And That's Why He's Called Cliff Hanger!

Well. The Amazing Race is over (no need to go back over all THAT again). ER squished a handful of 20-somethings (why oh why couldn't Morris have been in the pile?) and said goodbye to Noah Wylie before it packs its bags and heads to Miami for the summer. Medium ended with a cliffhanger that involved the Bible, a bunch of heartless people, and a set of nail clippers. And, last but not least, Alias ended with White Russians, one really big-ass red golfball, and an answer to Syd's quandary about keeping her name or not after she marries Vaughn. (I'd say yes, if I hadn't choked up my voicebox when that damn car came out of nowhere and smashed into them.)

In other news, my mother is ... trying. My grandmother's decline not only has provided me with wonderful opportunities to be a depressed, moody, and otherwise lovely person to be around, it has prompted my mother to be less like ... how do I put this, without sounding harsh or judgemental ... less like a demented, passive-aggressive control freak, and more like a normal human being. Yeah, that'll work.

So, kudos to her, hooray for me, but now what the fuck am I going to write about?

Wednesday Free-For-All

Yes, I'm fully aware that 'Friday Free-For-All' would have made a nicer sounding title. Fuck you, it's my blog.

So, after that gracious and welcoming opening, let's get on with it.

Why can't I, in the middle of a PTO meeting at my child's school, use the phrase 'Well, fuck me raw with a chainsaw!' to express surprise? I honestly believe it would make the proceedings SO much more interesting.

A commercial that pisses me off: The Wendy's one, where there are 4 people sitting around a workplace cafeteria table, eating salads and making irritating noises to describe them. However, there is one lucky young lady who has gone to Wendy's and instead of using the irritating dying-dolphin noise to describe the overall shittiness of it, she's busy having a mini-gasm over her bowl of lettuce, chicken flesh and dried bread. Now, all this is just mildly annoying, but what really pisses me off is the fact that her irate co-worker is all up in her face about it. However, as the mature and reasonable person you all have come to know and tolerate, I would NEVER scream at the screen "YOU could have gone to Wendy's, you large and annoying sea-cow, leave her the fuck alone."

Open letter to the pale and shirtless man walking around my apartment complex the other day: For fuck's sake, either get a tan or a tattoo to cover up all that pink flesh, because EW. No, don't smile and wave at me, either. If I'm walking around a street market with my darling husband and gorgeous children on a warm Saturday evening, I may smile back at you because I am carefree, I am hip, I am way too young to have 2 children (YES, I AM, DON'T MAKE ME HURT YOU). But if I am alone in the pool with my youngest child, and you're wandering around looking lost and horribly skeevy, I am terrified that you may, at some point in the future, attempt to remove my liver with a plastic eating utensil, so kindly put a shirt on, and go the fuck away.

Regarding Star Wars: My 4 year old likes Star Wars because "It's funny when that lady chokes Jamba. That part is funny!" The bad news: this is indicative of a slight homicidal bent. The good news: It's directed toward a fruit juice franchise.

Oh, and speaking of EW, here ya go.

And, that's it for today. Please put your eating trays in the upright position, dispose of all trash in the proper containers, and we thank you for your support.

Penance, No Sandwich

Well, as fun as it has been tweaking the tall man's nose, I have repented and will let the faithful know that Blog Jesus is back. Heightened Thoughts is still not returning my calls, but you can also find him here.

The One Where I Have Nothing to Say

Blah blah blah blah blah boxes everywhere. Blah blah blah blah blah house is a freakin' mess. Blah blah blah blah soul sucking pit of despair. Blah blah blah blah blah.

Blah blah blah blah how stupid is THAT? Blah blah blah blah and the fact that I'm writing about it speaks volumes ... Blah blah blah I mean, c'mon! Blah blah blah blah at least we're not related.

Blah blah blah blah fucking blah. Blah blah blah blah fuck blah. Blah blah blah are you bored yet blah blah? Blah blah blah blah just a while longer blah. Blah blah almost there blah blah.

Blah blah blah blah (told you) blah blah.

Hunka-Hunka Burnin' Love!

So, we went to see Star Wars Ep. 3 today, on a spur of the moment decision. Kudos to the man for swinging the vote 'our way' with a cleverly given choice: "Do you want to go buy swimming suits, or go see Star Wars?" Never mind that the purchase of swimsuits was to be followed up immediately with the USE of them, by the time this little factoid was realized we were sitting with the Jumbo Tub O'Cholesterol in a darkened theater, watching Angelina Jolie's naughty bits flash by advertising her new movie.

Anyhoo ... not wanting to leave traumatizing our children to virtual strangers, there was some discussion about whether or not it would be too violent for the little one. And, since it's hard to get this information while you are face down on the floor screaming "Don't tell me what happens in the movie!!!" with your hands pressed over your ears, we had to selectively read other spoiler-wary reviews, and finally just decided that we could cover her eyes if necessary. Or dump water on the person sitting to our side, in order to distract her so we could watch the carnage unencumbered.

Now, for those people wondering if the movie is too scary/violent/emotive for their own younglings, I can say that it was ... not so bad. Here's the spoiler-free violence breakdown, with it's sponge-worthiness rating.

Instances of hands lopped off with light sabers: 3
Sponge-worthiness: First two, no sponge needed. Happens very quickly, no blood. The last one (in final battle scene) 2, possibly 3 sponges.)

Beheadings via light sabers: One. Implied, camera cuts away, happens too quickly to necessitate sponge. 0
(Not counting robots, droids or storm-troopers, unless your child is emotionally attached to vacuum cleaner. Then 1 sponge.)

And, since I'm tired of this whole thing, and the sponge-worthy test has been done to death, I'd just have to say that the only thing I'd be concerned about is the final battle scene, (highlight to see, can't avoid spoiler here), which may leave your child afraid of amputees and smore's.

And, finally, I'd just like to say that the most disturbing thing is that poor Anakin, so intent on keeping his marriage together, learning to master The Force, and compete with Orlando Bloom for top sci-fi/fantasy hottie, can't find time to sleep or wash his hair.

(Disclaimer: I don't know most of you from Adam, nor do I know your kids. I have no idea if they are afraid of the dark, public speaking, or cotton balls. All I know is that, when I was eight, my parents took me to a freakin' CINDERELLA stage performance, when everyone else in my class saw the movie, and you see how I turned out. The decision is yours, and you'd be amazed how high people can jump when cold water is tossed in their lap.)

Best Laid Plans of Pack ... Mice and Garbagemen

We were supposed to have a garage/moving sale today, but the fucktards lovely people who manage the place wouldn't let us put up signs. No signs + non-functioning mental telepathy + fire codes restricting smoke signal = a huge pile of crap to deal with. Not just any crap, but crap that's too good to give/throw away, but a real pain in the ass to pack. I'm thinking ebay, I'm thinking put up signs anyway, I'm thinking rental insurance policy and a suspicious fire...

Everything I Need to Know I Learned While Crammed Into a Car With Tired and Cranky Children

So, we just got back from another trip home, where we celebrated a neice's graduation, and got to visit with various and assorted family members. Here's some useful and interesting knowledge I picked up during the trip:

Judging from the eye-level showerheads, lowered doorways, and short beds, I've decided that my mother has a dream to open a bed and breakfast that caters to dwarfs, the Keebler Elves, and amputees. Furthermore, judging from her strident claim that "It's just a normal sized mattress!" that she is of the opinion that anyone over 5'3" is a gigantic, enormous freak of nature and must be destroyed, feet first, with bed linens. I found this out while attempting to fold my gigantic, enormous freak of nature legs under the firmly wedged and totally unmoveable sheets, and had to sleep all night with my toes en pointe.

My conversation skills are sorely lacking. During a conversation with a female relative who once gave birth to my husband but shall otherwise remain nameless, I was suddenly and without warning bombarded with a lengthy list of her physical ailments and various ways in which her life sucks. Since I felt that replying with: "Damn, you're right! I sure hope that shit doesn't flow downstream!" wouldn't promote familial harmony, and openly mocking said person with hand puppets and funny accents would really only amuse me, (boy, do this one time, and you never hear the end of it), the best I could come up was head nods and concerned looks at critical junctures.

Now, regarding the graduation. Looking out at all those bright, young faces, so eager and expectant to go out and conquer the world ... Well, it gave my cynical and pessimistic heart hope and joy. Of course, this was because I was rifling through my sister-in-law's purse for loose change while she was distracted with watching her daughter receive her diploma. (Ok, not really, but it provided me with an excuse and the means to drink heavily at the dinner afterwards.)

My kids picked up some new travel games, the most popular one being How Fast Can I Make My Sibling Become an Only Child? which they both were remarkably astute at. Grandma tried to teach them how to play Passive Aggression, and It's Not Me, It's You, but they were too busy playing Never Ever Ever Go To Sleep and Watch Cable Television Till Your Brain Runs Out Your Ears.

Then there was some sort of roadside attraction we stopped at, which involved a line of cars, a video taped presentation, and a buttload of sand. All in all, a enjoyable and pleasant roadtrip. Or at least that's what I'm going to tell the social services people, when they bring up the kids' homemade travel game: Get Out of the Duct Tape Before Dad Hits the Freeway.

(And as an aside, partially because of Flamingo Jones, and partially because I'm just a developmentally delayed lemming and have to follow the latest craze 10+ years later, I picked up this copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It has 5 books in one, it weighs roughly the same as my car, and I have a new hero. Four years and seven days after he died, sure, but a hero nevertheless.)

A-fucking-mazing Race

Here there be spoilers, and a post dedicated almost solely to the show. Don't read if you haven't seen it yet, or are Pops. (Ok, fine, even if you are Pops, but don't say I didn't warn you.)

Joyce and Uchenna, the Bald Dynamic Duo, got their shit together, won the race and million dollars, knocking Rawb down a few notches and spanking Ron and Kelly's pansy-asses along the way.

In a non-elimination elimination leg, they were stripped of their money and belongings, and had a good Samaritan give them a ride to the airport so they could beg for money so they could afford a cab to take them to the first challenge. (Why they just didn't have him take them to the challenge, and skip the whole airport thing, I don't understand, but it still made for some good TV.) So, they're wandering around an airport, looking just slightly insane, at around 3 in the morning, asking strangers for money. Oddly enough, that didn't go very well. Business picked up later in the day, after they finished the challenge(s) and were back at the airport during daylight hours. Rawb and Ambuh got on the earliest flight, I can't remember what happened to Ron and Kelly (I can only assume she had to chew on her gum and be irritating, which can be quite time consuming), and Joyce and Uchenna begged and pleaded to get on the same flight as Rawb and Ambuh, and it WORKED. The attendant called the pilot, they wheeled the hallway-connector-thingy (that IS the technical term, I checked) back onto the airplane, and Rawb got his ass metaphorically spanked by Uchenna. That's some good TV, there.

At the very end, they were short maybe $50 for cab fare, and instead of shorting him and bolting through the gate to the finish, they ran around asking people for money till they collected enough. They ran up to the mat minutes before Rawb and Ambuh, reduced everyone to tears, and I want to have their baby. Ok, maybe not, but would love to have them over for dinner ... Naw, that's too much pressure, too, and I'd have to clean ... Fine, okay? I cried. I cried, my faith in humanity and cool people was temporarily restored, and I hope they have a very successful IVF and have lots and lots of bald babies, because they are just ... just ... well, they're millionaires, but very nice ones.

Now it's over, my Tuesdays are open again, Ron and Kelly can go off and be irritating in the privacy of their own homes, and raise your hand if you're planning on watching Rawb and Ambuh tie the knawt? Be honest, now ...

Everything Old is New Again ... What a Crock

So, we're taking the leap, and in between figuratively screaming at people to validate me and alienating those same people by writing mopey and cryptic crap with absolutely no car chases or explosions, I've been packing up all the crap worth packing, and putting aside all the other crap we're going to charge way too much for at the upcoming garage sale.

I'm not liking this. Every other time, when we moved, there was the excitement and adventure associated with exploring the neighborhood, finding the parks and libraries and grocery stores. Moving back to our hometown, we already KNOW where everything is, our best discoveries will be finding the box that holds the bath towels and good sauce pans. Factor in the living situation (living with mom temporarily till we find suitable digs) and the fact that, as of yet, neither of us even has a JOB yet, and the stress factor goes up about 10 jillion points.

And, finally, here is the concluding statement, where I will use the words Abyss, Fear, Journey, Beer, and is so eloquent and timeless everyone will have no choice but to weep for me.

Sam-I-Am Can Kiss My Ass

I am bloated. I am crampy. I am flat broke. I am blocked (literally and figuratively). I am well on my way to becoming quite unpleasant. I am alienating readers left and right. I am not caring much. I am sure I will regret those words. I am in awe of Amy Tan. I am fucking sick of living in a fucking fishbowl with fucking loud and obnoxious fish for neighbors. I am hoping to someday be in the same league as Amy Tan, but I would settle for being in the same rock band. I am not holding my breath. I am not fishing for compliments. I am blasting them out of the water with cannonballs. I am not sure I am making the right decisions. I am not sure that is grammatically correct. I am sure somebody will tell me. I am done.

1 Tequila, 2 Teq ... Oh, Forget It.

Well, there's clearly no where else to go.

This is it, I have no more to give, my muse has drowned herself in the toilet, and I've resorted to encouraging bizarre and gratuitous wrestling matches among the lunatic fringe. I can't even develop a good old-fashioned drinking problem, I just don't have the necessary drive. You have to spend all that time coming up with excuses and lame-ass apologies, find places to hide your booze, devote so much time denying and keeping the truth from everyone, file for unemployment after punching your boss in the throat for taking your red Swingline ... It's such a bother, and I'd much rather take a nap.

So, since I obviously can't sink any lower, here's a picture of a really, really pissed off beaver.

The Amazing Race, We Hardly Knew Ye.

First off, The Amazing Race. The little geriatrics that could, couldn't do it anymore. Alas and alack, Gretchen and Meredith were eliminated, but at least they made Rawb and Ambah shit themselves a little, first. Ron and Kelly have managed to become America's most hated couple, first with Kelly's dumbass remark re: POW's last week, and Ron's "It's like teaching a woman to drive!" comment when Kelly wasn't able to immediately maneuver a double decker bus around a series of traffic cones successfully.

Ron and Kelly, after being stripped of their money and belongings last week, (Kelly: "But ... what about my gum?") were forced to go begging for money, and Meredith stepped up and gave Kelly some cash, in that oh-so-endearing "Here, I'm giving you some money, 'cause you need it, but we won't TELL anybody, mmm-kay?" older gent type of way. Joyce, cool, collected and biggest whupass bald female since Ripley and Vasquez from the Aliens franchise (NO, Demi Moore in G.I. Jane doesn't count, because she's Demi Moore. Ick.), went apeshit and started screaming at Uchenna, who was yelling directions to her during the driving challenge: "I can't understand anything YOU'RE SAYING!!!" Rough translation: "I'm bald, I'm driving a double decker bus, and just shut the hell up because YOU'RE BUGGING ME, ALREADY!" Or that's what I understood, my Bald-Whupass-Femalese is a little rusty. Kelly, in a move that can be filed under the 'Oh, no she DI'INT!" category, asked the woman at the ticket counter if she could borrow her lipstick. And she DID. She took a strange woman's lipstick, and rubbed this lipstick all over her mouth. Her mouth, the thing she EATS with. (OK, so she just throws it right back up, but still.) Do other women really do this? If so, I'm really going to have to rethink this whole 'being a girl' thing, because that's just nasty. Rawb and Ambah yielded Ron and Kelly, Kelly drew horns and moustaches on Rawb and Ambah's picture, and Guess Who Won't Be Coming to Dinner?

Next week is the season finale. (I'm assuming it's going to be 2 hours?) As an AR neophyte, I'm not sure how it's decided who wins, but I can only hope that it will involve Ron and Kelly, a pack of angry, incontinent beavers, and a large bottle of Tabasco sauce.