we interrupt your regularly scheduled program…

Okay, so I’m watching Idol tonight.

I personally thougth Kat rocked. She blew me away. (and she looked like sex-on-a-stick) Generally, I agree with Simon, but tonight, his common sense had left the building.

And, okay, Elliot sounded great (even though he bores me a little) but to see Paula acting all “I need a tissue” over him was ridiculous.

STFU, Paula. Lay off the Xanax. Double up on the Prozac. Whatever. Just STFU.

Okay. I’ll be back after dumbass is finished singing.

Kellie Pickler sux.

Nuff said.

I don’t even care what the idiot judges say. She sux. She deserves to go. She should’ve gone a long time before Mandisa. But whatever. Say bye-bye, dumbass. Tonight is our fond farewell.

Hm. We’re at a commercial now. Be back in a second.

Paris can sing. I can’t believe she’s so young. She has a beeeyooootiful voice and it doesn’t matter that I don’t like the song she sang. She still sang it well. Very well.

Taylor is next. I’m not necessarily on the Taylor bandwagon. I like him, but he’s like a comfortable bar performer. He’s got a great personality and I’d definitely pay $5 to see him at the local pub. We’ll see if he “moves me” to wanting to pay for an album tonight.

I highly doubt it.

Okay, I’ve listened to half of Taylor’s performance. All I have to say is, he’s in the bottom three. He completely screwed one of my favorite make-out songs from high school. It was bland and boring.

Oh. My. God.

I think I’m having an instant orgasm.

Chris is singing Have You Ever Loved a Woman.

This is one of my favorite songs in the world. And since he’s hot, it’s even better.

Shit. I just swooned.

It’s Field Day

I’m trying to find my inner child as I ready myself to man the kickball game at my oldest son’s school.

My inner child is hiding.

She’s somewhere, deep inside, screaming at me for volunteering to be one of those moms today. Usually, Fishdog is the school parent. But something came over me when I saw KICKBALL. My inner child was not in hiding that day. She was jumping up and down saying, “Remember how we ruled at kickball in 6th grade? Kickball! Kickball! Kickball!”

And before I knew what was happening, I had signed up.

So, I’ll be kickin’ it 6th grade style on the kickball field today. Y’all pray for me or send me pink lights or something. I’m gonna need it.

It’s Field Day

I’m trying to find my inner child as I ready myself to man the kickball game at my oldest son’s school.

My inner child is hiding.

She’s somewhere, deep inside, screaming at me for volunteering to be one of those moms today. Usually, Fishdog is the school parent. But something came over me when I saw KICKBALL. My inner child was not in hiding that day. She was jumping up and down saying, “Remember how we ruled at kickball in 6th grade? Kickball! Kickball! Kickball!”

And before I knew what was happening, I had signed up.

So, I’ll be kickin’ it 6th grade style on the kickball field today. Y’all pray for me or send me pink lights or something. I’m gonna need it.

Commercials that creep me out


I’ll admit it…I’m commercial sensitive.

When Burger King came up with the ad campaign with the Creepy Big-Headed King in the ads, I sent them a letter of protest.

Not that my letter made a difference. Dude is still in the commercials, and he still creeps the hell outta me.

Then there was the Levi’s commercial where the mannequin stalked the dude for buying the jeans. Apparently, the mannequin wasn’t ready to part with his clothing and wanted the damn jeans back. Dude falls asleep on his couch and the mannequin is there, standing over the sleeping man, creeping the shit out of me.

But another commercial has now entered the relms of “ugh”. And this one isn’t creepy for the same reason the Big-headed King and the stalking mannequin. This one has taken creepy to the HNL. (For those of you who don’t watch Mad TV, HNL is a “Hole Nubba Lebel”–in English, that’s a Whole ‘Nother Level)

M&M’s M-Azing takes home the blue ribbon for making me shudder intead of getting me to run out and buy their candy bar. If you haven’t seen the commercial, go ahead and click on the link and check it out. Go on. I’ll wait.

You see an old stationwagon parked on lover’s lane. The background music playing is “Almost Paradise” (Yes, the song from Footloose)

The camera pans around the car. Because of the steamed up windows, we can only conclude there is some heavy duty snogging going on.

Finally, we get a glimpse inside the car. We see an unwrapped chocolate bar (Yes, the chocolate bar is Nekkid) and hundreds of M&M minis lying next to it. (Orgy anyone?)

Then the sexy voice over comes: “Amazing. Colorful M&Ms deep inside a creamy chocolate bar…”

Oh. My. God.

I’m not sure how I feel about promiscuous chocolate.

Total creep factor.

and then he was sorry…

My 8 year old had a really, really, really bad day at school a couple of weeks ago.

It was so bad, he came home and told me about it. He told me everything–except for the part where he was extremely rude to the assistant teacher. He absolutely refused to do anything she told him and apparently had a couple of ugly things to say to her in the process.

All this happened on a Friday. On Monday, I get a note filling in the missing pieces of the story. We do the “do you know what you did wrong?” talk and he tells me he’d just had a really bad day and took it out on Mrs. G.

I said, “Well, you should draw her a picture and tell her you’re sorry.”

So he did. I didn’t see the finished picture, but I saw him writing the note to Mrs. G. He told me that afternoon that Mrs. G. really liked his picture and that was that.

Until this morning when I ran into Mrs. G…

Mrs. G: Did you see the picture he drew me?

Me: No. Should I have?

Mrs. G: Laughing Oh Lord, yes.

Me: Worried now. Um. Why?

Mrs. G: Well, (snicker, snort) he drew me a picture of a donkey.

Me: gasp. this didn’t start off promising.

Mrs. G: At the donkey’s head, he wrote my name and drew an arrow. “This is you.”

Me: grimacing

Mrs. G: And at the rear end he wrote, “And this is what I’ve been.”

Well, that did it. I started laughing and couldn’t stop.

Me: Well, I guess he can recognize ass-like behavior afterall.

Mrs. G. went on to say that it was by far the best note of apology she’s ever received.

I should say so.

and then he was sorry…

My 8 year old had a really, really, really bad day at school a couple of weeks ago.

It was so bad, he came home and told me about it. He told me everything–except for the part where he was extremely rude to the assistant teacher. He absolutely refused to do anything she told him and apparently had a couple of ugly things to say to her in the process.

All this happened on a Friday. On Monday, I get a note filling in the missing pieces of the story. We do the “do you know what you did wrong?” talk and he tells me he’d just had a really bad day and took it out on Mrs. G.

I said, “Well, you should draw her a picture and tell her you’re sorry.”

So he did. I didn’t see the finished picture, but I saw him writing the note to Mrs. G. He told me that afternoon that Mrs. G. really liked his picture and that was that.

Until this morning when I ran into Mrs. G…

Mrs. G: Did you see the picture he drew me?

Me: No. Should I have?

Mrs. G: Laughing Oh Lord, yes.

Me: Worried now. Um. Why?

Mrs. G: Well, (snicker, snort) he drew me a picture of a donkey.

Me: gasp. this didn’t start off promising.

Mrs. G: At the donkey’s head, he wrote my name and drew an arrow. “This is you.”

Me: grimacing

Mrs. G: And at the rear end he wrote, “And this is what I’ve been.”

Well, that did it. I started laughing and couldn’t stop.

Me: Well, I guess he can recognize ass-like behavior afterall.

Mrs. G. went on to say that it was by far the best note of apology she’s ever received.

I should say so.

The anti-blog

I have been trying to figure out what the hell to blog about today and I’m at a loss.

I could post some more retro wedding pics, but despite the dated look, I still get depressed staring at my waist and boobs.

I loved my boobs. Pre-baby boobs. C-cups that were perky enough to go without a bra in a cute-ass tank top.

So, no retro-pics.

I could post some “here we are now” pics, but I’d just get depressed about the missing waist and the sad boob-like mounds of flesh. They are more like bombs now.

So, this blog is really not about anything. Sorry to waste your time. But I had to put something here….

The anti-blog

I have been trying to figure out what the hell to blog about today and I’m at a loss.

I could post some more retro wedding pics, but despite the dated look, I still get depressed staring at my waist and boobs.

I loved my boobs. Pre-baby boobs. C-cups that were perky enough to go without a bra in a cute-ass tank top.

So, no retro-pics.

I could post some “here we are now” pics, but I’d just get depressed about the missing waist and the sad boob-like mounds of flesh. They are more like bombs now.

So, this blog is really not about anything. Sorry to waste your time. But I had to put something here….