Thursday, October 25, 2007

Maybe They Would Like To Adopt Me?

Last night during World Series Game 1 (Brief Summary: Red Sox > Rockies) the Fox cameras kept finding this little guy, who was completely oblivious to the onfield action and was instead rocking his Osh Kosh off and trying to hang on to his tiny glove.

Is it wrong that, upon his first aisle-dancing appearance, all I could think was "Wow...who paid four grand for him to sit in a field box?"

I have no maternal instinct.
Speaking of maternal, let's give a warm Blogger welcome to my mother, who has become quite the regular reader over the past two weeks. Let me help you with all of those "J-Money" google searches. I am not a Dirty South rap artist, a personal finance manager, nor this guy who has questionable musical tastes and a crush on Joni Mitchell.

Although for the right amount of money--or perhaps lower level World Series tickets-- I'd probably freestyle a few lyrics. What rhymes with "Pedroia"?

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Hot Meme Action

Last week, my former roommate and all-time rockstar The Hot Librarian tagged me with a meme and, because I am lazy, I'm getting to it now. So here are the rules (some of which I will ignore) and my responses:

--Link to your tagger and post rules. I totally did that.
--Share 7 facts about yourself, some random and some weird. See below.
--Tag 7 people at the end of post and list their names.
--Let them know they were tagged by a comment on their blog.

1) I think The Steve Wilkos Show is the worst talk show in the history of television, and this counts the past two seasons of Maury Povich, which has become Paternity Test Theatre. Some of you may recognize Steve Wilkos as the bald former security guard from Jerry Springer and by "some of you", I mean those of you without jobs and/or self-esteem. Mr. Wilkos is not a good speaker, he is not a compelling host, and his guests can fool him by remaining completely still since his vision is based on motion.

For those of you who haven't seen the show, here's a two-minute primer, involving teen prostitutes and yelling. Be sure to add Steve as your MySpace friend!

Last night, when having what was supposed to be a life-changing conversation with yes, a pregnant, drug-addled teen prostitute he implored her, in that halting, clunky speech pattern of his, "One day you'll wish you could do different." She blinked in response. "You just got to realize that the only worse thing you could be is dead." The crowd roared, the guest's mother came out and answered my lingering questions about who buys clothing at Deb, and I was convinced that no, the worse thing she could be is at home trying to watch this show.

2) I am deeply disturbed by Rod, a man I see at the Y who, more than once, has approached complete strangers to ask them, "Hey, man, you ever, like, lose chunks of time and shit? I mean, you get somewhere and you ain't sure how you got there?". Yesterday, I overheard him talking with a woman who looked like she would rather be anywhere, including Steve Wilkos' studio audience, than trapped at the cable machine listening to the details of his hallucinations, which involved a chipmunk and a hubcap.

After recounting his latest episode, he racked his weights and declared it was time to go to work. A few seconds of silence followed before I asked the woman if she knew what kind of work he did. "Rod?" she said, "He's a school bus driver." Awesome. I look forward to the day when a group of children tell their confused parents that instead of going to school, they spent the day in Rod's yard digging for unicorn bones.

3) After last week's disastrous trip to Cleveland, I can no longer listen to "Conquest" by the White Stripes without thinking of Indian's closer Rafael Betancourt, who used it as his entrance music. He also had a ridiculous, Jumbotron-generated graphic involving oversized animated gavels that rhythmically banged out the words "Betan-Court is Now in Session".
That's all. I just liked that song and now it's been tainted.

4) I went to Barnes & Noble on Saturday, and the Mrs. Garrett lookalike at the checkout was incredibly warm and friendly, an attitude rarely displayed by anyone who isn't working for a tip. She complimented my eyes and my haircut and my scarf (yes, sometimes I wear a scarf...that's not the point), as she carefully replaced the roll of paper in the cash register. She had just started telling an unrelated story about peanut brittle, when she noticed the book I'd patiently been waiting to purchase. Somewhere between reading the words "Heroin" and "Diaries", she clammed up and shot me a hard look of disappointment, like I'd just taken a dump on the devotional calendars stacked on the counter.

"What were you saying about peanut brittle?", I offered with what I hoped was my most winning and not-at-all interested in drugs type of smile. "Nevermind," she said, refusing to look at me as I handed her a copy of Vanity Fair, plucked from the rack at the register in a last-minute attempt to show that I like reading about rich people too. I also threw in the latest issue of CatFancy.

She crammed everything into a plastic bag and pushed it across the counter, staring past me at the next person in line. "Oh, I love that hairstyle on you!", she gushed to a woman clutching several copies of Eat, Pray, Love who was definitely not a scarf-wearing potential drug user and who, quite possibly, wanted to hear a wholesome anecdote about peanut brittle.

Note: I do not use heroin or any other illegal or non-prescription drugs, save for the occasional Excedrin. Nor do I actually have cats.

5) I don't understand why "The George Lopez Show" is on Nick-at-Nite.

6) I have recently eaten a Pizza Hut P'Zone. I will do it again.

7) I really want to listen to "Conquest" right now.

Monday, October 22, 2007

Sox + Series = Awesometime

You all know that by now. And I can't wait. The flights are booked, hotels reserved... now I just need tickets. Thank you, Colorado Rockies, for making me waste two hours of my morning trying to purchase tickets from your site before announcing that it was broken. I can't get that time back, Centennial State, and that is valuable time I could've used how far the Swiffer WetJet will spray and whether or not I can fire it over the ottoman.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who sent me pleasant emails and called to tell me that they were pulling for the Sox. And also thanks to that guy who keeps writing "BOSTON SUCKS" in the dust on my car for not doing that today.

Perhaps the best voicemail came from my sister Runtie, whose message was "Hey, I saw where your little Sox won. I'm sure you had quite the party with your stuffed dinosaur."

It's funny because it's true. And by "funny", I mean "sad".

And because you were all curious what my living room looks like, this was the scene when Curt Schilling was pitching on Saturday night and no, I don't think it's creepy at all.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

House: Season 4, Episode 3

You can read another long, rambling, and borderline obsessive recap of the latest episode here.

All in all, it was a decent hour of TV, and perhaps the first in primetime to slyly reference women who place batteries in their poop chutes.

Good times.

Monday, October 08, 2007

Insert Bangles Song Title Here...

OK, it wasn't exactly manic. Today was one of those days where I almost wished I were employed just so I could talk with someone other than my upstairs neighbor, especially since that conversation is rich in profanity and held through the ceiling as I shout up at him to stop freaking line dancing or whatever he's doing at 3 a.m. Sigh. I am a cardigan and a cake away from being Miss Havisham.

During yesterday's outing to Harris Teeter, I discovered that Kashi now makes a cereal called Cinnamon Harvest, the only offering in their entire product line that doesn't taste like soil and hippie tears. It's not only good, it's delicious, which is why I ate almost half of the box this morning. As I was shoveling in the last cinnamon-drenched nugget of bowl three, I read the nutrition information and learned that in the course of eight minutes, I had consumed approximately 340% of my daily fiber allowance. Hooray!

After sitting in the bathroom long enough for my calves to go numb, it was time to run some errands. First stop, the bank, which was of course closed for Columbus Day. As was the post office. In keeping with the spirit of the holiday, though, I considered just breaking in and taking several books of stamps, leaving behind a Spanish flag and a smallpox blanket.

The next stop was Walgreens. where I stood in line at the pharmacy behind the most attractive man I've ever seen in real life. He was all James Denton-y, with well-tended stubble and no visible scars or open sores. (At this point, my standards have dropped quite a bit. I used to have "able to walk unassisted" on the list until I saw the man in the electric wheelchair on the corner of Northwest Boulevard and realized that he probably couldn't fend off my advances. Or get out of my car.) Anyway, I was contemplating my opening line, praying he wasn't picking up his Valtrex prescription, and beaming because I didn't have any stains on my shirt when (OMG OMG) he turned around to look at me. We locked eyes. I smiled. He smiled back and just when I opened my mouth to say something delightful, his eyes drifted toward the products in my basket, his face fell, and he turned back around, all in one seamless motion. Of course. No one gets hot at the sight of a slightly desperate-looking woman carrying around a basket full of toilet paper, Immodium, and an earwax removal kit.

I wanted to tap his shoulder and point out that I was waiting to pick up my BIRTH CONTROL because I was capable of HAVING INTERCOURSE with ANOTHER PERSON but the damage was done. Goddamn you, Cinnamon Harvest.

James Denton got his meds and walked away, pretending to be intrigued by the enema display so he didn't have to look in the direction of the runny, waxy misfit behind him. My insurance had changed since my last prescription and by "changed", I mean I finally have some. Not the good kind, of course. It's not one of the major companies. It's more mid-major. Basically, I'm ensured by the equivalent of Winthrop University. And apparently Winthrop doesn't like birth control...they consider it an "elective prescription" so I got to hand over $48 for the privilege of pretending that I'm going to have sex in the next 28 days. It seems like my insurance company is celebrating Columbus Day too.

When I started to protest, using my sad face and pitiful "but that's so expensive because I lost my job" story, the pharmacist smugly told me that there were "more affordable forms of contraception", which prompted the fossilized old bat behind me to say "Like abstinence". I wanted to say "Or your personality?", but then realized that my own personality isn't really serving as an aphrodisiac either. Oh well. At least my bones aren't brittle.

Probably because I ate three bowls of cereal.

Thursday, October 04, 2007

1 Down, 2 to Go

I love October baseball. Especially when it involves the Sox, a Josh Beckett shutout, and the perfect configuration of all of my Sox-related talismans.

You can guaran-damn-tee that I will be sitting in exactly this position and wearing the same clothing until Boston's season is over. Sorry, potential employers. Love me, love my giant cardboard Curt Schilling.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

House: Season 4, Episode 2

You can read my recap of this week's episode here.

It's altogether too long and will pretty much ensure that Hugh Laurie would taser (tase?) me on sight, but hopefully it's more entertaining than, say, your actual work. Or the average warranty card. Either way.

Yes, I did the Photoshop at left. And yes, I'm way too excited about it.