Tag Archives: wtf

today’s moment in irony…

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I went to Sam’s Club to buy beer, sodas, and snacks. We’re going to have a houseful of British soccer coaches next week, and they require an insane amount of beer and water to sustain life. (and yes, Grant will be here..I can’t wait. I haven’t seen my wee laddie in 2 years!)

Anyway, as I’m leaving Sam’s, a man stops me and asks me if I’d like to help save a life.

“Pardon?” I ask.

“Would you care to help save a life and support the alcohol abstinence program?”

“Abstinence?” I say, glancing at my buggy. I count 3 suitcases of Bud and then a case of good beer. “Um. No. Not today. Thanks.”

Sigh. Know your audience people. Besides, you should be teaching moderation. All or nothing is not the way to go.

what the foie gras??? random posting…

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Actually, it should be WTF is foie gras? It sounds so yummy and mysterious. I just like saying it. FWAH GRAAAAH. It’s like something the minister in Princess Bride would say. Mawwiage is something we do after we eat Fwah Gwah.

Anyway, I finally got to catch up on the Top Chef finale and Richard made this weird egg, duck, foie gras thing and I guess I always thought foie gras was some kind of cheese until he started the “what comes first the chicken, the egg, or the foie gras” thing. Obviously, foie gras is not cheese.

So I googled it. What did we ever do without google?

For those of you who are as in the dark about foie gras as I am was, let me put you out of your misery…

from wikipedia:

Foie gras (pronounced /fwɑːˈgrɑː/ in English; French for “fat liver”) is “the liver of a duck or a goose that has been specially fattened by gavage” (as defined by French law[1]).

Foie gras is one of the most popular and well-known delicacies in French cuisine and its flavour is described as rich, buttery, and delicate, unlike that of a regular duck or goose liver. Foie gras can be sold whole, or prepared into mousse, parfait, or pâté (the lowest quality), and is typically served as an accompaniment to another food item, such as toast or steak.

Okay. Ew.

What is it with taking something pretty nasty and calling it something that sounds so yummy. Like Sweetbreads.

Sweetbreads are the thymus glands of lamb, beef, or pork. There are two different connected glands; one set in the neck and the other near the heart. Although both are edible, the heart thymus gland is generally favored because of its delicate flavor and texture, and is thus more expensive[1]. Typically sweetbreads are soaked in salt water, then poached in milk after which an outer membrane is removed. Once dry and chilled, they’re often breaded and fried until crisp. It is also popular to use them as a stuffing or in pâtés

Gross.

Okay, I’m not a foodie. It’s obvious. I don’t eat organs or glands. Or brains (is brain an organ?) or genitalia (no comments from the peanut gallery. Fishdog, that means you) And I get why they rename gross sounding food into something yummy sounding. I would’ve probably eaten Sweetbreads or Foie Gras before google…

Now? nope. Not gonna happen.

I sure wish foie gras was a cheese.

in which I roll my eyes so hard they get stuck.

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Okay, look. I understand that romance novels aren’t for everyone–though I maintain that most everyone who claims not to read that trash, either A) haven’t read a romance B) don’t understand what romance is C) are such spectacular literary snobs that they can’t lower themselves from their lofty acclaimed Oprah Book Club heights.

I spent a long time last week defending romance to good friends of mine who said they had never read a romance novel and wouldn’t. When I asked them what authors they liked to read they said, Nora Roberts, Janet Evanovich, James Patterson, Brenda Novak….

Um. Guess what? You read romances.

I can deal with the snotty attiude toward a genre I love because frankly, numbers talk.
From RWA National website:

Romance Literature Statistics: Overview

Romance Sales
Romance fiction generated $1.37
billion in sales in 2006.
Approximately 6,400 romance titles were released
in 2006.

Market Share of Romance Fiction
Romance
fiction outsold every market category in 2006,with the exception of
religion/inspirational.
26.4% of all books sold are romance.

Romance Market Share Compared to Other Genres(source: Simba Information
estimates)
Romance fiction: $1.37 billion in estimated revenue for 2006 Religion/inspirational: $1.68 billion
Science fiction/fantasy: $495 million
Classic literary fiction: $448 Mystery: $422 million
Graphic novels: $128 million

Of those who read books last year, one in five read romance novels.
(AP-Ipsos Poll)

1.37 BILLION freaking people read romance novels. Put that in your snob-filled pipe and smoke it.

You may wonder what’s got me on this topic? Well the Today show posted this poll:

Do you read romance novels?

straight forward question. No problem. But check out the poll choices:

Yes, yes, yes! Bodice-rippers are my ultimate escape. (who wants to check this? I even hesitated to mark it as my answer. Bodice-rippers are my ultimate escape? Um. How about just Yes.)
No way. I don’t touch those books. (why? Are they diseased? No. would’ve been the appropriate choice.)
Sometimes, while on vacation or at the beach. (why is this even an answer? Honestly? This is a yes or no question. You either condescend to read those trashy little bodice rippers or you don’t!)

Anyway, as usual, a group of folks who have no idea what the Romance genre is about has posted a condscending poll. I know. You’re shocked. If you’re interested in voting, click here.

flabbergasted–but not at a loss for words.

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I had intended to blog today about the Beaver Lake Ghost, but something has gotten stuck in my craw and I can’t let it go.

/begin rant
Some good friends of ours got back from a 2 week vacation to discover that some of the local kids hosted a pool party at their house while they were gone. A piece of equipment was broken during the bash, but thankfully, nobody was hurt.

These kids are friends (possibly ex-friends) of their son. As soon as my friend told me about the pool party, I knew exactly who was involved–I even guessed which kid was the ringleader. See, these were all friends of Ian’s when we lived in Oxford. And the ringleader was a boy Ian was allowed very limited time with because he was the epitome of Trouble. Honestly, he was Trouble’s Spawn. And the worst part was, his mother never seemed to be able to see it…(and I really like his mother a lot, but her inability to ‘see’ how B.A.D. her child was just baffled me)

Apparently, she still doesn’t get it and unfortunately, she’s not the only one.

My friend’s son was partially involved because he suggested the party to the Ringleader. Okay. I get that. He should be held accountable for his part. But this is what I don’t get. Many of the parents won’t take any responsibility at all…or acknowledge the fact that their kid did anything wrong because the son suggested the party to the Ringleader! WTF? Are you kidding me????

First of all…This all would’ve been nipped in the damned bud if one fucking parent had decided to contact the parents supposedly hosting the party. (all the kids told their parents that everyone was home) Did one adult call another adult to verify? No. They just pushed their kid out ‘tuck and roll’ style, without making any effort at all to call or walk up to the house and see if any adults were home. (these are 14 year old kids, y’all. Not 16 or 17.) Ian gets so frustrated with me when he makes all the text message plans and I say, get me the Mom’s number so I can verify. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be done? Or am I supposed to just trust my damn 14 year old boy? Hah. Not on your life.

Secondly…I don’t care who arranged the damned party. I care that your kid was there and no adults were present and a piece of equipment was broken and by GOD your kid should be held responsible. Your kid KNEW no adults were present. He/she KNEW they were breaking the rules. HOLD THAT LITTLE SHIT RESPONSIBLE SO THEY’LL THINK TWICE ABOUT DOING IT NEXT TIME.

Thirdly…I don’t give a hairy hippo’s ass if your kid was the one who actually damaged the property or not. YOUR KID IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE PROPERTY BECAUSE HE WAS THERE UNATTENDED AND WITHOUT PERMISSION. These kids will NEVER learn a lesson. EVER.

I’m not a perfect parent by any stretch of the imagination but I am appalled that any parent would excuse this behavior. It’s common freaking sense. Your kid was at a pool party without being invited by the homeowners, without adults even being present, some property was damaged and that kid KNEW he shouldn’t be there. Bone up on your parenting skills and make your kid take some responsibility. Something really bad could’ve happen. You’re lucking you’re getting a second chance. You might wanna try to teach your little shitbag* a lesson so he won’t do it again.

*all 14 year old kids are shitbags from time to time. It’s a term of endearment around our house… sorta.

ok.
/end rant.

hot mess friday

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Welcome to (hopefully) a new weekly edition here at Mel-O-Drama

Hot Mess Friday

Today’s Hot Mess? Amy Winehouse. (May 22, 2008)

Amy Winehouse fled her home last night (21.05.08), claiming ghosts were trying to harm her.

The troubled 24-year-old singer says a poltergeist – who she has named Henry – is haunting her North London flat and is trying to harm her.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I totally believe in ghosts and it very well could be that Amy’s flat is haunted. But my guess? Henry is actually the name she gave her hallucination after she freebased some badly cut heroin. Or maybe she’d just tweaked her last batch of homemade meth. Whatever. I’m thinking Henry is just her subconscious telling her she is a big hot mess.

Wait, there’s more!
(April 25, 2008)

Winehouse, 24, was said to have punched a man inside a bar early Wednesday
morning, then later head-butted a 38-year-old man who tried to hail her a
cab.

Assault carries a six-month prison sentence in London, where the incidents reportedly took place.

Unfazed by her legal situation, Winehouse left her home at about 10 p.m. Thursday night to go out on yet another bender.

Amy, Amy, Amy. Fine. You punched a guy in the bar. I’m sure Henry told you to do it. But why on earth would you head-butt the only friend you had left in the world? The only person who was willing to help you at the time?

Big. Hot. Mess.

fast times at awesome high and a rant

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I watched Fast Times at Ridgemont High last night for the first time in forever. God that movie is teh awesome.

Ian sat and watched it with me for a while. He laughed a lot, which I think surprised him. He made a comment about “Old people being weird.” which was totally directed at me since I was quoting the movie and laughing until I snorted. I was really curious to see how Ian would react to the boob scenes, but he gave up on the movie before Jennifer Jason Leigh and Phoebe Cates disrobed. Not that he has seen boob scenes before. But he hasn’t really seen them in the context of characters around his age.

Anyway, it was fun to watch and laugh with my kid. He’ll probably watch it without me now. God knows he doesn’t want me to think he likes something I suggested he watch. *rolling eyes* After I told him he missed the boob action, he’ll totally watch.
And now onto the rant:
TOP CHEF
WTF?
Can anyone explain to me how it is that greasy-headed Lisa is still on this show? How on earth did Dale get sent home before that Hot Mess of a chef? I mean, has she ever NOT been in the bottom three? Why is she still there? Her attitude sux. She is a whiner and a crybaby and the most negative person on earth. Plus, she can’t freaking cook!

I have decided that Lisa and her Hot Mess Hair and the Karate Kid from The Bachelorette need to hook up so they can produce a litter of Hot Mess Hair babies…

sucked in

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You’ll notice from my Twitter announcements on the side that I was sucked in to The Bachelorette last night. Sigh. I don’t know why I do this to myself. Seriously.

Once you start watching, you can’t look away. It’s a proven fact!
Last night did not disappoint in the realm of what-the-fuckedness. (new word. add it to your daily glossary) We had a dude I now call “Football-for-Jesus”. Look, I have no problem with your faith being #1 in your life, but c’mon. You don’t proclaim Jesus and I’m a virgin the moment you step off the limo. Dude is a pro-football player. Too bad I can’t remember his real name or I’d google him. Hang on, let me see…Okay, his name is Ryan and he plays football in Minneapolis. I’ll admit to gaping at the TV when Deanna gave “Football-for-Jesus” dude a rose.

But the biggest shocker? When she kept the Karate Kid.

O.M.G

Dude was the biggest knob. An absolute tool.

First off, his hair was a hot, greasy, mess. Usually I dig long hair, not on this dude. Secondly, did I mention that he was a knob? Cuz he was.

Many of the guys were doing stupid things to get Deanna’s attention. One dude jumped into the pool with his suit on, then took it off, showing the world his speedo bathing suit with Deanna’s name printed on the bottom.
One dude called her with a duck-call. Yeah. I’m not kidding.
But the Karate Kid? He took the snowboarder dude (who I actually really liked) and placed a lemon on a plastic cup on top of the snowboarder’s head and then kicked it off. Like a 13 year old boy trying to impress a girl in front of his gang. Snowboarder dude said, “If you miss, when I wake up, I’m gonna punch you in the balls five times.” Awesome.

But Deanna ended up giving the Karate Kid a rose. I’m sure she was instructed to keep him. That’s the only reason I can imagine why she would’ve. Biggest. Knob. Ever.
The best part about watching the show? Fishdog watched with me. His commentary was priceless. I may never watch this show without him again.

owned by a cat

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Meet Ginger. We often call her “Up High Cat” because she loves to find the highest possible point in the house and sleep there. As a matter of fact, she loves the attic. She will stand in the hall, underneath the attic pull down and squall until we let her up there to explore.

Up High Cat also loves to explore our basement area. It’s a 3/4 finished space with a French drain and shelving, and a big mound of dirt for her to roll in. Since she’s an inside cat, this is her one place to go hunting, gathering, and exploring.

Monday, she found this:

Notice how small the opening is. (btw, that’s above the door frame. I can’t get photobucket to cooperate with rotating the pic)Yes, she’s a small cat–but she’s not that small. However, she was up for the challenge.

Monday afternoon Fishdog comes upstairs and asks “Have you seen Ginger? I swear I hear her mewling, but she’s not under the house.”

Nope. Hadn’t seen her.

So we start searching. We looked outside. Maybe she popped through a hole a screen and was on the roof or in a tree. Nope. We looked in every up high nook and cranny and even under the beds. Nothing. We searched in the dryer, in all the cabinets, in all the closets. Nada.

But we could still hear her faint mewling.

We were very still, listening intently. That’s when we realized it sounded like she was here:
Yes, she was in the drop down ceiling. Sigh.

We tried to coax her out with food, but she couldn’t seem to make her way to the opening. And the longer we listened to her mewl, the more we realized she was no longer in the ceiling…she had fallen down the wall.

So, guess what we did Monday afternoon? Here, let me show u it:




ah. the things we do for love…

So, who wants to caption my LOLCat Picture. The one in the wall would be a perfect choice, don’t ya think? The winner will get full credit on my blog and win a copy of Gena Showalter’s The Darkest Night and MarelyMarley Gibson’s (aka Kate Harmon) Zeta or Omega.

Caption away.
ETA: I’ll choose the winner on Cinco de Mayo! That’s Monday y’all!

holy chipotle!

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Okay, my friend Lu sent me a link to a Men’s Health article on the Worst Food in America. All I can say is, WOW. It’s totally worth your time to browse through the list of 20.

#1 on the list? Outback Steakhouse Aussie Cheese Fries with Ranch Dressing
2,900 calories
182 g fat
240 g carbs

This weapon of mass construction is the caloric equivalent of eating 14 Krispy Kreme doughnuts, before your dinner arrives. Even if you split this “starter” with 3 friends, you’ll have downed a meal’s worth of calories.

I really think I’m pretty good at gauging caloric content. I mean, I’ve been on a diet for the last 20 years, I’d like to think I’ve learned something! But seriously, I had NO IDEA. I would’ve guessed 1500 calories. Which, split 4 ways wouldn’t have been quite so horrific. But 290o? Split 4 ways is still 700+ calories each. That’s not even including the beer I’ll be drinking with it. (and no, it won’t be any lite beer shite. I promise) Then if you tack on the 9oz Victoria Filet (what I always order at Outback) you’ve just added another 540 calories and 44 grams of fat. That’s not including the loaded baked potato.

Dayum. that’s all I got to say.

On a good note, I discovered that Guinness Draft in a bottle is only 126 calories! Now that’s a “Light Beer” I can wrap my tongue around. (On a bad note, my other favorite beer, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale is listed as the beer NOT to drink…200 calories. eek!)

Speaking of food…Gwen is blogging about Chocolate over at Fictionistas. Go forth and drool. Fictionistas