November 30, 2006
Rift
Okay, five-second blog. In the middle of my work day. Yes! I'm blogging during my work day! Lookit me blog!
But technically, I consider this brief internet usage a continuation of my lunch break, since I didn't get a whole one because Ms. Thang at the switchboard didn't come back from her lunch on time, so my pizza was cold, and then I had to do mail and checks before 2:00, so I barely even chewed.
In short, I deserve this respite. On to nothing important:
Unless you live in a van down by the river, you've seen a lot of Britney Spears' vagina lately. You've also noticed that Paris Hilton appears to be her new husband, now that KFed has been filed back into the Kevin Who? file.
It's all extremely horrifying. So much so, that it has melted Heather's brain. It's all she can do to I.M. me now...
H: know what's sad? I am looking at this celeb photo for like 5 minutes, becuase I forgot her name. Britney Spears? is that how you spell it?
PW: ha!
H: yeah, it;s like when you say "dog" until it loses all meaning, this whole paris-n-brit thing.
PW: on the Superficial?
H: no, something for work - "battle of the sexiest" I seriously Forgot her name.
PW: it's just so surreal to see those 2 together. like, where the fuck did they meet?
H: obviously not at an underwear store.
PW: HAAAAAAA! were they like, "Well, no one's as fucked up as us, so let's hook up!"? it's like, it's completely bizzaree, and yet makes so much sense, at the same time. and now I just made a rift in the time-space continuum
Wait a minute? Who the hell is up against Britney in "Battle of the Sexiest?" Danny DiVito?
Posted at 02:26 PM | Comments (2)November 29, 2006
Only YOU Can Make a Difference
Right at this very moment, there is half of a Morningfield's birthday cake sitting in my fridge. Chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. Heather and her mom made me take it home last night. MADE ME! Evil bitches. (Looks like Santa is bringing me another chin for Christmas.)
Of course, that was after we got drunk and talked about how stupid men are. And made fun of Heather's Mom's socks.
They were threadbare, and she's like, "I can't help it! They're my last pair!"
Jesus H. Barefoot Christ. I had to go to Target today and buy the poor woman some socks. So I'm setting up the Heather's Mom's Socks Foundation. For just pennies a day, you can sponsor one of Heather's relatives!
Heather's Brother just moved to Hawaii and needs money for a coconut codpiece. Heather's Dad needs money for a haircut. And Heather herself needs money for kicky, new Christmas stilettos!
Please give generously.
Posted at 12:40 PM | Comments (3)November 27, 2006
The Third Time
In thirty-seven years, I have only barfed while away from home twice. And I remember both quite vividly because, when you're engaging in that graceless ballet that is blowing chunks, all you want is to be in your own home, vomiting into your toilet, and then crawling into your bed.
The first time was when I was in grade school, and, apparently, I accomplished the task while still asleep. We were on vacation at our Wisconsin cabin. I didn't even know I had ralphed until Mom was waking me up. I had puke in my hair and my ear.
That was the incident that ruined root beer floats for me. The float wasn't what had made me sick -- no, I definately had a stomach bug. But it was the last thing I had eaten before bed, and I haven't had another one in thirty years.
Our cabin is set-up in kind of an unusual way. There's main cabin, built in the 20s. And then there's the new cabin, which we still call the new cabin, despite the fact that it's older than I am. It has an extra bedroom and a bathroom (something with which the original cabin did not come equipped). The two cabins are connected by a screened-in porch we call the breezeway.
I was sleeping in the new cabin when I got sick on vacation. And I remember Dad, in the middle of the night, rigged up this clever alarm system for me with a fishing pole. All I had to do was pull it, and it would ring the dinner bell on the breezeway, and Mom would come running.
The second time I barfed away from home, I was in the E.R. with severe abdominal pain (a blog I have been promising for eons, I know). They gave me something to drink so they could x-ray my stomach or something, and it just came right back up. Fortunately, at the time, I was so stoned on a painkilling cocktail that I didn't even mind.
This weekend, Husband, Younger Step Daughter and I had a slightly belated Thanksgiving at his parents' house. Now, I really lucked out when it comes to in-laws. They are fun and kind and laid-back, and I always have a good time there. This time, the kids made and decorated gingerbread houses -- kewl!
So it was extra-disappointing when I got a huge headache Saturday evening, and it was still with me when I woke up on Sunday. However, I consoled myself that, hey, at least I wasn't spewing lava like Husband's brother! Apparently, one of the forty-seven dishes in which we had indulged in the past 24 hours hadn't agreed with him.
Ah, but Fate is a bitch, ladies and gentleman, and it had plans for me. Plans that involved prompting me to snarf down a Pumpkin Pie Blizzard at Dairy Queen on the way back from Lafayette to Chicago.
When I started feeling nauseated, I didn't think much of it. Yeah, okay, ice cream is perhaps not the perfect lunch, but my body could handle it. After all, I've been training it with Oreos for breakfast for half my life!
But then the chills set in. Followed by the sweating. And that unmistakable feeling in your esophogus.
"Honey? I'm gonna throw up. Can you pull over?"
We were on the Indiana Skyway at the time. And if you're not familiar with the Indiana Skyway, it's about a mile in the air, and it's alwaysalwaysalways under construction. Luckily, we were on a stretch where there was actually a shoulder, so Husband pulled over.
The first gush splattered on my shoes and jeans. My awesome new Sketchers. And I remember simultaneously praying for a chance to breath, and cursing my stupidity.
Traffic was bumper-to-bumper, stop-and-go. So the other people on the road with us got a nice view of my partially-digested Pumpkin Pie Blizzard.
I don't think I'm be eating anything pumpkin-y for a while.
Husband is insane. He can feel like crap, then throw-up and be like, "Ahhhhhhh, much better! Can we have lasagna for dinner?"
But I hurl, and I have to don my bed jacket and take to the couch, sipping water and nibbling crackers for three days. My body has never been very happy about having to relinquish food. I get weak, spacey and shakey. And I have to walk around doubled-over because all my stomach muscles feel like hot, liquid magma.
It's not fair. I know Husband thinks I'm faking it.
Posted at 06:53 PM | Comments (2)November 26, 2006
"The Girl Who Sticks Her Foot In Her Mouth"
And surprisingly, it's not who we'd think.
Previously on "America's Next Top Model," the girls to go Spain and shoot a commercial with some male models. [Insert native tongue joke here.] Five girls remain -- Melrose, CariDee, Eugene, Michelle and Amanda -- and for the life of me, I can't figure out why.
CariDee and Michelle are talking about how CariDee REALLY wants to be a model, and Michelle doesn't know what she wants. How many times are we going to have to listen to this same conversation?
Melrose calls up Lucas, the Spanish guy she modeled with. She invites him to dinner and tells him to bring some friends.
Michelle insightfully says that, "Spanish guys and American guys are pretty much the same, but Spanish guys smell better."
After dinner, CariDee makes out with one of the guys on the balcony, which, of course, makes all the other girls judgemental and bitchy. *sigh* Later, they will take her out onto the same balcony and stone her to death for seizing a once-in-a-lifetime moment while she is young and it's still okay to do crazy shit like that. GOD, I hate girls sometimes.
The next day, the girls are forced into yet another soul-baring group-hug with Tyra, where she talks to them about the "harsh realities" of the modeling industry. She tells them that "America's Next Top Model" is a way for her to coach them and make them strong. Really? I thought it was a vehicle for her to still be in the spotlight, now that she's old and fat and retired.
Then she asks the girls what criticisms they've heard from the judges that have really hurt them. I don't really understand the benefit of this particular exercise, except for the entertainment value.
Michelle says that she was told she walks like a four-year old wearing her mother's heels. Heh.
CariDee says she hates to hear that she's crazy.
Melrose was told that she looks old. HAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
Eugena claims to be "immune" to criticism (which just means the judges are going to have to get nastier), except when she "disappointed" Tyra. She doesn't want Tyra to feel like she made a mistake in choosing her.
Amanda was told that she "shouldn't be here." And can I buy that judge a beer? Because seriously. She's not a pretty girl.
Tyra tells them that she knows they hate her when she criticizes them, but she's "sacrificing herself for them," so they can grow. She also tells them that it all "comes from a place of Mama." I'm so grossed out by all of this. It just feels... dirty, somehow.
Tyra Mail! Some convaluted sentence about "you'll go see who'll stay and who will go," and the girls correctly deduce that they're going on go-sees. Well, one outta eight guesses ain't bad, girls.
The girls have a list of ten designers to go see. They will be judged on appearance, walk, personality and portfolio. But they have to be back by 6:00 p.m.
The other girls automatically hook-up, two half-wits being better than one, when figuring out foreign road maps. The twins pair up, and Eugene and CariDee decide to travel together.
Melrose is the odd man out, but she tries to make this look like her grrl-power decision and says, "I'd better win because I don't need a buddy." Melrose is going to die alone with twelve cats.
CariDee and Melrose are doing well and the designers like them. Eugena doesn't smile at all, which is dumb because they were all told that Spanish designers love girls who smile alot.
The twins are hopelessly lost. Heh. But when they do finally find one of their go-sees, the designer interviews that "Amanda is much better than her sister."
Eugena confesses that she doesn't want Melrose to win. Those two and CariDee all get back in time. The twins don't. I guess they eventually split up because Michelle is 10 minutes late, and Amanda is 30 minutes late. They are both disqualified and asked to leave. I guess they just go wait in the van or something?
The designers have faxed in their score sheets: Eugena needs more personality; CariDee needs less make-up; Melrose can't walk but wins anyway. She picks CariDee to share her prize, and Eugena is clearly put-out.
The prize is having a personal chef come to the house and cook them dinner. The camera close-ups on two whole fish -- eyeballs and all -- frying in a pan, and I must share Eugena's relief that she's not eating it.
Tyra Mail! Something about bull riding. Hillbilly Melrose hopes it's a mechanical bull. Um, Melrose? You're not in Kansas anymore. You're in Spain. Where they have bullfighting.
The girls get to the bull ring to find Jay dressed as a matador. Oh, you know he came up with the idea for this shoot to justify wearing this outfit around all day. He tells the girls they will be shooting with a "bully," i.e. Nigel, and a real, live bull. I suppose it's too much to hope for a goring, huh?
At this point, Nephew called me on the phone, and since he is not yet familiar with the genius that is ANTM and the sickness that is my obsession with it, I couldn't very well scream at him to call back after 8:00. He wanted to know what kind of pie I like for a project at school. You suppose he's making a pie chart?
When I return to the boob tube, something AWESOME has happened and I MISSED it! DAMMIT! Apparently, CariDee joked with Nigel to pull the thing outta his ass. Oooooooooh, not good.
There's an ambulance parked outside the bull ring where the photo shoot is taking place. I'm sure it's an empty prop.
The girls have to pose in some outfits that are, like, 1940's matador hooker. The bull is in the background, and they have a pole, where the cape will be photoshopped in later. Guess they didn't want the girls waving around a real cape in front of the bull.
Eugene does awesome. Seriously. Even I think so, and Jay and Nigel are eating her up.
Amanda says she's more scared of Nigel than the bull. The top half of her body looks like it's disconnected from the bottom half. After her awkward performance, she is amazed by how well Michelle does.
Michelle does well, and then really amps it up in the last 20 frames, which Jay says are the 20 frames that "sold" him. He now thinks Michelle is a natural.
Melrose was over-thinking and not engaging the photographer because she's so scared about impressing the judges.
CariDee looks like a pin-up model. Heh. CariDee is a ho. She apologized to Nigel, but she's not sure where she stands with him now.
Amanda is scared for herself because Michelle did so well. Oooh, I hear a catfight coming!
The segue to the next segment is a photo of Tyra... as a bull. Nose ring and all. I wonder if she's a Taurus? Meh. I don't really care enough to look it up.
Oh, crickey. Miss J has his hair done up in bullhorns. That man must have a lot of extra time on his hands. If I can get my hair washed, dried and brushed every morning, I'm golden.
Judging!
The test this week is that the girls have to tell the judges who they think has the most and least potential. Oh, I love it when they break bad on each other.
Melrose, of course, says that she has the most potential. She says that Eugena has no potential because she's so quiet and it's "scary to hear nothing." I'm sure Melrose would be lost if the voices in her head ever stopped chattering. Where is it written that models have to talk a lot? I mean, isn't their job to shut-up and look pretty? Jesus, Tyra likes to talk and look what was thrust upon the world -- her very own talk show. Just let Eugena be quiet already!
Eugena, too, picks herself as having the most potential because modeling is a journey and she has come the farthest. (Tyra likes this "journey" analogy that she uses it five more time before judging is over.) She says Amanda has the least potential because she second guesses herself.
CariDee says that her passion gives her the most potential, and Amanda's passion "isn't beaming from her." Uhhh... okay.
In a classy move, Amanda picks Eugena as having the most potential, and I hope Eugena cries herself to sleep that night. Ashamed of her cold, dead heart. And eyes. And in a surprise move, she names CariDee as the girl with least potential because her look is "country girl," and she feels like she's seen it before.
Michelle contradicts and says that CariDee is the girl with the most potential. And I guess it should have been more shocking that she named herself as the girl with the least potential, but since all she can freakin' talk about is how she doesn't know what she wants, I simply yawn and scratch myself.
Evaluations!
Melrose managed to take a great photo, but she's starting to look too rehersed.
Eugena surprised everyone this week by taking risks and showing passion on her eyes. Miss J thinks Eugena looks like him. Oh, you wish, Queenie McDragson.
Everyone loves Michelle's face, and she took risks as well.
Amanda has a body that doesn't work well together. It took them this long to notice? When are they gonna let me on this panel? I could totally replace Twiggy. At least I'd be more interesting.
CariDee reads a letter to the judges apologizing to Nigel and saying she has learned her lesson, but they all lecture her anyway because Crying = Ratings. Tyra says her film is too hootchie, and Nigel says she's trying too hard.
Deliberations!
Amanda has passion and potential but looks like crap. Michelle is a natural but lacks passion and confidense. Here, Tyra wonders if she "sacrificed herself" because she knows that her twin wants it more. Oh, quit reading drama into things, ya bimbo.
CariDee seems sad and falling apart. Um, you think perhaps she's terrified that mocking Nigel might have cost her the competition? They feel she got over-confident and cocky. Unlike Melrose, who is the picture of grace and humility. Whatever. And as the final nail in the coffin, Miss J says she looks draggish. Ouch.
Melrose took a great photo, but she doesn't excite the judges like she used to.
Eugena is very quiet (again -- since when is that a bad thing???). But she harnessed her fear and used it to get a great photo.
Eliminations!
Eugena is the first called because she has come a long way in her journey. Melrose is told to keep up the good work. CariDee cries and tells Tyra that she has learned her lesson.
Glory hallelujah, this leaves the twins in the Bottom Two. Thank God, one of them is going home. They hold hands. Tyra tells them that she thought they would both be in the Final Three. WHYYYYY?????????
One twin has passion but no talent; the other has talent but no passion. And you know how Miss Tyra hates lack of desire. Michelle goes home, Amanda stays.
Michelle interviews that she shot herself in the foot, and she hopes her twin can focus better with her gone.
Next week: Flamenco dancing and Melrose freaks out.
Posted at 05:49 PM | Comments (0)November 24, 2006
Thanksgetting
It sounds so much more fun than Thanksgiving, doesn't it? Thanksgetting! Yaaaaay!
I'm Thankful for Getting...
1. Comments on my blog.
2. New tires on my car, so I'll be more safe through the upcoming Chicago winter, which better include a helluvalotta snow this year.
3. Over my cold.
4. New contacts that don't suck all the moisture outta my eyeballs.
5. Sexier by the day.
6. Paid to do a pretty easy job for really cool people.
7. Carded at Jewel when buying Kaluha.
8. Another nephew.
9. Laid.
10. An extra helping of stuffing.
Posted at 07:22 PM | Comments (4)November 20, 2006
"The Girl Who Breaks Down"
Previously on "America's Next Top Model," Melrose rose to new heights, Anchal ran off and was run off. (Rose rose?) The twins are still ugly.
The first thing we are treated to are some of the girls -- Melrose at the head of the pack -- talking smack about Anchal. Still. Jesus, Mel, she's gone. Dance on her grave and be done with it already!
Amanda interviews that she was scared that Michelle was going home because she was in the bottom two. And because Amanda is the one who really wants to be a model, so having Michelle there is needlessly redundant. Or maybe I made up that last part.
Tyra Mail! Oh my God, the girls are going to meet Tyra's girls. Topless pillow fight!
Jaeda misses her boyfriend. Is this the first we've heard of Jaeda having a boyfriend? I don't remember her mentioning him before.
Melrose interviews that she knows the other girls think she's bitchy. And she is apparently okay with that. You know, at a certain point, I have to respect that. I mean, sometimes people form an opinion of you, and then, no matter what you do, you're not going to change their minds, so why fucking bother? (Hmm... hit a little close to home, Step Mom?)
The girls are taken to some rinky-dink theatre where they meed Tyra's bosom buddy, Tasha Smith, acting coach and self-professed crazy bitch. Even crazier than Tyra. And when she says "crazier than Tyra," we are treated to a montage of Tyra being a lunatic. *sigh* It's just not as endearing as Janice's crazy montage.
JANICE!!!
Tasha gives the girls emotions to act out on the stage in front of the other girls. The first is Silly Dilly. That's right -- I said Silly Dilly. The winner of today's challenge will win a cameo appearance on "Barney!"
CariDee gets on stage and goes, "I have spontenuity, bitches!" Is that a word -- spontenuity? Weird. It's all very weird. The girls act insane, and I'm embarassed for them.
The next exercise is Tyra's favorite, called Dump. It's where you spew all the emotions you're feeling at the moment.
Melrose's true colors -- black and grey -- come shining through as she says shit like, "Don't stand there and tell me someone has a better picture than me! No one has a better picture than me! No one works harder than me!"
Way to humanize yourself. Bitch.
The rest of the girls get into the spirit of the PMS-fest and start emo-dumping. It's horrible. And then CariDee, in a fit of desperation, drops the bomb -- she tried to kill herself. This is somehow in the context of her finally being happy and finding what she wants to do with her life. I don't know, but you know Tyra loved that shit.
After the commercial, Caridee, Tasha and one of the twins are crying and hugging in the bathroom. They'd better suck it up before the bell rings!
Then, the girls are going to star in their own silent movie, directed by Tasha. The winner scores a cameo on "One Tree Hill." Meh -- "Barney," "One Tree Hill," whatever.
The girls have to eat a lemon and stare sadly out a window and cry hysterically and drink prune juice. It's just mean. Amanda barfs the prune juice. Like, literally. It's disgusting. And Tasha is yelling at her, "Stay in character! Stay in character! I'd better see some vomit in that cup!"
So Amanda shows her the cup. Vomit! Ew.
Back at the house, CariDee feels a release after her emo-dump, like there's nothing holding her back. She relates this to her boyfriend, and isnt' this the first time we're hearing about her boyfriend, too?
The girls receive a Tyra Mail with the DVD of the winning silent movie. It's Caridee, and I'm telling you, this girl has a face for silent movies. She's very expressive and just darling. Love her!
Of course, Tyra edited herself into the movie, dressed as the Duchess of Spain as portrayed by Farah Fawcett. Or something. On the DVD, the written dialogue suddenly switched to Spanish, and yet the girls STILL haven't figured out that they're going to Spain. *el sigh* Until Tyra flamencos into the room and screams at them that they're going to Spain, and six tiny lightbulbs go on over their heads. Dimly.
We get to see a big of CariDee's performance on "Dawson's Laguna O.C." or whatever, and she's smokin'! She has to kiss a homely nerd, though. And I'm willing to stake my next paycheck that, on his deathbed, nerdy boy will hold dear that moment as the high point of his short-lived acting career.
We get a montage of the girls traveling to Spain, and for some reason, one of the twins interviews, "It kinda feels like before, but with less people." This makes me laugh hysterically so that I lose some stuff that follows. And they're in Spain! Ta-daaaaaaah!
Tyra Mail! Your assignments have been too easy, so Tyra is giving them some Spanish models to pose with. The bus travels from the airport around the city, picking up hitchhiking male models as they go. That almost never happens to me.
The men inform them that they'll be going to dinner with them, and they'll be having some traditional Spanish food. One of them asks CariDee if she's ever had Spanish food, and she goes, "Beans and rice?" Oh, God.
At dinner, I think, there's more Tyra Mail, and the girls find out that they're going to be speaking some weird Spanish dialect, which they are to learn from the men, AND they're going to be kissing them. Jaeda is all upset about the impending kiss because her boyfriend is the love of her life and they're going to grow old together. Excuse me if I sound jaded (or jaeded), but if their relationship can't survive one work-imposed kiss, I don't see them picking out stemware anytime soon.
But that may not even be an issue because Jaeda's partner doesn't like black girls, to the extent that he doesn't want to kiss her and won't help her learn her lines. Wow. Jaeda's screwed.
The girls go to their house, and it's fabulous. Make's their Tyra-Hut back in the states look like a shanty. As the winner of the last challenge, CariDee is given first pick of the beds.
"So, of course," Melrose sour grapes. "She picks the biggest bed in the biggest room with the most closet space."
Awwww, Mel is just jealous because she has no where to store all the clothes that she STOLE FROM MICHELLE!!! You know what the difference is between you and CariDee, Mel? She didn't laugh directly into the other girls' faces when she got her prize! Bitch.
Jaeda continues to freak out about her boyfriend and kissing the male model. Well, at least she's obsessing about something besides her hair now.
Jay arrives to tell the girls that their assignment is a Secret deodorant commercial, so it's "all about strength." And smelly pits. The girls have to say their lines in Spanish (with the help of phonetic cue cards), roaming about the piazza with male models, and finally make-out with one of them.
Michelle, ironically, does a good kiss. Eugene does a bad kiss. Amanda and Michelle, according to Jay, are "boring, but in different ways." Amen, brother. Jaeda cries, big surprise. Melrose does awesome because she's planning on asking Tyra for the big bed.
CariDee's lines sounds like a cross between Swedish and Cantonese, and her kiss is, like, five minutes long. Wait. Wasn't she just talking to her boyfriend. Awwwwwwwww, she's a closet ho. I knew I liked her.
Tyra Mail! Judging.
Great Scott! Tyra's corseted plea for my attention is so blatant, even Husband is drawn to its power. So much so that he can't stop commenting on it. For the rest of the show. Yes, honey -- boobies! Fascinating!
Miss J's hair is full-on Flock o' Seagulls.
Michelle didn't "relate" to any of the guys.
Eugena was really, really good. Huh. Who'd've thunk it.
CariDee sucks ass. Some of the comments: "drunk and crazy," "trainwreck," "looks amatuer," "unforgivable." Harsh!
Jaeda is a "big ol' open sore." Like the one on Miss J's bottom lip. She cries and explains about her sistah-hating co-model, and although the judges are apalled, they say she should have sucked it up and stayed in control.
Melrose stayed in character the whole time and was awesome because she "stayed up an extra two hours to practice."
Amanda sucked.
And can I just say? Where did these people learn to kiss? Pornos? Because they look like they're gnawing on each other's faces. It's tacky.
Deliberations! And while the judges deliberate, the girls call Melrose on her "extra two hours" speech. They're all, "How do you know you practiced for longer than us? You don't know what time we went to sleep! Why you gotta suck up to them like that? Oh, you know you did it! And you know why you did it!"
Mel protests, insisting she wasn't trying to make herself look better than the other girls. Riiiiiiiiiight.
The girls are called back in.
Eugena was a pleasant surprise! Which is a nice way of saying that she sucked until now. You know, I'll bet Brooke would have rocked this shoot. Why is Eugena still around?
Melrose had "the best commercial ever!" But for a giggle, one of them says that she looks "a little old."
Jaeda can't act but looked gorgeous.
Michelle was awful and didn't even look good.
Amanda fell apart, as did her kiss.
CariDee was the worst. She went completely to pieces, and the judges accuse her of resting on her laurels.
Melrose, Eugene, Amanda and Michelle get their photos.
CariDee and Jaeda were the Bottom Two, holding hands. Cute! Crybaby goes home and CariDee stays! Thank GOD!
Hey, CariDee has a little tattoo on her shoulder!
Posted at 06:42 PM | Comments (0)November 19, 2006
Stifling the Laughter
Five down, one more high school variety show to go.
For the past five years, I have attended the v-shows at my old high school in support of my ridiculously-talented step daughters. The experience has been, for the most part, painful, when not outright hilarious.
Having been something of a piano prodigy myself, back in the day, and being used to the multi-instrumental talent of both step daughters (piano, guitar, bass, trumpet, horn, bottle), a lot of the musical acts just make me cringe. And I know it's completely unfair because they're just high school kids and blah blah blah, but I don't care. It's not like you people come here for diplomacy and decorum!
Mind you, I'm careful not to vocalize my disdain -- or laughter -- while actually at the show because I don't want some ematiated soccer mom to beat me to death with her Kate Spade tote. But here, I can make all the rude comments I want because it's my blog, and I'm well out-of-reach of tasteful, over-priced accessories.
Younger Step Daughter is in the stage band, and stage band rocks. Stage band always rocks. I should know. I used to date the stage band, back in the day.
The first act was a three-man band covering a Jimi Hendrix song. Now, I have kind of a problem with a high school band covering the great Jimi Hendrix. It's fine in the privacy of Tyler's mom's garage, but don't bring that shit out in public. You wanna cover someone? Do Smashing Pumpkins or Bon Jovi. Leave the greats alone, at least until your other testicle drops.
The lead singer was so tiny, he was practically insertable. With stick-straight, platinum blonde hair that covered his eyes. To hear the words, "'Scuse me while I kiss this guy," come out of his mouth was so incongruous, it made me giggle.
Every year that I've gone, there has been a big string ensemble, and while the words string ensemble make most people cringe, I always enjoy this act. First of all, they're good, and secondly, they're not playing boring, classical stuff. This year, they did an arrangement of "Eleanor Rigby." Kewl.
And then my little bubble of contentment was destroyed by an emo trio that had me searching my purse for something sharp before they even got through the first verse. Something about ashes and a single mom and a drunken dad and "poverty smells like pity and cheap wine." Ugh.
I'm sure his parents were squirming in their seats, smiling uncomfortably to the people sitting next to them, "Um, yeah, hi, uh... we're not really abusive. Or poor. Or dead."
You know how you get that tickle in the back of your throat that feels like a hot pin-prick, and it makes your whole throat tickle, and the painful heat spreads until your eyes are watering and your nose is running, and then you cough for an hour trying to get rid of it?
Yeah. I got one of those. During the piano solo. Quietest act there is, and I have to cough up a goat. I felt like such an asshole. I was convulsing and choking, trying to keep from coughing, but then I'd just bark even louder. It was horrible. That poor girl. I'm sure she heard me.
I wanted to leave, but the seats in that theatre were made back in the sixties, when people were smaller. Everyone's knees were pressed against the chair in front of them, so I couldn't get out without walking on their heads Crocodile Dundee style.
Then there were two musical acts playing original music they had written themselves. One was an electric violin instrumental, and one was a cute, little diddy called "Eyes Wide Open." They were both very good, and they drowned out my coughing a little better than the piano solo. Three Ricolas later, I was still at it.
And then, the low point of the show. "Campaign for Action." Yes, it was as bad as it sounds. Traditionally, the first act of the show always ended with the varsity cheerleaders. Traditionally, there was no "senior act." But everything changes, as did my will to live when I was forced to witness this tripe.
It was some angsty song about, "I have a soul, but I'm not a soldier." I don't even know what that's supposed to mean. Meanwhile, pictures of little kids with distended bellies and flies on their heads alternated on a movie screen with slogans like, "100 million people don't have clean water."
Now, don't get me wrong. It's nice that these kids care enough about world hunger to... perform a song about it. And I'm not blind to the suffering of others. I just don't go to a freakin' high school variety show to be preached to by a bunch of kids who don't know how to balance a checkbook or wash their own clothes or solve their own problems, let alone the world's.
As soon as the lights went up for intermission, Husband was like, "Let's go home."
I felt bad about the cough-attack and certainly didn't want to continue to piss off everyone in the theatre, but I don't think Husband was too upset about missing the rest of the show.
I mean, it would've been nice to see Younger Step Daughter do the second stage band song. And I missed the varsity cheerleaders and the percussion ensemble...
Oh, look -- I'm over it.
November 14, 2006
"The Girl Who Wrecks the Car"
Previously on "America's Next Top Model," Dita von Teese is sexy, models are not, Anchal is fat, Melrose is whorey, Fabio is... I don't know, and Brooke is Splitsville.
Can I just ask -- why are the twins still around? They're not pretty, they're not sexy. They don't have one ass between the two of them. We don't need one of them, let alone two!
Also, the only people talking about Anchal's weight is Anchal and some of the other models. She is not the token "plus-sized" model, and the judges haven't mentioned her weight at all, that we've seen. Unless the judges have been ragging on her for it, and we just haven't been treated to that footage because Tyra decided it makes her look a.) like a hyprocrite; and b.) like a bitch.
The girls receive a letter from Brooke, and Melrose sings about her. Badly. Ladies, leave the singing to CariDee.
Melrose is mad that the other girls don't seem to want to win as badly as she does, so they're just taking up space in Melroseland. It's funny -- Melrose talks about modeling as doing "big things" with her life. Clearly, she's planning on making the predictible jump from model to brilliant, cancer-curing mensa member. *pshhh* Typical!
Tyra mail! Something about, "Is there a girl you'd like to bump off?" Oh, Tyra, don't tease us with visions of a Caged Death Match, only to disappoint with... volleyball.
Gabby Reese, model/pro athlete, is there to work with the girls on "action modeling." And Jaeda suddenly has a new outlook on life because she used to play volleyball! Omigod! Just like Gabby Reese plays volleyball! They're totally besties now!
The girls change into their bikinis, and Anchal immediately flips her Bitch Switch to the on position. Can I just say that Anchal is, like, at my goal weight? So she should totally shutthefuckup.
The girls must dive for a volleyball while still looking model-y. I think Tyra is running out of ideas. Jaeda's actually good at it, but the rest of the girls suck and hate it.
Oh my God. Eugene says that Anchal's lack of confidense "actually makes her look... more flabby and like a big ol' blob." Said Miss Dead-Fish-Eyes. Damn!
The girls sit around the jacuzzi and rag on Anchal some more. See? This is what happens when you take the television away!!! Anchal has no friends and runs upstairs to go cut herself. She'll make them sorry!
Tyra mail! "Will you snap when the pressure is on?" Yawn. Insert snap-the-twins-like-kindling joke here.
The girls are taken to the middle of the desert where there's a NASCAR racetrack. Oh, the depths to which Tyra has sunk.
And it's James St. James, the completelyfuckinginsane, 50 year old "club kid" from Cycle Five! Dude is in black pleather in the middle of the desert. And a turban. Oh, and Stanton Barret is there. He's some racecar driver turned model or whatever. God, this episode is so boring.
The girls have to jump and attack Stanton. The idea behind it being a conflict of whose career is more important -- I don't know. I don't approve of Tyra working out her personal issues vicariously through the contestants. Oh, and they have to take their own photo with the help of a remote clicker thingy.
Most of the girls are awesome. After attacking Stanton with a checkered flag and pole, CariDee tells him, "We'll have make-up sex later." I love CariDee.
Anchal phones it in, afraid that her boobs are going to fly out of her dress, and I have to admit, as much as I've grown to tune out everything she says, that's a legitimate fear right there.
Michelle stands on the hood of Stanton's car and, I think, perforates it with the heel of her shoe. Nice car. But she wins the challenge! Insert dyke-beating-up-the-guy joke here.
Michelle picks Amanda, CariDee and... fucking Melrose to join in the sharing of her prize. I don't know why. The other girls are visibly pissed, but karma will soon bite Michelle in the boney ass for it.
The prize is the opportunity to win a $10,000 shopping spree. Opportunity. Dun-dun-duuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnn!
Anchal crabs that she's never been chosen by any of the other winners, and I think that's hilarious. She has completely accepted the fact that she's not worthy of actually winning a challenge -- she just wants to ride someone else's coattails.
Okay, all the girls are taken to some over-priced boutique where there's $10,000 worth of clothes, jewelry and purses. The girls have 30 seconds to put on all the clothes they can. The girl wearing the most clothes wins everyone's clothes.
Everyone's.
And this is when you know it's going to end badly. And by "badly," I mean Melrose wins. Melrose wins Michelle's prize and then doesn't even have the good sense not to whoop and holler and screech. She all but headbutts Michelle, I swear.
Back at the house, Anchal and Melrose pick, pick, pick.
Damn. Danielle's hair got huge.
Tyra mail! "Don't be an airhead." Insert too-late-joke here.
The girls are driven to an airport for their first Cover Girl assignment. What IS a "Cover Girl attitude," anyway? The shoot is for True Blend foundation which is, allegedly, light and airy. So the girls are going to be "sexy space sirens," according to Jay. Well, there's a little peek into Jay's souls -- helmets, goggles and jumpsuits are sexy!
Shane is there to help the girls in the big windtunnel silo thing, and he tells them to "stay slow, stay in control." The girls are going to pose in zero-gravity and be superimposed onto a space backdrop reaching for the product.
It looks totally impossible, I swear. All the girls pretty much suck, even Melrose. And Anchal is told to "suck it in." It being her gut in the jumpsuit. Shiney material is not the fat girl's friend. CariDee is a total spaz.
Tyra mail! Judging.
Okay, this is the teaser for the news. Women are taking classes to learn how to walk in high heels. This is news. And no, Heather, I'm not taking the class.
What the hell is Tyra wearing? It's like a... heavyweight championship boxing belt. It's atrocious. Gabby Reese is the guest judge.
Their judging challenge is also a lesson in the English language! Lovely! The judges pick a verb and an adverb from a couple of hats, and the girls have to act them out. How embarassing.
Eugena has to shake flirtatiously and does pretty well, but she could have done better, considering what an easy task she got.
One twin skis sadly, the other swims frighteningly, and both sucked, but seriously, I think the ridiculousness of the task should be taken into consideration. This is retarded. Tyra can't even say "frighteningly," so I highly doubt she could swim that way.
Jaeda skips sensually and looks adorable, I'm pained to admit.
Anchal has to dance aggressively and -- to the shock of no one -- has no clue what to do and actually flees the room.
Melrose has to box joyfully. Another retarded task, and yet Mel manages to take it to the next level of retardation by not engaging in pugilism. Instead she makes box shapes with her hands with a manic grin on her face. Essentially, she vogues like a crazy woman. Pure. Awesome.
CariDee must hide dizzily, and she just cracks the shit outta me. I love her so much. It took a long time for a frontrunner to emerge, but CariDee wins the dubious honor of being The ANTM Contestant I Most Want To Hang Out With. She's a total nutjob.
Eugena is the poor man's Naomi Campbell. And we all know how Tyra feels about Ms. Campbell, so that doesn't bode well for Eugena.
Amanda looks like a "dead spider" in her photo.
Jaeda suffers from that dreaded shemale disease -- Chinitis. She's like Bruce Campbell's love child with that chin. Tyra says she looks like Michael Jackson. Ouch -- another kiss of death.
Anchal runs away from everything in her life, Tyra wisely surmises from interacting with her a handfull of times. She, too, looks like Michael Jackson.
Melrose made a commitment to box joyfully and, as wrong as it was, she was stellar (nice pun, Nigel, considering this week's photos).
At this point, Tyra says she was second-guessing herself, wondering if she chose a shoot that was too difficult, i.e. the damn wind silo. But after seeing Melrose's photo, she knows a good photo is possible. Tyra, that doesn't mean you made the right decision doing that shoot, that just means that flukes are always possible. The shoot sucked ass -- face it.
CariDee is just the embodiment of a gorgeous genius, and the judges applaud her.
Michelle looks like Michael Jackson, too. What's Tyra's hang-up with M.J. this week?
Deliberations: CariDee is wonderful but doesn't listen. Anchal runs away. Melrose commits. Amanda is capable of forming every letter in the alphabet with her weird-ass body. Michelle had a good shot but doesn't "want it" enough. Jaeda perked up this week. Eugene can't take a good photo.
Michelle and Anchal are both in the Bottom Two because they don't "want it." Anchal goes home after thanking Tyra kindly.
And I don't know what's in store for next week because my power went out.
Posted at 04:24 PM | Comments (0)November 12, 2006
Smoke Screen
There are a few things that have perplexed me from the minute I walked out of Head Boss' office last Monday morning, following my "inappropriate email" reaming:
Why aren't I fired?
Why aren't I at least on probation?
Why wasn't an H.R. rep at the meeting with something for me to sign, to be put into my permanant file?
The answer may surprise you...
BECAUSE THERE IS NO PROOF! The whole charge is bogus! Well, maybe not completely bogus -- we all know what an internet junkie I am -- but there's no hard evidence to back-up all of G.M.'s charges! He just made some good guesses based on what he sees when he walks past my desk.
The Facts [including some info I scrounged up in the I.T. department]
1. As a matter of habit, Nicholle deleted all her personal email the second she read it, and emptied her trash bin twice a day, during normal work hours. I know her well enough to know that, if she had screwed up, she would have copped to it immediately and apologized. But I also know her well enough to know that she was, indeed, religious about scouring her computer of personal stuff.
2. The company's computers are backed up once a day. Between 10:00 and 12:00 p.m. (it takes two hours). Whatever is on an employee's computer between ten and twelve that night gets backed up. Whatever has been deleted during the day is gone forever.
3. The back-up tapes are recycled every two weeks. Therefore, anything older than fourteen days old is gone forever.
4. In order to get one's hands on a back-up tape, one has to submit a request to the I.T. department. The I.T. department has received no such request from G.M. or anyone, regarding Nicholle's emails.
The Conclusion
G.M. only had access to whatever was on Nicholle's computer the day she left. I am 99.99% certain that my emails were not on her computer. If Nicholle accidentally missed one, it certainly wasn't one that encompassed everything that G.M. accused me of.
And while I am relieved to know that G.M. isn't privy to every aspect of my private life, these new revelations raise a whole new concern. Mainly, why am I being singled out for persecution?
The Crime
Since the simplest answer is usually the correct one, this is what I surmize:
A few days after Nicholle's last day, I sent her an email, from my work address, about getting together for lunch. And since I'm an idiot, I forgot to specify to send it to her Yahoo! account, so it went to her work account, which was still open.
Two minutes later, G.M. came by my desk and informed me of my mistake. I politely thanked him for pointing that out to me and silently thanked God that I had only mentioned lunch and not our mutual burning hatred of the man or our plans for world domination.
This was two months ago. I believe this incident planted a seed in his head, and it took him this long to perfect his plan. He's not the fastest search engine on the web.
The Motive
A year ago, our company went to a new system of timekeeping for hours worked by employees. It's on the internet, which caused a lot of confusion and panic for everyone here over the age of forty, especially Head Boss. But that's fine -- that's job security for me!
See, we all sign on and fill out our timecards, and then H.B. signs on his Special Super-Secret Wonder Twins Manager Account to review and approve them all. Except that he doesn't want to, and he travels quite extensively, too, and is often gone when approval time rolls around. So he gave me his password and told me to sign on a approve all the timecards.
Well, word got out that H.B. had given Power and Control and Authority to a mere staff support person -- and a woman at that! -- and G.M. went ballistic. Peons aren't supposed to perform managerial tasks! Even if the manager wants them to! It's FORBIDDEN!!!
And that, my friends, is why I believe G.M. has it in for me. Well, that and my generally blasé attitude...
Posted at 08:23 PM | Comments (0)November 08, 2006
Back-Up
While I didn't really blame Nicholle for my predicament with the emails, I certainly thought it was dumb to leave personal emails on her computer when she quit. After all, she's very computer savvy, plus, she suffers from total paranoid dementia, so it didn't make sense that she would knowingly leave behind any personal information for someone else to find.
It just didn't make sense. She's too smart to leave a trail; she didn't stage an intricate, two-year plan to sabotage me (although I would have to give her props for that, if it were the case),...
So how did G.M. get his hands on all those emails...?
The only answer my friends? Back-up tapes.
Apparently, because he thinks that everyone in the company is a feces-flinging, unevolved, knuckle-dragging, slope-headed moron, G.M. didn't trust that Nicholle -- having given two months notice -- took the time to properly ensure that her replacement would have all the information, training and learning materials that she needed.
So G.M. must have requested many months worth of back-up tapes to sift through.
Christmas is coming up. I think I'm going to buy him one of those books with a map of all 50 states where you collect the quarters from all the states and put them in the holes. Because clearly, this man needs a hobby.
As distressing as this bit of info is, on so many levels, it gets better. Or worse, as the case may be.
I wasn't the only co-worker that Nicholle routinely exchanged very personal, "inappropriate" emails with. And as devastated as I am to learn that she was committing e-dultery on me, I'm even MORE disturbed that other perfectly decent people have probably been implicated in WenchGate 2006.
I know of two, specifically. I'm going to have to ask around and see if they, too, had a closed-door meeting with G.M. recently.
If so, it would certainly explain why I got off with merely a warning and wasn't fired. They probably realize that it's a universal human behavior, and they can't very well fire everyone Nicholle ever talked to. The company would shut down!
Oh, the possibilities are staggering. Like, now that he has me pegged as a Problem Child, is he going to request back-up tapes and read all of my email? Heh. I'll be fired then for sure!
Posted at 04:29 PM | Comments (1)November 06, 2006
Secrets Are Good
Secrets are important. They help us to function in relationships, in society, and at work especially.
In relationships, we keeps secrets from our spouses that make it easier for us to function in our day-to-day lives. I'm not talking about adultery-sized secrets -- just stuff like how you really feel about their family, and where your private stash of cookies is hidden.
At work, as with any randomly-chosen group of people, there are going to be people you like, people you dislike, and people you wish a plague upon. So you have fun with the people you like, and the rest of them, you deal with on a courteous, professional level, never letting them know what you really think of them.
This works for me. I'm never unkind to anyone here, and no one has been intentionally unkind to me, so I don't care if they think I'm an immature bimbo with a tendency to show too much cleavage, as long as we can all work together in some semblance of harmony.
I mention this because I no longer have any secrets. For the second time in two years, my deepest, darkest ventings have fallen into the hands of the last person I would want to read them. I am utterly exposed.
When a friend of mine quit here, there were hundreds of emails she left behind, going back months and months. Since she worked with money and was involved in H.R. issues, it was decided that, before vaporizing her company email account, someone should go through her back emails and see if there was any information that would be important to the company.
Among these important company emails were -- you guessed it -- personal emails to and from yours truly. And I do mean personal. She and I were very close and trusted each other implicitly. Therefore, these emails contained rantings and updates on, but not limited to: our marriages, our families, our in-laws, my step daugthers, this blog, the infamous (and now defunct) Stepmom Blog, my internet habits, my eBaying obsession, my IMing habits, many rounds of Marry-Date-Fuck, and my opinions on many of my co-workers.
(Ugh. Re-reading that paragraph, I'm cringing more than when I saw "The Ring.")
But who should go through all these emails? Well, the G.M. here, who no one likes, nominated himself for the job. It makes sense; after all, payroll emails could contain confidential information. Such as, salaries, raises and EVERYTHING I HAVE EVER VENTED OR CONFIDED TO HER. Yeah. My worst thoughts on my worst days fell into the hands of the worst person I know.
And he read them all.
Monday morning, early, my Head Boss called me into his office, which isn't unusual. G.M. was sitting there, too, which is unusual. Within five seconds, H.B. mentioned the email account, and I had an immediate, very clear picture of what had transpired, and what kind of lecture I was in for.
I steeled myself to be fired, and yet, I was surprisingly calm. G.M. and H.B. both assured me that G.M. hadn't shown anyone else the emails. H.B. was pissed, sure, but I've seen him more angry, and I know I can count on his ability to forgive and forget. He is the definition of A Good Guy.
As for G.M., you'd think that being caught by the company's #2 would have me freaking out. But I literally think so little of him that I just didn't care. I don't care what he thinks of me. It sickens me to think that he knows all about my personal life, but...
I'm not a bad person. What I think is my business, and the business of a chosen few. What I do is, I believe, a better indication of who I am. And I am kind to everyone I work with. I'm not phoney; if I don't like someone, I don't seek them out and chat them up, but I'm always nice.
I don't know a person on earth who hasn't thought a bad thought about someone else, and vented it to another person. It doesn't make me a bad person. I'm just a stooge for being careless and getting caught.
And I will totally cop to gossiping and improper use of company email. The company I work for has a friendly, casual atmosphere, and I just got too comfortable. I have to be a better employee and remember that that comfort is earned. By me. Every day.
So, I was lectured for improper use of company time, inappropriate emails and something about me "spreading a cancer through the company." Wow. Such power I have! Frankly, I think it's a stitch that The Most Hated Person In the Company was scolding me for hurting morale, but whatever.
What I most regret is that I brought this down on H.B. As if it's his job to babysit me. As if he's supposed to watch every, little thing I do. None of this was his fault. It was 100% mine, and I wish G.M. had just confronted me personally. But approaching a female secretary directly is beneath him and would have rendered him inpure in the eyes of his god.
My biggest concern is that, until I make other employment arrangements, I can only write during my 45-minute lunch break and after work. But I often spend my lunches out of the building, and after work, there's always some damn thing that needs to be done around the house. So my blogging may be sporadic for a while.
PLEEEEEEEEEAAASE don't abandon me, my lovelies! Believe me, restricting my blogging hurts me more than it hurts you. I'm going to aim for three times a week, for now, so please don't neglect me. I am an attention whore and live only for my Visitor Count!
You're probably wondering why I don't just stop putting my thoughts down "on paper" (so to speak). Just quit writing anything to anyone, anywhere. Well, that's just not an option. Writing has always been my outlet, and that's not going to change.
I also contend that my deepest, darkest thoughts do not make me a horrible person, as they aren't any worse than anyone else's innermost ravings.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, we have no business pointing at and judging anyone for their private thoughts. Instead, we should embrace them as a universal experience and accept that, inside, we are often very much the same. Wouldn't that be much less lonely?
Embrace your Inner Asshole, people. Just don't let him behind the wheel of your car.
Posted at 05:46 PM | Comments (4)November 03, 2006
Wenchie Responds to Some Recent Comments
Regarding Where the Magic Happens:
"I gotta get me some of that magic!" -- garrance
Um, are you coming on to me, Garrance?
"Now ad kids and thier bullhonkey into that conversation." -- jocelyn
HA! You said 'bullhonkey'! That's now officially my New Favorite Word! BULLHONKEY! It's so versatile, so full of meaning! I love it! Hee hee! Bullhonkey.
Regarding The Curse of the Brown Pants:
"This very thing is why internet shopping was invented and supported, and has thus grown to such epic proportions." -- elle
Don't you think I tried their website first, Miss Smartypants?! I wasn't raised by wolves! They don't have their products on their website! They're, like... minimalists or something! I don't get it.
Regarding Princess Charming:
"Do you feel weird about buying and wearing a piece of someone else's past?" -- elle
My immediate response was, "Nope." And then I searched my soul and came up with..., "Nnnnnope." And then I thought, Is there something wrong with me? Should I feel weird about wearing a piece of someone else's history? And honestly, I never really thought about it. I just figure, I'm one more stop on this particular object's journey through the universe. And when I'm gone, hopefully it will be sold again on eBay for a nice sum. In the meantime, it looks awesome on me!
Regarding ANTM recap "The Girls Who Go To Texas":
"That medical student short hair chick model ghost is Alyse or something. She was the one who always did stupid shit with that seasons winner. The one that married Brady. Why can't I remember her name, but I can find the unknown chicks website. Heh, I'm a loser, but here you go!" -- B.J.
ADRIENNE! She married Peter Brady, and she had that terrible, nasal accent, remember? I'm so geeking out over having Elyse's website. Thanks!
Regarding The D Man:
"The well-known approach in royal circles: "An heir and a spare". You could call the new one "the spare". -- some_other_dave
You win. Billi's third child shall from hence forth be known as The Spare.
Regarding Depp Is a Poser:
"And you have tattoos??? How come I never knew?" -- Laura
Because you never let me keep the lights on when we have sex.
Regarding Luke and Han, Sittin' In a Tree:
"Too funny. If that guy saw some of the stuff my kid did with his two G.I. Joes, he'd probably have a stroke." -- subtropic
Got pictures?
Regarding Open Call:
"Do I get to go help you buy bras?" -- Anxious Applicant
Sure! Wait a minute... who is this?
* * * * *
Remember, kids, if you ever have a comment or question that doesn't necessarily pertain to a specific post, you can always email me at piratewenchdotorg@yahoo.com! I'll always answer!
Posted at 01:54 PM | Comments (0)November 02, 2006
"The Girls Who Made It This Far"
Ah, a recap "America's Next Top Model." How uninspiring. Well, at least Husband didn't miss much by working late last night. Tyra promises "never before seen footage," but Tyra's empty promises are what ended our relationship in the first place. That and firing Janice.
JANICE!!!
(I have to do that every time I mention Janice. I love her so.)
We are introduced, for possibly the first time, to Charlie Altuna (hee hee!), the girls' wardrobe stylist, and Sutan, their make-up stylist. Oh, that's Sutan!
Not long as the girls arrive at their Tyra-infested house, Charlie and Sutan show up with a large, silver can emblazoned with the words Fashion Trash. And they tell the girls, "We wanna see your clothes. Go get your luggage. Right now." Oh, this is gonna be good.
The Fashion Trashers go through all the girls' suitcases and start throwing away clothes, after properly mocking them.
The highlight of this is a pair of glitter boots that belong to Monique (The Original BCWEH of this cycle). And I don't mean that they're leather with some glitter embellishment. I mean, these things are knee-high disco balls. They are so awesome; I'm kind of jealous.
But in the trash they go! And Monique says, "Y'all are not cool."
Melrose gets an A+ from the Trashers, and she gloats because she made all of her own clothes. Probably because she's poor. Oh, Mel, so pretty in pink.
And wait -- how did the Trashers not get their hands on A.J.'s nasty hat?
Anchal is mocked because everything she owns has sequins on it. Is that a cultural thing? I ask this in all sincerity.
The lowlight of the Fashion Trash is when they throw Caridee's white sweater into the can, and she goes, "That was my Mom's."
Her use of the word was, and the way she crosses herself after they callously toss the sweater, leads me to believe that her Mom is perhaps dead? Oh, is she the one whose Mom died in the airplane crash? If so, then for shame, Fashion Trashers. For shame.
Jay saves the day by taking the girls on a shopping trip. But because ANTM can't just do something nice for its own sake and has to make every damn thing a challenge, the girls have five minutes to pick out "Model Basics," as Jay calls them:
1. A mini skirt
2. Nude-color bra and panties
3. Large bag, in which it carry their portfolios
4. A couple tank tops
5. A scrunchy to hold their hair back
6. Pair of tight jeans
7. Black cocktail dress
8. Cute sneakers
I thought scrunchies were a fashion no-no, so how did they make it onto Jay's Model Basics list?
We are treated to more Melrose vs. Monique bitchery. Monique says to her face, "Die, bitch, die!" Funny, but Sideshow Bob did it first.
Then we get to relive the drama of makeover day. Cry, bitch, cry!
Ooooh, here's something you don't see every day! A Monique vs. Amanda spat! Isn't she the quiet twin? Oh, that BCWEH has such a knack for coaxing people out of their shells, doesn't she?
Here's the story, as near as I can tell. In the beginning, the girls decided to pool their money and buy food. So everyone pitched in equal amounts, and everything belongs to everyone.
But apparently, Monique was out-voted on this one because, when Amanda polishes off a bag of Doritos, Monique freaks out that someone ate her chips. So what does Monique do? She wipes her panties on all the other food in the house.
No, not really. But would we have been surprised? Not at all. And the reality is not much better. Monique opens all the other bags of various chips in the house and empties them all into the garbage.
Bitch can't have Doritos, so ain't NOBODY havin' chips!
She is so incredibly insane. Can you imagine being her sibling? I honestly think she's a sociopath, in the most literal definition of the word. She just can't function as a human being.
Amanda tries to explain to Monique the concept of "sharing" and "no personal food." She even goes so far as to open every cabinet in the kitchen and SHOW Monique the food, in case Monique is as good at food identification as she is at being a child of God.
But all for naught. You just can't talk to that crazy bitch. Monique sits on the counter and tattoos "Die, bitch, die" on her arm, as Amanda raves on and on.
Then we get reminded of the circus freak shoot. Rocker Megg is crying about her sucky performance. I mean, full-on snotting up the place. Her make-up is completely ruined. She's telling Jay that she gets her inspiration from her metal music and needs her rock 'n' roll to get in the zone. O-kaaaaaaaaaay. Jay ain't havin' it.
Megg sobs to the other girls that she wants her bongos. Um... is that code for something? So they make her some bongos out of cardboard boxes. Awwwwwww. That's kinda sweet.
Then it's the tightrope walking, and the phone issues with Melrose and Monique. And then, some... seasoning issues between those two.
Taco seasoning, natch.
(Oh, yeah. I went there.)
Melrose the Mom is cooking for the girls again, and I guess she's making tacos. She and Monique are the only ones in the kitchen, and for all I can tell, the only point of Monique being there is to mess with Mel.
Mel reaches for a packet of taco seasoning on the counter, and Monique tries to grab it from her. The two end up playing tug-o-war with the packet, which eventually rips in half. I know, people, I can hardly believe what I'm watching. The Boy Child is better behaved than this.
Mel makes do with what seasoning she got and asks Monique to please leave the kitchen. I can't even believe what I'm going to type next. Monique starts repeating everything Melrose says. Remember -- like you used to do to your brother during long car trips? Yeah. That.
At this point, Mel should just shut-up, but she's just so incredulous that she's can't stop talking. And I really hate Monique for making me side with Melrose on this one. The whole thing is just so insane.
After which, we are treated to a recap of Monique's illness and subsequent elimination! YAY!
Then, randomly, there's a bird stuck in the house. Isn't this, like, the second time this has happened to a set of aspiring models? Leading me to believe that Tyra planted it there to elicit a goofy, bird-chasing montage they can then set to music.
More reliving of boring shit that didn't thrill me the first time, namely Tyra's Oprah-esque talk with the whole group about fears. But after Tyra does the group-hug thing and leaves, the girls turn like rabid dogs on Melrose.
Mel insists that she's just "misunderstood." Isn't that what all bitchy girls think? Here's some wisdom from Auntie Wenchie -- if you're going through life feeling misunderstood, chances are, everyone thinks you're a bitch. Change.
Then Mel starts acting like she's the victim with, "I will stick up for myself! I expect the same respect that I give to each one of you!"
Yeah, um, bad-mouthing someone who's not even in the room is not "sticking up for yourself;" it's gossiping. I say kudos to the girls for showing her the "same respect" she shows to them.
Next, there's something about a "free dance," where some hippie chick makes them all wear masks. It's very weird and not at all interesting.
Michelle comes out of the closet of comfortable shoes, Melrose is on E.T., A.J. goes all emo, and...
JANICE!!!
Remember when Tyra came and woke them all up for their "celebrity couples" shoot? Well, we see that again, but different footage. And the girls are fully clothed. Meaning either Melrose the Mom made them all take a nap after recess, or it was staged.
Then comes my favorite part of the whole episode: Jaeda mocking Tyra. The girls stage a mock-elimination panel, and Jaeda plays Tyra. And dudes, she is dean on. Seriously, it's hysterical.
Then Caridee farts. I guess she's supposed to be playing Janice?
Jaeda has the twins in the bottom two, and Amanda goes home. Hmmm... Foreshadowing?
There are seven girls left in the house. Jaeda No-Hair, Fatty Anchal, the Lesbo Twin, the Other Twin, Caridee Whom I've Chosen To Win, Eugena the BCWEH and Melrose the Mom.
Posted at 12:05 PM | Comments (0)November 01, 2006
Where the Magic Happens
When one's spouse works sixty hours per week, foreplay kinda goes a little something like this...
[Crawl into bed together.]
"So... how are you?"
"Fine. What time is it?"
"Nine-fifteen."
"Wow! That's early!"
[Hug, kiss, throw a leg over other person's hips.]
"Oh, can I have the checkbook tomorrow?"
"Sure. What for?"
"My Avon order is in."
"Ah."
[Kiss, run fingers through hair.]
"Did you take Daisy out?"
"Yes. She pooped."
[Get rid of underwear, fondle.]
"So, what are we doing -- brunch on Sunday, or dinner on Wednesday?"
"I don't know, yet."
"Because I can't do Sunday."
"Okay, then I'll try to make it Wednesday."
[Grope, caress, bite.]
"I can't do Wednesday either."
"... Then why did you ask?!"
"I don't know! Just shut up and have sex with me!"
"FINE!"