Jimmy Kimmel – Tonight

Remember that blog I mentioned last week, Mongo Like Internets, that a friend of mine – Jason – recently started?

Sure you do…

Well, Jason contacted the Jimmy Kimmel producers in response to a call for people to be live on the show (via video feed). Long-ish story short, he was a finalist being considered for the segment. After a few “meetings” (Skype) with the producer, a little shootin’ the sh*t, and a comment he made to her about how the high temperatures in the country are causing puppies and the elderly to spontaneously ignite… voila… he was selected from hundreds (millions? trillions?) of other entrants for tonight’s Jimmy Kimmel Live show …

Anyway, in preparation for part of tonight’s segment (a scavenger hunt), Jason asked friends for ideas as to what might be on the scavenger list, first providing us with examples of actual items from previous Kimmel scavenger hunts:

• Something in your house that vibrates,
• Hair from a hairbrush,
• Ugliest thing in your house.

People quickly misread the request and said

“Toothbrush!”

“Something that vibrates!”

“What? YOU can’t come up with an idea of something that vibrates?!?”

His response to these initial suggestions:

“Uh… I need examples LIKE the questions, not answers”.

Helpfully, people responded to that with suggestions like “get the hair from the dog brush” and “your ass!”…

I was right there with everyone, even less helpful, in fact… My completely-off-the-mark suggestions included a misting fan, a sun hat with a neck flap, and a pellet gun, which would have been great if he had asked “What should I wear tonight?” or “How can I protect myself from puppies and elderly people?”

Can’t wait to see what happens. Hopefully he’ll become rich, famous and desperate to give his friends money.

Good luck, Jason!!

Fun Shtuff

Here lies a link to a blog that is full of funny, bizarre, witty commentary and links to more of the same:

Mongo Like Internets – Try it – you’ll like it – or possibly be offended – either way, his comments alone are worth a visit. Okay. Alright. I guess that’s all for me. I just don’t have much to say at the moment. Other than this, obviously… this being I don’t have very much to say lately.

Perhaps you’ve noticed.

I haven’t quit my blog, I’ve just nothing to say. I’m feeling a little feisty, though, which is mandatory for me to pontificate.

Love…

 

Sleep Deprivation Is No Laughing Matter

It isn’t funny. Babies don’t sleep. In fact, toddlers don’t sleep either, which means adults with children sleep, on average, 14 hours in a four-year time period. So that sucks.

But this book doesn’t suck. You should read it – even if you don’t have kids. 

Here it is: Sleep. 

Thank you to my friend JM for sharing.

Dear Diary

Image via CrunchBase

Dear Diary,

The other day I noticed that someone was missing from Facebook. She was my friend last week, but not today.

“Huh,” I wondered as I painted my toenails (Essie – a greyish color), “she was funny. I wonder what happened to her?”

Well! You will never, ever guess what she did! The bitch de-friended me!! What have I ever done to her? Nothing.

Right? Nothing?

Wrong.

I missed her Facebook mandate. “My boyfriend and I broke up. Those of you who do not IMMEDIATELY de-friend him will be really sorry… and boy, do I mean it. I mean it!”

Wait. What?

That’s not even a believable April Fool’s Day joke. Who would think that was for real? I would understand if she de-friended him, of course, but why am I involved? I’ve never even met the guy.

Alas, who cares besides me and you, Diary? I’m sensitive. And sometimes even needy. So when someone goes out of their way to let me know they don’t like me, I’m not only curious but I’m irritated with myself… clearly I’ve misread some idiot and have wasted my time by clicking on “yes“ when THEY asked to be MY friend on stupid Facebook.

In fact, I go well out of my way to avoid people in general who:

A) I don’t like

B) Are crazy

C) Ask me what my husband does for a living (at least not the very moment we meet – the answer is tricky. Not everyone can appreciate how hard pimps work. Plus, HELLO! If they even deigned to ask me what I did for a living they would probably figure out what my husband does)

D) Confuse me as someone who has no peripheral vision (which would be the only excuse for those women who blatantly give the once-over… “Yes. I can see you deducing my worth and, unless you’re interested in talking to my pimp, I suggest you take your business elsewhere”)

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah – so then, Diary, guess what? I noticed today that someone else didn’t want to be my friend anymore. I think it’s because I didn’t “like” her status updates frequently enough – which were word-for-word the same as another guy’s posts I read.

His posts are hilarious. When he writes them the first time. Which is right after he thinks them up and then posts them. First. He writes them first. Because he thought them up all by himself.

Whatever – that’s enough out of me for one day, and, as you know, I try to end my day with humble reflection and purposeful gratitude. So:

Reflection:

I admit I am occasionally offensive (As you well know, right diary? Ha ha! Whew – we have some great memories, you and I);

Gratitude:

I am thankful that most people:

A) Have a life; and

B) Don’t go all bat-shit-crazy and de-friend others in an attempt to display their power.

Alrighty. Good talk. BFF.

Public Service Announcement

Image via Wikipedia

Hi there.

This is going to be short and sweet. You might consider printing it out and sharing it with your disgusting co-workers or fellow airline passengers.

Under no circumstances is it appropriate to snort your snot LOUDLY and REPEATEDLY in a public place. You are startling people! If people clutch their chests in shock and cringe as they look over at you, yet you keep at it, expect fewer social invitations.

In addition, it is not acceptable to hack and cough in a manner that suggests you’re dying – I’m talking about the scary, loud, dramatic “look-at-me” cough that goes on for ten minutes – unless you are certain you are dying. Even then, it’s iffy.

At the very least, please escort yourself and your repulsive display of illness elsewhere.

KTHXBAI!

2011: Not the Year of the Busy Mom

I am concerned about the data that must exist about “busy moms” and their interests – particularly as it relates to the design and marketing of wall calendars and agendas. You should be concerned too… Someone is spending time and money researching this demographic in order to offer products that will generate income. Sadly, the resulting products are infantile and cartoonish, which obviously means that is what the market supports.

The next time you are browsing the calendar section at Barnes and Noble, take note. Squint your eyes and look for the yellow cartoony area – now focus.

I told you.

In the bid to win her business, marketing professionals saturate the packaging with information about the calendar’s hundreds of happy little stickers (soccer practice, doctor appointments, celebrations) that the suicidal mom can use in her new calendar. They might be meant as a subliminal message…

“There, there little lady. No need to engage your brain. Just keep up the good car-pooling work and have supper on the table by 5:30. These pretty stickers will make it all seem fun! You’ll see. Now run along.”

I love a pretty calendar or agenda, I admit it… something to take the tedium out of the scheduling of my weekly meetings with my parole officer… but my ability to process fairly complex thoughts (Where am I? Where are my kids? What’s for dinner? Does little Billy play baseball? If so, when and where?) also means I haven’t found the right one yet. I’ve shopped around, too – the selection at Amazon really might be a practical joke.

I guess I will hold on to my $13.95, unless one of these beauties suddenly excites my hypothalamus:

Who Has A Mullet Now, Beotch?

It was 6:00a.m. and I pretended to be asleep when I heard my 4-year-old sprinting toward my room. “Oopsy daisy!” said L at the top of her lungs in order to wake me up. “Oopsy daisy” is so far off from what she should have been exclaiming… it’s weak and poorly planned, not to mention misleading. The implication is that she dropped a toy or a piece of cheese, not that she has made a serious and lasting decision about her appearance – and all without consulting me, her stylist and closest confidante.

Regardless, there she was with a big smile on her face and a fistful of hair in her hand. I was convinced it was from her creepy human head hair styling toy, which is what I asked her: “Is that from your doll? The head?  You cut her hair?”

I wish I could do her expression justice by explaining it here, but it’s impossible. A rough interpretation would be that she smiled giddily at me in that guilty, holy-crap-I-can’t-believe-I-did-this way that only a 4 and 1/2 year-old can pull off, while simultaneously shaking her head. Nope. Guess again, mom.

“Shut the EFF up!!” I didn’t yell. Instead I did my dramatic gasp and began sobbing, “Are you shitting me? A friggin’ mullet? This is about me, isn’t it? I haven’t been paying enough attention to you? Or is it my cooking? Is it the hair-washing technique I’ve used at bath time? I’ve tried so hard to keep the soap out of your eyes! I have,” (here my sobbing turns in to crazed anger), “What the crap is going on around here? Doesn’t anyone care about how hard I try to make this family appear normal? Why, just yesterday you flushed your sister’s toothbrush, your own underwear, and some game pieces down the toilet. I turn my back for 3 seconds and now I have 3 feet of water in my house and an extremely unfortunate hairstyle on my child’s head.”

Nah. Actually, all of that is true except for my part of the dialogue. I just said, “What? Why? Where did you find scissors? Why do you want shorter hair? Why are you up in the middle of the night? It’s pitch black outside. Give me a minute to wake up…Jesus…”

And then I laughed (not in front of her) – because it’s FUNNY, I mean, so what? She was not trying to be naughty. She wanted shorter hair. She had some scissors. Now she has shorter hair. She is four.

On the other hand, if she does one more thing to test my patience – such as waking my ass up at 5:59a.m. for the 100th time in 100 days – I will sell her on Craigslist, unless I think I can get more money for her on e-bay.

“Feisty four-year-old female (human) – make offer.”

 

Smug

Smug? Smug.

It turns out that my physical therapist is particularly kind and unassuming resulting in a slight adjustment in my plans to get him to loosen up, but don’t fret. He has made eye contact with me numerous times and today he laughed a couple of times – he is completely shocked into laughter when I say the simplest things. He did seem kind of defensive today, though, now that I think about it.

He told me about a Christmas gift (clothing) he bought for his “beautiful and sweet” wife who “looks great in anything”. Why the “beautiful”? I mean it’s very endearing if you’re his wife, but to everyone else it comes across as if he’s trying to convince us. Who, in passing, says “My gorgeous husband who makes me laugh everyday – EVERYDAY – is perfect. We are always just so happy. And I love him. I really do. And what was I going to tell you? Oh yeah… I’m buying him some new pants for Christmas.”

Bless his sweet heart. I think. But guess what else… I taught him a new word today.

I mentioned my opinion about a woman who is smug. He said “Ma’am?” (he really did… he always does). I said:

“What?”

“What does that word mean?”

“Smug? Oh. It means… ummm… that someone is self-satisfied,” which was not enough information for him and he really wanted more. Several other people were watching us and listening, in what I assume to be shock that he didn’t just pretend he knew what it meant. Some bad acting on my part followed (it’s hard to explain smug without making that face… you know, with lips half pursed/half smiling, arms crossed).

“Oh. Like ‘It’s what I say and that’s it?'”

“Yes.”

“I have never heard that word used before.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

It makes me tired just thinking of it… yes, I could have gone on to explain it better, but to what end? His basic grasp will be just enough for him to label people. Like me, it appears from this post.

All for now… Adios.

WHERE ARE WE GOING?

Image via Wikipedia

“In English we say clean up. In Spanish we say (something else that I can’t spell),” Dora yells at the top of her lungs. Dora is trying to teach Swiper the Fox how to live a better, more rewarding life temporarily so he can get some presents for Christmas.

Whether or not you have children, you have probably heard of Dora the Explorer. Consider yourself lucky if that is the extent of your relationship with Dora and her pals. Pals like Swiper the Fox, for example. Swiper is the poorly disguised troublemaker who steals from all the other characters. He wears a mask that does almost nothing to hide his identity and answers by name, even in the midst of robbery.

As for Dora, she clearly needs better parental supervision. She’s always lost, yet yelling at the audience in a condescending manner as if we were somehow involved. She repeats the same thing at the top of her lungs for extended periods of time (“WHERE ARE WE GOING? WHERE ARE WE GOING? WHERE ARE WE GOING? MAGIC MOUNTAIN!!”), which would be great if I had an IQ of 7 and was deaf.

Thanks to Dora, though, today my child and I are learning about how much better Swiper’s life would be if he would just stop swiping. Santa put him on the naughty list because he steals from all the other kids. Well let me tell you, Swiper learns his lesson, alright. After much loud-talking from Dora, the lesson is clear. DO NOT STEAL RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS. Any other time throughout the year, but not now because hello… Santa!

Swiper quickly learns to work the system… he hasn’t led a life of crime without being crafty and manipulative. He changes his ways just in time for Santa to deliver him a HUGE bag of presents.

So there’s your lesson kids. Do whatever you want in life, just try to avoid getting caught. If you do, though, no worries… tell everyone you’re sorry (Jeez. Sorry.) and a giant bag of toys is yours.

Unlike A&E’s Intervention, there is no follow-up or update at the end to indicate whether or not Swiper stayed on the straight and narrow, but really, I think not. Why would he bother? Dora and her pals are a bunch of latchkey-kid suckers who never learn to lock up their valuables. That’s the real lesson. Take better care of your toys and don’t go wandering off without your parents.

Merry Christmas!

A Meeting of The Eyes

Image via Wikipedia

Sigh. My new physical therapist is kind of shy.

No eye contact.

Eye contact is important when you communicate with other humans… window to the soul and all that.

He also struggles to make small talk, which is at the opposite end of the spectrum from my last boyfriend… or physical therapist… you know what I meant. He would no more presume to touch my hip flexor than to break into a tap dance number.

“So, what do you do besides run?” he asked, as he gazed at the wall. I didn’t know if he meant in my free time or in addition to side-to-side squats with a band around my ankles.

I really didn’t.

“Do you mean… like… do I have a job?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well, I’m a stay-at-home mom and I ummm…

No. I don’t have a job.”

“Oh. That’s good. That’s good.”

It was ridiculous. I smiled over at him and laughed, but I think I embarrassed him.

Jesus. He probably thought I was laughing at him, but I swear I wasn’t. I was laughing at his pleated pants, and that is not the same thing. I think he may have loosened up a bit by the end of the hour, but he’s very formal so I can’t be sure.

One hour together… twice a week… for months.

But don’t worry, I’ll corrupt him by next Thursday… he might even say a bad word, like “hell” or “damn”, but at the very least he will look me in the eyes.

Poor guy.