minutes!"-- because hello? occasionally antisocial much? -- and they would GO AWAY. For reals. HOO! And sometimes it was funny when I'd be walking the halls between classes and I would hear, "Hey, where's your hall pass young la-- oh, hahaha. Sorry Mrs. Cat. I thought you were a kid!" And I'd be like, "Hahaha THIS, Principal Berry!" and make a rude gesture. But not really because it would be stupid to piss off my boss. But don't think I didn't imagine it because that can get old real fast. Yep. Good times, those.

You can imagine the good times I had when I had just turned 21 and was old enough to get into bars, casinos, strip clubs, what have you, totally on the up-and-up, you know, all legal-like and stuff.

Oooh, now I'm feeling nostalgic.

I remember this time soon after my birthday when I went to the casinos in Laughlin, Nevada... WITH MY PARENTS... and security kept skulking in the shadows, following me around the floor, accosting me at the slot machines. Finally I went to the change counter, showed the guy my ID, and had him stamp my hand with a big, red "OK." The rest of the night I'd just flash that sucker at security when I'd catch them lurking about and they'd back off.

It gets better.

There was also that time my friends took me dancing on Under 21 Night and I went into the 21 And Older ONLY bar area for water, seriously, WATER, and the bartender was all, "You can't be in here," and I was like, "I just want water," and he got all up in my grill about it and I was like, "Bring it ON!" and flashed my ID at him and he TOOK it! And wouldn't give it back! And then he called in security! The bastard. And they took my license from the bartender and I'm like, "You guys are STEALING my driver's license!" and they were all, "Mwah ha ha! Prove it, you Totally Not 21 Yet Person!" and then they made me sign my name on a piece of paper so they could match it to my license signature.

Okay, here's where things went terribly wrong. You see I was young, just 21, and I was going through this phase, you know, experimenting? Anyway I had just recently changed my signature from upright and round-lettered to slanted and mysterious. Come on, don't judge, I was 21. It was college. Experimenting was expected, right?! Trouble is, in my anger and haste, I signed the paper with my old upright and round-lettered signature, but my new license had-- you guessed it-- my newer, sexier, slanted signature.

"Ah-HA!" the cops said and began to drag me out.

"Wait! Let me try again!" I dug in my heels and held onto the bar, totally resisting arrest. "I gave you the wrong signature! Let me do it over! I want to do it OVER!"

They weren't buying it.

"Okay, but you guys are going to feel reeeeally stupid when you run my information and find out I'm really 21..."

Boy were THEIR faces red when I signed again, I tell you what. And the college picture ID I had on me that just happened to have my old signature on it helped, too. Dorkwads. I never got my water.

Eh. Overall, I suppose it's not a bad thing that I don't look my age. Truthfully it's only ever really an issue when I'm trying to get into a club, or gambling, or buying guns and ammo. TGIM tells me I should be flattered. I tell him he should watch his back because he's the dirty old man banging the young chick.

Heh.

Tell me about it... stud.

2006-06-06T11:17:00.000-06:00

On a whim I bought a DVD copy of the musical Grease (only five dollars! bargain!) and brought it home to watch. With my kids. Because Grease is the Word, y'all! And the music it brings forth is its raison d'etre! I mean, be serious. How can anyone resist thirty-year-old high school seniors singing the oldies, which were-- let's face it-- essentially 70's disco-inspired, tecnho-ized songs masquerading as 50's rock? Not me, that's who!

I know, right? What was I thinking?

In my defense, as a child I was so enthralled with the singing and dancing that the sexual innuendo went right over my head. Who can blame me for assuming my kids would have the same experience? Which by and large they did, naturally.

I, however, had to leave the room because I kept giggling during especially sordid scenes (not so much at the tawdry, puerile humor, but at the thought of my parents allowing me to watch this movie as a child, which... ironic?) and I thought it best to skedaddle so I wouldn't have to keep choking out "Nothing!" every time my kids asked, "What's so funny, Momma?"

After the movie my six-year-old burst into my room, out of breath, excited, her mouth running away with her in her haste to express her personal assessment and insightful review of Grease.

"And then... at the end... he fell in love with her... because she got all skinny and cool, and she came up to him and was, like, you know... smokin' and stuff... and she was all shaking her booty and singing with him..."

"Whoa..."

"... and then this car came flying..."

"... no, seriously, back up..."

"...and they drove, I mean flew, away, into the clouds, and--"

"ALLI!"

"What?"

"So... you liked the movie?"

She nodded vigorously.

"And you think smoking made Sandy..." I paused and employed air-quotes for emphasis, "... cool?"

"Well, um... she was in those real tight black clothes and she put on lots of makeup and stuff and was pretty so she was, you know... cool!" On my look, she hastily added, "But not the smoking part! That was NOT cool! No way!" She looked at my face and added, with accompanying facial gestures, "Smoking? Ew! Yuck!"

As she bounded away I realized that my youngest daughter, while as predicted oblivious to the sexual innuendo, had successfully deciphered an underlying message I completely missed as a child. She realized that even though Danny was willing to step up and make positive changes to his hoodlum ways-- even lettering in varsity track & field and e'rything!-- it was ultimately Sandy's transformation from sweet, innocent teen to tawdry, leather-clad S&M goddess-- complete with dangling cigarette and skanky 'do-- that won her the guy.

And Alli, my baby, thought that was "cool."

Oh, good lord. You see? DO you? Honestly. What are they teaching kids in school these days? Huh? How do my young, sheltered children grasp these things? Hello? My kids should be able to watch sexually suggestive musicals like Grease and Moulin Rouge-- hell, even classics like GiGi and My Fair Lady!-- innocently oblivious to the sordid, tawdry nature of the storylines, right? Right?! What is up with that?! It's un-American, that's what it is! GOSH.

Seriously. I've got chills. They're multiplying.

Dizam!

It's electrifying.

The Last Laugh

2006-06-05T13:12:00.000-06:00

This weekend TGIM and I watched Steve Martin's novella-turned-motion picture Shopgirl (which... great movie) and though it had moments of humor which one would expect from the guy who shall go down in infamy as That Guy Who Played The Jerk, the humor was quiet-- subtle, even. Further, the movie truly said something, spoke truths, and conveyed this in an atmosphere that was slow and thoughtful and deeply affecting. It reminded me quite a bit of Lost in Translation, actually, in both pace and poignancy. Both movies star over-the-hill comedians in quirky, May-December relationships with beautiful young girls-- and I do freely admit the thought of watching Steve Martin and Bill Murray playing any beautiful young girl's crush/lover initially squicked me right out-- but amazingly, they both pull it off, so yay them.

But most of all, both movies speak of loss and discovery and an emotional awakening in a way that I have come to realize I long to master in my own writing. But too often it seems that when I am writing and find myself faced with the choice of expressing myself in a thoughtful, subtle manner or in a humorous, bantering light, I inevitably choose to joke. And I joke because that's just what I DO, I laugh, whether life brings me gifts of joy all tied up with pretty bows or bitch-slaps me and hands me bitter disappointment, I laugh and laugh and laugh. Then laugh some more. To be honest, I cry, also, but not in front of anyone, not so anyone can see, because what if people find out there are chinks in this laissez faire demeanor I've created-- they could hurt me more, right? I don't like anybody to see me cry. Much like my youngest daughter Alli, who when she hurts herself will inevitably jump up from the spill shouting, "I'm all right! I'm okay! That kind of tickled, actually!" even though we all know it hurt her and there are tears in her eyes and she is just saying it didn't hurt so we will leave her alone and she can run away and cry in peace. In a way perhaps we are trying to say, "You can't hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. I laugh at pain! Ha ha ha!"

So I write and I'm silly and whimsical and manic and almost always utterly tongue-in-cheek, and though I quite often express exactly what I am truly feeling, it is more often than not hidden away in evasive verbiage. Linguistic smoke and mirrors, if you will. And though I know emotional honesty does not always have to be slow or thoughtful and that poignancy and humor are not mutually exclusive, I wish sometimes I could find the words to illustrate what I really mean without resorting to silliness and feigned vapidity. To be starkly honest, to lay my heart out in words so you could actually feel it beating if you just listened closely enough, and you just KNOW. You feel me. Hear me.

Then, inevitably, I run off to watch an old episode of Buffy or Veronica Mars and I am lost in the witty quips and snarky banter, and awed by the sheer brilliance of the marriage between humor and poignancy in the writing, and I'm like, "Eh."

Because although I sometimes yearn-- burn, even-- to write peaceful, thoughtful prose, yes, passages of deeply affecting language whose impact will stay with people for hours, days, even years after reading it, that is not who I am. I am impulsive and passionate, rarely peaceful. And I see life though a haze of sardonic humor and I can't help but spill it out in my writing.

And I think I am finally coming to terms with that.

Grr! Stupid Shopgirl. Making me all meditative and whatnot. Bah! I'm off to eat a donut and shake off this silly moment of introspective sentimentalism... I'm thinking cinnamon cake.

Carry on.

Random Ramblings (about SEX!) on a SLOOOOOW Friday Morning

2006-06-02T09:22:00.000-06:00

While chatting with a friend yesterday I was reminded of the strangest thing. When I was a senior in high school there was this... incident in my English class. It involved a mouthy, lewd football player, a ditzy, impulsive girl, and a quick-witted English teacher. And even though this was, oh, over seventeen years ago (oh good lord) I remember the incident vividly. I don't know why, actually. I suppose it was just one of those moments, you know the ones. The type of moment in which your mind decides "Hey, let's keep this one for posterity!" and takes a mental snapshot then imprints the moment indelibly in your brain. Yes. It was one of those.

We were in the midst of a vocabulary lesson. Ah, yes, I remember it well. The word was "masticate." Allow me to say that any English teacher worth his or her salt knows to steer clear of any words that even remotely resemble certain words or phrases that will evoke, shall we say suggestive, images in a healthy adolescent's mind (e.g. I always gave the word "titillate" a wide berth). Ahem. In most situations I would have conjectured that Mr. Wherley was one of those teachers-- a teacher who knew better, a teacher who paid attention, a teacher who was unwilling to be caught unawares-- but he put the word "masticate" right out there, oh yes he did, said it right out loud, and to nobody's surprise there were consequences.

So Mr. Wherley threw out the word "masticate" at us during our usual Word Wealth vocabulary dictation lesson and the aforementioned lewd football player immediately punted back the inevitable: "What was that again? 'Masturbate'?!"

Giggles and red faces all around. Because... duh? Who didn't see that coming?

Enter the ditzy impulsive girl. Let's call her... Melissa. You know, because that was her name? Good lord, this girl was a ditz. Probably still is. An obnoxious ditz, too, because we all knew it was just an act, and DUDE, there is nothing worse than a fake ditz who asks utterly ridiculous or embarrassing questions simply to draw attention to herself, thus disrupting the learning environment for the entire of the class. Oops. That was the Recovering English Teacher talking, wasn't it? But still... grrrr! Anyhoos, enter Melissa.

"Mr. Wherley, what does masturbate mean?"

Twenty-five heads whipped around to gawk at Melissa. Giggles and red faces turned to gut-busting guffaws.

I was mortified, naturally. My virgin ears were burning, I tell you what. Mouth agape I looked over at Melissa with my best, wide-eyed Hello? Dorkwad? Even I Know What That Means! look.

In tandem, twenty-five heads whipped around again, this time to land on Mr. Wherley, who stood still as stone at the chalkboard. His hand, clutching chalk so tightly it's a miracle it didn't snap, froze in mid-air. After an interminable, collective heartbeat, Mr. Wherley spoke in a calm, unwavering voice.

"Self-stimulation for sexual gratification. Now, moving on..."

Self-stimulation for sexual gratification... Self-stimulation for sexual gratification! Wow! Get a load of that, would you?! A virtual masterpiece of evasive yet conclusive enlightenment! Honestly. To this day I have never seen the like. Yes, sir. I have to give the man his props. He handled a sticky situation with an air of dignity I could never have pulled off in a similar situation. (Heh. I said "sticky." Heh heh... D'oh! See?!) Not to mention his definition of masturbation was practically a poem-- what with the rhyming and the alliteration and whatnot-- which tied the whole exchange into literature, thus making it relevant to English class, which... way to go, Mr. Wherley!

I know, I know... What a moment to have indelibly imprinted in one's mind, eh? I tell you what... Hey, I never said the scrapbook in my head was pretty!

But back to the conversation with my friend. The strangest thing is that this memory was dredged up while I was arguing with my friend as to whether or not a person is still technically a virgin if they have done anything and everything EXCEPT actually joining body parts together in the act of procreation. You know, rounded all the bases, like, 69 times, but never slid into home?

I argued that if you are touching someone's stuff, or they are touching yours, and all this touching of parts is resulting in orgasms, I don't care where you're putting your junk, that's sex. And if you are having sex then you can't just go around calling yourself a virgin. I mean, seriously. It's an insult to all those poor people out there who aren't getting any, you know what I'm saying? What about them, huh?!

My friend, a self-proclaimed virgin who has "NOT" had sex in more exciting places and in more intricate positions than I had ever dreamed possible, disagreed.

"Okay, so how do you explain masturbation, huh? Is that sex?" She thought she had me there. I could see the HA! it in her eyes.

"Well, that depends. If you are assisting someone else, you know, mutually engaging in the pursuit of sexual gratification, then I guess it is." Double HA! Bonus points for big words!

"That is not sex."

So I was all "Whatever you need to tell yourself, slut." And she was like, "Bite me." And then we grabbed our bags and went out for some tasty Chik-fil-A. Mm-mm! (Try the waffle fries, they're delish.)

Man, oh man. "Self-stimulation for sexual gratification"... (*shakes head in amazement*) Genius.

(Hey, I TOLD you this was random! Sheesh. Oh, and sorry, Mom.)

Someday they will thank me for this. I just know it.

2006-05-31T15:46:00.000-06:00

The new CW logo may look like crop circles gone horribly wrong, but their Sneak Peek video pimpin' my favorite show? TOTALLY makes up for it! Click it! You'll see. Do it. Do it. Do it... Do it.

Kick ASS.

Firecracker! Firecracker! Boom boom boom!

2006-05-31T13:51:00.000-06:00

My youngest daughter, my Alli, she's a firecracker, I tell you what. A lit firecracker, too, not one of those calm and innocent-looking sparklers sitting quietly-- unobtrusively, even-- in a box just waiting for some poor sucker to come along and set her off, oh no, she's on FIRE all the time-- running around, dancing, laughing, gossiping, touching, eating, bouncing, asking, complaining, whining, giggling, performing, singing, and talking, talking, talking-- until she drops into bed from sheer exhaustion at the end of the day. Honestly. She crawls into bed and without fail wails, "Mom! I'm not tired!" Yet before I can tell her to hush and just close her eyes, she's gently snoring, her animated face all at once serene, peaceful at last. When she's awake I find her adorable and loud and high maintenance and frustrating, but when she's asleep? She's truly beautiful.

Now, according to my mother, she's my spitting image.

Speaking of, exactly who is responsible for thinking up such a vile idiom, I wonder? Who felt the compulsion to set that gem of figurative language into linguistic stone, if you will, to be used forevermore, yes, from generation to generation, to express that one's child or friend or brother or dog is so much like another person it is uncanny? Come on! Spitting image?! I mean, when one takes a moment to conjure a literal image in one's mind, the cognitive dissonance alone... Well. Because "spitting image"? As in, she looks like my spit? Or she acts/looks/speaks so much like me it's as if I spit her right out of my mouth? What?! That's just ridiculous! And ew? I assure you, spitting her out of my mouth probably would have been less painful. Then again I suppose we should simply be grateful that the genius behind this quirky figure of speech didn't go with the more literal "she's my vaginal image" or possibly the less graphic "hoo-hah image." But counterintuitive belief persistence aside, my spitting image she is, and I went and said it, so there it is. [/tangent]

I have to agree with my momma on this one. She should know, she is the one who cursed me to "havechildrenjustlike[me]somedaysohelp[her]God!" Now it has been related to me several times throughout my life that my best friend's mother-- her name was (is) Sandy and I loathe that name to this day, I am so not kidding, grrr... HATE-- once told my mother while in my 6- or 7-year-old presence, "Wow. That girl has diarrhea of the mouth. Does she ever shut up?!" I admit I do not remember this. In other news: I have the attention span of a gnat fly. I do, however, vividly remember catching a ride to school with my BFF one day and her mother singing at the top of her lungs "Short People Have No Reason to Live" while looking at me pointedly in her rearview mirror. And yes, I WAS the shortest person in my grade, and no, her meaning was not lost on me. But that is neither here nor there, so I will persevere, despite my Sandy issues. Anyhoo, short story long, as a child I talked a whole bunch. (Yes, TGIM, "as a child"! What?! Stop laughing! SHUT! UP!)

The thing is, I cannot tell you how often I look at my youngest daughter and think to myself, Good lord, will she EVER stop talking? Will she? Because DAMN! I mean, honestly... This nonstop Alli Chatter begs the million dollar question: Hello? If she never stops talking, when the hell will it be my turn?

I know, right?! This parenting gig is hard, yo?

Come on. Seriously. Why do all y'all think I started blogging in the first place?

Word? Edgewise?... Are you there yet?

Firecracker! Firecracker! Boom boom BOOOOOOOOOOM.

Epiphany in the Produce Aisle

2006-05-26T07:35:00.000-06:00

Last evening I came to a startling and not altogether happy realization. A realization that rocked me to the core. A realization that struck at the very essence of my young(ish) womanly being. A realization that forced me to question the efficaciousness of my God-given feminine wiles. A realization that sent home the message: "Use it or lose it, baby."

Allow me to elucidate:

Last night TGIM and I made a run for the grocery store, in dire need of potatoes. You know, because baked potatoes are tasty? And as the in-laws are visiting we're thinking, "Huh. We better make some tasty food." Because that is what good hosts do. Even when our guests have commandeered my very own bedroom and are sleeping in my very own bed with my very own super comfy down blanket and I have to sleep on the couch because I can't sleep on the futon in the kids room because, duh, I wake up at 4:16 a.m. (I like evens, okay?!) and how rude to be all, "La la la! I'll just set my alarm for 4:16 a.m. and wake everybody up at that God-forsaken hour just because I am too selfish to go downstairs and sleep on the couch when there is a super comfy futon bed upstairs." Right?

But I digress.

So, we (TGIM and I? Sheesh, keep up!) approached the potatoes and TGIM's all, "Cat, help me find small ones," and I go, "Ooooh! Sweet potatoes!" because I love sweet potatoes and there they were, right next to the Russet potatoes and at that very moment I suddenly craved a baked sweet potato-- with loads of butter... and salt and pepper-- so bad it hurt. Hurt so good. And TGIM's all, "Cat?" so I impatiently waved him over to the already bagged potatoes, as everyone knows they are always WAY smaller than the loose ones, GOSH. So TGIM wanders away and I'm feeling up every darn sweet potato in the bin because that's how you find the tasty ones, and suddenly this cute, young guy approaches me.

Yes. A cute, young guy! Approached me!

So there I am just feeling up those sweet potatoes like nobody's business, when this guy gets right up next to me and starts feeling up the sweet potatoes, too. Feeling up my potatoes!

So I'm thinking to myself, The bastard! He is totally trying to filch all the best sweet potatoes! And being the competitive person I am, I renew my search in earnest because no friggin' way am I letting him pilfer my potatoes. Man. You should have seen me in action. I was a potato-picking maniac, rummaging like the dickens, throwing potatoes hither and thither... I must say I can be extraordinarily thorough when the chips are down... (Get it? Chips? Because... potatoes? Whatever, moving on...)

"Mmm. Sweet potatoes," he says, picking up one I had just discarded (too big).

So I mumble something like, "I know, right?" because I had just found the best little sweet potato ever and I was busy grabbing a bag in which to put it before I accidentally dropped it back into the bin or some such disaster and this guy freaking snaked it.

"I mean, how do you know which ones are good?" he asks me, holding up an extra large sweet potato.

Feeling gracious, as I had already bagged two more perfect specimens and was now finished with my sweet potato shopping, I reveal my secret: "They're fat, smooth, and smallish." I am proud to tell you I even spotted a good one and handed it over to him. This is called sharing.

He drops the mammoth potato he is holding, takes the one I hand him, and begins rummaging the pile again. "Sooooo, short and fat?" he asks, looking up at me, and I finally notice that this guy? Well, he's kind of cute. I shall forevermore call him Cute Guy. Note it.

I am embarrassed to admit that I chose this moment to revert to my twelve-year-old self. Short and thick does the trick! I thought, my inner twelve-year-old giggling like mad. It's not the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean!

It is a personal testament to my growing maturity that I had the presence of mind to keep this amusing gem of an inner monologue to myself, as my filter doesn't always work, if you know what I'm saying. Unfortunately my face betrayed me, as I blushed deeply and fought a losing battle with the huge grin threatening to make an appearance. And damned if I didn't feel a giggle fit coming on, too. Because It's not the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean? That's comic gold.

Realizing that if I continued to repress, the modicum of self-control I was employing would likely burst like a dam and all that twelve-year-old hilarity would just tumble out all over this poor guy, who, after all, was just trying to buy a sweet potato. So I look around for TGIM, knowing he'd appreciate my witticisms, but he's nowhere to be found. Then I catch a glimpse of him slinking over to the fruit section, casting furtive glances my way. Of course, I'm like, What is his damage?

Cute Guy smiles and says something else to me, but I don't really hear him as I am too busy trying to figure out why TGIM is suddenly playing Dr. Watson to my Sherlock in the produce section of the supermarket. I flash a grin at Cute Guy before I take off after TGIM. This is called manners.

"Why did you ditch me?" I ask after finally chasing TGIM down in the melon section. I don't know why I remember that we were amongst melons, I just do. I'm weird that way. Work with me.

TGIM just looks at me with his trademark huge, fabulously cheesy grin. "That guy was totally flirting with you!" Shrug. "I wanted to see how it played out."

"He was NOT flirting with me."

"Oh, yes he was."

"No, he wasn't. See, he wanted to know how to pick a good sweet potato and I'm like-- seriously, TGIM, this is super funny, listen--"

"Cat, the dude didn't care about the potatoes. He was flirting with you."

"Wait, what? He was?" I think about it for a minute. "Naaaaaah... really? You think?"

"Really."

I have to admit, at this moment I'm feeling a little puffed up in my own esteem. Cute Guy was flirting with me. The only people who ever (used to) flirt with me were the 17- and 18-year-old high school senior boys I used to teach, and that was always awkward and completely one-sided. Not to mention squicky to the tenth, yo? (And to squelch the subsequent jokes let me clarify that this flirting was always awkward for me and completely one-sided on their part. I can't help it that I look deceptively young! And I didn't even know what MILF meant at the time! Hand to God! Which is a good thing or I may have been held liable for kicking some perverted teenaged ass.)

Then it hits me. "O!M!G! Do you know what this means?" Off his I Never Know What The Hell You're Talking About EVER So Please Just Tell Me look, I do just that. "It means my radar is broken! Or at least badly damaged... Dude I'm, like, radar-challenged!... Whoa. What if guys have been flirting with me for years and I haven't even NOTICED?"

"Um, GOOD?"

We laughed. And then I shared the conversation I had with Cute Guy and my subsequent descent into bad, dirty thoughts. Because I'm a bad, dirty girl. Just bad all around. And dirty. Seriously, my mind is in the gutter, I tell you what. And then we laughed even harder. Because TGIM gets me.

But later I came to the unpleasant realization that as a result of my rusty radar, I had been missing out on my God-given right as a young(ish) woman to exercise my feminine wiles in a flirting situation. What if guys have been flirting with me for years and I just didn't know it? I know, right?! I mean, how am I supposed to accurately assess my self-worth if I don't even know that Cute Guys of the world are flirting with me? Oh! Woe! The opportunities missed!

Then again, if Kelly is to be believed, I don't suppose I've missed out on much. I guess I will just have to let it go. But I am currently boning up on flirtatious witticisms that are appropriate to share with members of the opposite sex who may or may not be flirting, so I will be prepared next time. Smart, right? Eh?

Heh. I said "boning."

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUL PAAATROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL! Woo.

2006-05-25T08:30:00.000-06:00

Sorry, still too traumatized by the sight of David Hasselhoff crying tears of joy at Taylor's coronation to form coherent thoughts. My eyes! They burn. And this is not even to mention the fact that Toni Braxton officially scares the bejeebies out of me! She scares the hell out of Taylor, too, if I'm not mistaken, and I'm pretty sure I'm not because did you SEE his face when they were singing (or, rather, he was singing and she was doing... whatever) and she grabbed his hand and was all, "Touch me here, bitch!" Good lord. Un-Freak My Heart.

In other news: Mandy Moore thinks Taylor's the shiznit. Mandy freaking Moore!

More later.

Wait. What was the number for Daniel Powter?

2006-05-23T22:53:00.000-06:00

Even though they do it every year, when Ryan does the whole I'm Just Standing in the Dark La La La-Psyche!-We're in the Kodak Theater, Baby! reveal I'm all, "Oooooh! Aaaaah..." Every single time. Because of the bright lights? And the three tiers of balconies? And the thousands of adoring fans? Some of them celebrities? Honestly. How geeky am I?

*sigh*

Oooh, looky! It's Mandy Moore! Hey, Mandy! Loved you in Saved! Hilary Faye rocked it when she threw that Bible at Mary and was all, "I am FILLED with Christ's love! You are just jealous of my success in the Lord." Remember that? And then she was like, "I told you! How great is Jesus?" Remember? Heh. That was awesome.

Oh my LORD. Is that... could it be... no... is that... could that be Constantine? Over by Bucky? And Kellie (with those stank-ass hair extensions removed so she actually looks way cute)? It IS?! Um, okay, I officially request to no longer be considered his fan, guys. Get out of my living room, stinky man, and go take a shower! Wash that hair! And for the love of God, get some sleep. Then we'll talk.

Now, without further ado...

Kat

Black Horse and the Cherry Tree: Nicely done. Kickass drummers. But just not as sexy as last time. Where were the hot and dirty blues? So sad.

Over the Rainbow: Damn. I repeat, damn. (*fans self*) And how cute was her giddiness about starting the song on key despite a mysterious earpiece malfunction? So, SO cute, that's how cute!

My Destiny: Good GOD. Bring back Inside your Heavenly Hoo-Hah, yo? AI totally sandbagged my girl with that original song, and by original I mean "so sucky no one else will sing it so we shall force one of the AI finalists to perform it in front of millions of people because she can't say 'No effing way!'" Come on. It was not even remotely suited to her voice and was obviously written by some cliche-addicted songwriter who-- apparently lost in the 90's-- said to herself, "I know what this song needs... gospel singers!" You know, instead of playful, heartfelt lyrics and a melody in at least the same zip code as the singer's range?

Making her sing that song was like handing her a beat-up old Schwinn and telling her to race the Tour de France with it. And she totally knew it, didn't she? I mean, she couldn't even pretend to like the song. You could see her just give it up halfway through.

That being said, Kat? Pleats + Bow + Finale Dress = Oh, HELL No. My advice? Get a new stylist. STAT.

Poor Kitty Kat.

Taylor:

Living for the City: Shut UP, Taylor's jacket. I'm trying to listen. Oooh! I'm so happy he brought back the funky Life in the City circular dance move of joy! I've been practicing that one, y'all. I had to rewind so I could dance it with him. I HAD to. Woo! Definitely his best performance of the night.

Oh, and Paula? Maybe your top did exactly match with Taylor's crushed velvet jacket (good LORD), but I can't say for sure because after I hit the floor, having been rudely shoved out of TGIM'S line of vision amid his excited yells of "Look! Her left boob! That's sucker's about to pop right out of her top!", I think I may have lost consciousness for a moment. Floor's hard. I'm thinking we should install carpeting. So put the girls away, you maniac.

Levon: Eh. Not bad, but not his best, either. And I absolutely adore this song, too, so color me disappointed.

Do I Make You Proud: Oh, yes, honey, you do. Good on you, Tay. Good on you. Just keeping it real, dawgs [/Randy's voice], Taylor was off during the first part of the song, but once he dropped the dreck and unleashed the woo! and the Soul Patrol! ticks, he found his groove (and his key) and did it Taylor-style. Which is-- to me, anyway-- a GOOD thing. Dude's soul is in his voice. And he makes me smile. I think that's worth something.

Oh my goodnes, how much must the AI producers hate Chris? Because showing Chris' murderous WHO IN THE WHAT NOW?! face in the video during Daniel Powter's Bad Day performance was all sorts of cruel. I was like, "Guys! He's sitting right there!" Cruel, I tell you. Yet, still funny. No matter how may times I see it. He's just so PISSED, you know? Hee hee.

Sooooo... although I think both performers did well tonight-- Kat finally using her head voice and whatnot, and Taylor just being Taylor-- I have to say I (woo!) think Taylor (soulpatrolsoulpatrolsoulpatrol!hahahaha!soulpatrol!woo!) has the AI title signed, sealed, and delivered. Of course, we'll have to sit through two excruciating hours of filler, guest performances, sappy videos from home, and painful Top 10 group sings (Chicken Little! GAH!) before we hear the news officially, but hey, I'm willing to power through. For posterity's sake, naturally.

Cat... out.

What's the buzz? (Tell me what's a-happenin'...)

2006-05-23T09:04:00.000-06:00

According to Insider TV here are the song choices for the contestants (all predicitons subject to change at the whim of AI Gods):

Taylor Hicks: Levon by Elton John and Living for the City by Stevie Wonder. The new single he'll be performing is Do I Make You Proud, written by Tracy Ackerman, Andrew John Watkins and Paul David Wilson.

Katharine McPhee: Over the Rainbow (old standard) and Black Horse and the Cherry Tree by KT Tunstall. The new single she'll perform is called My Destiny, written by Hanne Sorvaag.

It's a toss-up, y'all. Tonight you will either join the Soul-Patrol...

or catch the McPheever.

Just remember. You cannot be Switzerland tonight. If you vote for both, you cancel yourself out. Come on. Just pick a side already.

But if (*sigh*) Kat does that sexy, bouncy, on the floor dancing thing again while singing Black Horse and the Cherry Tree, well, then (Woo!) Taylor better (Woo!... Woo!) sing the HELL out of Levon (Soul Patrol!) or I can't be held responsible for where my vote will be heading, that's all I'm saying.

Cat... out.

With My Apologies to Oscar Wilde

2006-05-22T12:34:00.000-06:00

It is my firm belief that there are evil, Faustian forces at work on the set of all the most popular soap operas on television. No, really. I wll explain, but first a little background:

I admit to being a Days of Our Lives fan back in the halcyon days of my youth, thanks to an open high school campus and a standing lunch date at my BFF's house. After we ate, we would wander down to the basement where her mother would be glued in front of the television set, shushing us and recapping at the same time.

"I can't believe Jennifer is falling in love with Jack after what he did to Kayla..."

"Marlena just found out that Roman isn't really her husband, but actually a man named John Smith who was brainwashed by Stefano DiMera to think he's Roman Brady, and now her real husband, the real Roman Brady, is back in town..."

"Victor Kiriakis had an affair with Caroline Brady and he's Bo's real father, not Shawn..."

I even dabbled in The Young and the Restless for a few summers-- you know, due to the slammin' theme music?-- but even Nadia's Theme (and special appearances by rocker Michael Damian) couldn't keep me interested. I was strictly a one-soap-opera gal. I still like the song, though. I play it often on my piano. Because it's pretty, yo?

And I must own up to being the driving force behind my mother's Days obsession. It wasn't my fault, really. It's not like I forced her to watch the recorded episodes with me every day after school during those three weeks she stayed with me caring for my six-week-old baby boy when I had to go back to work. That's all on her. Sorry, Mom. I'm just sayin'.

Honestly, though. Who could resist? Well, I could, actually, once they introduced the whole Marlena Is Possessed By The Devil storyline. One glimpse of Marlena floating in the air with red, devilish eyes, shouting and spitting in the most embarrassingly cheesy devil-voice imaginable, and that was it for me. The end of my rope. I stopped cold turkey, and I have never looked back.

Unfortunately for my mom, it took several more years of ridiculous supernatural storylines, rapidly aging babies (from two-years-old to sixteen! In one summer!), and retconning galore before she saw the proverbial light and switched off the madness.

But what does all this have to do with evil, Faustian forces at work on the set of all the most popular soap operas on television? It's simple really.

Every day during lunch at my workplace, a surprisingly large crowd of employees (of both sexes) park their butts at the tables in the lounge, break out their lunches, and tune in to The Young and the Restless. And these people? Well, let's just say they are active participants in the show.

"Oh, no, she did not just say that!"

"Girl, you better watch him..."

"She better slap his face for that... OH! That had to hurt!"

"Mm mm mm... Those Abbotts are no good."

And sometimes I-- while waiting for a free microwave, naturally-- may wander in and catch a glimpse or two of what is going down in Genoa City, and lately it has occurred to me that there MUST be this pact that I have described. Because seriously, guys? These actors? Over the past 18 years or so? They have not aged. Not one little bit.

[cue Twilight Zone theme music here]

I know, right?!

Thus the evil, Faustian forces at work, as the cast members have obviously entered into some sort of pact with the devil to retain their youthful beauty. I half-expect that if one were to search the back closets or rarely-used prop rooms on set, that hidden away behind a great curtain one would find portraits of all the cast members, portraits that are aged and bear the actors sins while their own outward appearances on screen remain beautiful and unchanged.

Freaky, huh?

Hey, I'm just saying that if someone finds the bloated body of an ugly old woman with a knife in her heart, lying next to a portrait of, say, Nikki Newman or Ashley Abbott, as beautiful as she was eighteen years ago, I wouldn't be surprised.

And yes, I do have far too much time on my hands at work.

FREEDOM! (You better think...)

2006-05-18T16:09:00.000-06:00

WHAT?! An HOUR for an American Idol results show? REALLY? Good lord.

So, I finally got a chance to watch the elimination show and oh my goodness I just about choked I was laughing so hard! While eating chips! And super spicy hot salsa! Which... ouch?! Anyhoos, other than a few minor hiccoughs (Hello? Clive Davis? This is not the Academy Awards! Someone cue the music! Please! SOMEONE CUE THE MUSIC!), this was a pretty solid piece of fluffy AI goodness. And if I busted a tear or two when Elliott was eliminated it was only because I was probably still choking on one of those stupid tortilla chips and I can't help it if I get way emotional when I am totally PMS-ing and in desperate need of anything in the chocolate family so SHUT! UP!

Highlights:

Taylor dancing with Kat and Elliott during his song. Very cute. They all honestly seem to like each other.

Paula Abdul crying with Elliott. It was like her face was melting, guys! For serious! FREAKY.

Kat singing "Think" which is one of my very favoritest Aretha Franklin tunes, like, ever. How hot was that?! So, so hot, that's how much! With the shoelessness? And the amazing voice? And the table dancing? And the sassy leaning over to sing to Randy? And the coyly talking to Simon during the song? And doing that cute little hop in a circle thing while singing? HOT!

Oh, and Kat Snaked at her old high school. She SNAKED! Did you see?! Did you?! Kat knows how to Snake. Wicked cool.

Simon picking at his lip and totally ignoring Clive Davis during Clive's excruciatingly boring two-hour-long speech.

The Elliott fan down in Richmond, VA, who I shall forever remember fondly as Crazy Dancing Camera Lady, who could not freaking hold it together long enough to take a damn picture. Boy is she gonna be PISSED when she realizes she didn't get the shot. Oh, and that AI showed her wig the hell out and fall apart on national TV in front of millions of viewers... Heh. Heh heh. BWAH! hahahaha! hahahaha! hohoho! hahahaha! Hoo! OH MY LORD, y'all. I had to keep rewinding because Tanner and I couldn't stop rolling around on the bed laughing hysterically, holding our stomachs, with tears rolling down our faces... And then we had to reenact her crazy jig of hysterical joy for each other and laugh again and watch it some more, and then we called Hannah and showed her (twice) and then we reenacted it for her and she reenacted it for us and we all laughed until we almost puked. Ahh. Seriously. These are the moments, guys. That's what family is ABOUT. See? AI's bringing people together and whatnot! SEE WHAT YOU'RE MISSING, KRISTINE?!

I can't wait until TGIM gets home. There will be a mad rush to the door to see who can get to him first with the reenactment of Crazy Dancing Camera Lady's jig of hysterical joy. It's gonna be crazy because my kids may look all sweet and innocent, but they can SHOVE like the dickens and will probably trample me in their effort to reach TGIM first. Whatever. Like I couldn't dropkick the lot of them. But I won't! Because that would be WRONG.

I'm off to cue up the TiFaux in readiness for TGIM.

Cat... OUT

Ode to JOY.

2006-05-18T14:30:00.000-06:00

Okay, today it is officially official. Veronica Mars is back for a full season of 22 episodes. Huzzah!

It's a good thing the CW picked up my show, I tell you what, or I would have had to go all Veronica Mars on their asses.

Oy! Veronica Mars! Congratulations on your graduation...

...to your new network.

Thank you, Rob...

... for creating riveting, complex characters who captured my heart.
... for creating television that is witty, hip, pretty, and seriously well-dressed.
... for story continuity and having a PLAN for the season.
... for listening to your fans (but not too much) and admitting mistakes.
... for blue flashbacks, cynical voice-overs, new-age noir, and old-style detective work.
... for working tirelessly to create a show worthy of the insane over-analysis it inspires.
... for hiring some of the best up-and-coming actors in the biz (and reviving some of the out-going)
... for the best damn father-daughter dynamic on television.

... for Veronica Mars.

P.S. Rob? Logan needs to take his shirt of more often, mm'kay?

Preferably in the presence of Veronica. Who may or may not be topless. Your call, big guy. Thanks!

I'm naming her Bessie.

2006-05-17T13:24:00.000-06:00

(Because it was shorter than Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy... duh.)

And that, my friends, is what we Convertible Drivers (that would include me! I'm a convertible driver! me! me!) call Whooped Up Crazy Ass Car Hair.

*sigh*

Yep. It's just one of the many indignities we Convertible Drivers (ooh! ooh! me! me!) suffer for looking way cute in our fuel-efficient totally not family-friendly vehicles. Another indignity would be the whole ratio of bugs to teeth increasing significantly thing... but whatever! Because cute!

Well, excepting the Whooped Up Crazy Ass Car Hair, that is.

Well, hey! That didn't suck very much at all!... Wassup?

2006-05-16T21:34:00.001-06:00

Well apparently the judges and my wee Ryan are all about bringing back the UN!COMFORTABLE! But I have to give the judges their props, yo? They successfully picked the absolute perfect songs to showcase the singers' individual talents tonight. Very astute. I'm impressed. On the other hand, Clive Davis? On crack. Every year he picks the most ridiculous songs for the contestant. Hello? I Believe I Can Fly? Are you freaking kidding me, Clive?! Geesh.

My Completely Biased, Personally Opinionated Recap (proceed at your own risk.)

Elliott
Open Arms: Why you gotta be like that, dawg? Picking one of Journey's bestest songs ever to freaking bleat out? And don't think I didn't notice that you COMPLETELY EFFED UP THE LYRICS. Good LORD, man. I can't even look at you right now. Effed up the lyrics! To Open Arms! I can't believe they let that obvious transposition pass. Wait, yes I can. The freakers. (But seriously, good save...) Honestly. Just don't be messing with Journey, dude. Step away from Journey. Speaking of, RANDY was in Journey? What the?! Who now?!

(Ryan and I both interrupted Paula at the exact same moment during her rainbow, puppies, fluffy clouds and flowers speech with, "But WHY did you pick the song?!" Heh. Me and Ry-Ry would so be BFF's.) (Call me.)

Some boring song I don't know: Meh. I'm sorry! I want to feel more than meh towards you, dude! You're all wee and Mr. Tumnusy, but COME. ON. Solid vocal, but boring. I'm sorry!

Another snoozer I totally don't know, GOSH: Not so much vibra-a-a-a-a-a-to. A little more personality, I suppose. Overall, tonight for you? Big bag o' suckage, man. I am so, so sorry.

Katharine
I Believe I Can Fly: Wow. So, SO pretty! Not the song, I hated the song (because it is ridiculously stupid to believe you can fly and R. Kelly is a total perv, so there you go). I'm talking about you, girl. Good GOD, you look fabulous in that icy blue dress! And the shoes! My goodness, the shoes! That being said, when Randy of all people starts with "You look beautiful tonight...", the rest ain't gonna be pretty and that's God's honest truth. Stupid Clive and his stupid-ass songs.

("It's about song choice..." "Well, I didn't pick it!" Give 'em hell, Kat.)

Somewhere over the Rainbow: Ruby slippers! Ruby slippers! Did you see? Did you?! Awesome. Gah. About three-fourths of the way through the performance I turned to TGIM and said, "Dude, I think I just had an orgasm." 'Nuff said.

(How cute was Ryan telling Kat "that was beautiful..." all genuine and stuff? So, so cute! Even Ryan loves Kat! And he's... not gay!)

Ain't Got Nothing But the Blues: It pains me to admit this, but Simon was kinda, sorta... okay, totally right. You picked a cheesy musical theater type of song to end with (no offense intended Miz Ella. I'm just sayin'). Duh. But you can sing and you were having fun with it, and that? Totally counts for something.

Taylor
Dancing in the Dark: This was the only song Clive got right. The more I hear, the more I love. The voice is husky, soulful (Woo! Soul Patrol! Hahaha! Wooooooo!), and completely recognizable as Taylor Hicks. And you went there. (He went there, y'all!) You pulled a BossMan Courtney Cox MTV move with Paula! You so did. Then you totally left her hanging, but hey, she worked it out. Straight up! Man. I miss Friends. The early years, naturally.

You are So Beautiful: Yeah, I hate this song, and all I hear is Alfalfa from the Little Rascals movie singing to Darla, "Yew awre so buh-yew-tiful..." but even Joe Cocker was all "daaayum!" when you hit that falsetto. Awesome. Besides looking extraordinarily constipated-- no, seriously, eat more bran-- I could literally see you feeling the song. Really feeling it. In your soul. So amazing. It brought out all of the best parts of you as a vocalist and a performer. "SoulpatrolsoulpatrolsoulpatrolsoulpatrolwooooosoulpatrolwooooosoulpatrolsoulpatrolWOO!" (Um, is he broken, guys? No? Phew!) For reals, dude, know when to cut. it. out.

Try a Little Tenderness: When you said you were going to sing this song, I was like, "YES!" (*fist pump*) and then I was all, "WOO! Soul Patrol!" We have established I am a complete dork, right? Everyone clear? Okay. I mean, ever since I saw Ducky "The Duckman" Dale lip synch and get down with his bad self to this song in the John Hughes classic "Pretty in Pink," I have loved it. LOVED it! And Taylor? You SO nailed it. And yes, that ending was ridiculous. (*hugs Taylor*) Signed, sealed, and delivered to the finale, my friend. Absofreakinglutely.

Okay. Here's the thing. The clear choice for the finale, in my humble opinion, would be Kat and Taylor.

Elliott is a great guy, he really is, but he doesn't have IT. He wants IT. I'm sure he'd buy IT if he could. He thinks a little IT would be oh-so nice. But really, he just doesn't have IT. And in all honesty, the American Idol should have IT, right?

Kat. She is having a hard time emotionally in this competition, not so much with her singing, but during the elimination phase. When those eliminations come around? Barf-O-Rama. How do you think she's lost so much weight? Huh? Just sayin'. Aaaaaand that, my friends, is how rumors get started. Let that be a lesson to us all. Anyhoos, what a fantastic, versatile, gifted vocalist. She is defintely the most technically proficient singer in the competition. She admittedly hits a spot in her upper register that comes off as slightly shrill, but I don't find it unappealing, and it does make her sound distinctive. And hot DAMN she's purty, and she can put on a show like nobody's bidness. I'd pay money to see her on Broadway. But I don't think she is American Idol material. And I mean that in the GOOD way.

But Taylor. Taylor, Taylor, Taylor. You either adore him or you loathe him, and I happen to adore him. I know he's spazzy and constipated and a freak of nature, but dude's got PRESENCE, which is what Elliott is lacking, and what Kat is just figuring out. I absolutely love when he gets all spazzy, I'm all, "Help! He's seizing! He's seizing! He's-- Oh, my bad. He's just gettin' jiggy." And then he's belting it out and even if I turn away, I still enjoy the song just as much as if I were watching it because he is just that charismatic. I'd pay to see him in concert. I'd buy his CD's, too. For reals. I don't care! I would! He has a distinct, soulful, husky sound that appeals to me. I can't deny it.

I definitely think Taylor is the frontrunner, the one to beat. I do. Note it.

But whatever, because up until last week I thought Chris was The Chosen One, and we all know how that turned out, so really, what do I know? America is a fickle lover.

Now THAT'S what I'm talking about, and other random thoughts.

2006-05-16T14:06:00.000-06:00

Random Thought #1: It's official! BOOYAH! Now start watching the show already, people! Geesh. Best. Show. EVER.

Random Thought #2: My 8-year-old daughter came into the room as I was re-watching the finale of Veronica Mars, specifically the showdown between Veronica and the season 2 Big Bad. (I won't give it away in case all y'all are planning on watching the repeats starting this Tuesday. At 9/8 central. On UPN.) She proceeded to snuggle up and watch the show with me, which 1) aaaaaw! CUTE, and 2) is no surprise. She adores Buffy, too, but of course I haven't let her watch beyond Season 1. Because what kind of mother would I BE allowing her to watch later seasons?! Huh? With all the Vampire (s)Laying?

Damn it. What was I talking about?

Aw, just messin'! Anyhoos, she didn't really have much to say about the scene at the time (other than it kicked ass! but not in those exact words, of course, because what kind of mother would I BE if I let my 8-year-old say things like "kicked ass"?! Huh?!) but it was obviously preying on her mind because a few days later she blurted out this non-sequitur during dinner: "Bad guys on TV are stupid. They talk so long that the people they are trying to kill get away. I mean, they should just shoot 'em already."

I don't know whether to be proud of her for so quickly discerning the tragic exposition flaw most TV shows succumb to when their hero is in a tight spot (often called "The Scooby-Dooism") or to be absolutely horrified by her utter callousness... Okay, I'm going with the former. Because as the VM season 2 Big Bad would say, "Well, if this is what you need to do to feel better about yourself..."

Random Thought #3: I would like to preface this confession with some strong words about the outrageous price of gas these days and how we should all be driving smaller, fuel-efficient vehicles, even if they are not at all practical when one has a biggish family... because one needs more than two seats to fit said biggish family and why buy a second car if it only has two seats when one has five people who need to crowd into it, even if one does already have a fuel-efficient mid-sized family car perfect for traveling and tooling around the city? Because gas is freakishly EXPENSIVE, that's why!

That being said, TGIM bought me the cutest little convertible Mazda Miata!

It hugs the curves and has killer acceleration. I am so going to get a ticket soon, but I don't even care. It can GO. And it has four on the floor (although technically that should be five, but I couldn't think of a rhyme for five-- jive? chive?-- so go with me here), which means I. HAVE. THE. POWER. Standard transmission, baby! (*pumps fist*) I know that most people these days prefer to go automatic, but I'll take the stick any day. Okay, that came out sounding a lot more pervy than I meant it to. Then again, there was that time that me and a bunch of friends crowded into my sister's automatic transmission (wuss!) and I-- used to my own stick shift, mind you-- went to change gears and violently grabbed and clenched the crotch of my very surprised best guy friend. Good times. But I digress.

Seriously, my dad taught me to drive in a junky old Ford pickup truck on the back roads of Prescott, Arizona, and let me tell you, by the time I was ready for my license, I had that stick shift thing down COLD. Where others-- meaning people like my sister, Jenny, good LORD she was a wreck when she drove-- yes, others would be all freaking out at being stopped at the light at the top of the big hill on Gurley Street because what if the car rolled backward and hit the truck that was so stupidly right up on the back bumper? But not I! Oh no! I would tread that fine line between holding the gas and letting out the clutch, and I would not roll an inch when that line turned green. Power, I tell you. POWER. And the car gets awesome gas mileage, too, so it's win-win!

Plus, I look super cute in it.

BEST. RESULTS SHOW. EVER.

2006-05-15T12:29:00.000-06:00

Okay, there I was yesterday, a click away from erasing the unwatched AI results show from my TiFaux (yes, I totally skipped it last week... what?!) when I had a wild hair and thought to myself, Self? What the hey? So I pressed PLAY, and-- boy howdy!-- am I ever glad I did!

Honestly. Not only did my wee Ryan rock the house in his black-on-black ensemble (mini-rawr!), but for the first time this season, America managed to make the show interesting for me. No, seriously. I don't usually rewatch the results show-- honestly, lately I haven't watched at all, I've just fast-forwarded straight to the results-- but I rewatched this one. Twice. Then made TGIM watch it. Once. (What? There are limits to my abilities, y'all.) And to think I almost erased it unseen. Phew!

First of all, "Go, Kat! GO!" Good golly, Miss Molly... how hell-a-sexy was THAT?! One for the money, indeed. Nice moves, girl. NICE. Yep. I've been practicing that one all weekend, I tell you what. I'm gonna break it out one of these days, totally knock TGIM's socks off, you know.

Matter of fact, that whole Elvis medley seriously rocked. And why didn't Kat sing Are You Lonesome Tonight in the actual competition because PRETTY? They all looked like they were cutting loose, just having fun, and darned if I didn't enjoy watching it. And I am pretty sure I caught a glimpse of Simon clapping, guys, which just goes to show, right? I mean, Chris even smiled during Love Me Tender. Smiled! I know, right?! And he didn't even do that annoying foot-stampy thing too terribly much! And I especially liked it when they got to Burning Love because next to Suspicious Minds that's my absolute fave and did you see Kat and Taylor getting all crazy dancing together? I frickin' loved that. TGIM was all "Wow, Kat's got an ass on her" and I was like "You just noticed? Now sshhhhhh!" and he was like, "Well, I didn't say that was a bad thing" and I was all, "SSHHH!" And then I had to rewind and watch that part again. Yep. Good times.

Because second? Best. Result Show. EVER.

Among Ryan's cold-blooded segue into the elimination, the awesome Elvis medley group sing, Taylor's Jailhouse Rock redux, the surprisingly cute Kermit commercial, and Chris' barely-contained fury at being eliminated, that was the most fun I've had all season! I'm not even kidding. When Taylor started his encore Jailhouse Rock by breaking down his funky rhythm with Elliott's momma, I giggled, and didn't stop giggling until the drummer quit messing with him and ended the song so Taylor could revive from that seizure he was having on the stage. Dude just makes me laugh, what can I say? Good thing that was a fast song, though, because I've never heard some of those lyrics he was singing up there. But, hey... bonus points for creativity.

Seriously, when all hell breaks loose on live television, that's reality TV at its finest. I mean, the look on Simon's face alone made this results show worth the precious minutes of my day spent NOT obsessing about whether or not Veronica Mars will be renewed.

But I did notice that not so much talking went on after Ryan heartlessly crumpled Chris' dreams and spat upon them and drop-kicked them to the curb. Was it shock? Joy? Relief? Nausea? What? SO uncharacteristic of AI. I mean, Paula didn't even give her "Oh, Chris... you moved me..." speech. The hell?

To rectify this anomaly I have documented my own interpretation of what really happened that evening. It went down a little something like this:

Ryan: "Chrisyouaregoinghometonight."

Chris: What in the which where? WHO IN THE WHAT NOW?!

Kat: Nuh-freaking-uh! SHUT! UP!... okay, have I looked sad long enough? Can I Snoopy Dance now? Can I shake my boo-tay?

Taylor and Chris: YES! (*elbow pump*)

Randy: Dawg... I don't know... You laid it down, man... America?... Dude...

Paula: (*totally puking under the judges' table.*)

Simon: Well that's just PERFECT. America? You got it completely and utterly wrong... Good lord, we are effing screwed.

So, Chris was pissed-- like, seriously, he looked like he wanted to reach through the television and kill me dead-- but I can't say that I will miss the scary shouting man much. Buh-bye, Chosen One. I will miss the laser light shows and smoke machine pimpage. And if nothing else, at least you learned the new technique of singing with your diaphragm. Which I suggest you really try implementing before you give yourself an aneurism, by the way. Good LORD with the screaming. In all honesty, my love for Chris peaked and waned the night he rocked Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive. He should have eventually stepped up his game a bit, dropped the rocker shtick and showed a little versatility, because One Trick Ponies have a notoriously short shelf-life on AI. I'm just saying.

Eh. He lasted longer than Constantine. But whatever. No worries. Some shouty band like Fuel will snap him right up (if they haven't already), so it's all good.

All that being said, I have no freaking clue who will to win this thing now. I honestly though it would be Chris, what with all the pimping and superfluous praise. Things are getting interesting 'round here, y'all.

FINALLY.

Theory of Potential Mate Gravitation

2006-05-12T18:21:00.000-06:00

My friend Paige, with the skinny on mate selection in second marriages:

"So, going into your first marriage you look at the man you've chosen to share your life with and you think to yourself, 'Dude. My boy is FINE. Wow. Just look at him. HOTNESS.' The second time around you look at the new man in your life and you think to yourself, 'Dude. This guy looks like he'd take out the trash without even being asked. He'd probably let me control the remote, too. HOTNESS.'"

I have to say, I'd settle for a husband who remembers to put down the toilet seat after he pees so when his dear wife stumbles to the bathroom in the middle of the night and considerately refrains from flipping on the bathroom light out of common courtesy to said husband (and because when you turn on the light in the middle of the night it totally wakes you up and messes with your body clock so it's all, "Time to wake up!" but it's not and then you can't get back to sleep again for hours and hours), she doesn't end up "falling in," or more specifically, momentarily losing her bearings when the toilet seat does not meet her bum at the expected time, causing a split second of sheer, unadulterated terror, leading to involuntary screeching and frantic air-scrabbling, followed by a jolt, a gasp, and a the shock of cold toilet water hitting her terrorized bum, totally waking her up more than if she would have just flipped on the frickin' light in the first place.

You thought I was lying... admit it.

2006-05-11T15:25:00.000-06:00

Now let's just hope that prayer works.

That shizz ain't right.

2006-05-10T13:43:00.000-06:00

Okay, I may simply be a bit punchy from lack of sleep due to extreme overexcitement caused by last night's season finale of Veronica Mars, but DUDE. Honestly. All you have to do is change my last post to past tense, and you have my recap of last night's American Idol. NOT. KIDDING. Do it! You'll see! With the exception of my prediciton that Simon would absolutely hate both of Taylor's performances (I am pleasantly surprised that he acknowledged the beauty of Taylor's soulful rendition of In the Ghetto), I pretty much nailed the show. No, seriously. Talor, a spaz attack and then soulful? Check. Elliott? Ba-a-a-a-a-hing like a wee lamb, minus the cute and fluffy part? Check. Chris, shreiking at me and glaring? CHECK! and Kat, sassy and cuttin' loose? Check! Judges manipulating the America Idol voting public? You bet! (I may not have mentioned that yesterday, but it was everywhere implied, for reals.) So... hammer? Nail? Square hit? You know the rest.

Don't get me wrong, yo? I'm not bragging. All I'm saying is that if I can predict the show before it even airs, tell me... what is the point of actually watching? Huh? Why should I? Why?! Give me a reason, y'all, because Kat is SO gone tonight and Simon hates Taylor, so really, what's the friggin' point?

[PSA] And seriously. If you haven't been watching Veronica Mars, you're in luck. (Kelly, you are in even MORE luck! The Veronica Mars Season 1 DVD's are on the way! Woo!) Last night Veronica graduated from high school, helped her dad catch a child molester, and solved all this season's mysteries (who killed the busload of kids, who killed Curly Moran) plus one from the first season (who really raped her), so she will be starting fresh and mystery-free at college in the fall (if the CW renews, please God, please, oh, please?!). Of course, the mystery-free part will last-- at most--about five minutes into the Season 3 premiere (please God, please, if there's a Season 3, I will be good! and floss more often!), but still! Good times. It's dark. It's humor. It's dark humor! And I certainly didn't predict what was going to happen last night, that's all I'm saying. It BLEW. MY. MIND. (All I want is for the CW to pick it up, God! Is that too much to ask?! Huh? Oh, and world peace. Amen.)[/PSA]

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gents. We're gonna be Taking Care of Business in a FLASH tonight on AI.

2006-05-09T10:45:00.000-06:00

(DISCLAIMER: I'm just writing this so I can stop obsessing-- for a small while, anyway-- about the Veronica Mars season finale which is on in... let's see... 8 more hours. 8! More hours! GAAAH! So excited! Dudes, I must chill... Also, all songs are subject to change. What? I don't know everything, gosh!)

Elvis Presley night, huh? Yep. The King is in the great hereafter (or Vegas, whatev) all, "Oh, hell no."

Here's the rundown, y'all:

Taylor (Woo!)
Dude's going to take on Jailhouse Rock and In the Ghetto. Methinks Taylor will do exactly what he did last week, and I mean that in the good way. Because he's gonna DANCE, y'all. He'll be all "Let's rock! Everybody let's ROCK!" while pelvic thrusting and hip swiveling and crazy-ass gyrating all over the place and quite possibly doing some sort of impromptu making out with the microphone action while running through the audience, and then he'll be like, "Dudes... a poor little baby child is born... in the ghetto," and he will be all soulful and mellow. And his momma will cry... in the audience.

And it goes without saying (but I'll say it anyway), Simon will absolutely hate both performances.

(Squeeeee! Veronica Mars is on tonight!)

Kat (Boobs.)
Girlfriend's chosen to tackle an All Shook Up/Hound Dog medley and Can't Help Falling in Love. Wise choices both. We can only hope she steps out of the box a little and just cuts loose on the medley-- you know, get all playful and sassy and whatnot? (a la Black Horse and Cherry Tree)-- and by DAMN there will be some hip swiveling or heads will ROLL. And here's hoping she chooses an uptempo UB40-ish version of Can't Help Falling In Love or it will... it will be... so... oh, so... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

(We're gonna find out who blew up the bus on Veronica Mars! Tonight! This very evening!)

Chris (AAAIIIEEEGGGHHH!)
Well, well, well... looky what we have here. Chris singing A Little Less Conversation and Suspicious Minds. Iiiiinteresting... Okay, I've tried to envision Chris doing A Little Less Conversation, but it just can't be done. I hate to admit this, but JPL will go down in AI history as The Really Sucky And Annoying Singer Who For Some Inexplicable Reason Kicked Major Ass Performing That Song. Good lord, people. And you just know that Chris will SO try to punk up Suspicious Minds, and Elvis will be like, "Bitch, please." I wonder what band he will draw "inspiration" from? And yes, those are my sarcastic quotes. We shall see.

(And seriously, how in the world did Veronica get chlamydia?! Did someone else find her passed out at Shelly Pomeroy's party? Is it possible she was raped last season, not just with Duncan, after all? Did Dick find her alone and... oh ew. Just... NO.)

Elliott (Vibra-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-to...)
Trouble and If I Can Dream? Hmmm...
Question: Does Elliott have the personality, charisma, and vocals for Trouble? Does he have the soul to pull it off?
Answer: Oh, absolutely not. No, indeed. Next question.
Question: Okay, well what about If I Can--
Answer: NO! Gosh.

(OMG! Logan's dad, Aaron Echolls, is SOOOO gonna whoop up on Logan and will totally be going after Veronica! I just know it! He totally wants her dead! Because she knows the truth, yo? GAAAH!)

Mere words cannot express how disappointed I am that no one will be singing one of my personal Elvis faves, Burning Love. For serious, guys. I feel my temperature rising just thinking about it! Higher... higher... It's burning through my soul.

And now we dance.

(Logan Echolls from Veronica Mars is) just a hunk, a hunk of burning love,
Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love,
Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love...

Hideaway

2006-05-07T13:51:00.000-06:00

I write this sitting in the living room window seat. That is, the low, deep window ledge I have enclosed by pulling forward the window's sheer white curtains and slipping behind them, settling into my own little sanctuary padded with throw pillows from the couch and and our fluffy green chair pads, which I am now noticing could use a good wash. It's a tad cramped so I can't say I'm truly comfortable, and there are two teenaged boys in wifebeaters and lowrider pants staring at me through the window from where they stand smoking on the corner, but as there are a couple yards of material hanging between me and the family clamor within the house, my hideout is (semi) private and I can type (mostly) uninterrupted. I have found that sitting in a place that is different from where you normally sit to think or write can be inspiring-- I once wrote the only poetry that I have ever considered better than my usual in a small clearing amongst the ponderosas in the Prescott National Forest. Of course, as "better than my usual" is only a slight step above "unerringly dismal" where my attempts at poetry are concerned (I'm not kidding, it should be illegal for me to wax poetic), I guess I really shouldn't read too much into that. Honestly. This is why I stick to haiku and the occasional limerick.

Faint voices echo from far away, children fighting, yelling, laughing. Deep, rumbly snores drifts across the room, but even Aaron's powernap can't penetrate my hideaway. Strange. The sheer curtain shouldn't hold out noise-- they don't really-- but it all seems so far away, nevertheless. The view from my second story perch is exceedingly unremarkable. Beyond the window lies a sidewalk running alongside a newly repaved parking lot, and beyond the parking lot is a grove of trees, elms I think, newly green with spring leaves gently swaying beneath a sky of lightest blue. But the colors seem dull. Lifeless, even. I crack the window so I can hear the leaves whisper to each other on the breeze, but all I hear is a passing jetliner roaring by. I tell myself that we won't be in this little townhouse forever, and in another year or two I will be sitting at a different window staring out as my children ride bikes up and down the road, or chase each other around and bounce on a trampoline in our yard, no tar-stinky repaved parking lots obstructing my view or smoking boys on the corner watching me. I try to imagine it, but the more my mind's eye tries to picture the lush green lawn and the happy, shouty children and the bicycles and the busy trampoline and perhaps a small dog (okay, probably not a dog, small or otherwise, as I enjoy life so much better without the pesky allergy anaphylaxis), the more washed out, grey, desolately drained of color my view of the road and the leaves and the sky seems.

The smokers have wandered away.

I close the window (the leaves won't talk to me and the pungent, odoriferous smell of the tar makes my eyes sting), and try to look away from the trees, but they draw me back-- boughs swaying, dancing, beckoning-- and as the sun wanders out from behind a cloud and a sudden shaft of sunlight shoots through the branches, I can't help but watch and sigh, and dream about split-level homes, wraparound porches, and tree-lined streets, and wish...

... But Hannah has discovered me and wonders why in the Sam Hill I am sitting in the window hiding behind a curtain and couldn't I please, please, please get her the birthday wrapping paper out of the attic so she can wrap Alli's presents, oh please, please, pretty please?

I take one last look outside, but it's useless. The curtains are thrown aside now and everyone sees me... the thrill of hiding away is gone. And as the clamor of my family grows increasingly louder and more chaotic with every second that passes since Hannah first discovered me, I feel a gentle wind-- a zephyr, a cleansing breeze-- blow across my face and I realize that the air around me is appreciably fresher with the curtains open-- crisp, even-- and I can breathe easier. Dreams of big homes and green lawns fade, but as I laugh at Hannah who is pulling at my arm-- Mom! Please! The wrapping paper! Momma!-- I realize, one, it is extraordinarily difficult to type one-handed, and two, the colors outside seem brighter now. Oh, and three, my butt has apparently fallen asleep, which... uncomfortable? Dreams of lovely homes and soft green lawns fall by the wayside as I unfold my legs and climb out of my hideout, but I don't despair. Because there is a chain of truth that spirals and dwells within every cell of my body. A pleasantness hidden beneath the unpleasantness of lawnless townhomes, and crowded bedrooms, and stinking, repaved parking lots, and teenage wastelanders smoking on the corner.

I am rich. And unfortuntely for Hannah, I'm pretty sure I'm out of birthday wrapping paper.

"Do or do not... there is no try."

2006-05-04T11:12:00.000-06:00

Okay, when you instigate an uprising of obsessive Veronica Mars fans on TWoP who are desperate to see Veronica Mars make the transition to the new CW network from UPN for a third season, you know you've officially crossed over from Casual Viewer to Crazy Lady With No Social Life Whatsoever Whose Computer Her Husband Keeps Threatening To Take So She Will Come Downstairs And Eat Dinner.

Nevertheless, I feel so, SO proud. I sounded the alarm and set the ball rolling, and a few SUPER organized, FREAKISHLY aggressive fans took control of our baby, and we nurtured it, and loved it, and squeezed it, and called it "George," and just look what it has turned into... just LOOK!:

TWoP VM FANS Press Release

A large, dedicated group of Veronica Mars fans is pulling out all the stops to support the show's move to the new CW network.

Their efforts include:

* Raising over $4000 - in just 4 days - from fans on the Television Without Pity and other various fan website.

* Using a portion of these funds to purchase DVDs of Veronica Mars' first season to be donated to libraries in major TV markets across the country.

* Encouraging fans who want to help to donate DVDs to their hometown libraries (so far 30 sets have been donated and received).

* Sending Veronica Mars-inspired t-shirts, care packages, and floral bouquets to decision makers at the CW, its parent companies, and influential people in the media.

But the group's biggest effort is ensuring that on Tuesday, May 9, the day of the Veronica Mars Season 2 Finale, "CW" will stand for something entirely different: Cloud Watchers.

* During the morning and afternoon rush hours, an airplane will fly the skies between the UPN offices in Los Angeles and the future site of the CW headquarters, showing network officials the way to their new home in Burbank. And on that day, should those in charge of the fictional private eye's future look to the skies for guidance, the message from her fans will be clear: "RENEW VERONICA MARS! CW 2006!

Yeah. We're scary.

Originally I suggested we have a cluster of skydivers parachute in a "VM" formation right into the grounds of the future CW network site while wearing "Veronica Mars Is Smarter Than Me" t-shirts and singing the Veronica Mars theme song We Used to Be Friends at the top of their lungs, but come on... that's just showing off. Plus, have you ever tried to sing while parachuting? Trust me. It can't be done.

But I guess the fly-by is almost as cool, so whatev.

Anyhoos, the plane dragging our banner will fly for two hours in the morning (8-10am) and two hours in the afternoon (4-6pm) on Tuesday, May 9th, the date of the Veronica Mars finale. The flight will run from the UPN offices in Los Angeles, up Highway 405 to the new CW offices in Burbank (and loop back). SWEET.

Plus, we're totally going all Full Metal Jacket on the people we feel are in a position to save Veronica Mars: the entertainment media and the network decision makers. In tonight's mail (for delivery tomorrow), we are sending 35 key people care packages that contain a letter of recommendation from Veronica's guidance counselor; Hearst College t-shirts, hats, and pom-poms; information about the plane's flight plan and binoculars... you know, all the better to Look to the Skies on Tuesday? Eh? Eh?! Are we good or what?!

So, yeah. As you must now realize, I've completely lost my grip on reality. But don't worry, I'm not going to fill my pockets with rocks and jump off the nearest cliff or anything crazy like that if Veronica Mars is not renewed for a third season. I'll just cry like a big old bawl baby and lose all faith in the entertainment industry. And probably feel the need to consume large quantities of assorted pastries. I mean, honestly. American Idol is trying my patience as it is. Straw? Camel's back? You know the rest.

... You're mocking me, aren't you?

Cela vie, Princess P. Cela Vie.

2006-05-03T16:49:00.000-06:00

Di kept me on the phone for almost three hours! Di kept me on the phone for almost three hours! It's HER fault this is late! Blame DIIIIIII! (Hey, Di! 'Sup? Hugs!)

One song from the Billboard Charts? One song from the year of their birth? Oh, lordy, here we go...

Elliott: Since all I could hear was TGIM yelling from the next room, "Ack! GAH! Who is THAT?! And what is up with the goat b-a-a-a-a-a-a- thing he's got going on?" I cannot in good conscience comment on this song selection. But I'm pretty sure it didn't do a thing for me. And Home? Second verse, same as the first!...

Okay, here's the thing, Elliott. I want to like you. Really, I do. And yes, I recognize that you have a fairly decent singing voice (minus the grating vi-braaaaaa-to, of course), and your teeth are way better now and you're kind of endearing in your Mr. Tumnusy way. But honestly. I just don't like your music choices, dawg. The songs you choose? They suck. And I'm not just saying that because I never know any of them. Fine. It's because I never know any of them. But even if I did know them, I'd probably still think they sucked. I'm just saying. Suckiness unto you. Why do you make it so hard for me to like you, Elliott? Why you gotta be like that? Huh? Why? Whatever. Nice suit!

OMG. Is that Kelly singing a frickin' Ford commercial? Hey! Guys! It's Kelly! Hi, Kelly! *waves* I [heart] Kelly. Even if she IS a sell-out. (I mean, FORD?!)

Paris: Kiss? Oh, no, no, no you D'INT. Um, Princess P.? If there is one thing I do know with every fiber of my being, it is this... nobody-- and by nobody I mean NOBODY-- can sing Prince like Prince. Or, should I say like The Artist Formerly Known As Prince Who Is Now Prince Again? Okay, SO not important right now, so moving on... And to add insult to egregious injury, you didn't even do the kissies! "I just want your extra time, and your-- mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-MWAH-- kiss." Come on! That's like sacrilege, GOSH. The song is called Kiss for a reason, yo? And you... didn't! Kiss, that is. I mean, honestly. That? Was a disaster. However, the shoes were fabulous! [/Paula's voice] But one word of advice: gauchos are not made for the short and squatty. Those funky silver gauchos did you absolutely no favors, that's all I'm sayin. Note it. Please.

Wait. What? There was a second song? Huh. I must have missed it because I can't even look at you right now, Paris. I mean, KISS?! What were you thinking?! (And stop saying "Thank yeeew!" after the judges insult you! It's just WEIRD.)

Tayor: Oh, Taylor, I knew you were going to cut loose tonight. Because me? I'm in the know! I know that you are sick and tired of being oppressed by The Man! The AI Machine has been squashing the spaz and the WOO! (Soul Patrol!), the dirty bastards, and they keep fiddling with your song choices at the last minute. You've been a mere shell of your former Soul Patrol (Woo!) self, but no more! You PLAYED that funky music, White Boy! That was the first time I enjoyed your performance in WEEKS. Sure, you tend to begin all your moves from the fetal position, but it works for you, so who am I to judge? I could teach you to Snake, though. Change things up a bit. I'm just saying. Anyhoos, when you collapsed to the floor, I was all, "Taylor is BACK, baby!" And then I giggled and went, "Woo!" Because I'm a nerd?

Oh, and the Beatles song was nice, too. Seriously. Well-done. (Woo! Soul Patrol! SOUL PATROL!)

Kat: Oh, Katharine, you dirty, dirty girl. Now, Scott Savol completely ruined Against All Odds for me-- which is too bad as I used to really love it-- so I have repressed your first performance and will therefore not be discussing it because it totally never happened, so let's just talk about that second performance, shall we? I admit I didn't know that song at all (Black Horse and a Cherry Tree?)... but I LIKED IT! Snap, girlfriend, that rocked the hizzouse! That was by far one of the best songs you have put down to date, and there were no distracting wardrobe malfunctions to color my judgment, either!... Hmm... Oh, what? Yes, focusing! It was sexy without being completely trampy, and the bouncing and interacting with the drummers was a perfect touch, albeit a little strange and, um, suggestive. It just worked. You know, because of The Bouncy? Pickler may be gone, but she left her knee-dancing legacy to you. Bear it well, my pretty, pretty, sexy friend. Bear it well.

CHRIS!: HEEEEEEEEYYY CHRIIIIIIIIIIIIIS! STOOOOOP YEEEELLLLLLLLIIIIIINGGG
AAAT MEEEEEEEE! AIGIGIHGHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIGH! That being shouted, Renegade was all right. Darn good, even. Same old boring rocker shtick, and your voice sometimes sounds like mine does when I sing into an oscillating fan (What? Like you guys never do that?!), but good nonetheless. But the second song? You know, the loud, angry, screamy one? Left me cold, dawg. Possibly because I couldn't understand a word, but more specifically because I was in constant dread of one of those bulging purple veins in your neck totally erupting all Scanners-like (am I dating myself?) and spewing blood and gore all over the judges and audience. Because... ew? Randy would be all, "DAWG!" and Paula would be like, "Chris! You touched me... right here... no, seriously, there's blood right here. Wardrobe? WARDROBE?!" And Simon would be like, "Well, this is simply ghastly. Thank GOD I'm wearing a black shirt." And Ryan would be all, "No, YOU'RE gay!" So, really, that's all I have to say about the second song. Sorry. I'll try to do better next time, pinky promise. Now smile, damn it. SMILE.

So, I'm thinking Paris will be the bootee tonight. But what do I know? America votes CRAZY-LIKE, y'all. CRAZY.

You throw in a candy bar and you've got yourself a problem.

2006-05-02T13:13:00.000-06:00

You know what's crazier than a child hopped up on a sugary, caffeinated beverage? A child who THINKS she's hopped up on a sugary, caffeinated beverage. Allow me to illustrate... it looks a little something like this:

Alli: (running in circles) Aaaahhhhh! Oooooooh! I'm CRAZY!

Cat: Oh LORD, did you give her Mountain Dew again?

Alli: (bouncing up and down) Woooo! Wheeeeeeeee! Yyayayayayaya!

TGIM: I swear, I only gave her a tiny sip--

Alli: (executing near perfect swan dive onto living room couch): Hummana hummana! Ha! Ha ha ha ha ha! HOO! Didja see that, momma! Lookit! I'll do it again! Wheeeeeeeeeeee!

TGIM: (shouting to be heard over Wheeeee!-ing) Allison, you cannot be that hyper from just one sip of Mountain Dew! It isn't possible!

Alli: (stopping in tracks) Really?

T.D.: DUH!

Hannah: DUH!... Wait, you can't?

Allison: Oh...

Allison shrugs and walks calmly out of the room.

Cat/TGIM: ...?

For Any Veronica Mars Fans Out There... because, obsessed?

2006-05-02T12:50:00.000-06:00

What my favorite Neptunitans might say to new CW network head honcho Dawn Ostroff if they knew just how precarious is their rightful position on the CW fall schedule:

Veronica: So, do me a favor? (head tilt) I need you to get me on the CW fall schedule... preferably Tuesdays at 9?...

Keith: Do it! The CW, baby! Then tonight, we celebrate like the CW frontrunner to which we aspire. That's right... who's your daddy?!

Wallace: You know? If you've already put us on the CW fall schedule, you've really been holding out on a brother.

Logan: Wait. You mean we're not on the CW fall schedule yet? What? Is it national What the Hell Were We Thinking Day? Because I didn't get the memo. I would have worn my K-Fed manpris and a trucker hat.

Weevil: Hey, D... No show cancelling goes on around here without my say-so, you got that? Huh?

Backup: Grrrrrrrrrrr... WOOF!

Oh, the Cosmic Irony

2006-05-01T08:11:00.000-06:00

Whoa. Guess who did the choreography for Reefer Madness?! Just GUESS!... Ellen Degeneres? What? No! Come on! You're not even trying! Fine. Give up? Do you?! The choreography (which was pretty fabulous, actually) was created by none other than Paula Abdul. PAULA "You mooooooved me" ABDUL. Hoo! How delicious is that?!

Because, honestly. Is anyone really surprised?

American Idol, your bloom is fading quickly...

2006-04-28T13:08:00.000-06:00

(*chants*) Ste-vie! Ste-vie! Ste-vie! (Remember Stevie, guys? Do ya?) Ste-vie! Ste-vie! Ste-vie!...

Wow. That David Foster fellow is mighty full of himself, isn't he? A regular mutha. No, seriously, the dude's an ass. Ooooh, I hope he smacks down Pickler! Because awesome?

Oh, ho ho, listen to Kat (I love that she's Kat now, instead of Katharine. Solidarity, sistah!) all impromptu opera-ing it up with Andrea Bocelli. Andrea! Bocelli! Wow, she's GOOD. And he's got a super secret crush on her, too... and dude's BLIND.

Kat (If I Don't Have You): First off... BOOOOOOOOBS. Yeah, as if I wouldn't mention that. Good golly, Miss Molly! Ahem. Secondly, I think it is quite possible the judges have not only been passing around the hookah-- smoking God knows what but it ain't flavored tobacco, you know what I'm sayin'?-- but are also quite possibly insane because WHAT in the WORLD are they blathering on about?! That was simply gorgeous, Kat, and I'm not just saying that because of your quite excellent sartorial choices and the fact that you popped a button on your dress during your performance and accidentally flashed your cootch at several million people without breaking your stride. And considering the pompous jackass composer gave you his seal of approval, I'm wondering where Randy "Yo, yo, yo DAWG!" Jackson, Paula "Straight Up" Abdul, and Simon "I like to touch myself" Cowell get off saying any different. Way to take it with grace and style, Kat. Oh, and third of all, PRETTY. Love the hair. Wear yellow always. Now put those bad boys away before you hurt somebody.

Elliott (A Song for You): Huh. I didn't know Paula was a sad drunk. Lay off the sauce, Paula. Booze is no balm for the lonely... Oh, sorry, focusing. Elliott, you didn't move me to tears or anything (*cough* Paula *cough*), but that was very prettily done. Good on you, man! If you just had some stage presence, I could totally dig you. But don't worry, Randy and Paula luuuuuv you so, SO much. And you are looking... better tonight, so there's that, right? Like the goatee! That being said, Ryan wants his suit and metrosexual persona back.

See? See?! It's not just me:
David Foster: (referring to Kellie) What color is her hair?
Andrea: (laughs) Blonde...
Heh.

Kellie (Unchained Melody): Wow. There are no words in the English language. Just... WOW. And not in the good way. So, SO not in the good way. I have this strange, uncomfortable feeling in my chest... Oh, good lord, I think I almost feel sorry for you, Kellie. For reals! Hold on a sec... Yep, I have plumbed the depths of my bitter, cynical soul, and I do in fact actually feel sorry for the Pickler. I do. It's a strange, uncomfortable feeling, I tell you! I don't like it at ALL. Aaaaw... sweetie! You know how bad that was, doncha? And the dead, glassy eyes after that first horrendous note? Killer. Don't let the door smack you in the-- well, you know the rest.

Paris (The Way We Were): Okay, you have never actually seen The Way We Were, have you, girlfriend? Because if you had you would know how completely NOT age-appropriate that song was for you. Just sayin'. Still, you sang it very well, as usual-- no, seriously, well-done-- but Streisand? Babs just does it so beautifully, you see... And, hey! Why didn't the judges slam you for a picking a song WAAAAAY too big for you? Huh. Teacher's PET.

Taylor (Just Once): I love the voice. I don't know why (Soul Patrol! Woo!). I just really, really do. And I thought you did well, truly I did. But this genre? Not your forte. Stay away from it. Far, far-- oh my goodness, are you wearing VELVET?! Dude, are you insane? It's mid-APRIL, yo?

Uh-oh. How genuinely irritated did Simon look when Paula interrupted his talking time? Somebody's in troooooouuuuuuuubbbbble...

Hannah Mack: Uuuuuuh!
Cat: What? Do you hurt?
Hannah: Uuuh! Hurtlikeheck...
(*PAUSE*)

Chris (Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman): Oooh! Ooooh! I totally sprawl on my back when I practice singing, and I am not even lying. But, Chris, honey? Singing with your diaphragm is not in actuality a "new technique." Just sayin'. Well. Pimp machine in full force, I see. Not one, but two guitarists. How special. Whatev. Oh, my gosh! Yes! FINE! I've really loved a woman, okay?! GOSH! I don't understand why you are shouting at me, dude. Cut it out. Scariness unto you.

Overall, meh. I am losing interest here, I must admit. I know, right?! Sacrilege. But seriously, who would have thought that frakking Queen Night would overshadow all the others? Queen Night! Well it surprised the hell out of me, and that's a fact.

Kellie is totally going home, and I would have said that even if I didn't already know she got voted off. For reals. I would have!

(*off to FF through results show*)

"Listen to Jesus, Jimmy... trust the man with the stigmata!"

2006-04-28T08:04:00.000-06:00

So, when one has some downtime between medicating children, one should relax, right? I mean, it's only fair that when the children are in a drug-induced stupor, the momma gets to indulge in some much needed R & R, right? You know, eat, doze in front of the TV, go for a jog. Duh. So my choice to watch the movie musical Reefer Madness was probably not the most relaxing option-- obviously a nice nap would have been the better, wiser choice at this point-- but I've been meaning to see it forever, and TGIM rented it for me and e'rything, so what can you do? And guys? I laughed my butt off. Laughed it right off! Not literally, of course... although that would be coolness. I mean it. And now I can't get "Listen to Jesus, Jimmy!" out of my head, which HA!

And I only have myself to blame.

But goodness, Kristen Bell is the cutest, most over the top Mary Sunshine I have ever seen and I'm not just saying that because she also plays my kickass teen heroine Veronica Mars on my most favoritest TV show evah. No, the story is about two clean-cut, innocent teens (Mary Lane and Jimmy Harper) who fall under the menacing influence of Public Enemy Number One-- Mary Jane, marijuana, reefer, the "stuff"-- and quickly find themselves in a twisted, downward spiral into a world of sex, madness, and evil jazz music. It is so hilariously tongue-in-cheek, y'all-- and good golly is it ever over-the-top gruesome and nutty-- that I didn't get any rest at ALL. When Jesus (played by the awesome Robert Torti, who was also Pharoah in Donny Osmond's version of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat) comes down from heaven and, in a musical revue hosted by none other than Joan of Arc, tries to convince Jimmy to quit toking up, I almost peed my pants I was laughing so hard. Not very restful, I tell you what, GOSH. They should put a warning on the cover or something.

So basically, I didn't get a nap, I'm probably going to burn in hell, I can't stop singing "Loved by Mary Lane!", and I am suddenly super hungry. Honestly. What's that all about?

Sure, God... Why send measly rain when it can freaking POUR?! Eh?!

2006-04-27T20:35:00.000-06:00

Okay, so I haven't even had a chance to watch AI yet, which is just a darn shame. (But I know Kellie's gone so woo-HOO! Ahem.) Because not only is Hannah Mack decidely averse to putting any fluids into her body, due to the pain in swallowing and the fact that the putrid smell in her throat makes her want to gag (and seriously, putrid is putting it mildly, y'all, I am SOOOOO not kidding, good LORD...) which will most assuredly lead to dehydration and hospitalization, but my little Alli, obviously jealous of all the ice cream and popsicles Hannah is not eating, gets herself sent home from school with a 102 degree fever. Sent home! With a fever! I know, right?! Man, oh MAN! Kids these days... And they wake up at all hours of the night, no rhyme or reason, just WHENEVER, and they cry and complain and vomit and just have absolutely no respect for their parents' sleep patterns whatsoever.

That being said, aaaaaaaaaaaw...

I'm wicked tired, yo? I'm going to bed.

Oh, how I love thee, Work At Home day(s)!

2006-04-25T11:51:00.000-06:00

WAHing is hard, yo? Not the actual work, mind you, but the whole actually getting to work thing. Granted, I have a whiny, achy little girl demanding much of my attention, but beyond that you would think it would be easy to just sit down and pound out some regulations, right?! Quarantine a few states infested with emerald ash borer! Extend the interval for conducting cervid reaccreditation tests! Regulate sheep semen, perhaps! You know, riveting stuff. Instead, my days (I have a week of WAH, due to Mack's surgery) look much like this:

1. Turn on computer.
2. Check my email.
3. Read about American Idol and Veronica Mars on Television Without Pity, then check out Kristin's chat transcripts on E!Online. (Hey, keeping abreast of current events is key.)
4. Get out files and workplans and push them around on the table a little bit. Stare at them thoughtfully.
5. Notice that the kitchen windows are spotty. Make note to self: clean windows.
6. Eat a donut.
7. Amend note to self: ask TGIM to clean windows.
8. Sit and stare at my belly, which is obviously bigger as I just ate a donut.
9. Decide to jog my three-mile route while Mack is sleeping. (A strong body and mind are key.)
10. Shower... duh.
11. Um...
12. Send several emails to boss, so she knows how busy WAHing I am.
13. Make Very Important revisions to my Very Important shelled garden peas docket for a minimum of 10 minutes, but no longer than thirty minutes. (Pace is key, guys. Honestly.)
14. Notice that Scooby Doo is on... YES! I just love those rascally, meddling kids.
15. Update my Weekly Activity Report. (Obviously, inventiveness? Totally key.)

Oh, I kid. Heh-heh! Such a kidder! Of course this post is completely fictitious. It bears absolutely no resemblance to my actual WAH habits whatsoever. No, really. It is so utterly untrue. False, false, false. Embellished for Artistic Purposes only. Okay, except for the jogging part. Oh, and the part about Scooby Doo. Really. I am BUSY, y'all. Busy and important. Yep.

I'm so ashamed...

2006-04-25T10:47:00.000-06:00

My descent into scary fangirlyism has begun. No, seriously. This is even worse than Constantine touching my boobs, y'all. Honestly.

See this shirt?

I know, right?! Cute design! Loverly! Stylin'! With the orchids and the Chinese characters and whatnot! "So what's the deal?" you ask? "Why the shame?" Here's the thing... I saw it and literally stopped in my tracks, all, "OMG! Veronica Mars has that shirt! OMG! OMG! Veronica Mars has that shirt! VERONICA! MARS!" I'm pretty sure I scared the staff, and quite possibly a large majority of the customers. Because of the screaming? And the jumping up and down and stuff? And then?... I freaking bought the darn thing ON THE SPOT. I didn't even try it on. That's right. I just bought it.

Behold my Shame:

Yep. Me = scary fangirl. Then again, it is a wicked cute tee...

Okay, whatever. I am SO over it.

Hey, let's just thank God they don't make "I [heart] Logan Echolls" t-shirts, or sell "Veronica Mars is Smarter Than Me" tank tops. Gosh. Then I'd be doomed.

You're judging me, aren't you?

Please Observe a Moment of Silence...

2006-04-21T04:23:00.000-06:00

... for my little Mack Attack's (not so) dearly departed tonsils and adenoids. May they be safely and hygienically disposed of in a proper medical waste incinerator in peace.

ETA: Wow. We're back already. I thought this would be an all-day thing, but here we are all tucked into bed watching SpongeBob. Well, she's tucked. I'm tucking. And fussing. And shoving meds down her throat. And fussing some more. Basically doing the Momma Thing. Plus, cartoons? BONUS.

SpongeBob? Funny stuff.

I was shocked-- shocked!-- to discover they can flavor the knock-you-out-in-two-seconds-FLAT gas. Of course, the obvious choice today was bubble gum. I checked it out, you know, for scientific purposes. VERY cool. I personally think adults get the shaft with the whole put-the-IV-in-before-they-knock-you-out thing.

Despite the fact that someone just cut overlarge masses of lymphoid tissue out of her throat, she's more concerned about the killer IV binding. "Hey... why is there BLOOD in the tube?!..."

This is TGIM "helping." Totally "paying attention." Really "being there" for his daughter. (Sudoku. It's a sickness, y'all.)

I need a challenge.

2006-04-20T12:51:00.000-06:00

Hey. Napoleon ain't the only one with smoove moooooves, I tell you what. I think I have my next instructional video idea! Heck, yeah! I better get to work though. Some of those hip thrusts look way difficult, yo?

(*moonwalks to full-length mirror to practice*)

And JUST when we had a cool nickname for him and e'rything!

2006-04-20T07:31:00.000-06:00

Aaaw, Gayce...

Honestly, people. Did Felicity teach us nothing? I told you. Never mess with The Hair.

That is all.

If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy...

2006-04-19T11:11:00.005-06:00

Rod Stewart? Oh boy. Rod's a hugger! Who knew?!

Smooth songs? Oh boy. You mean no one's going to sing "Do You Think I'm Sexy?"?! Man, what a gyp.

An argyle tie? Oh boy. Ryan, you are making this TOO EASY.

Well my, my, my, don't Paula and her boobs look very nice this evening?!

Rod Stewart's baby is just the cutest little thing evah!

Um, Rod Stewart is apparently self-medicating. Popping happy pills. Doing speed. Hopped up on goofballs, if you will. Drugs. Just Say No, people.

Chris (What a Wonderful World): Hmmm... "a vocal push." Yeah, I have no idea what Rod Stewart is talking about. Hey! Didn't Elvis sing this? And, seriously, dawg, you seem kind of angry that it's a wonderful world. Why? Is it because you are all rock and this song is... not? Is it about your manhood? Because of the vest and all? And the make-up? I'm not feeling the rolled shirtsleeves, but I do like the vest dude, it's very snaz... zzzzzzzzzz, snort zzzzzzzzzzz... I'm awake!... but bored now.

Paris (Foolish Things): Dude, you kicked ass last week, girlfriend, I am SO not kidding. I mean The Show Must Go On?! Wow, you rocked it, baby girl. Even better than Satine in Moulin Rouge! Yes. It was that good. Oooh, hey, I'm impressed. Looking good tonight! Hair under control? Check. Unfortunate, so not flattering, potentially malfunctioning Janet Jacksonesque wardrobe gone? Check. Okay, wait. How the hell is this song Rod Stewart? This song is NOT Rod Stewart. Rod Stewart sings about being sexy and shizz. Yes, Perfect vocals. Whatever. Unnaturally mature for age. Got it. BORED NOW.

I think it is quite possible Simon is intoxicated. Best performance? Hello?! The Show Must Go On, people! THE SHOW! MUST! GO-- Oooooh, goody! Taylor's next! Woo! Soul Patrol! Soul Patrol!

Rod Stewart is BLEEPed. That's friggin' awesome. And he dissed Simon? Rock on, Rod Stewart. Rock on.

Taylor (You Send Me): I sure like you, Taylor. You make me happy. Not in my pants or anything, but still... so, so happy! You, you, you, thrill me, honest, you totally do. Oh! Spaz it, baby! Spaz it GOOD! Yeah! Woo! Soul Patrol! Soul Patrol in the HIZZOUSE! Way to keep it real, dawg! That was hawt. Seriously. I want to meet you and sing and dance with you. And quite possibly take in a movie with you. And you could teach me some of your spazzy dance moves, and I could teach you to Snake. And Axl Rose, if you're a quick learn. Think about it. (Call me.)

Elliott (It Had to be You): Elliott's momma was a professional singer? Ah-haaaaaaa... It's all coming together for me now. Oh lordy. This song has all the emotional resonance of Kevin Federline's PopoZoa. And that outfit? Is just... well, it's unfortunate is the thing. Never half-ass the outfit, dude! It is never a good sartorial choice to be a dress party on top, but a casual Friday on the bottom. They do not mesh, you see. Pan-down nightmare. You're stressing out the cameramen, okay? Pick one! Wait. I swear they are slowly capping your teeth with veneers, admit it, don't lie, because they are suspiciously straighter every week. Is it just me? Is it? I think I'm going crazy. Oh, and bored now. Oh so bored now. Boooooooring.

Dude, Elliott is actually wee-er than my wee Ry-Ry?! Because that? Is, like, SUPER wee. Weetastical!

Kellie (Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered): Please stop with the airhead stuff. Please? Pretty please with sugar and a big old juicy cherry on top? Uh-oh. By the way Simon is crying and banging his head on the table, over and over and over, I'm thinking things are looking grim for Miss LuAnne "Ah'm Sorry!" McFakesalot. Who, I must admit, looks quite beautiful this evening. The rough crack 'ho vibe from last week was fun, but I think it would have been a little much for this genre. Hey. Maybe they'll give you a side of beef as a bon voyage gift after that craptastical butchering of Rod Stewart's song. That'd be cool. Baby back ribs. Mmmm.

Ace (That's All): AAAAAAEEEEEEEIIIIIII!!! Good God! Oh, phew, it's just Ace. With... a ponytail. Oh, my heart... Wow, that just killed The Pretty dead, now didn't it? Killed it good. Why, Ace? Why would you mess with The Hair? Thousands of card-carrying "I [heart] Ace" fan girls are crying themselves to sleep tonight, I tell you what. But you were actually pretty damn good, the Ace Segal-slash-Gay Mafia vibe notwithstanding, so it's actually sort of tragic that you chose to go all Felicity on our asses. At least they didn't try to submarine you again with a clip of the guest artist totally smacking you down (what was THAT all about last week?!). Kudos. But you are still so gone, unless the miniscule fissure caused by Elliott's lackluster performance allows you and your ponytail to slip through... Hee. Fissure. Does anyone else think "anal fissure" when you hear the word fissure? Anal! Hee! No? Oh, me neither. Because that would be weird.

Ace's head is WAY bigger than Ryan's. No, literally. I'm scared... Hold me.

Kat (Someone to Watch Over Me): Speechless... Me... No words... 'Sha, right. As if. Seriously, I couldn't even type that with a straight face! Good golly, Miss Molly, that was LOVELY. Luminescent. Resplendent. Sublime. Superb. Kudos. You got the pimp spot tonight, and lordy, how you did deserve it. I felt that performance. Honestly. You nailed it. Nailed it good and proper, and by God, you even wore an attractive, totally not ugly outfit! And the hair? Perfect? I love you. I do. You are my super special secret Girl Crush. Oh, but Kat? Rod Stewart totally wants you, you know. And you guys were so frickin' cute together, with the joking and the dancing and Rod's longing glances... But hey, Rod's wife is in the house, so watch your back, that's all I'm saying. And what a fine back it is. Ahem.

Taylor and Kat were the only even remotely interesting performance of the evening, in my opinion (and possibly Paris if that song wouldn't have been so... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...). So who will go home? Well, my batting average ain't stellar, that's fo sho, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say... Ace. No, Elliott! No, Ace! And Kellie will be in the bottom three, but will survive due to the "Ah'm Sorry!" Pity Vote. Suckers.

Oooh! Time for Veronica Mars now! Huzzah! On Tuesdays at 9 ET now! Encore presentation on Wednesdays at 9 ET. On UPN!

Cat... out.

Hey. When I rationalize, I go all out.

2006-04-17T12:55:00.003-06:00

I have pinpointed the source of my love-- okay, fine, obsession, whatev-- with Veronica Mars.

However, allow me to back it on up a bit.

Okay. You know how there is this running joke on television and in movies that getting married means you will only have sex with one person-- the same person-- for the rest of your life? And the prospective bride or groom is all like, "I know, right?! Aww! Special!" then "Wait..." and all the single, unattached viewers laugh at the silly, silly person who didn't think about that before agreeing to hitch him or herself to someone until death do they part, nanny nanny boo boo? And all the married couples go, "Hey! I resemble that remark!"-- then catch a glimpse of hubby picking at his belly-button lint, or the missus waxing her upper lip, or back, or toes, or whatever, and they are all, "Ooooooh... Right." Because ew?

And then this show comes along and the chemistry between the two leads is spectacularly squee-worthy. (What? What's squeeworthy? You know, like "OMG! Logan just touched Veronica's shoulder! SQUEEEEEEEEE!" See? Squeeworthy. Note it.) Honestly, when Logan and Veronica are in a scene together, I just can't take my eyes off them. I am riveted and everything else evaporates. Because with them, it is all about the moment.

Then it hits me. Some of the most memorable moments in my life are those moments. Those romantic, sexy moments. I'm a sap, okay? A sucker, a romantic, a nostalgic, sentimental fool. I cry during credit card commercials, all right? And yes, Kleenex commercials, too! GOSH. (But in my defense, "Kleenex says... 'bless yooooouuuu'..."is advertising gold.) And as a (happily) married woman, there are obviously a few of these moments that I will never experience again.

For instance, aaaaaw... remember your first kiss with that special someone? No, even better, do you remember when you first realized that you wanted that first kiss? And whenever you were in the same vicinity as the boy (or girl) you were crushing on, your naughty bits would tingle, and your heart would be thumping like a jackrabbit hopped up on goofballs, and you would have that heart-stopping, yet exhilarating falling sensation in your tummy, and your palms would sweat like crazy, and you would giggle nervously and totally trip over your best friends ESPRIT bag and crash to the floor like a sack of bricks, then immediately jump back up, all, "Ta-daaaaaaa....?"

Remember? Do you?

*sigh*

The first crush. The first kiss. The first luuuuuuv. I've had 'em all. But as I get older, the firsts get harder to find. And I'm not saying that this is a bad thing, oh no, no, no. I SO do not want to go back, not at all. I have made peace with where I have been and where I am going, thank you very much. It's just that sometimes the knowledge that the moments are gone, never to be captured again... well, it makes me sad. Again with the nostalgia. I don't know if that makes me a bad person or not, but it's true. Honestly, I absolutely love sharing my life with TGIM, but it's still there in my heart. That yearning. Yearning for just one more romantic first moment.

That's where my obsession comes in. Ha! You thought I forgot, didn't you?! Admit it! You totally did! But I didn't! Hoo!

What?

Just kidding. Besides the obvious character flaw of wanting everything I cannot have, I love watching Veronica Mars. Seriously. LOVE. I mean, naturally it's a stellar show in its own right-- snappy dialogue, witty quips, engaging mysteries, a kickass soundtrack-- but the thing is, it has two of the most charismatic, undeniably sexy lead characters I have ever seen. And it's not as if Veronica and Logan are even conventionally hot, because they really are not.

(ASIDE: In point of fact, Jason Dohring-- the actor who plays Logan-- was passed up for the original lead role because according to UPN, he "wasn't pretty enough." Ironically, he went on to steal the show; Logan evolved into the new lead, and has outlasted the Pretty Boy actor hired instead of him. Take that, UPN!)

Nevertheless, they just... burn. And as I watch these two experiencing some of their own first moments, I can almost FEEL it. They have this amazing chemistry that is, I think, rare between two actors, and sparks burst out of my television at me, and my temperature rises a few degrees just watching them dance together, just dance-- staring into each others' eyes, she can't look away-- even though they ostensibly loathe each other, and I know TGIM is laughing at me because I am flushed and barely breathing, afraid I'll miss even one... little... moment... But I don't even care! I don't! It's like crack, y'all. CRACK.

Not that I would know. About the crack, that is. But I bet it is. For reals, y'all. Just. Like. Crack.

Because I am totally living the story with them, just as I am prone to do when I find myself reading an especially well-done novel. So I figure my obsession with Veronica Mars is perfectly healthy, right? Right?! It's totally normal that my stomach hurts when Veronica and Logan fight, and I ofttimes want to reach into the television and strangle one or the other of them for being so stupid, and I get all tingly when they can't take their eyes off of each other, and when they finally kiss? Hoo, boy! Let's just say TGIM will be getting lucky that night! RAWR!

Good lord. TMI. Scratch that last part.

And the best part is that I know there will be more of those moments coming. My fix, if you will. And I also know that if I am going through withdrawl at some point between episodes, I already have several of these moments TiFauxed for posterity. I know, right?! GENIUS. DVR is a gift, guys. A gift from GOD. So whenever the yearning strikes I can queue up the show and watch that moment over and over and over again-- not that I do or anything because hello? I have a life? (TGIM, SHUT. UP.) But I could, that's all I'm saying.

And amazingly, experiencing life vicariously through these characters does assuage the yearning a bit. Thus the obsession. So mock me if you will, but dude... that's quality entertainment.

She had me at "Go, Pirates!"

2006-04-17T08:34:00.000-06:00

From the moment she stepped forward out of the crowd of laughing high school students and cut a duct-taped, naked Wallace down from the school flagpole, snarking "Go, Pirates!", Veronica had me hooked.

You see, Veronica Mars? She's no superhero. She is a hard-boiled, cynical, high school student living in the sleazy, gritty California town of Neptune, where the wealthy 09er zip code dominates, but this isn't a formulaic detective show. And these aren't your regular teenage characters. This is noir, baby. Nothing is ever as it seems in Neptune.

As an amateur sleuth working part-time for her father (former sheriff turned private investigator) at his PI office, Veronica solves crimes for her fellow students for a price (especially from the 09ers), ranging from credit card fraud to cheating spouses to child abuse. She's sharp, she's snarky, she's sassy, and she wields a mighty taser. But don't think she's Miss Goody McGoodperson. She also makes mistakes, she jumps to conclusions, and she can be maliciously single-minded in her pursuit of answers and justice, no matter who is standing in her way. And her ofttimes questionable tactics tread the fine line between moral and Machiavellian. Honestly. What's not to love?! But the Mystery of the Week detective work is ultimately less important than the character-driven, overriding series mystery arc.

"You want to know how I lost my virginity? So do I."

Veronica's matter-of-fact delivery of that statement took my breath away. That's when I knew... this show was different. Last season Veronica needed answers to some key questions in her life: Why did her billionaire boyfriend, Duncan Kane, abruptly break up with her? Who murdered her best friend, Lilly Kane (Duncan's sister)? Why did her mother run out on her and her father? Who was really her father: Keith Mars or Jake Kane?... And who drugged and raped her at Shelly Pomeroy's party, and why?

After the local sheriff laughed at her-- "Look, she cries!"-- and advised her to "Go see the wizard" when she reported her rape, instead of crying and shouting "Why, God? WHY?!" or turning to lesbianism when life got too rough (*cough* Marissa Cooper *cough*), Veronica hardened. Now she believes in getting mad... and getting EVEN. So she sets out to solve the mysteries in an effort to bring everything back to normal. (Although-- as "normal" basically means going back to a time when she was unaware of her alcoholic mother's extramarital affair, the class war raging in Neptune, or the possibility of having had an incestuous relationship with her ex-- she is probably better of just moving ON. I'm just sayin'.)

This season Veronica is beginning to realize normal ain't all it's cracked up to be as she investigates who really killed PCH biker Felix and framed Logan Echolls for the murder. She also comes closer to figuring out who turned a busload of students into the Yellow Submarine of Death by detonating a bomb on board, sending the bus off a cliff into the Pacific Ocean. A bomb that Veronica believes was meant for her. And through it all, she is still trying to make sure Lilly's murderer pays for what he did. Oh, and she's a senior now, so there's the whole graduation/valedictorian thing she's working toward. And, of course, there's a boy. There's always a boy, right? And what a boy!

Anyhoos, the dialogue on the show? Dazzles. The cast? Extraordinary. They sparkle. No, really. They are amazing. All this, in my view, makes Veronica Mars one of the best, must-see shows on television... like, ever. Even if it IS on UPN! If it goes the way of Arrested Development, I fear I will lose faith in the world of entertainment. I will rename it the world of ignorant people choosing Donald Trump and other stupid-ass reality shows over quality entertainment.

Rent the DVD's. You'll see.

(*steps off soap box*)

Seriously. I think UPN should pay me for that. I just plugged the hell out of that show.

TGIF, and I MEAN it.

2006-04-14T11:19:00.000-06:00

I find it extraordinarily rude that my boss keeps assigning, like, actual WORK to me which consequently interferes with my blogging. Seriously. What's that about? GOSH.

Man, oh MAN. Katie Holmes is SOOOO having twins. Look at that belly! She's GINORMOUS! And she has apparently been soliciting Laura Ingalls for fashion advice, I'm thinking, because damn, girl! Is the TomKat Scientology-induced hypnosis wearing off? Are you trying to jump off the Tourbus to Crazy Town and this is your way of crying for help? Because what the in the freaking hell are you WEARING?! For reals, are you headed for a hoedown? A barn raising? The annual square dancing competition (which, FYI, you really shouldn't be doing in your condition)? Oh, honey. Just... no.

Veronica Mars rocked the hizzouse these past two weeks! Holy mother of heaven, how I love that show. I can't stop thinking about it... Who killed the busload of students? Who killed Curly, and why was Veronica's name scrawled across his hand in Sharpie (because honestly if you've been floating dead in the ocean, a regular old marker would just wash off, now wouldn't it? I mean, be serious)? Who called Weevil and all the PCHers the night of Logan's "Life is Short" party? Is Meg's little sister still being locked in the closet by her crazy-ass religious-freak parents? Will Duncan ever return with his and his dead ex-girlfriend's illegitimate baby? Is Mayor Woody (heh) Goodman gay? Or a pedophile? If not, what's with the Bad Touching? Has Beaver (heh) been abused? If so, was it at the hands of Big Dick or Little Dick (heh and heh)? Does Weevil know his nemesis, Thumper, was crushed under the imploded Shark Stadium after being chained to a bathroom urinal by the Fighting Fitzpatricks? WILL VERONICA AND LOGAN EVER DO IT?! And how does this all connect? I NEED TO KNOW! (Seriously, ignore my liberal employment of hyperbole. It's not as Soap Opera-y as it sounds... it's just modern NOIR, y'all.)

I'm sick. Noises seem amplified to ten times their normal sound, but the lights? Even louder. In my head. Is that weird? Must go to sleep. Eh, my boss might not like me catnapping on my desk again. Whatever. You'd be surprised how surprisingly versatile stacks of file folders can be, I tell you what. Good pillow material. Hey, it's more comfy than it sounds, okay?! Ouch. I should not have typed that last line so vehemently.

(Oh, Wait. All y'all thought I might have something of actual importance to share? Well, aren't you guys cute!)

American Idol: TWoP Style

2006-04-12T17:59:00.003-06:00

In the absence of my usual sparkling wit and utterly insane stream of consciousness commentary, TWoP recapper Joe R. will have to do.

Ooooh! JUICY! I can't wait to see it! Did Ace really have mud on his face, a big disgrace? Did they kick his can all over the place? And OH. Katharine must have NAILED it, eh? I am SO excited. The Bouncy!

I mean, honestly. Who knew that The Music of Queen night on AI could, in actuality, Rock You?

Weird.

Too Much Information. No, REALLY.

2006-04-11T13:02:00.000-06:00

Me: (shepherding kids from swimming pool to car) Tanner! I am so proud of you!

Tanner: Huh? What? Why?

Me: You actually brought dry shorts to wear instead of soaking the car with your wet bathing suit. Good job, buddy! Seriously. Kudos.

TGIM: Hey, Cat... ask him if he's wearing underwear.

Awkward silence. Then...

Me: Tanner... are you wearing underwear?

Tanner: (with a big grin and jaunty hop) Nope.

Me: Oh, dear lord.

TGIM: I know. I feel so proud.

DWM Hiatus...

2006-04-07T09:23:00.000-06:00

Spring BREAK! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Back soon...

American Idol? You fill up my SENSES... with a tad bit of suckage.

2006-04-05T13:06:00.000-06:00

Well, he-llllo scruffy Ry-Ry! How you doin'?

Ooooh, Kenny Rogers?! I LOVE "The Gambler"!! No matter how many times I hear it, I still get chills when he sings, "... and somewhere in the night, the gambler, he broke even..." Shut up! It's HAUNTING.

When did Kenny turn into Colonel Sanders? Seriously, the voice? Unmistakeable. But the face? Unrecognizable! Honestly, it's amazingly disconcerting. Seriously. Freaking me right out, I kid you not.

Cat Abridged

Taylor: Sucked.
Mandisa: Sucked more.
Elliott: Didn't suck as much.
Paris: Moderate suckiness.
Ace: Didn't suck! Much!
Kellie: Barely sucked!
Chris: Only a smidge of suck.
Katharine: Fabulously unsucky.
Bucky: Sucky.

This concludes my abridged recap of American Idol. You may now discontinue reading, if so desired.

The Rest of the Story

Hey! Welcome back!

Taylor: (Take Me Home Country Road- Jon Denver)-- Oh, for the love of God, WHY?! Don't get me wrong, I loves me some Jon Denver (Annie's Song? CHILLS.), but GOSH. Where was TAYLOR? Who was that guy boring me with a performance flatter than Paris Hilton's arse? Huh?! Okay, liking the violins. Not liking the song on you, Taylor. Not. At. All. Simon speaks true, y'all. Simon speaks true. Bring back the spaz, Taylor. I miss him.

"Safe, boring and lazy... Simon's love life, ladies and gentleman!" Oh, Ryan. Feeling pretty full of yourself now that you're snogging Teri Hatcher, eh?

Okay, what the HELL is going on with the "I love you Ryan!" shizz?! Step off, people! "Are we on the air right now?" Give it up, my wee Ryan. Because... crackheads? (I love you, Ryan!)

Mandisa: (Any Man of Mine- Shania Twain)-- Looking pretty! Love the hair! Burn that top! Like, immediately! But seriously? That kinda sucked. Without the glory notes, you come across a little less spectacular, girlfriend... Sorry. But thank you for not yelling at me.

What up, Rachel Bilson? Too cool to stand? Huh? Huh?! Bizyotch. Okay, I wouldn't have stood either, but I'm not the one on TV, all right?!

You're "Boo-able"?

Okay, Ryan and Simon, I am officially UN!COMFORTABLE! so knock it OFF.

Elliott: (If Tomorrow Never Comes- Garth Brooks)-- Not bad, dude. Except for the creepy, constipated faces and the annoying vibrato, I was feeling it. No, really. It was pretty good.

Paris: (How Do I Live Without You- LeeAnn Rimes)-- Eh. You've done better. I'm thinking you were like, "Country?! No way I'm doing country!" And they were all, "Ya-HUH!" So you were all, "FINE. But I'm not gonna like it." Well, child? Either did I. So, hey! Way to go.

Ace: (I Wanna Cry- Keith Urban)-- Well, not that it means much, but that was significantly less sucky than I thought it would be. In fact, I liked it. It was purty. Like you! I'm still firm in the belief that throwing "naked" in there would really help a bunch. I'm not even kidding. Good angst, but you ain't no Keith Urban. Plus, might I suggest a few spritzes of Afrin up the old nostrils before each performance, because the nasal, dude! The NASAL!

Kellie: (Fancy- Reba McIntire)-- First of all, WHATEVER. How am I supposed to believe you're genuine when you respond to accusations of faking your ditziness by saying "Yep, I'm an idiot, y'all!" I mean, honestly: "There's an L, y'all! So I jist HAD to pronounce it! Hee!" Rrrrright... So, do you say "WaLLk"? Or "TaLLk"? I don't think so. BUSTED! Take THAT, Pickler! Oh, I've got your number, sister! That being said, awesome job. OMG, would you look at that... It appears that monkeys are flying out of my butt.

Chris: (Making Memories of Us- Keith Urban)-- You sang a song! You sang a song! And you didn't Stapp it up! Or do a whole lot of shouting for that matter, which, thank you. It was a little off key in the chorus, but I'm letting it slide and giving you your props, dawg, because damn it-- you sang. A song.

Katharine: (You're Bringing Out the Elvis in Me- Faith Hill)-- I love you. And that? Sounded FABULOUS! And you look so pretty! With the clothes that aren't hideous! And the bouncy hair! And the wicked FINE eyebrows! And I love you! Seriously, though, grrrrrreat job, and I'm not just saying that because I love you. Honestly. (I love you.)

Ooooh! House looks like it's going to be GOOOOOOOOD! I am so there! And not just because Hugh Laurie has those beautiful blue eyes and kicks ass as an emotionally unavailable megalomaniac. No, for serious. Good show.

Bucky: (Vertical Horizon- Gary Allen)-- I'm not sure how I felt about that, Buckster. I'm pretty sure Colonel Sa-- er, Kenny Rogers said something about enunciating? Hmm? And seriously, could someone turn down the band, because LOUD?! But still, it was a'ight for me dawg. Just a'ight. I didn't feel much emotion in it, really. Just... blahness. Come to think of it, I think Taylor would have KILLED with this song, leaving YOU to sing Country Road. Because I kind of wish that country road WOULD take you home. You know... to the place you belong?

Best of Night: Kat and Kellie (I KNOW!) Oh, and Chris.

Who is Going Home: Tough call, but methinks it may be Ace's time. Or possibly Bucky's. Okay, fine, I have no idea who will go home, but I do know one thing: it better not be Katharine or I will have to CUT somebody! Or, you know, cry and snarf a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Whichever.

One of Life's Great Mysteries

2006-04-04T06:27:00.000-06:00

Yeah... I don't get MySpace. No, really. Not even one itty-bitty little bit. Not at ALL.

Just thought I'd share.

Live Your Life With Arms Wide Open

2006-04-03T09:14:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I look at my children, who are growing up so quickly right before my eyes, and I am at a loss as to what of importance I have in me to pass down to them. What? My love of books? My inner Drama Queen? My freckles? My Loud Talk/Loud Laugh gene? My charming wit and sparkling personality? My humilty? The list goes on and on... Then, this weekend, in the most roundabout way possible, I discovered one of the most powerful aspects of myself that I have to pass down to my progeny.

You see, nostalgia struck this weekend. One minute I'm downloading Sway by the Perishers, and the next thing I know I'm downloading music I remember listening to as I spent rainy afternoons in my parents' bedroom thumbing through my parents' old 45's, jamming out to Purple People Eater, Charlie Brown, Shimmy Shimmy Ko-Ko Bop, Shoop Shoop Song, My Boyfriend's Back, Rescue Me, oh, and this really catchy song about sitting in my a la-la waiting for my ya-ya (uh-huh... uh-huh...), amongst others.

So I went online to iTunes and legally downloaded Sixteen Tons by Tennessee Ernie Ford. I know, right? Me? Obtaining music on the up-and-up? All legal-like and shizz? Recognizing that creative works online are protected by copyright law? Not contributing to the illegal music trade which is destroying artistic creativity and innovation, eliminating jobs, and more than likely bankrolling organized crime?! I KNOW!

(Whatever. You'd think these people would be flattered that someone wants to listen to their stupid music, but noooooo. Money money money! That's all any of these guys-- singers, musicians, managers, producers-- care about! I mean, honestly. It's not as if I couldn't do what I used to do when I was a teenager... which was to keep a cassette at the ready in my boombox and push RECORD whenever a song I liked came on the airwaves? Oh, the mixed tapes I used to make! At absolutely no cost to myself whatsoever! Well, except for the cassette, of course, but did you know that with a little tape and a tad of ingenuity, you can tape the new songs over old albums that you totally don't want anymore anyway?... Anyhoos, no one was coming after me then, confiscating my Tainted Love Breakup Tunes or Hair Band Heaven Mix, no sir! Now it's all about the money. Freaking selfish bastards.)

Um, okay. I had a point when I began...

Ah, yes! Sixteen Tons! Of course, of course... So I dragged my kiddos into my bedroom and forced them listen to the song. I watched delightedly as they fell in love with it, Ernie's impromptu snaps setting a tempo like a coal-mining crew axing into a brick-solid wall, effectively sucking them into the hammer-like rhythm of the song. Alli snapped in time (fine, almost in time), Hannah bopped her head, TD attempted to look bored, but failed miserably-- and as I was swept back to a time when I would giggle madly as my dad would bring this song on home: "I OWE my SOOOOOOUUUUUUU-OOUUUU-OOOUUULLL!... to the company store..." I realized that I was passing on a history. A legacy of music, if you will.

Which... scary thought.

This realization brought to mind my fourth grade end-of-the-year party, when my absolute favoritest teacher EVER gave us permission to bring in some of our own music to play for the class. Stoked, I rushed home and told my mother I simply HAD to bring her album-- The New Christy Minstrels' Sing and Play Cowboys and Indians -- to school or I would absolutely DIE. So the next day, armed with my uber-cool album and a sure knowledge of my Cool Factor totally skyrocketing as soon as my classmates heard the opening strains of this kickass song called Navajo, I rushed to the front of the line, bypassing The Police, Air Supply, a few Blondies, Irene Cara (Fame, naturally), and-- if I recall correctly-- one Captain and Tenille album.

Needless to say, my classmates did not appreciate the music as much as I thought they would and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. I mean, this was GOOD STUFF, right? What the hell was wrong with these people?! But it strikes me now that they did not enjoy my music for many of the same reasons that my daughter's 2nd grade classmates probably wouldn't appreciate the phenomenal music from The Phantom of the Opera or Les Miserables. Perhaps my classmates' mothers hadn't yet instilled in them a love for the The New Christy Minstrels' minstrely goodness by playing Lily Langtree or Betsy From Pike-- or, oooooh! this super funny song called Three Wheels on My Wagon!-- over and over again.

And perhaps their dads didn't stand at the door "singing" (note my use of sarcastic quote marks) Nelson Eddy as he'd leave the house for work: "I'll find you in the mornin' sun and when the night is new... I'll be looking at the moon... but I'll be seeing... (*deep breath* *mom joins in*) YOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!" And my mom would be all, "Oh , JIM," and we'd laugh and shout, "Kiss her, Daddy!" and my mom would blush and be all, "Oh, you! Go to work!" and we were like, "Aww!"

Although, come to think of it, I don't much like Nelson Eddy. Okay, I don't even KNOW Nelson Eddy. But I love that memory! See how that works? It's tricky. But that is beside the point.

The point is that as I sat there playing music for my children, I began to imagine my daughters or son sitting down with their own children, playing my music, perhaps songs from U2's The Joshua Tree album or The Offspring's hit single Pretty Fly for a White Guy, music that perhaps my grandchildren would take to THEIR fourth-grade end-of-the-year parties. And maybe my kids will teach their kids to Snake or Axl Rose, and maybe, just maybe!, they'll even gather 'round the karaoke machine and belt out the oldies from their great-grandma's and grandpa's generation, perhaps Sixteen Tons or Rescue Me, and they will all laugh at how crazy life was back in the day, and maybe they will videotape it and send it to me, and TGIM and I will laugh and probably bust a tear or two due to the whole Empty Nest Syndrome, and, oh, how glorious that will be.

Yes! I thought. I shall pass down the music!

Of course, I began to panic. I mean, the pressure I suddenly felt to produce the quintessential 21st century mixed CD-- representative of the most influential music from 2001 through today-- was crushing, but I calmed myself with the knowledge that, hey, I'm totally up to the challenge. I watch American Idol. I pay attention to the music of Veronica Mars. I'm hip to the pop culture, fo' rizzle, my shizzle.

Gosh. I tell you what... my kids are SO lucky to have me.

In truth, however, around the seventh time I played Sixteen Tons the nostalgia faded with the final strains of the flute and clarinet. I came to my senses and realized that my children, though influenced by my taste in music now, will grow into teenagers and will develop their own tastes, just as I eventually did, and they will call my music stupid and tell me I'm way out of touch and be all, "Ooooh, my music is so much cooler than yours, Momma! Ooooh!"

I must admit to a few moments of frustration and despair. Because if not my love of good music, what?

Then Natasha Bedingfield's sassy song Unwritten came on my iPod and I was immediately struck-- struck, I say!-- by the words:

I am unwritten,
Can't read my mind
I'm undefined
I'm just beginning
The pen's in my hand
Ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words
That you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten.

Good LORD! That was it! The part of myself I absolutely MUST pass down to my children! Because if nothing else, I want to them to learn from me how to take life as it comes-- grab it by the balls, if they must-- and freaking OWN it.

I can DO that. I just know it.

And the fact that I am instilling this lesson in their minds not only by example, but covertly, as we dance and laugh and sing this song together while cooking dinner, cleaning our rooms, even folding the laundry?

Well, that's just gravy.

Delusions of Grandeur and All That Jazz

2006-03-31T09:46:00.000-06:00

I'm losing my mind. Seriously. I can't concentrate on work. I can't sleep. I can't eat. Okay, I can eat. But the concentrating and sleeping parts? Totally true.

You see, I am currently obsessed with writing a screenplay. And not just any screenplay-- oh, no, no, no!-- but a screenplay of epic proportions! Yes! An Oscar-worthy screenplay! A screenplay that perfectly captures the absolutely riveting story I have whizzing around in my head, the story that I can't stop thinking about. It's a "dramedy." Or, oooh, a "comma," if you will. You know, a comedy-slash-drama? Well, honestly, it's more drama than comedy, so I guess it's a dramedy after all. Which, BOO, because as far as portmanteau terms go, "comma" totally ROCKS.

I mean, listen. I even bought software. SOFTWARE! And not just any software, but expensive screenwriting software. I can see My Crazy reflected in TGIM's eyes when he looks at me, all like, "Oh my good lord, you just spent HOW MUCH on that screenwriting software you just installed on your iFred, you silly, silly girl?!" And my eyes are like, "But, the muse, TGIM! I can't fight THE MUSE!" (Heh. Which naturally reminds me of the opening scene of Xanadu, right before the Muses come to life, when Sonny says, "Aw, what the hell. Guys like me shouldn't dream anyway..." Which, allow me to say? Worst. Delivery. EVER.) And I get all excited and I drag my laptop around with me and type like mad and mutter to myself things like, "Yeah, American Beauty has NOTHING on this bad boy! And what? Good Will Hunting who?" et cetera, and generally act like a crazy person with access to kickass Mac technology, and I say to myself, "DUDE, you must chill. Because of the children."

Then, of course, I remember another screenplay I wrote, which was a fun little romantic comedy, and I wonder, Wait. Should I go back and rewrite and polish that story first? And then I remember that the market is simply glutted with romantic comedies and I agonize over whether it would even be marketable if I COULD get it past the dreaded slush pile on the desk of the assistant to the assistant to the guy who delivers coffee to the famous Hollywood agent. And The Crazy starts all over again.

So, really, the fact that in my bleary-eyed, early-morning, get-myself-dressed-in-the-dark-so-as-not-to-wake-TGIM haste, I pulled on my super comfy, super ugly UGGs with jeans and a kicky blue blazer (with pink lining! aaaaaaw!)... well, my unfortunate Casual Friday wardrobe choice is the very least of my worries. No matter how many curious stares I got on the Metro at 5:00 this morning. Right? Honestly, though. It's as if these people had never seen fluffy pink UGGs before! GOSH! Oh, just kidding. They're beige. And decidely un-fluffy. I may wear UGGs, but I draw the line at walking around with furry twin Muppets on my feet. But still. UGGs at work? Dude. What was I thinking?

So, yeah. If you find my sanity, please send it back right away. I've been looking everywhere for it.

Confessions of a Desperate Working Momma...

2006-03-30T15:29:00.000-06:00

Confession #1: Okay, I admit it. I totally fast-forwarded my TiFaux to the last 7 or 8 minutes of the AI elimination episode. WHAT?! Don't look at me like that?! I just was NOT in the mood for any of that Let's Draw This Out Until It Is Literally Painful For Viewers Because Of The Head Slamming Against The Coffee Table nonsense, and besides, I was too psyched about an all-new Veronica Mars episode to be able to concentrate for a WHOLE HALF HOUR OF NAIL-BITING STRESS. I mean, honestly. I have three crazy, loveable, insanely high maintenance kids. I just don't need anymore stress.

And then I saw Katharine in the Bottom Three and BOOM! Stress. She totally looked as if she would vomit at any moment, and not just in her mouth a little, but, like, full-blown projectile vomiting-- you know, because of the nerves and the horror?-- and I totally felt sick to my stomach, too, and I don't think it was just all that Orange Chicken and Chow Mein I ate for dinner but honest-to-freaking-goodness stress (okay and maybe just a little bit of the Orange Chicken because, seriously, I ate an awful lot of it, yep, totally pigged out on the stuff because YUM!... but that's beside the point, so whatev). Wait. What? Oh, yes. Katharine. She was NOT HAPPY, y'all. She could barely even fake the smile and stupid Ryan (looking good, Ry-Ry! Dig the 'doo! MWAH!) is all "How does this feel?" and I was screaming at the TV going, "HOW THE HELL DO YOU THINK IT FEELS, YOU STUPID, STUPID (but totally hawt in a wee way) MAN!"

BECAUSE ACE GOT MORE VOTES THAN KATHARINE. The world? Quite possibly insane. Yep. What the hell were you thinking, America?! GOSH!

Thankfully, America did not completely let me down, but this CANNOT happen again or I will have to swear off this show forever. FOREVAH, I say! Like I totally did last season when Constantine was voted off and I was like, "I shall never watch American Idol again! NEVAH!" 'Cha. Take THAT, American Idol. Okay, sure, my resolve only lasted until the next week, but still! I mean it this time! Probably!

Confession #2: At Kristine's urging, I created an official American Idol blog on the www.idolonfox.com website. I feel like such a commercial sell-out!

Of course, I'm actually just re-posting my DWM AI posts to my brand-spankin' new AI blog. But damned if they don't BLEEP me, y'all! I can't say DAMN! Or HORNY! (But I can say "ass" and "hell" so WTF?) I have to go back and fix my posts in those spots because "BLEEP"? Well, it doesn't quite covey the sentiments I am oh-so-eloquently trying to express with my strategically well-placed potty-mouthing. Plus, it's so Network Channel 1989. Honestly. It's 2006! There is partial nudity on TV now! Am I right? Well, AM I?! And I can't say "damn"? This is not to even mention the fact that Lisa sang a song with the word "damn" in it and she's only SIXTEEN years old. I'm freaking thirt... um, twenty-something years old, for God's sake! I ask you, where's the justice?

Hee. AI let a sixteen-year-old sing the word "damn" and they won't let me blog it. Heh. What sillies.

But anyhoos, it's FUN to post over there because these, wacky, angry, die-hard fans of contestants I may not recap in the most, um, let's say flattering manner get ALL up in my grill over the least little thing. And hey, for the record, I didn't say Kellie looked like a hooker; that was all TGIM. Hello?! I put quotes. DUH. Too. Funny. But I like to give 'em a hard time, so no biggie. I mean, honestly. If people are gonna be calling me names, I'm gonna be sayin' something back, fo' rizzle! WOO!

Anyhoos, here's the link.

Confession #3: My little Mack is going to have her tonsils and adenoids surgically removed from her body and she is FUH-REEKING out, and all I keep thinking is how bad it's going to suck when she hauls off and decks the poor nurse who is attempting to stick an IV in her arm, then hops off the table and hits the floor running, all the while screaming, "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!" I hope they give her a sedative first, that's all I'm saying. Screw that! I hope they give ME a sedative first. Or, oooooh, a shot of whiskey to dull the pain, perhaps? Oh, get your fingers off CPS Speed Dial and step away from the phone. I meant for me. Because OH! EM! GEE! The surgery thing? It's going to suck. Hardcore suckage. Yep.

And is it weird that I hope the doctors save the tonsils and adenoids and send them home with her in a little jar of formaldehyde?

*sigh*

I thought so.

WOW... and not in the good way.

2006-03-29T15:04:00.000-06:00

Is it just me, or was Paula uncharacteristically lucid last night with her comments making sense and whatnot? Huh. WEIRD. Like Twilight Zone weird. She must have hired better writers, which, hey... good call.

GEORGE! Hi, George! 'Sup? Dude. George got hosed. I couldn't even watch the rest of Season 3 after they dumped George. George was AWESOME. Love you, George!

Lisa -- Girl? That was Un!COMFORTABLE! What were you thinking? Even the judges were like, "The hell?!" Buh-bye.

Kellie -- Um, Pickles? Don't wink at the camera, especially when you're singing off key, mm'kay? It's tacky. And honestly, I didn't hate the performance. I know, right? My world is spinning out of control! I therefore damn you with faint praise.

Chris -- Why you so angry, Chris, huh? Why? With the yelling? And the angry glaring? Anyhoos, I can't believe-- Ooooh! Looky! Smoke! Lasers! ooooooh... aaaaah... Um, what? Er, okay, while I am sure you are a lovely, lovely person, I really don't need to see all the way up your nose (okey dokey, Mr. Cameraman?). I knew you'd do Creed. Effing Creed, man. I totally won the office pool. Ha! Thank you, my little one trick pony! But hey, I'm digging the scruff, so there you go.

Taylor -- The stylists are sure treating you right, Taylor, totally working their magic because... Woo! And rawr. You are looking almost disturbingly hawt. And that performance was oh-so-soulful and darn purty, I tell you what. Judges? Crackheads. That being said, I want my Soul Patrol (Woot!) back, okay? Okay? See, I like the funky dancing and the crazy twisting and the snapping and especially the woo!ing. C'mon! But still, love you big lots. (Seriously, dude's too good for this competition. I'm not even kidding. I'd totally pirate his record, I like him THAT much.)

Mandisa -- Eh. That was SOOO yelly. I'm so over the yelly. And the camera people kept taking the song in an unnecessarily literal manner because whenever you said the word "bottom"...? Yeah. I'd kick someone's ass if I were you because denim isn't at all forgiving, you know what I'm saying? But still, it's strange, I suddenly feel as if Jesus totally loves me. Yep. Totally feeling saved and stuff. Which is way cool, so bonus. Can I hear a big AMEN?!

Bucky -- Again, my world? Out of control. See, I kind of liked this. No, really. I am so not kidding. And the little slidy dance move thingy? So cute. But not loving the hat. I'm serious. The hat is bad, dude. Listen to what I say. Oh, and ajdhsa ajsdfgh gheir, okay? What? You couldn't understand what I just said? Well, I guess now you know how I feel! GOSH!

Ace -- What did I say about the nasally all up in the nasal bidness, huh? HUH?! It's so incredibly unpleasant. And if that shirt ain't coming all the way off, don't break out the Dirty Diana Shirt Rip, you hear me? No one likes a tease. And it was so clearly a desperate attempt for votes from the female (and way gay) demo; it was a little embarrassing for me to watch, actually. But oh, did I laugh. Yes indeedy. Then I was like, "Oh... DUDE. Just, no." Gosh. I am so over you, Ace. But still... pretty. Go in to acting or modeling, dude. Something where we can just look at you, 'cause you are SO not anyone's Father Figure anymore and that's the truth. (Paula? Two words: Corey Clark. Yeah. You must chill.)

Katharine -- You attempt Christina? Whoa. Ballsy move, my friend. Ballsy move. The judges are all, "Best of the night!" and I'm like, "Huh. They must be laying off the crack." Which is good because drugs can KILL. But you are not allowed to dress yourself anymore, Kat. Because COME ON.

Paris -- Oh, girl. The hair? For the love of God, WHY? Man, I hate it when Simon is right. Sure, your voice was fanfreakingtastic on this song, but the dancing? Totally made me feel dirty. You would so get detention if you got caught busting the freak like that at a school dance. I'm just saying.

Elliott -- You are no Bo and that's all I have to say about that... because I totally miss him and his flingy hair and growling and mic stand acrobatics and why doesn't anyone do any of that this season and anyway you can't compare but that's okay dude, because it's totally not YOUR fault that you aren't Bo and you're growing on me. I just wasn't feeling the Bo-ness. I did, however, feel a tad bit of Marky Mark-ness. Which is unfortunate. That is all.

Off to watch Chicken Little with the kiddos! Right now a big ol' fat pig and an ugly duckling are singing karaoke and it is insanely funny: "So tell me what you want, what you really really want, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha!" Man. (*shakes head affectionately*) Those Spice Girls.

And now I've just learned several new idioms for urination: pee, tinkle, whiz... make pishy?

What are we talking about?

Hee! This movie's FUN.

Random Nonsense

2006-03-28T12:47:00.000-06:00

You know what is a funny word? Freckle. For serious. Freckle is a funny word. Say it. Freckle. See? Freckle, freckle, freckle. Weird, huh? Frecklefrecklefrecklefrecklefrecklefrecklefrecklefreckle... You almost don't even remember what the word means anymore, do you? FRECKLE! (Freckle.)

Nother. People say it all the time, and it is totally not in the dictionary. I wish it were because people-- even smart ones, y'all!-- say "nother" all the freaking time. It would be simple to add it to the dictionary, really: "Nother (adj.) Other, but with an N thrown in for kicks. EX: I can't believe my mom gave me a whole nother donut! Score!" That way, when people say something like, "Well, that's a whole nother story!" or "I'm going to buy myself a whole nother box of donuts since you ate the last one!", it will be totally legit and I won't end up giggling and pointing while saying, "Nother... you totally just said 'nother'... A whole NOTHER!... Hoo!" which inevitably leads to angry people wanting to punch me in the nose. Which is never fun. (Okay, fine. I believe "nother" is in the dictionary, but only to say that it is unequivocally incorrect.)

Oh, my, my, my, y'all!... Miss Kellie "Pick Pickler!" should ABSOLUTELY wear her high school prom dress tonight on American Idol because WOO!

Hey, y'all! Looky here, at my purty li'l prom dress! Ah jist KILLED at the prom in that get-up, Ah tell you what! Too bad Ah didn't have me any of them there fake eyelashes (which felt like tarantulars, y'all! for reals!) like Ah got to wear on American Idol. Those were tickly, y'all, but looked real good. Maybe then Ah would have won Prom Queen instead of Bobby Jo, the fake li'l slut. Anyways, Ah 'member that my grandaddy told me that Ah looked like a two-bit harlot in that get-up, but Ah said to him, Ah said, "But grandaddy, Ah can't help it if my dress is in two bits. It was already like that when Ah bought it at the store!" And hey, don't my belly-button look fiiiiine?! Ah mean, look! Ah'm just the picture of that there genie lady in Ah Dream of Jeannie, right? You know... hmmm... what was her name on that show again?... Anyways, Ah sure look fiiiiine. Maybe Ah'll send home fer the dress. Good LORD, Ah bet Simon would jist bust a guy when he saw me in it. On account a me bein' a naughty mink, and all. I'm a mink!

Joy is...

2006-03-25T18:27:00.000-06:00

Joy is dragging your kiddos down to the elementary school to teach them how to shoot a basketball by introducing them to the classic game of HORSE, then giggling in the most embarrassing, absolutely NOT grown-up manner as your middle daughter skips around the basketball court-- attracting the attention of pretty much every ever-loving person within a half-mile radius-- shrieking excitedly in her shrill little voice, "Let's see... I've missed two times... I'm a HO, Momma! Mom, did you hear me?! I'M! A! HO!"

Top Ten Things You Should Probably Never Say to Your Boss if, You Know, You Like Employment and All

2006-03-23T06:11:00.000-06:00

**Because I am way tired-- too much exhuberant Snoopy Dancing after Kevin's glorious booting last night, WOO!-- and totally swamped at work, I've decided to recycle one of my older posts. Enjoy, and feel free to add your own ideas.**

10. "Deadline? What deadline?" (variation: "Deadline, shmeadline!")

9. When the boss says, "Good morning," quickly reply, "Oh is it?"

8. Leave long pauses in your conversations at random moments. When your boss is prompted to interject shout, "I am NOT finished!"

7. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the bathroom."

6. "Oh, did you mean, like, right now?"

5. During a staff meeting, pull a hamster from your pocket and suggest throwing it as a creative means of idea-exchange.

4. "My cubicle isn't properly laid out according to feng shui. I'm going to have to be moved to get my chi balanced...preferably to an office with a window."

3. "Loser says what?"

2. When nearly done with a long-winded, excruciatingly dull report, announce, "No, wait, I messed it up," and repeat.

And the number one thing you should never say to your boss [insert drumroll here]:

1. "You're not the boss of me!"

(List compiled during a collaborative carpooling powwow)

Apologetic Graduate of the Holden Caufield School of Criticism

2006-03-22T16:41:00.000-06:00

Allow me to say that I am officially feeling the AWKWARD between Simon and Ryan. Lately Ryan's like this persistent, annoying little puppy all pulling and nipping and occasionally scratching at Simon's pant-leg. Wither has the love gone, boys? Wither?

" Love the dancing."
"It's a singing competition."
"You just can't dance."
"It's a singing competition"
"YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS CAUSE YOU CAN"T DANCE!! You go up on the down beats! You do! You DO!!"
Paula is insane. Yup. Good times.

Now listen: when Barry's on, you just know the show's gonna be killer! Seriously. And good call on AI's part for the Fifties theme because last week's Stevie Wonder Lovefest came dangerously close to turning me off of AI for good, and I mean it! Okay, that's a lie, that would never happen-- NEVAH!-- but still. It DID totally suck. Sucked real good.

DING! Ooooh, brainfart! I just realized that Barry is one of those performers that you love to listen to... you know, if you don't have to actually LOOK at him? Good LORD, man! The Hair! The Hair! And hey, just step out of that closet, buddy, don't be afraid. It's got to be getting pretty darn stuffy in there. I'm just sayin'.

Mandisa - I Don't Hurt Anymore (Dinah Washington) - Woo! Looking good, girlfriend! Whoever picked that dress with the strategically placed undersleeve thingies? Genius. THAT is how to go sleeveless, Mandisa. Seriously. Smokin' hot look last night, babe. Loved the hair. That being said, STOP SHOUTING AT ME! I mean, why you so angry girl? Why you gotta be like that, huh? We love you, so cut it out! The lower register was much more appealing to me because by the end of the song I was like, "Huh. Looky there. Tonsils."

**Interesting behind the scenes info from my friend Kalki: "Cat! I was at Curves the other day and they were talking about Mandisa and they said that she is one of the people who sings the Curves songs! And I was like, "Nu-UH!" And so they brought out the CD cases, and sure enough! Mandisa is listed as the vocalist for some of those songs. And what's more, she's one of the vocalists on the Curves workout hymn CD!!!" Thanks for the scoop, woman! Smooches back at'cha! Heh. I am still laughing hysterically... Curves has a workout HYMN CD?! Hoo! "Holy, Holy, HOLY!" All right! Woo! Who's down with G-O-D?! (Pastor Skip!)**

Bucky - Oh Boy! (Buddy Holly) - Oh, BOY. Tough break, kid, squashed as you are between Mandisa and Paris. But let's talk about the hair for a moment: from Jessica Hair to Jesus Hair? Huh... Yeah, good call. That said, Boomhauer, Boomhauer, Bucky McGrowlsalot. I want to like you, I really, really do. Why won't you let me? Huh? But hey! At least you are starting to E-NUN-CI-ATE! This is progress, indeed. Oh! And loved the mic tossing. Very sharp. (I just said "sharp." Good lord. I am officially my mother.)

Paris - Fever (Peggy Lee) - The hair? Okay, I won't even go there. Okay, so check it: this was probably your best performance this season, hands down, I am so not kidding. Your voice is a fine-tuned instrument, that is fo' sho'. [Simon voice] BUT [/end Simon voice], although you are this teensy, WAY annoying firecracker with the powerful voice, I still get a sense of a little girl dressing up in Momma's clothes... Because Fever? Really? Girlfriend, you are so not old enough to really connect with the feeling behind this song. Fever is a sultry song... it should be purred, not belted. Honestly. With a little experience and humility... yeah. You'd definitely give Fantasia some competition.

Oh! Looky! Constantine!... and Ryan Cabrera. Okay, I would not have called that. And Secret Greek Idol Luvah? Um, have you even SHOWERED since last season? Because ew? Love the glasses! Smooches! MWAH!

Chris - I Walk The Line (Johnny Cash) - Cheater! CHEATER! But that comes later... TGIM absolutely LOVED this dirgeful version of I Walk the Line, and he is an actual, honest-to-freaking-goodness Johnny Cash fan. I mean, he has liked the man's music forever, LONG before Joaquin and Reese made it trendy. He has CDs! I mock him. That being said, yes, you = PRETTY. And hey, props to you for "refusing to compromise," blah blah one-trick pony BLAH, but dude, if you are going to cover some other band's version of I Walk the Line in the most blatant, karaoke way possible, you should probably mention it at some point. Raise your hand if you thought Chris arranged his own version of the song to "stay true to his rocker roots? (*raises both hands, waves them wildly*) Way to totally take credit for a version which was simply a ripoff of the version on the Best of Live's CD. I feel so betrayed. I can't even look at you anymore. Okay, that's a lie. (Pretty!)

Constantine! Again! Is it my BIRTHDAY?! The unkempt look is totally growing on me... But if it is true that you are dating Kellie "Pick Pickler"... well, we may not be able to see each other anymore. Think about it. (Call me!)

Katharine - Come Rain Or Come Shine (Ella Fitzgerald) - Wow. The girl-crush? It grows stronger... and hey, way to shy away from the Pickler School of Vapid Ho-ness! Good call. YES! The bouncy is BACK, baby! Or rather, the shakeshakeshake, but let's not quibble, mm'kay? Thank God for double-stick tape, that's all I'm saying. (Wait...) Kat? You = Adorkable! And though your voice was admittedly a tad (just a smidge! an iota!) sharp in a few spots, this song still sounded oh-so good on you. That voice! So effortless! So pretty! And did I mention how FREAKING SUPER UNBELIEVABLY HAWT you looked? Yes? Okay then.

Taylor - Not Fade Away (Buddy Holly) - Now why in the WORLD did you pick such a boring, repetitive, non-vocally-challenging song? Huh? What the hell were you thinking?! Could you have BEEN any more blah? I was bored, and I freaking LOVE you! I didn't bob my head even ONCE. But hey, [Paula voice] you had fun with it [/end Paula voice], and that's my favorite part of the performance, anyhoo, so whatev. You're not going anywhere, so PICK A BETTER SONG next week, mm'kay? OH! And the end pose? Golden.

Lisa - Why Do Fools Fall In Love? (Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers) - So cute. So talented. So forgettable. So going home. That's all I have to say about that.

Kevin - When Will I Fall In Love? (Nat King Cole) - You still creep me out. I think it's the soulless, blinky eyes of doom. And the attitude sucks, too, so there you go! I jutht can't thtand it any longer. Pleathe make it thtop! Okay, that was cruel. Please go away now so I can be all Puppies Giggles Flowers Cat again.

Elliott - Teach Me Tonight (Al Jarreau) - First off, the tie? Are you freaking serious? And TUCK YOUR SHIRT IN! That said, you didn't actually take Barry's advice, which... stupid? I mean, Barry may be fruitier than a picnic basket but the dude knows his music. I just don't think you connected with the song, and it showed in the vocals. Then again, I spent the majority of the performance looking at The Ears and elbowing TGIM, all, "What did they do to his ears? Are they pinned back? And up? Is it the hair? It's got to be the hair. Why does he look strangely less blechy and sort of kind of almost attractive in a low-eared, bad teethy kind of way? Oh, man. I find this disturbing." They are cleaning you up nicely, that's all I'm saying. So there you go.

Kellie - Walkin' After Midnight (Patsy Cline) - Listen, Pickle. Bronzer is NOT your friend. TGIM kept saying "What is up with her makeup? She looks like a hooker. Her stylist should be shot." But seriously, "I thought he was calling me a jacket!"? HATE. And "happy doo doo" song? (Confession: I did actually laugh at that. I know, right? I'm so ashamed.) If it weren't for the distracting southern accent-- "Lahk Ah du-yew?" "Fur yew?"-- this was probably the best Pickler performance ever. Which isn't saying much, but it's something, right? Simon is either insane or incredibly horny for Vapid Ho. Oooh! HARSH. Sorry. I have to admit, however, I am beginning to doubt the existence of a merciful God.

Ace - In The Still Of The Night (The Five Satins) - Oh, baby. You seriously need to pull up those pants. Um, unless you are planning on taking them all the way off-- in which case, carry on. I am thinking that one falsetto note a song is a'ight, dawg, but what's up with the whole nasally in the nasal thing you've got going on? Belt it out more! The belting part was awesome! Overall, you underwhelmed me with the vocals, dude, and I now officially HATE urbanized jazz. I want my Father Figure back! All "warm and naked," remember? *sniff* *sigh* Just thought you should know.

Who should go: Kevin! Bucky! Kellie!
Who will go: Lisa

Technical Difficulties

2006-03-22T12:13:00.000-06:00

Please stand by... (recap to come)

Wading Through a Sea of Blue... and Pink... and Yellow...

2006-03-21T10:55:00.000-06:00

(Warning: This post could be construed as tangential and prone to metaphorical meanderings, or as TGIM would put it, "TOO. DAMN. LONG." That is all. Carry on! Or not. It's up to you, really. Um, okay... proceed at your own risk.)

While sitting in the bar area/holding pen at the Outback Steakhouse last Saturday night waiting with my squirmy six-year-old daughter for a table, I found myself silently cursing the elementary school for recognizing my daughter's compassionate nature and rewarding her with a freaking Friendly Falcon gift certificate, good for one Joey Kid's Meal. Oh, and for giving in to my daughter's pleas of "Momma, I don't care if the wait is over an hour! Let's stay! Please? PLEEEEEEEEEEEZ?! I get to hold the light pager thingy!" Seriously, she snatched the pager right out of the hostess's hand and shot out the door before I could stop her.

Now don't think I didn't try to talk her out of it. Oh, indeed I did. I admit, I was not happy about this. The fact that it was twenty degrees outside did not help. I pleaded, I cajoled, I whined. I even bribed, then whined some more, but she wasn't having it. She had plopped herself down on one of the wooden benches outside and there she sat, swinging her legs idly as she clasped that pager to her chest like Master Frodo Baggins with the One Ring. I tried to take it from her, to make her see reason, to convince her that we could come back another time, but she was all "NOOOOO! It's MINE! We must have the preeeecious!" Okay, not really, but I wouldn't have been surprised, that's all I'm saying.

Finally I gave in. I dragged her inside where we squeezed ourselves onto one of the packed benches in the bar. It was a busy night, so we were packed tightly, Old Man High-Pants and his Wife Unit on one side, family of five rowdy, smelly boys (I'm just sayin') on the other. Full of excitement and youthful energy, she bounced up and down on the foam-cushioned bench with absolutely no regard for her fellow patrons' personal space (or mine), scrunching me closer and closer to Old Man High Pants (who seemed decidedly too happy with the arrangement)-- one finger twirling in her hair, her other hand clasping my Pink Razr to her ear (yes, I'm a genius)-- wiling away the time talking to her Grandma Claire while at the same time dramatically advertising to anyone who cared to look that she was ON the PHONE. This is what is called "multitasking."

I watched her, and watched everyone else watching her, and said helpful things like, "Alli! Sit down! Stop bouncing! Oooh, sorry, I'll pay for that... Stop, you're kicking that boy in the shins! Get off my jacket! Good LORD, Alli! SIT. STILL." She ignored me, of course, but did stop long enough to cover the phone and say with an impatient sigh, "Momma, I am TALKING." I closed my eyes and resigned myself to the looooong wait. I may have pouted a bit. too. I'm not sure. It's all a little fuzzy now. For reals. It's a blur.

When the pager finally went off, Alli began jumping and squealing and running back and forth between the hostess and me. I tried to shush her exuberance-- "It just went off! I was just standing here and it started blinking! Do you see it blinking? Momma, come ON! IT'S BUH! LINK! ING!"-- but how does one calm the torrential downpour of a sudden rainstorm? It just can't be done.

I tried my best to keep her in check, as it seemed as if every eye in the restaurant was fixed directly upon me and my wild-child daughter. And totally judging. And condemning. "Bad Momma!" their eyes screamed. But it was useless: she played with the utensils and sugar packets, and talked, and laughed, and danced in her chair to the 80's music playing, and talked, and ordered for herself (saying "please" and "thank you"), and ate, and talked, and talked some more. Then, about midway through our meal something struck me. I put down my fork (which is amazing in itself because have you TASTED the Cyclone Pasta? Mmm!) and I just sat there, watching her, really seeing her, letting her words wash over me.

And I thought of books. Used books, specifically.

You see, I always hated buying textbooks when I was in college. I'd stand there gazing pitifully-- longingly!-- toward the shiny new William Shakespeare: The Complete Works, wishing for nothing more than to pick it up and run my fingers up and down its smooth, nick-free cover, or thumb through the crisp, totally NOT dog-eared pages inhaling it's booky newness, before wrapping it in bubble wrap and placing it gently into my backpack. Aaah, the sweet torture.

Then, of course, I'd stick a pin in my bubble-wrapped fantasy and reach out to grab one of the stupid old ratty copies on the shelf next to the brand-spankin' new books, you know, one with a bright red sticker on it shouting to the world, "I'm a third of the new book price! Because I am torn! And smelly! And full of icky food and sticky beer stains! And the occasional spot of drool! Seriously, I'm on my last leg here. Buy me now!" Because I am cheap, okay? And hey... those strings of star- and heart-shaped mini-lights and that super comfy featherbed mattress for my dorm room certainly weren't going to buy themselves, now were they?

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against tattered, dog-eared, food-stained books. Books is books, you know? As a matter of fact, some of my favorite books are in a similar condition. And dude, I am Queen of Shop The Sale, so forget about me being embarrassed to have to buy used. I'd be much more likely to stand behind you in line going, "You just paid $600 for three new textbooks?! Are you insane?! I'm getting all twelve of my books for $235.86! Woo! That's right, SUCKAH! That lava lamp I've been eyeing? Practically mine! HA!"

No, what I took exception to when buying used textbooks was the inevitable array of incompetent highlighting perpetrated by the previous owner(s). Good LORD! The pre-existing sea of yellow! Or pink! Or blue! Or all of the highlight colors at war with one another on the page! You can bet money that I would spend tens of minutes of my valuable college socializing time digging through stacks of used books, searching desperately for the books with the least amount of highlighting. Honestly. I didn't care if the books had vomit stains or were falling apart at the seams; I found the ones with the most highlight-free pages. Because, dude. If there is one thing I learned in college, it is that students? Have no freaking clue how to highlight competently.

You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. There have been studies! So many college (and high school) students truly have no clue what to do with a highlighting marker. They see other people with them and think, "Pretty!" Then they rush out, buy their own, and begin marking up their books all willy-nilly, an unimportant word here, an inconsequential paragraph there. But the worst of the offenders wield that highlighter with the belief that they will somehow magically retain everything they just read if they simply highlight, well, every single stinking thing they just read. Then a new owner comes along and uses a different highlight color, and so on and so forth until the book is just one big rainbow of irresponsible highlighting.

And what do you suppose happens when your reading material has been incompetently highlighted with a yellow (or pink or blue) marker? It dramatically reduces comprehension, that's what! What is most important becomes lost in a sea of color, a virtual hodgepodge of frustration and misinformation. Because just as sure as proper highlighting skills will focus your attention on the most important information a book has to offer, excessive highlighting will ruin the book.

Ruin it good.

Much like in life.

Okay, granted, this was quite the thought to be thinking during dinner at Outback Steakhouse with my daughter, but never underestimate the crazy yet lightening quick workings of my mind. Or the verbosity of my daughter (I know! Where does she get that?! For reals!).

I realized that I had wasted more than half of what could have been-- check that, should have been an evening full of love and laughter-- one that I could gratefully pull out of the vault when my youngest daughter no longer thinks spending alone-time with Momma is a special treat-- wielding that stupid yellow marker and vigorously highlighting only the trivial things, focusing my attention on the inconsequential. I was so busy highlighting what I thought was important, what I thought other people thought was important, that I completely missed the point. I ruined the book.

Ruined it good.

Chastened, I tried my best to salvage the rest of the evening. I found Fun Momma underneath all that color and I picked up my knife and began singing the 80's music into it as she danced in her seat, I oohed and aahed over her Spotted Dog Sundae, and laughed with her over some silly joke Boomer From School-- "my ushy-gushy boyfriend!"-- told her. By the time we hit those heavy double doors and burst into the frigid night air, we were laughing and joking, and the happy mood lasted until we walked through our front door.

"How was it?" TGIM asked us.

Before I could say a word, Alli shrugged and said, "Oh, Momma was wearing her cranky pants, but I think she's better now."

Oh no! I thought. That's it? That's all she remembers?

She kissed me and squeezed me and ran upstairs to put on her pajamas. And guys? Guys?! I was devastated.

That night I decided to put the highlighter away for a while, because at that moment I realized that in life premature underlining often leads to highlighting inconsequential information. Cranky pants, indeed. Instead I vowed to try my damnedest to kick back and carefully peruse what life is offering-- to understand, it, to enjoy it-- right here, right now. No judging. Not yet. Only enjoying. Loving. I'm hoping that by doing this, when the time comes that I am looking back over the time I spent with my children, family, and loved ones, I can more competently perceive and appreciate what was truly meaningful in my life. Highlight it, if you will.

And that, my friends, is what I will focus on.

Meditation

2006-03-20T10:08:00.000-06:00

Sometimes it is nice to simply be still...

Euphoria

2006-03-17T16:30:00.000-06:00

Have you ever been walking down a busy city street on an unusually warm early March afternoon because your stupid car broke down so you're stuck riding the Washington Metro with people who are too damn stupid to stay home when they have coughs due to cold, arousing the fighting Irish in you by hacking and sniffling all over everybody, specifically you? Which is gross?

And you don't really mind walking the two miles home because there is a soft, warm breeze washing over you, and birds are singing and flitting around in the green haze of the treetops, and the flowers are blooming right before your eyes. And also because you are appropriately dressed for walking, clad in your Casual Friday jeans and tee, shod in comfy yet stylish athletic shoes, sporting oversized (but not ridiculously so) pink sunglasses, and wearing iPod earbud headphones adjusted for hours of maximum listening enjoyment.

Then, as you are walking the long stretch of the main thoroughfare you begin to notice people turning to stare, so you maybe throw a tad more sway into your hips than usual? And then a small, confident smile slowly spreads across your face? And maybe you're strutting, but just a little?

And suddenly the world falls away and all you can hear are the catchy guitar riffs of Jet's Move On-- an early-70's-Stones-style country ballad with kick-ass slide work-- and the lead singer's raw, gritty voice strikes something deep inside, not in the shallow end, but in the deepest waters and darkest places of your soul. And your heart feels light and your soul begins to sing and you have this sudden, exuberantly surreal sensation, as if you have just been thrust right into the ending montage of your favorite feel-good movie-- you know, the part where the hero is triumphantly walking into her happily ever after-- and you just know that her whole life is opening up before her and you realize you are her and it FEELS? SO? GOOD?

Then, even when the moment passes and the cars zoom back into your periphery-- and the honking horns, screeching tires, and sporadic Woo! Hey Baby!'s evolve into beautiful songs of unrestrained cacophony-- you can't suppress the giddy smile or the unabashedly swaying hips, and you feel more alive than you can remember having felt in such a long time?

Well? Have you?

Yeah. Um, me neither. I'm so sure.

'Cause every once in a while
You think about if your gonna get yourself together
You should be happy just to be alive
And just because you just don't feel like comin' home
Don't mean that you'll never arrive.

Yeah I'm gonna have to move on...

Kiss Me! I'm Irish! No, really!

2006-03-17T09:56:00.000-06:00

No takers? Anyone? Anyone?

FREAK! Why doesn't that ever work? And I really am Irish! Mostly! I mean, hello? Freckles?!

Well, this is awkward.

Wait...

How about now?

Hey! Smoldering is HARD, yo?! Constantine is a PRO, I tell you what, just whipping out the smolder like that because my picture took, like, eighteen tries! For serious! And my cube neighbors kept walking by, so I had to be covert with the smoldering! It's extraordinarily difficult to smolder under those conditions, that's all I'm saying. I admit, I have smoldered better. But still! Kisses? Because... Irish?

Still, no? Smoldering doesn't do it for you? Really?

Well... damn. What a stupid holiday.

I'm Late, Late, Late

2006-03-15T14:54:00.000-06:00

Look at me, such the slacker, putting work before my blog and all... GOSH! Could this day have BEEN any more crazy?! I think not.

So moving on to a WAY better topic:

Random thoughts:

"Well-diversed?!" Oh dear lord, Paula.

Kevin-- AKA: He Who Shall Not Be Named (*cough* Scott Savol *cough*)-- proved he has no freaking idea what "my heart sunk" means. And it was kind of funny that they left it in, actually. Stevie W. cames in the room and his "heart sunk." You know, with the excitement of it all? Heh. You just can't script this stuff, I tell you what.

Ryan to Simon: Okay... you're done?

The only people worth commenting on are Kat, Taylor, and possibly Lisa and Paris. Okay, and Chris. Everyone else was a truckload of MEH for me. But of course I'll comment on everyone. Because I'm obsessive and anal, okay?!

Breaking it Down:

Ace: Do I Do-- Aaaw! Look at all that crying and back-rubbing going on with Stevie W! How totally not gay! Oh, my dear, sweet, sexy, poofy-haired boy. Your hair stylist hates you. Just thought I'd drop a hint. And dude? You didn't say "naked." Say "naked" next time. Remember? "Naked." Um... "warm and naked" would be cool, too. Seriously. N-A-K-E-D. Do it. Do it. Do it.... Do it.

Kellie: Blame It On the Sun-- Holy Gold Almighty. That was just... Holy God Almighty. "Blaaaaaaaaaym it aaaaaaaawn thuuuuuuh suuuuuuuuuhn..." It's the song that never ends! Uh-oh (yay!), when Paula says, "You look beautiful" we all know that what she's really saying is "Wow. That sucked more than anything has ever sucked before. Nyah!" Ooooh, Simon, actually called the horridness of her voice?! Finally. Now listen here, missy, you said you didn't know any of Stevie's music, so why the hell were you crying when he walked in the room?! Faker! Vapid attention whore! Dumbass! Fake-eyelashes-and-bought-on-sale-red-pumps-wearer!... yeah, I'm out. Begone!

Elliott: Knocks Me Off My Feet-- Good lord, another crier. Gosh! You big babies! Geesh. When did Stevie Wonder die and become God? Anyhoos, I'm just not feeling the voice or the stage presence, dawg, and don't even think I've forgiven you for ruining Heaven. Traumatized, that's what I am. Scarred for life.

Mandisa: Don't You Worry About A Thing-- Oooh! I get it! Soft Mandisa = bad, loud Mandisa = good. Soft Mandisa actually = really, really bad. What's up with that? But it's all right, we LIKE you shouty, mm'kay? And may I say, you and your moisturized ankles are a-freaking-dorable? But listen here, bizyotch, no more footsy with my Ry-Ry, you hear? For serious. You better just step off my man, or I WILL cut you. But still! Pretty.

(Aside: I wonder what Ryan was thinking when he took off her shoes. What if her feel totally smelled?! I can't remember... did he make the smelly fart face? Did he?)

Bucky: Superstition-- Boomhauer, Boomhauer, Boomhauer... still chillin' with the pornstache, eh? I am so over it. But listen: constipated is SO not a good look while performing, so seriously... stop crouching! Hmm... I think I actually enjoyed the song during the two parts where you weren't growling at me, and it was a shockingly good fit for you, but truthfully? I just couldn't get past the pretty, pretty hair.

Melissa: Lately-- "Hope my recognition misses"? Oh, lordy. That was just bad. Bad, bad, bad. You're all, "I have many, many wishes!" and Stevie Wonder's like, "Get off me, biznitch, and learn those words." Un.Comfortable. He was totally glaring at you, too, and dude's blind, so there you go. And then with my wee Ryan you're all, "I've been gargling and swallowing!" and I'm like, "Heh." Because you just went and left that door wide open for us, didn't you? And the judges gave you a pass? Why is there not mandatory drug testing for the judges, huh? Because... crackheads? That being said, you looked beautiful tonight. Trailer Trash Bratz Doll Chic totally gone. AI Stylists = Miracle Workers.

Lisa: Signed, Sealed, Delivered-- Except for feeling a bit like I'm suddenly at Disneyworld and my kids are forcing me to watch some sort of Junior Miss pageant when all I want to do is freaking ride Space Mountain, (and I mean this...) cute! Nice vocals and kickin' threads. But seriously, stop pointing and doing the "come on, y'all's!" and stuff. Seriously. Just stop it. But keep the eyebrow thing. That's wicked cute.

Kevin: Part-Time Lover-- I have just now decided that Kevin and lover should never ever be uttered in the same sentence. Okay, to be honest, I was so busy laughing at his dancing that I wasn't paying attention to his singing. Remember on Sesame Street when Bert is Doin' the Pigeon? and we were all so surprised to actually see his legs? Yep I was like, "TGIM! Look! He's dancing like a chicken! Like a Chicken Little!" and then I realized that he wasn't doing it on purpose and that totally killed the glee for me and I was like, "Huh. I guess it's only funny if he's doing it ironically." Then I remembered reading that Kevin broke up with his girlfriend when he made the Top 24 because he thought it would be better for him to "be single" and I vomited in my mouth. Just a little. Good day, Scott Savol-light. I said good day!

Katharine: Until You Come Back To Me-- Way to dispel those pregnancy rumors, Kat. And will you looky there... apparently the Pickle's vapidity is contagious. Well that's just grrrrrrreat. But still... I've got the McPheever! Woo! But girlfriend? Even though you have fabulous stage presence and are ridiculously photogenic-- and yes, we can see that your breasts are splendid-- I have one word for you: bra. B-R-A. Then we can have the bouncy back! I miss the bouncy. From start to finish, way to OWN this song, Kat, and you never once let the band overwhelm you. I mean, even Mandisa was hardly even there during the non-shouty parts of her song. Fan-freaking-tastic. Oh, but Kat? Mrs. Roper called... she says she wants her dress back. (Ba-dum-bum! Thank you!)

(Aside: I'm not going to lie. I have to seriously question the judgment-- nay, the sanity-- of any person who makes Kellie "Pick Pickler!" her new BFF. I know they're roomies and all, but DAMN. I'm like, "Kat! Run away! If you mess with her, she will cut you! Don't you see The Crazy? Huh, Kat?! Doncha?!" Then again, if she's looking for more airtime, she struck publicity GOLD when she moved in with Pickler. I mean, every time the camera focuses on Pickler, Kat's right there giddying it up with her. Genius. If this is the case, if she is strategizing, I think I would actually respect her more than if she were just a horrendous judge of character.)

Taylor: Living For The City-- Hoo! TWIRLY! Soul patrol! Soul Patrol! Woo! Oh, Taylor, you frickin' blew me away. That was HOT! I loved it. All of it: the unique, husky voice, the wacky hair, the less-spazzy-than-usual dance moves, the kick-ass outfit and shoes... I had to watch it three times before I could go on, I loved it THAT much. So fun. Dude, I think you really do feel the music in your soul. But don't let the stylists touch that hair, you hear? It's your signature. All in all, this was my favorite performance of the night, the standing ovation was absolutely deserved, and I am totally stealing that funky dance move.

(*runs off to watch Taylor again*)

Paris: All I Do-- Is it bad that I laughed and laughed when Stevie said he sees a great future for Paris? SEES! Aaw, it's bad, isn't it? Damn. But SEES! Hee! Hmmm, this performance was very meh for me. I mean, the vocals were fabulous, but I was bored by the song. And I could have lived without the whole singing your answers to Ryan like some deranged puppy humping America's leg thing, while totally stealing Taylor's "woo!" and signature side twisty bob thing. You be trippin'. I bet he was watching and thinking, Um, hello? You CANNOT steal the 'woo.' The 'woo!' is mine, so STEP. OFF, little bizzyotch! But, you know, in a polite, southern kind of way.

(Aside: Did y'all see Ryan's face when she kept thanking her fans... in SONG? Awkward. Even Paula was like, "Oh, no, honey.' PAULA. I know, right? Insane.)

Chris: Higher Ground-- The pony, it has one trick. And honestly, AI, pander much? I haven't seen that kind of pimpage since Constantine performed Bohemian Rhapsody, what with the haze of smoke and the flaming background, not to even mention the fancy-shmancy light show and pyrotechnics. You just know Ace was backstage thinking, Hey! Why didn't I get some effing pyrotechnics?! And smoke?! He gets SMOKE?! This sucks! Don't get me wrong, I still like the rocker voice. I just think the song was a cop-out. I mean, the judges should have at least played fair and said, "Dude, way to stay in the box." For me, this was the most overrated performance of the night. And the weird sideburn S's were unfortunate, too. But hey, you're still pretty, so there's always that.

Going home:
Should be Kevin! Or Pickler.
Will be Melissa. Or Kevin. Could be Bucky, too. Okay, fine, I have absolutely no idea what will happen. It's craziness.

How to Charm the Ever-Loving Socks Off Me

2006-03-14T05:45:00.000-06:00

** Devote every waking moment that isn't spent hurrying through homework or re-reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince to practicing magic tricks, card tricks, and sleight of hand. Then, after asking (read: forcing) me, your sisters, and TGIM to sit through The Great Tanndini's Magic Show, spend the majority of the time either threatening your sisters with imminent death if they reveal your secrets or muttering, "Wait... just a sec... let me do that over..." before finally astounding us with your mad magic skillz, thus assuring us that the magic set we gave you for your tenth birthday was a stroke of absolute genius (read: utter madness).

** When asked to get your stinky, smelly, eight-year-old self into the shower after an afternoon of hardcore playground, er... playing-- because I won't have you going to school smelling like butt, that's why-- you strip down to your undies and proceed to dance in the Naughty Zone (tm mrtl), shimmying and shaking your booty all the way to the bathroom while shouting "Momma, lookit! Momma, look at me! Look!" between giggles. (What?! I sure didn't teach her that...)

** After running circles around the basketball courts like a cute little six-year-old Energizer bunny hopped up on sugar and caffeine-- eyes glued to the sky, golden-blonde curls bouncing, upper lip buttoned firmly by your lower in concentration as you maneuver your $3.99 dragon kite to find the best wind on the playground-- approach me, pink cheeked and breathing hard, dragging your kite by two yards of string strung out behind you, and beg for a "small sip" from my water bottle. After taking three greedy, unladylike gulps and exhaling loudly with satisfaction, carelessly wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, hand back the bottle, and say with a reassuring grin, "Don't worry, Momma. I didn't mouthwash."

That, coupled with your earnest belief that you will absolutely never ever be able to get that "sticky tree zap" off the bottom of your foot and-- grr! argh!-- will I please just get off the computer and help you, compels me ask myself, "Self? Can't she stay this adorable forever?"

Well, color me embarrassed.

2006-03-13T15:10:00.000-06:00

Hallelujah! The internet gods have heard my plea. I have connectivity! Cool. I guess I can put away that voodoo doll...

See? I can be brief.

"Welcome to the pit of despair. Don't even think about trying to escape!"

2006-03-13T12:19:00.000-06:00

We all have issues, this I know. Some of us have more than others, obviously, but let's not point fingers at Michael Jackson all at once, mm'kay? Because that would be wrong. That being said, today I feel the need to share some of my issues, to vent my spleen, to lay down my heavy load of despair. I mean, what good is a blog... wait. "Vent my spleen"? Well, that's just plain disgusting if you think about it, now isn't it? Who made up that idiom? Fuh-reeeak. What will they think of next? "Purge my colon"? "Uncork my anus"? Gross. But I digress...

Okay, so first there's Verizon playing fast and loose with my internet connection. I tell you what, they can just kiss goodbye my vote for Internet Provider of the Year! You know, if there were actually an Internet Provider of the Year competition. Hey! It could happen! You don't know! Which, come to think of it, would be awesome because maybe Verizon would try harder and I'd get some actual customer SERVICE rather than twenty plus cumulative hours on the phone with one powerless, faceless factotum after another, each promising my connection will be reconnected in 24 to 48 hours, each with the brain capacity of a tsetse fly, and each turning out to be a Big Fat Liar because I STILL DO NOT HAVE AN INTERNET CONNECTION.

But if there were an award for Internet Provider of the Year-- the INPY, if you will-- when Verizon lost to Cingular or T-Mobile, I would laugh and point and give way to intense feelings of schadenfreude-- you know, of the I Just Heard That My High School Ex-Boyfriend Who Dumped Me For Slutty McPutsoutalot Is Fat, Bald, And Working As A Part-Time Car Salesman In Yuma variety?

Because I'm evil that way.

And as if it is not enough that my loss of connectivity to the World Wide Web has forced me to wander the neighborhood with my trusty little iFred, searching for a wireless internet signal (people STARE... it's quite rude, actually), guess what happens? Guess?! My trusty little car breaks down, that's what. (Okay, so that would make it my not-so-trusty little car. But let's not quibble. You know what I meant.)

Grrr... I hate cars. I hate parts of cars. I hate parts of cars that scrape and ping and die-- cough-graunch-wheeeeeeeze. You know why? Because they suck, that's why. And also because when cars break I have to visit a mechanic. And I hate mechanics. I hate mechanics who loom over me, clad in their greasy denim coveralls-- which are the sartorial equivalent of twirling one's mustache, making even the most depraved of movie villains look about as scary as Deputy Barney Fife-- saying things like, "Uh-oh, it's the thermostat slingbobber bearings and muffler widgets," "Hmm, or it could be a thrown bearing rod or head gasket thingamahoozer " or "Tsk, tsk... your car's slamhenger sensor is sending a false reading to your ECM, so give me lots and lots of money and then maybe I'll fix it but it will probably break down in two or three days and you will have to come back here and give me lots and lots more money, mwah ha ha ha!"

Except they never really add that last part but I seriously wish they would because that is the ONLY PART OF THE CONVERSATION I UNDERSTAND.

I know! No internet AND no car?! My world! It is spinning out of control! When will the madness end? No car equals catching the Metro at five o'clock in the morning, riding for an entire hour, then power-walking the half-mile from the station to my office building. So I have to wear... (this is so humiliating) I have to wear... I have to wear my athletic shoes, okay? Are you happy now? Athletic shoes! With a pencil-style skirt and matching blazer! It's, like, the mullet of professional attire: business on the top, party on the bottom. Ooooh, crash and burn on the metaphor. Um, business on top, ready for action on the bottom? Damn. So close... Honestly, it's a shame I shall carry forever. It's just that my toes get all scrunchy and blistery in my dressy shoes! And there are shin splints to consider, too. I'm not kidding. SHIN SPLINTS.

Oooh, and hey, while I'm at all this hatin', I also hate Costco Tire Center, but that is mostly because the smell of new tires makes me want to vomit, and only partially because the so-smokin'-hot-he-could-be-an-Abercrombie-model guy behind the counter is always extraordinarily rude to everybody in the shop. My best guess? Total Hotness Entitlement Complex, with a tinge of Career Dissatisfaction. But hey, that's his issue, not mine, so let him get his own frickin' blog. Moocher.

Aaaaah, now this is much better. The burden of my ill-temper has been lifted from my weary shoulders. No more hatin'. My spleen is splent. Won't TGIM be pleased?

Whatev. If I don't have my internet connection by tonight, heads will roll. Oh, yes they will. Mark my words, Verizon. Mark my words...

Yo, yo, yo, dawgs. There's a new AI judge comin' at ya!

2006-03-10T10:27:00.001-06:00

How much do I love Shaun (and Kristine, the woman who owns him)?! More than a box full of scrumptrillescent glazed Krispy Kreme Doughnuts hot off the conveyer belt, that's how much. And anyone who knows me will tell you that that? Says a whole lot.

Hey, Shaun, do you know how I know you're gay? You picked a photograph in which Simon is showing more boob than Paula. Eh? EH?! Woo! That's a BURN!

Anyhoos, thanks again, Shaun. The picture freaking ROCKS! I love, love, LOVE it. And, dude, I absolutely NEED that shirt. Can you hook a sistah up?

America, you done me wrong.

2006-03-10T09:37:00.000-06:00

First, the superficial:

Hey everybody, Bo's hair looks pretty! And SHINY! (I wonder what conditioner he uses? Probably a salon-brand deep conditioner or a herbal moisturizing hair masque... note to self: look into deep conditioners.) Hi Bo! Looking good! Have you been working out? And hello there, mic stand acrobatics! Too bad you had to go and sing the worst song, like, ever. And I didn't even recognize your voice.. Aw, Bo. I miss the "Whipping Post" days. Those were good times. (aside: Your vocal chords are shot, dude. Please give them a rest. I want my Bo back.)

Ryan: Does it feel good to be in the Top 12?
Paris: It do!
Oh, Paris. As if The Hair was not bad enough. Are you trying to make me hate you?

Well, well, well... look who's out of the joint and ready to par-TAY. Seriously, people, who let in the Brittenum Tools-- er, Twins? And whose brilliant idea was it to give them a platform to shout out "... and rich!"? (although Ryan's O. M. G. reaction was priceless) Freaks, both of them. God help us all.

Just when I thought I couldn't love Ace any more, he goes all Hug Patrol on me. How sweet was that, huh? *sigh* Although I admit to a moment of worry because did you see my secret AI luvah hugging Will? Things that make you go, "Hmm..."

OMG. Next week is Stevie Wonder week? What will Bucky and Pickler DO? The mind boggles.

Now for the substantive:

Two of my favorite male singer are gone. I hate this show. *guilty pleasure*

Honestly. Kevin over Will? What's the thought process going on here? "Hmm... way less talented? Check! Infinitely less mature? Check! Not even remotely as cute? Check! But hey! Let's keep him anyway. You know, for kicks." It's like affirmative action for geeks or something. Will took it like a man, though. An adorable young man. Give him a few years to grow up a bit and find himself vocally. That boy is going places.

And Ayla over Melissa? Please. What is wrong with people? Melissa, in my humble and totally correct opinion, should have been the one to go (of the two). Now I have to see her and her skanky hair-- not to mention her pierced and totally not-ripped belly, which I am certain will be on full display-- perform again next week. Thanks, America. No, really.

Plus, now TGIM will never let me live down the hard, cold fact that I bawled like a baby when Ayla was eliminated. Yeah, that's right, I cried. Okay? Are you happy now? And I am totally not even having my period either! It was just so heart-wrenching to watch her cry, and if you disagree, well, you must have iron in your soul. I don't think I have ever felt more sympathy for an eliminated contestant. Thing is, you just know this was the first time she's ever not been the very best at something, and that is a painful lesson to learn in front of millions of people. And though, yes, she has basketball to fall back on, I think she was genuinely ready to dedicate herself to singing. It seemed as if she wanted it. SO MUCH. Seriously. I don't know how she made it through her song: "Reaching for something in the distance/So close you can almost taste it/Release your inhibitions..."

That being said, how fabulous was Ryan when he very smoothly and professionally walked Ayla through the heartache and disappointment, giving her enough time to pull herself together so she could sing-out? What a sweetheart of a guy. And she gave it her best shot. I was so proud of both of them. "Live your life with arms wide open/Today is where your book begins/The rest is still unwritten..." She'll be fine.

But y'all? It is Gedeon who was absolutely robbed of his rightful place in the competition. No WAY should Kevin stay in the Top 12 over Gideon. Gideon's the better singer and performer hands down, no matter how Forrest Gumpy he may appear (he was, in point of fact, valedictorian of his class... you heard me) when he isn't singing. I mean honestly, I nearly peed my pants laughing during his crazy "music makes the world go round" intro. "What. The. World. Does. Not. Know. A. Bout. Me. Is. That. When. I. Am. Not. Sing. Ing. I. Am. Pain.Ting... As. Thee. Record. Spins. Thee. Sound. Of. Music. Makes. Thee. World. Go. Round." He had me at "Sing. Ging." Damn straight, dawg.

Here are a few facts I have discovered about Gedeon:

-- He's the 3rd of 7 children; four boys and three girls. He hasn't seen his mother since January because she had to stay behind to work and care for her other children (why this makes me sad should be apparent in just a moment). His grandmother traveled with him to Hollywood.

-- He almost didn't make it to the auditions because the Memphis auditions were cancelled due to Hurricane Katrina, and Gedeon couldn't afford a trip out to Chicago. His teacher suggested that he put on a concert and sell tickets, which he did, and that is how he raised the $700 he needed.

-- His father died three months ago. THREE months ago. The late Tony McKinney, a blues singer, writer, and performer, died of kidney disease in December 2005. The way I hear it, there wasn't a dry eye in the place when Gedeon sang at his father's funeral.

I'm thinking that smile of his is masking quite a bit of pain. Aaaaaaaaand... yep, now I have guilt.

Personally, I am in awe of his faith in the face of his father's death. And he can sing circles around Kevin and everybody knows it. All that being said, I think this boy has a bright future as a gospel singing superstar. I could see him on Broadway, too, most def. He will be fine.

I suspect that Gedeon's backstory hasn't been pimped all over the show because he and his family have a sense of dignity and privacy. He strikes me as the kind of kid who would see it as exploiting his father's death. And if that's the case, mad props to him for taking the high road, unlike some other people I could mention, Kellie Pickler. And I also choose to believe that my wee'un wouldn't stoop so low as to expose such a young man's very fresh grief for entertainment purposes.

So how much did I love that by simply KILLING in his sing-out, he effectively said "In Your Face, America"? So, SO much. Because damn.

I don't know why he touched me so much. He just did. Bye-bye, Baby Ben Vereen. Hope I see you again soon.

Oh, wow.... Okay, this verbosity over an elimination episode has officially become an indicator of an obsession far surpassing that which is healthy. I shall seek help... after the Season Finale.

Soul Patrol! Woo!

2006-03-09T19:18:00.000-06:00

I'm standing outside my house catching someone's wireless. I feel so naughty. And cold. I'm pretty cold. So quickly:

Gedeon: When A Man Loves A Woman (Percy Sledge)- *sigh* You're just going to keep doing the talking thing, aren't you. Whatev. I am so over it. I think the boy is very, very talented. Like, ginormously talented. A little bit "special," if you know what I'm saying. Like savant special. Which is AWESOME! He did a great job with this, sounded older than his years, actually. But I hate. listening. to. him. talk. So... not so over it, apparently.

Chris: Broken (Seether)- You know what? Dude's insanely hot. What? I just noticed! Hey, Chris. How you doin'? I like your shirt and the way it hugs your muscular-- Okay! Fine. That being said, I like this song SO much better with Amy Lee's harmonies. Way to reign it in after that sucky opening note! Good on you. That was pretty hot. I love the feel of your voice. So radio-friendly. Take the gig with Fuel, Chris! Run, baby! Run!

Kevin: Vincent (Don McLean)- Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... Is it over yet? Is it? No? Zzzzzzzzzzzz...

What in the word does Simon WANT? Ayla is "too old" singing "Unwritten" which was recorded for a teen movie soundtrack, and Kevin is "juvenile" singing a song older than Dick Clark? Even if it was pretty? I'm perplexed, that's all I'm saying... Oh, no, y'all. Ryan and Simon are totally going to break up right on national television. UN. COMFORTABLE.

Hey! Taylor met Christopher Cross! Taylor met Christopher Cross! TGIM is going to be SOOOOOOO jealous. And dude... who doesn't like that song from Tootsie?! Am I right? Wait. You know what sucks? I never ever meet famous people, that's what. Humph.Well, except that one time when Alan Thicke was on the same flight as me on my Senior Trip to Disneyland and all the other seniors and I stood and applauded (because we were weird?) and he was a complete jackass about it so of course we turned on him and commenced heckling (because we were teenagers?) and I could never watch Growing Pains again without feelings of residual anger.

Bucky: Wave on Wave (Pat Green)- Boomhauer, you've got a crazy way of standing, but you know what? I'm feeling you, dawg. Weird. I totally don't know this song, so I have no frame of reference. But it seems a'ight. Well that's just grrrrreat. That means Will is so going home Thursday if he doesn't pick a kickin' song. Oh lordy, there are TWO OF THEM! Bucky and Rocky? What, did their parents hate them? Hey. The twin is kind of cute. Shut up.

Will: How Sweet It Is (James Taylor)- Oh, honey. What happened? Did you ever find that note? And holy shmoly you can't pick the right song to save your live, can you? Didn't you learn ANYTHING from A-Fed last season?! *snap* *snap* PAY ATTENTION! Honestly, you have a tremendous energy and a beautiful, well-trained voice that is pleasant to listen to. Oh, and hello? You equal freaking adorable? Give it another go in about five years when you've lost the Partridge Family vibe and you will absolutely kick ass, I just know it. I shall miss you, my sweet little Donny Osmond doppelganger.

My six-year-old daughter just said, "Oh, Momma, he's my TV boyfriend!" Heh. Simon, you apparently overshot a little with that "eleven-year-olds will love you!" comment.

Taylor: Takin' It to the Streets (The Doobie Brothers)- GOOD HEAVENS. I will have nightmares about that stupid bunny rabbit, I'm so not kid-- Aaaah! Call 9-1-1! Call 9-1-1! Taylor's having some sort of fit! Or a seizure! Come ON, people! Hurry! He's... okay. He's okay. Oh. He was just "dancing." ("Woo! Soul Patrol!") My bad. Taylor I love that you love what you do. I really do. Um, love it, that is. You just totally made my night. I paused, rewound, and listened to you with my eyes closed and you sounded hawt. Then I paused, rewound, and watched you again because how entertaining was THAT?! I was giggling and rocking out right there with you! You ain't got a rhythm bone in your body, my friend, but-- as God is my witness-- you have SOUL. (Soul Patrol! Soul Patrol! Woo!) I'm willing to bet this performance will be the high point of the evening.

Elliott: Heaven (Bryan Adams)- Oh, no you D'INT! You cannot just go and sing a Bryan Adams song like that. That's my era baby, and honestly? That sucked. And Randy? Crackhead. That was so NOT awesome. It was bland and boring and there was weird vibrato in all the wrong places and it WAS NOT BRYAN ADAMS. (I loved Bryan Adams. He wore his sunglasses at night, did you know? I totally need this song on my iPod.) Oooh, DING! Idea: Elliot, you should have worn sunglasses. You know, while you sang? That would have been fun! You would have still sucked, but you would have looked COOL while sucking. Oh, looky there. Paula is flinging her drink at you, but don't worry-- I don't think she means anything by it.

Ace: You Give Me Butterflies (Michael Jackson) Hello! That was a truckload of falsetto, wasn't it? Woo, boy! You were up in the rafters on that one, I tell you what! Wait. Are YOU Paris's dude in the rafters? The guy Favoring her? If so, I've got two words for you: JAIL and BAIT. Think about it. Mmmm... you so pretty, boy. So, so pretty... I... just want... to pinch... your rosy... cheeks... so, so pretty... kDSJsakdfhJSHKasfahfg... What? Who? (*pulls self together*) Good thing, too, because I can almost forgive you for singing a song with lyrics that put me in a very, VERY bad visual place. There's a reason why Michael Jackson fled the country, you know. So... ew? But I liked it. I even closed my eyes in an attempt at impartiality. I only peeked twice, too. Maybe three times. Okay, five tops. Well done, secret AI luvah!

Going home? Kevin and Will. But I will miss Will. He totally brought it on himself, sure, but still. Donny!

(Conspiracy Theory: Shhhhh, but I hear that Will's mother has been terrorizing the hotel staff and producers. Total biznitch. I bet The Powers That Be have just been dying to get rid of her, because honestly, Will hasn't been ALL suck, no matter what the judges have been saying. Hey, I liked Lady. Deal with it.)

Dance, Monkey! Dance!

2006-03-09T07:43:00.000-06:00

(Disclaimer: This post and the ideas and thoughts contained in it are provided for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for timely American Idol commentary. I reserve the right, at my discretion, to change, modify, add or remove portions of my pithy yet substantive posts at any time to allow room for AI commentary. Okay, maybe not-so-pithy posts, usually. But still! Technical difficulties-- um, life?-- precluded me from watching the boys sing last night on AI. I shall catch up this evening and comment then. Because obviously I just can't help myself. So shhhhh! Don't tell me! And yes, that means YOU, Kristine.)

Panera Bread has free Wi-Fi and killer bagels, so just guess where I spent my Work at Home day? Huh?! Go on, guess! Not at home, I can promise you that. (Still no internet. Verizon is on my List. And not the Good List either. The Bad List. Oh, yes. The Super Bad List.) While waiting in line to buy a Cinnamon Crunch bagel (highly overrated, I'm so trying a scone next time), I overheard a conversation which immediately opened my eyes to one of the many perils of watching too much stinking television. Allow me to elucidate.

SCENE

Front counter at Panera Bread. The restaurant is brightly lit, comfortably furnished, and filled almost to capacity with cappuccino-clutching internet surfers and the laptops that own them. Assorted bagels, decadent pastries, gooey, chocolatey brownies, and-- good heavens!-- ginormous, enticing MUFFINS (you know, the ones with the yummy crumbly stuff on top?) are artfully displayed, tempting the hungry and the not-so-hungry but totally weak-willed. The sun shines through the blinds on the windows, its warm glow illuminating the room.

[CAT discovered standing patiently in line. Okay, in the interest of full-disclosure, perhaps not-so-patiently. A WOMAN is standing by the counter, counting out change for her two oatmeal cookies and I.C. Mocha. The whooshing sounds of the register drawer opening and closing and the receipt clicking its way into existence are heard drifting from behind the front counter.]

WOMAN: [hand on hip, her steely gaze fixed on YOUNG CASHIER behind the counter] Excuse me. May I ask you something?

YOUNG CASHIER: [hands Woman her change and receipt] Um, okay. Sure.

WOMAN: Why did you say "Thank you, sir" to the man who just paid, but not "Thank you, ma'am" to me?

CAT: [thinks to herself] She did NOT just go there.

YOUNG CASHIER: Oh!... um... I just...

WOMAN: Well?!

CAT: [thinks to herself] Oh, ho, ho... she totally just went there! Freaking Baby Boomer. I cannot believe the nerve-- ooooh! I wonder if raspberry cream cheese would be tasty on my bagel?

YOUNG CASHIER: I don't know, okay... b-but have a nice day... ma'am?

WOMAN: [dismissive wave of the hand] Well, it's too late for that now!

Woman storms off in a flurry of oatmeal cookie crumbs, imminent codgerhood, and anger management issues.

CAT: [thinking aloud] Huh. I totally would have said, "Okay. Have a nice day... and screw you, MA'AM."

At this exact moment I came to the startling and not altogether unwelcome realization that my mind has become a virtual wasteland of television one-liners which tend to pop out of my mouth without even a moment's notice. It's true! My mouth opens and out they come. I have evolved into this scary amalgam of Veronica Mars, Buffy Summers, and Lorelei Gilmore, with a tad bit of the freshly snarky Ryan Seacrest thrown in for good measure.

The young cashier giggled, and-- after I assured her that calling me "ma'am" would invoke my severest displeasure-- took my order and handed me the biggest Cinnamon Crunch bagel of the batch. The raspberry cream cheese was on the house.

Cool.

I know, right? Things will never be the same again.

I've caught the McPheever, y'all.

2006-03-08T10:51:00.002-06:00

Aw. My wee Ryan's looking so cute! But maybe a little peaked? Dude, are you sleeping? Spreading yourself a little too thin? You seem a little off your game tonight... but still cute! And here come the ladies... I just love those little intros where they blow kisses and wave to the camera. So silly. Oooooh, Ryan's going to share some "little-well-known facts" about the singers, y'all! And... wait, what?

Paris: Gloria Estefan (Conga)- Paris is favored y'all. FAVORED! Some guy up in the rafters is totally loving her! Did you see? Did you? LUCKY! And woo! Nice dress! Good... wait a minute, are those blue jeans?! Oh, no, no, no. Classic camera pan-down fashion disaster right there. Tsk, tsk. Okay, enough Fashion 101. Listen, chica, I'm going to level with you, seeing how you are such a cutie and all, even if you did have the completely brilliant idea of paying homage to The Hair of Brenna Gethers. Wait, I forgot my sarcastic quote marks... Anyhoos, here's the thing: you do not ever, ever, ever under any circumstances sing this song unless it is (unfortunately) Gloria Estefan night. Which last night was NOT. Mm'kay?

Lisa: Tiffany Taylor (Where I Stand)- Zzzzzzzzzzz... huh?... I'M AWAKE! What? Who? Oh, girl, you so pretty. And you can sing, I just know it, but good LORD that was excruciating, with the boring lyrics and the gratuitous power note. You = Teenager, NOT tragedian. Have fun! Stop letting mommy pick your songs! Let your eyebrows grow out a bit! They're kind of Klingon-like! Sorry! Oh, and hey... thanks for keeping the bra under wraps tonight. Hee. Simon said "super-talented."

Melissa: Heart (What About Love)- Melissa? Meet shampoo and conditioner... because hello, bad hair day! Stop dressing like you just stepped out of a Bratz box, okay? And I don't mean to embarrass you, but you totally forgot to put a shirt on under your leather blazer thingy. I know, right?! I could totally see your bra, which I am sure mortifies you to no end! Hey, maybe no one else noticed, right? And that would be a good thing as your low-slung jeans afforded me much too clear a view of your womanly nether parts best kept under wraps when appearing on national television. Thank goodness for the bikini wax, that's all I'm saying! Oh, and your voice, with all its deep huskiness is nice, I really do like it, but that last note? Okay... um, no.

Ryan? You may as well have said, "Kat, dude, you looked SOOOOO fat last week! Did you know that?! Did you?! Like, millions of people thought you were totally knocked up and stuff, because of the fatness! Did you know? Isn't that funny?! And they thought you were a quitter, too! Hoo! HILARIOUS!" Which, rude? Uncool, my wee'un. Uncool.

Kinnik: Alicia Keys (If I Ain't Got You)- CHITLINS? Really? Chitlins stink, Kinnik, just like this performance (Thank you! I'm here til Friday! Try the veal!). Hee. Kinnik. Kuh-neeeeek. A hickey from Kinnik-ey is like a Halmark card... What?! Like you weren't thinking it! Oh. Em. GEE. For one clear, lucid moment, Paula woke up and acknowledged the fact that the band is TOO FRICKIN' LOUD and the singers quite possibly have a difficult time hearing themselves sing over the racket. (Seriously, what's up with Paula? Did they strap her to her chair? Pump her full of Valium? What? She was strangely still... it frightened me) Aaaw! Your face said it all as you put the mic away. I honestly don't think you could hear yourself, but I give you props for not making excuses. That being said, buh-bye.

Katharine: Aretha Franklin (Think)- Oh! Good for you doing an uptempo song! And for NOT claiming that you love motocross, big cars, or "mah dawg, Cawmet!" You are just you. I don't care if you are a Tracy Flick/Type A personality behind the scenes... I adore your dry humor, biznitch. I honestly have such a girl-crush on you. I DO! You are all beautiful and giggly and spazzy and bouncy, sort of like me! Except for me not having much to bounce. Because of my lack of boobage? Damn. Now I'm depressed. All right, over it. I mean, first you endure being accused-- while on camera, no less!-- of being a quitter who is also, by the way, pregnant with Chicken Little's lovechild. Then you step on stage and just bring it. You stand there, just singing and bouncing away (way to flaunt what you got, baby!), running those vocal chords like a cherried-out showroom Ferrari. And hey, bonus points for the sly slam on Constantine. You did me proud tonight, woman.

Katharine: I'm sorry! I keep saying the same word over and over and over!
Ryan: Don't worry. We're used to Randy.
Classic.

Ayla: Natasha Bedingfield (Unwritten)- You thought your dad was Elvis? Hee. What a dork. And, hey! I freaking LOVE this song. It's totally iPod worthy, just so you know. That being said, I thought it was decent. Seriously. Plus, I buy a 17-year-old girl singing a current pop-song over the Barbara Steisand slash Bette Midler slash Oldie MacOld crap the other younger girls keep singing. It just seems a tad more believable. Now stop terrorizing Ryan with those Frankenshoes (which I'm fairly certain broke local height limits) and stop doing that strange squatting thing, and we're in bidness.

Mandisa: Chaka Khan (I'm Every Woman)- Randy? Dawg? What's a "bitchmark"? No, really. I don't get it. Uh-oh. Can't... resist... the urge... to sing... "Chaka Khan, let me rock you, let me rock you, Chaka Khan!" Sorry! Whenever I hear "Chaka Khan" I just can't help myself... "Ooooh! I think I loooooove you!" Okay, done now... But have you ever seen that skit on SNL where Will Ferrell and Ana Gasteyer play the classically un-hip middle-school teachers Marty and Bobbi Culp, and Bobbi belts out I Feel For You in her awesome opera voice while Marty accompanies her on his electric keyboard? Hoo! Hilarious. I LOVE that one. (Fine. Focusing.) I am a big fan (no pun intended), Mandisa, really, and you can definitely sing, but I wish you would stop shouting at me. Seriously, I can hear you. Okay? That being said, you sang your heart out and rocked it for the big girls everywhere. And how glad am I that the obligatory diva cover of I'm Every Woman was got out of the way before the final 12? So, SO glad.

Kellie: Melissa Etheridge (I'm The Only One)- Don't you know that Melissa Etheridge songs are guaranteed flaming defeat? Defeat flaming much like the ridiculous Burger King flames flaming behind you? Oh, wait, of course you don't... because you are freaking STUPID. Right? RIGHT? Good lord. WE. GET. IT. Of course we also get that it is just an act. That's right. Busted. Yep. You're THAT girl. You know, the one who acts ditzy and says utterly retarded things then acts the fool in an "Aw, shucks! I'm dumber than a box of rocks but ain't I the cutest thang" sort of way? I hate those girls. And now I'm a little more stupid for having watched you act the fool. So thanks, biznitch. Then you strut out there and start just a'kneelin' and a'yellin' your little lungs out... Flang that hair some more, you naughty minx, you! Flang it good! Woo! Also, way to sink down to your knees, girl. Get those guys voting. OH, YES. I did just go there.

Oh, HELL no! Simon, you did not just say that. Oooooh... You are so dead to me. You hear me? Dead. I'll take Carrie's reserved personality and fabulous vocals over Kellie's "Hi! I'm Jessica Simpson's Dumber and Sluttier Sister" act any day of the week. Because there is no way you were referring to her vocal talent. No way.

Gone? Kinnik, definitely, and Melissa (or POSSIBLY Lisa)
Wish would go? Please, God, please... let it be Pickler.

Tonight, ACE! Um, and all the rest of those guys.

Much Ado about Nothing (or I'm Tired and Babbling So Proceed at Your Own Risk)

2006-03-06T12:17:00.000-06:00

I didn't watch the Academy Awards last night because I have a freaking life and can't spend every single second watching television even though I may not-so-secretly want to because there are some awfully good shows I've missed due to the whole TV Equals Bad So No Cable For Us, Only Bunny Ears! phase we went through so I'm trying to catch up and also because we haven't had the internet for two whole weeks now so what am I supposed to do at home besides cleaning and cooking and playing with my kiddos? Plus, you know, the Oscar's are hella boring?

But it would be remiss of me not to mention that I was utterly thrilled to learn that Reese Witherspoon won the Oscar for Best Actress for her portrayal of June Carter in Walk the Line. Really. I was like, "Woo!" when I heard it on the news this morning, and I assure you, when I can do the "Woo!" at 5 AM on the Capital Beltway, I am clearly WAY excited, what with the insane earliness of the aforementioned "Woo!"-ing and all. But indeed I did. "Woo!", that is. Even though I haven't even seen the movie yet. Because I freaking love Reese Witherspoon! And her husband Ryan Phillippe! And their cute little kiddos! I do! I don't care!

Even though her role as Tracy "Pick Flick!" in Election is seared in my mind as one of the most disturbing portrayals of a Type A, uber control-freak personality, like, EVER, I still love her. And here's something even freakier... I once had a student EXACTLY like Tracy Flick in personality and looks. She was my head Varsity cheerleader the first year I coached. Good lord she was scary! Hmm... I wonder what she's doing now? Probably something, well, scary, like working as a krav maga-trained CIA operative or an elementary school principal. But I digress.

Sooo... oh yes, guess what I rented and watched on Saturday? Guess! Just Like Heaven, starring one Mrs. Reese Witherspoon, that's what (which was absolutely adorable, by the way). I mean, how's that for a coincidence, eh? Eh?! I KNOW! I rent a movie with Reese Witherspoon in it, then she wins an Oscar the very next day? You just can't make this stuff up, I tell you what. It just can't be done. And DUDE-- if you think about it, the Oscar Committee probably tallied the votes for the Oscar winners beforehand, so technically speaking she was more than likely already an Oscar winner on Saturday when I was watching her in her other movie (which was absolutely adorable, by the way). Where am I going with this? No clue, but you have to admit... it's a freaky coincidence. Or not.

Say it with me now: Wild.

And Ryan was there at the Oscars with her and she was so excited that his film-- Crash-- won an Oscar and he was so cute and so proud and he obviously had decided to lay off the sauce so he was NOT as drunk off his arse as he had been at the Golden Globes where he cut loose and made a complete fool out of himself and probably ended up sleeping it off in the limo where a disgusted Reese more than likely left him snoring in a pool of his own drool.

(Aside: Wait. Did you see him at the Golden Globes? Hoo! Classic. When they announced Reese's name for Best Actress he flipped the freak out, but in a good way. Except in the excitement of the moment he gave Reese what TGIM terms a Love Tap, which essentially means that Ryan walloped his wife like a linebacker. "Okay, my husband just hit me so hard I almost fell over!" Reese laughed. Preaching to the choir, babe. And settle DOWN, man! Drink some coffee. Good lord.)

Apparently the Academy does not dare keep the champagne flowing at the Oscars as the event planners from the Hollywood Foreign Press Association do at the Golden Globes because they know that all the actors and seat warmers would SO drink themselves silly and heckle Jon Stewart until they finally passed out in their seats from drunkenness and excruciating boredom.

Well, freak. I lost my train of thought.

(Aside: Um, did you know that Reese worked with her husband-to-be Ryan for the first time in the movie Cruel Intentions? And in the scene where Sebastian (Ryan) dumped Annette (Reese), Ryan was so into the scene that he was off-camera shouting things like "I never loved you!" and "You're not attractive!", which were not in the script. Reese totally freaked, bitch-slapped him (also not in the script), and burst into tears, screaming at him, "Get out!" And they kept it in the movie! RUDE. But cool. Because that scene-- a scene which never fails to set me bawling-- and the actors' reactions were utterly genuine. So genuine, in fact, that right after the director said cut, Ryan ran behind the set and threw up. True love, hello! When a guy vomits over you (wait, not "over you" like on you, I mean because of you-- okay, that doesn't sound right either...), he's yours for keeps, that's all I'm saying.)

Ah, yes. Seriously. I love Reese and Ryan. I think they have an adorable family and they seem so down to earth and likeable.

They're keeping it real, you know? Fo' rizzle! They have even admitted to seeking out marriage counseling during rough patches in their marriage, rather than checking out emotionally and rushing into their co-stars' arms and beds (yes, I'm looking at you, Brangelina). And after the Golden Globes Reese was quick to share with the press that the next day she would be changing diapers and carpooling her daughter to gymnastics. Solidarity! Woo! She and I? We're like twins. Except for the diapers becuase I am so over that.

Reese and Ryan are honestly the only couple in Hollywood that I would genuinely mourn if they decided to split up. I'd literally be heartbroken. Okay, not literally. Obviously not literally. But it would feel literal, so whatev. I like them that much.

So Reese? This one's for you:

Woo.

My Secret American Idol Luvah

2006-03-06T06:40:00.000-06:00

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

Wow! I totally called all four of them! I have, like, ESPN or something...

2006-03-03T09:58:00.000-06:00

Woo! Carrie Underwood! Looking good, sister-friend! Have you lost some weight? Because damn! Come on over here and give me some sugar now, honey.

And OMG. What in the Sam Hill was the deal with Paula? I mean, am I the only one who though she was she absolutely out of control last night?! First she caught up on some zzzzzzzzzzzzzz's right there at the judges' table, then woke up long enough to make some very strange references to pizza and salads and fortune cookies before practically sliding under the table, at which point I fully expected her to snake her way across the studio floor humming Cold-Hearted Snake interspersed with hysterical laughter before collapsing in a pool of tears at Ace's feet. Huh? Just me, then?

Weird.

Okay. So here's the thing: I voted for Carrie last season and I meant it. I loved me some Bo, I did, but Carrie's singing? It touched me. I admit it. She has a beautiful, controlled voice, and-- boy howdy!-- does she knows how to use it. She had me at Alone. I never saw her as robotic or vacuous or devoid of any personality whatsoever. I saw her as reserved, sure, but there was life in her voice and her eyes. And I honestly think that in order to sing at her caliber she has to focus. She deliberately concentrates on what is important... the music. Plus, there was that whole Can't Dance Worth Shizz thing... Her performances were (almost) always flawless, and she was never in the bottom three. I thought (and still think) she totally deserved to win. I have most of the songs from her album on my iPod. Yes, y'all. She's iPod-worthy. I love her that much.

Wait! I have a point! See, I was watching Carrie sing last night and I suddenly realized that WOW. The girls this season sort of SUCK. Like, a LOT. Seriously, with the exception of Mandisa and Kat, and perhaps Ayla, they have nothing on this girl. She was awesome! Aaaaaw. I miss Carrie.

Hey! It's my blog and I'm allowed to gush! Deal with it! GOSH!

Whether you liked Carrie's Dollywood look (Seriously, girlfriend? The hair? What the hell were you thinking?!) or the message behind the song (I personally think it's a beautiful thought) is a moot point. That girl can sing her butt off. Kellie Luanne Pickler WISHES she had that kind of talent and control! Hopefully people will be like, "Oh!" (slap head) "Well, yeah! That's what it's supposed to sound like, duh!" and not!vote "Pick Pickler!" right off the show (*fingers crossed*).

As an aside, the female country constituency singing along in the balcony was cracking me right up. Even Boomhauer was singing along, come to think of it. Heh. Cool.

And why didn't someone smack Brenna upside the head at the close of the show as she stood front and center in her patented smile-slash-smirk intended to be saucy but coming off slightly lip-rictus-y pose? Anyone? Why? WHY?!

Oh, yeah, and I totally called the bootees. I rock. SOLID.

So, I really need to get a life, see...

2006-03-03T08:57:00.000-06:00

(Kristine: Here's the URL at the official American Idol website. I do have to make small changes to language here and there. I mean, they BLEEPed Malibu Slut Barbie, for heaven's sake! Honestly. "Malibu BLEEP Barbie" just doesn't have the same ring to it, right? But whatev.)

Best moment of the evening:

Paula: Hello, Ace.
Simon: Careful...

Second best moment of the evening:

Paula: Ace, you're even better than you... (hugs herself, smiles dreamily, and flies away to her happy place. Awkward.)
Ace: ...than I know? (flashes winning smile)
Paula: ...

Classic! Seriously. You just can't make this stuff up.

And now, without further ado, behold my breakdown.

Taylor Hicks: This is totally crazy, but there was a Taylor Hicks Elementary School in the town in which I grew up. I would pass it every afternoon on my way to gymnastics. Isn't that FREAKY?! The coincidence?! I know, right?! Man. The first time I heard his name I was like, "Nuh-freaking-UH!" I was. For reals. Oh... the song? Dude, you are a natural, you are, and I love you, but the "Woo!" and Hey!" thing? You need to cut that right out, and I mean it. It's incredibly distracting and comes off as a tad affected. It's probably genuine, but as a friend I have to say it: TOO. MUCH. WOO. (Aside: In my neck of the woods, a toboggan is a sled. Imagine my surprise he said he likes to wear one on his head...)

Oooooh, Hi, Bo! Hi! How you doin'? How's the fam? And OMG, Ryan just totally burned you Simon. BURN! The Too Tight T-shirt burn! Hoo! I'm dying! Gosh. That just never gets old...

Elliott Yamin: Huh. Nice voice. I'm not a big fan of jazz, but I'm pretty sure that was a decent performance. Still, you totally need some Queer Eye and to choose songs that appeal to a more diverse audience. Because boring? Even though it was nicely done? On a more shallow note, the ears and the teeth? Well, that's why God invented ear pinning and porcelain veneers, right? Right? You're winning me over, dude. Good on you.

Ace Young: I was watching the pre-performance interview when it hit me... you are so Vinnie Barbarino, circa 1976! Totally! Rrrrawr. Hey, you should totally say "Up your nose with a rubber hose!" to Simon. Please? Because that would be AWESOME. Sadly, you were not made for that song, dude. (Oooh! A pun of sorts! Cool.) Okay, I hate, hate, HATE that song very, very much, and you-- oh, man, this pains me, it really does-- yeah, you absolutely blew it. And quite possibly pulled something during that high note, am I right? But still... PRETTY! With the smile! And the beanie! (Aaaaaw, the beanie...) So, really, all you have to do is sing another song with the word "naked" in it and you're golden.

Gedeon McKinney: Dude, you freak me the freak out. Just a thought: couldn't your intro be, like, a montage or something? You know, with absolutely no actual words coming out of your mouth at any time during it? Like, ever? I thought we talked about this. Because your intro? Again with the freaky! DUDE. But... you can sing. And I am strangely attracted to your old school sensibilities. You can imagine the emotional distress I am experiencing in response to this obvious case of cognitive dissonance. How can you act so freaky and perform so charismatically? Huh? Whatev. Well-done, my freaky little friend. But still. You freak me the freak out. Maybe if I just turn... down... the volume... during the intro...

Kevin Covais: Heard It Through The Grapevine?! Whoever put you up to that must really hate you, dude. Just sayin'. And obviously the judges snuck into the red room to smoke a little crack during commercials, because hello? Were we even listening to the same song? Good LORD that performance was... unfortunate. With the vibrato? And the lisping? And the stiff sway thing you had going on? As I watched you perform all I could think was, "Ooooh... awkward." I still have absolutely no desire to squish or pinch you; thank goodness we did not have to suffer through that whole "Maybe I'll get a kiss next week!" ploy for mackage action. (Brrr! I just got the shivers.) And the blinking? Totally reminiscent of He Who Shall Not Be Named And Yes I Am Looking At You, Scott Savol. Not good. Not good at all. That being said, the Chicken Little reference? For me? Most definitely uncalled for.

Ho-Sway Penala: No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Just no. Y'all, I was so not overjoyed with that performance... (Thank you! I'm here 'til Thursday!) Huh. However, as you appear to have given Mario back his pimptastical hat o' ugly, I won't hold it against you that you successfully sucked the glee right out of the room with that performance. No, seriously. You killed the glee, man. Killed it dead.

Will Makar: I'm sorry my wee Ryan molested your shirt on national televsion, dude. Uncool. I will totally have a talk with him (Bad Ryan! Bad!) It's just, you look so much like Donny Osmond! And who can resist Donny Osmond?! Honestly. I had SUCH a crush on him when I was younger, and have you seen him in Joseph and the Amazing Techinicolor Dreamcoat? Meow! *sigh* But I digress. Listen here, Johnny Bravo, do not pay one bit of attention to those crackhead judges. You have a killer voice and awesome control, and you nailed that song. I mean it. To the wall! However... PICK. BETTER. SONGS. Holy mother of heaven that was bland! Beautiful, sure, but forgettable? Absolutely. Oh, and thank you for not dancing. Good boy.

Bucky Covington: You're as country as a chicken coop, ain't you Boomhaurer? Not that there's anything wrong with that! But Garth Brooks? Cajones of steel my friend. With a little more vocal control, you could have pulled it off, too. So I've got one word for you: E-NUN-CI-ATE. Mm'kay? But not as much as Gedeon does! Um, because that would be freaky? Oh, wait, here's another word for you: Caaaaa-li-maaaar-ii. I hear it tastes great with smashed potatoes.

David Radford: Okay, you worked it out the best you could, I give you that, but Harry Connick, Jr. you are not. Don't get me wrong-- the American Idol title could totally be yours... in 1958. Sadly, you are completely out of your depth and I do believe you will get the boot, sympathy votes notwithstanding. Which is good because you are breaking my heart up there! What with the panic-stricken eyes and the hand-wringing and whatnot. Aaaaaw! Don't cry! Resist the urge to purge! Projectile vomiting is never pretty, you see, and you might hit my wee Ryan.

Chris Daughtry: Commercial in a good way; this could totally play on the radio. Sure, you aren't old school rock like Bo, but modern rock is a'ight. Hey, at least you're not emo! I mean, you'd probably look hawt with the scarf and the tight wool sweater and the black, square-rimmed glasses, but I'm pretty sure the absence of greasy, overlong hair means instant disqualification from the genre, so there you go. Here's the deal: though I have to give Will and Gedeon top scores for best technical vocalizations of the evening, this was the most genuine performance I've seen or heard so far. Sure, it was a bit sloppy in parts, but as you delivered it with true rocker conviction, I can't find much fault with it. Except for the screechy thing. Loud is NOT the new Good, Chris. Note it. And why does bald look oh so good on you, yet on Sway... not so much? Huh. We may never know.

Buh-bye: David and Ho-Sway. Most def.

I'm off to watch the elimination show.

Cat, OUT.

Nobody likes a quitter... except today.

2006-03-02T10:37:00.000-06:00

As everyone knows, today is national "Banana Cream Pie Day". Duh. But before you break out those Nilla Wafers and the Reddi Wip, there is another cause for celebration today. Yep. Today is also (wait for it...) national "Give Up Easily Day." (Which is not to be confused with national "Give It UP Easily Day," which I believe falls somewhere during Prom season in mid-May.)

I know, right? How friggin' awesome is that?! I mean, honestly. An entire day devoted solely to slackers? Take THAT high school guidance counselor. HI-YAH!

As a society, we have free reign to be absolute quitters today. Woo! The possibilities, they are endless, y'all. Today? We shall be slackers!

Slackers. That word should have new meaning for all of us today. We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common disinterests. Perhaps it's fate that today is National Give Up Easily Day, and we will once again be fighting for our right to be quitters... Today is the day the world declares in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! Eh, or maybe we'll just stay home."

*sniff*

Only in the U. S. of A., guys. Seriously. Is America great or WHAT?

So... um, yeah. I should probably do something to celebrate, right? Hmmm... what to do, what to do... Send TGIM an e-card? Write a witty blog post about all the things I could give up... er, easily? I need to do something to commemorate this oh-so-special day...

Or not. Whatev.

My internet provider must die a slow and painful death...

2006-03-02T05:25:00.000-06:00

Still no internet?! I hate you, Verizon! "We'll have it back up in 24 hours" THIS, you lousy miscreants! It's been NINE WHOLE DAYS. If you weren't the only internet provider around these here parts I would TOTALLY break up with you. Don't think I wouldn't.

I... I feel like the walls... the walls are closing in on me... crushing me... must... have... internet...

It's obviously a plot. I think someone is trying to kill me.

Okay. Here's the sitch. I haven't see the boys yet due to the whole "company is visiting and it is apparently rude to ditch our guest to hole myself up in my room clutching tightly to my phone while watching AI" thing. Thankfully my buddy Ti (Mr. Faux? You know him?) has my boyz recorded all nice and tight for me so it's all good. We'll have some quality together-time tonight, oh, yes we will. But I can say I was completely UNDERWHELMED by my girls on Tuesday night. Good LORD, ladies, what was that all about? Ayla and Mandisa were the only ones who, like, sucked less hard core than everyone else. That's the best I can say... I mean, Kat?! You're breaking my heart here! Are you trying to lose?! Because I think there was some definite ZZZZZZZZZZZZ droolage going on during your performance. Hello?! Snoozapalooza, much? Pick songs PEOPLE KNOW, for God's sake! Seriously, woman. I can't even LOOK at you.
Overall? Big old pile of meh.

Meh, I say!

Katharine McPhee: You so beautiful, girlfriend. And when you sing you light up the room. But if you want to win this competition you need to STEP UP and stop with the understated, nuanced vocalizations every week. Belt one out for us every once in a while! We're suckers for that shizz, you know? Don't misunderstand me, Loud is not by any means the new Good, but a little fluctuation in vocals shows some diversity. Be FUN. Randy, of course, didn't care for your song because it didn't have any "runs," which just solidifies the fact that he hates singers who don't pointlessly show off. Or, you know, use runs to cover the fact that they completely over- or under-shot the note. And unless you are Katie Holmes and nine months pregnant, never ever wear that top again. EVER. Don't make me come dress you.

Kinnik Sky: YeeHAW! C'mon, y'all! C'MON! Yeah! See my cowboy hat?! See my cowboy boots?! WOO! Representin'! Um, that is all. Oh! Except the whole What The Hell Were You Thinking When You Put On Those Pants?! thing. Good LORD. And the camo bustier? You have GOT to be kidding me. That was a joke, right? A sick, twisted joke? Camo is totally ruined for me now. Thanks a LOT, Kinnik. Um, is it wrong for me to say she is spectacularly unattractive? Yes? Okay. Strike that... but DAMN! (She can sing, but I'm with Simon on this one... she is utterly forgettable... and DAMN!)

Lisa Tucker: Sweetheart? Bras belong underneath the clothes, mm'kay? Lose 10 points for The Tacky. And I had NO IDEA she's the little Nala I saw perform in Broadway's The Lion King! I frickin' LOVE that musical! If you have not seen it, buy tickets right now. It's spectacular! It's a worldwide phenomenon! It's won over 70 Major Awards! Hee... Major Awards... Hoo! Um, what?

Melissa McGhee: Nice smokey, husky tone, and you totally worked it with your back-up singers, I mean it. Wow. Okay, but seriously? The blouse with the unfortunately misplaced triangle of fabric? The unflattering belly ring? The dangerously low-rise jeans? Dear lord, the Drop Dead Gorgeous pageant make-up? Oh, honey. Trailer Trash Chic is so last week. It's time to break out the big guns... Call Carson (not just for the Straight Guy anymore!), and I mean NOW.

Heather Cox: Oh, sweetie, no. Just... no. If you're going to sing a Mariah Carey song-- especially one as well-known as Hero-- you better be able to BRING IT. And girlfriend? You left it in the trunk. The saddest part-- or possibly funniest, I can't decide-- is that you genuinely thought you knocked it out of the park. "Dropped a hot one tonight," if you will allow me to borrow The Dawg's dialect. You were really super-proud of your glory note, too, weren't you, but, well, it really wasn't all that and a bag of chips, you know? Not even those greasy, tastlesless potato chips you get out of the 1970's-style vending machines rusting away outside of the Piggly-Wiggly. Nope. And the fact that you are morphing into a strange blend of Jenny McCarthy and Malibu Slut Barbie frightens me deeply. I just thought I'd mention it.

Brenna Gethers: Hip thrust? Check. Irrational belief in her own awesomeness? Check. Smile-slash-smirk intended to be saucy but coming off slightly lip-rictus-y? Check. Butchered one of the fabulous Donna Summer's greatest songs of all times? Heck yes she did, GOSH! Thank goodness she didn't touch Bad Girls. Then I would have had to kill her. (Toot! Toot! Hey... Beep! Beep!) Bye-bye Brenna. It's been... hmm.

Paris Bennett: Now you, my dear, are allowed to do Donna Summer (*crosses fingers*). Superb vocals, obviously (aside: Shhhhh! Isn't weird how she sings in such a deep voice and when she talks... helium?), but Wind Beneath My Wings?! Seriously? Are you freaking kidding me? SERIOUSLY?! Hey, I'm just grateful you break out the "Fllllllllllyyyyyyyyy.... Flllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.... FLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYY!" because at that point I would have had to jump into the bathtub with my TV and my children need me, yo? On the other hand, it is possible I would have stood and applauded because that? Would have been AWESOME. That being said... sing your age! Geesh! Hmmm... My Humps perhaps? Heh. Totally kidding. A little (Hit Me) Baby One More Time should totally do the trick.

**Seacrest Alert: Ryan is obviously not a God-fearing man. When Paris said she was "favored" and gave a little glance up to the sky, Ryan was completely discombobulated, no? "How about you do us another favor then...um, and get ready to sing..." (Translation: Um...what? What did you say? I don't get it... Wait... Are there people in the rafters? Are they watching us? What? What did you mean? Seriously, what?")

Ayla Brown: TGIM thinks you look like a man. Which... rude? But sort of true? Regardless, if your father is a state senator and your mother is a television newscaster, I am having a really difficult time believing the whole "Foundation? What on earth is foundation?" act. Please, biznotch. That being said, not bad. Not bad at all. If you would just stop doing that shaky thing you do when you want a little vibrato in your voice, you could really go far in this competition (thanks to Liza for pointing that out, by the way... now it's annoying me). But you are a few customized campaign cupcakes away from scaring me in a Tracy "Pick Flick!" kind of way. You are good at too many things, child. It's unnatural.

**Seacrest Alert: How cute was Ryan's slllllooooooooowww rise to tip-toes?! At first I thought it was my imagination, and then I was like, "Oh, no, he did NOT just do that," and then I was all, "Does he think we won't notice he just grew four inches?" and then of course he just plopped down all cute and stuff and I was like, AAAAAAWWWWW! I shall hug him and squeeze him and put him in my pocket. But I'm not naming him George. That would just be stupid.

Kellie Picker: Listen. Straight up. If you want to play Luanne to Bucky's Boomhauer, have at it, but you are so not fooling ANYBODY. Sit down and eat some more caaaaa-li-maaaar-ii, you little faker! Honestly. Somewhere in America Carrie Underwood is crying and banging her head against a wall. You looked insane during that performance! I'm not kidding! Mentally unbalanced! Between your rough (not in a good way) vocals and your JBL (Just Been Laid) look-- oooh, not to mention the wild stomping and vacuous Manson stare-- well, you're kind of creeping me out.

Mandisa NoLastName? You rock! Just watch the oversinging, okay? That will get you in trouble. But the control you have while shifting from Belting It Out to Killing Me Softly? Awesome. The difficulty level on Cry is so great, even Faith Hill barely does it justice when she has to sing it live. And you gave me goosebumps-- goosebumps, I say!-- when the audience seriously went dead quiet at "I don't want your pity..." Powerful emotions in your voice, woman. I hope you make it to at least the Top Three. I love you that much. Way to end an evening otherwise fraught with suckitude.

Good lord. I sure hope the boys were better. (DON'T TELL ME!)

Meh, meh, meh.

Going home?: Brenna and Heather (please, please, please, please...)

"Thank you for being a friend... Traveled down the road and back again..."

2006-02-28T09:47:00.000-06:00

Last weekend I took my children to Borders so they could hang out in the children's books section, browsing new titles, reading aloud to each other, and incessantly whining, "Mooooooommmmmmaaaa, please buy me this book, please! Please, Momma! Please, please, PLEEEEEEEZ!" Because I'm DUMB.

Anyhoos, my son had been going on and on and on about some book search thingymabobber at Borders and how he totally needed to look up this awesome book his teacher had been talking about and did I know if it cost money to look up books because he remembered seeing a spot for swiping credit cards on the machine and would I help him figure it out because he REALLY wanted that book and how dumb is it to charge for looking up books, anyway?! He continued along this vein throughout the drive, while parking the car, even as we were walking up to the store, so it should be no surprise to anyone that the first thing I did as we walked through the doors was to make a beeline for that damn kiosk so he would just STEP OFF.

Unfortunately a whitish-blueish-haired octogenarian was using the machine, so we parked ourselves at a respectful distance from her and patiently waited for her to finish her search.

"See, Momma? See where you put the credit card? Do we have to pay to use it? Because that would be dumb, right?"

I leaned a little closer to the machine, and by golly, there was a slot for credit cards. By leaning a bit to the left I could just... make out... the side... of the screen, which listed the functions of the machine. "Oh, that's just for pre-orders, Buddy. The search part I am SURE is fr--"

"ExCUSE me!" a voice interrupted. "Do you need to use this machine? Because I am ALMOST. FINISHED." (Translation: "You better back the hell away from me and my search machine, Miss Rudesby McWhippersnapper, or I will freaking cut you! That's right, biznitch!")

Well, I never. Of all the ill-tempered... Grandma was being SNIPPY, y'all. She had turned from the machine, apparently bothered by my presence in what she obviously considered her "personal space." Her tone was dismissive and her whitish-blueish helmet of hair actually trembled with the force of her righteous fury. But we so did not deserve her anger, I promise you. We were at a respectful distance!

I tell you what, my own dear grandmother would NEVER act this way. No, indeed! My grandmother rocks the hizzouse! But I digress.

I blinked at her. Once. Twice. Then, "Um, yes, but we're just waiting... we've never used this machine before... we were just wondering how it worked... Wait. Why? Am I bugging you?"

She glared daggers at me and my son for a half-second, then-- and I am so not kidding here-- hissed, "YES! You are!" and stormed off in a huff. STORMED OFF! Well, okay, as quickly as an old bag can "storm," that is. Which isn't very fast, actually. It was more like she hobbled or tottered. Perhaps doddered? Yes, she doddered off. In a huff.

Of course I took the high road, you know, played nice in the face of her obvious rudeness... basically set a good example for my boy. "Okay, thanks!" I called after her. "Have a grrrrrreat day!" Okay, so my voice (perhaps) may have been laced with a bit sarcasm-- just a tad, mind you-- but honestly. I'm only human. And a little obnoxious.

"Ooooooo-KAY," my buddy boy said to me, raising his eyebrows. "She was rude."

We approached the machine and took a look at the screen she had neglected to clear in her haste to dodder away. In a huff.

Search: Gospel Music.

Hee.

"Ooooh! Gospel music! Maybe she'll find God and be nicer, eh?" I said loudly. Um, because I'm horribly rude?

Sadly, this conversion to God and the Golden Rule was not to be, as ten minutes later I saw Grandma Geezer approach a young boy using the book search machine, whisper something in his ear, then push him to the side so she could use the machine.

Search: Senior Romance and Sexuality.

Okay, fine, I am totally kidding about that last search topic. But seriously, if gospel music ain't helpin' the Golden Girl chill the freak out, maybe she should be looking into getting some octogenarian tail. That's all I'm saying.

That being said, I hope she's there the next time I am dumb enough to haul all my kids to the bookstore. That was the most fun I've ever had at Borders. No, really. Ever.

"Why don't you just call it ice-ket-ball?"

2006-02-24T09:14:00.000-06:00

Man. Don't you just love it when TV and reality come together?

I mean, seriously... how cool is that?! Turning on the television and seeing your life played out right on screen?! In front of God and everybody?! And you're all, "What the freak?!" And jumping up and down with excitement? But also feeling a little scared? Like Twighlight Zone scared? Because of the freakiness? But still totally excited?

Good times.

Last week, thanks to my mad TiFauxing abilities, I watched How I Met Your Mother for the first time (because... Willow?!) and experienced just such an extraordinary melding together of life and entertainment.

Okay, so I saw an episode in which Lily (Willow!) goes to her fiance Marshall's hometown of St. Cloud to meet her future in-laws and it turns out he has five or six brothers and they are practically giants! With the tallness? And the aggressiveness? And the eating of fat-laden food in mass quantities? Seriously. The family consists of several huge men who eat seven-layer salad full of gummi bears, potato chips, sixteen cups of mayo, and funyons, and who play bas-ice-ball, a dangerous combination of basketball and hockey. ("What are the rules?" "There are no rules! We just wale on each other!") Honestly. Lily looks like a Hobbit person next to these people. And of course everyone in town seems to know "those Erickson boys."

Okay, creepy. I about peed my pants laughing, I kid you not, because that? Yeah, that would be TGIM's family. Exactly. Well, except the seven-layer salad thing for which I am thankful because there is just not enough ew. Biscuits with sausage gravy would be TGIM's family's poison.

To illustrate:

Live in a small, close-knit town? Check.

Eat mass quantities of fat-laden food, bitch-slapping anyone who dares get in the way? Check.

There are, like, a gazillion of them? Check!

Everyone in their home town knows them AND gets all up in their (and my) bidness? O. M. G. There is not enough check.

Shoot each other with paintball guns at point-blank range causing huge welts and bloody wounds, wrestle around on the floor until someone screams like a girly-girl begging for mercy, and play vicious games of tackle football on the front lawn? Ch-ch-ch-check.

Dwarf me like a little Hobbit person, even the girls? You better believe it. And check.

Just look at 'em, all big and shizz:

Keep in mind that TGIM (see his hair, in back there?) is 6'1"... and a half. Also keep in mind my youngest sister-in-law is scrunching down in front. Yeah. (I have no idea who the kid in front is. Probably a cousin who will one day be huge.)

And that is not even all of the boys! There are seven total. Yes, SEVEN.

At least my mother-in-law is not so much with the largeness. I don't feel so alone. So very, very alone... you know, what with the shortness and all? Okay, fine, in my in-laws' defense I should disclose that I am only 5'3", but still! Giants. All of them.

However, since it is apparent to me even now that in a few years my Mack and TD are going to look almost exactly like the cuties in the pictures below, I suppose I can forgive TGIM's family their freaky bigness.

(Did you know that in small towns you can carry around large shotguns while wearing an excess of camouflage-- which pretty much flatters any figure, by the way-- without anyone looking twice? It's true! I am so serious.)

PRETTY.

But I digress. The show ended with Willow-- I mean LILY-- getting arrested for public urination after going to the store to buy a pregnancy test. Honestly. How surreal is that?! Oh, not that I've ever been arrested for public urination, but it could have happened! You don't know!

I'm totally watching again this week, I tell you what, just to see if anything else resembles my life. Ooh! Maybe someone will be arrested after she finds a hotel room key (while drying off with a towel she found on a deck chair after being thrown into a fancy shmancy hotel pool fully clothed), decides to take just a quick little peek at one of the fancy rooms, gets caught "breaking and entering" by the Chief of Police whose key she happened to swipe and whose room she happened to take a peek at while he was innocently chillin' in the jacuzzi (even though he was totally drunk off his ass and confused, and she didn't even go into his room at all, and she certainly didn't steal his keg because, I mean, where would she have PUT it, right?!), then subsequently gets cuffed, escorted through a lobby of curious onlookers, and hauled off to jail! Hoo! FUH-NEE!

Not that I've ever done that either. As if.

"Kevin's planting his little seed!"... um, ew?

2006-02-24T05:23:00.000-06:00

As Simon would say: America, you got it wrong, you freaking idiots! (Okay, maybe I added that last part.) I mean, another week of Ho-Sway? Boomhauer? BRENNA?! (and oh, dear lord did you see her hair last night? Woo! ShaZAM!)

Huh.

And I love that Ryan had to actually cue the crowd-- and the OTHER GIRLS-- to clap for Brenna when he announced she was safe. Because I'm evil. Like the devil. But hoo! Priceless. I SO hope that wasn't orchestrated, because DAMN. Good times. But NOW who's gonna have to bunk up with Brenna? Awkward.

Okay, I'm so not crying over Becky or Bobbie (although I thought Bobbie was fun, you know?), but I actually feel a bit sad for Stevie, as her performance last night was so much better (at least the first half) than on performance night. Too bad they didn't mention she was sick when she sang on Tuesday night; it may have influenced voting. You know, sympathy vote and all that? Either way, it totally sucks for her, you have to admit. Not really a fair shake. I think she could have "brought it." Girlfriend should have popped some Airborne, that's all I'm saying.

But Patrick? Yeah. That was a mistake. What really chafes my sensitive, winter-dry skin is that I am POSITIVE the dude did not get the second lowest number of votes. Oh, sure, he probably got the second lowest number of votes out of the boys (which he so did not deserve and yes I'm looking at you Sway and Bucky), but no way did he get fewer votes than, oh, say Brenna or Hhhhhheather or Melissa or Kellie "Pick Pickler!" (I know, right? It never gets old!) In fact, I would guess there were at least five or six girls who received fewer votes than Patrick. But two guys had to go, so there you are.

Honestly, I find it unfortunate that a genuinely talented singer, who is charasmatic and nice to look at in his Ed Norton sort of way (and I thought he was hawt in the sunglasses at his audition, I don't know WHAT Simon was going on about), was sent home before guys like Gedeon and Kevin, who-- come ON-- although talented singers, are not right for national television and do not have a shot in hell of surviving to the Top 12. Am I wrong? Hey! Kevin is NOT SQUISHY, people! NOT! And hello? Sway is not long for this competition either, with his pimptastic faketto and overall ick factor. And what the HELL is up with Boomhauer?! Huh?! Bucky? Growly McLooksLikeAss? How is HE still in this competition? Huh?! What is wrong with people?

Personally, I think Patrick could have made it to the Top 12. He's definitely one of the six best boy singers. Not win, duh, because Katharine or Ace will SO win this competition (with Taylor and Mandisa-- hopefully-- giving them a strong run for their money), but he would have been entertaining. Because he can SING.

That being said, Patrick being booted is tragic in the classical sense: tragic heroes always have a fatal flaw, and Patrick's was his stupid song selection. Everyone knows Come To My Window is the kiss of death on American Idol. Duh.

As an aside, kudos to the producers for giving us one hell of a group sing, right? Ah, the awkward group sing alongs! How I've missed them. Good LORD. Although I must give props to the producers for original product placement: "It's a girl, my lord, in a flatbed Ford slowin' down to take a look at me!" Tricky! Ah, well played, American Idol and Fox. Well played. Oh, and hee... who else felt the un!comfortable! when Mandisa's pose at the end just went on... and on... and on...? Just me then?

Wow. This amount of verbosity over an elimination episode before we even have a Top 12 is indicative of obsession far surpassing that which is healthy.

Eh.

Oh, and finally... Paula? One word: BOOOOOOOOOOOBS. Now put those bad boys away before you hurt somebody.