My Dad Was Right...

...I should've been a doctor.

I have a sore throat. So, of course, I'm having popcorn for supper. Because, really, nothing makes a sore throat feel better then trying to swallow copious amounts of jagged, non-digestible food.

Why do people even eat corn? If it can't be digested, why even bother? Sure, a good corn on the cob is tasty every now and then and there's no better excuse for a pound of butter like popcorn but, really, isn't it just filler? Like sawdust in dog food. Or Whoppi on The View.

I wonder if Ms. Goldberg's parents named her after their favorite kind of cushion?

Food for thought, I know.

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Right Said Fred's got nothin' on me

I went for laser hair removal today. I'm fairly certain the fact I get laser hair removal in the first place is a bit of a blow to my hairy-assed self esteem (that's not to say my ass is hair, I mean... oh forget it). But it does not help matters when the laserist (or whatever they're called) states not once, but twice, "your skin is really dry". Yes, beotch, it's flaking. Yes, I currently can't wear black for fear of people thinking I have dandruff when, really, my face is falling off. And, yes, I'm sorry I disgust you. Now just point your damn laser and pull the trigger... we've got a mustache to kill!

And for those of you wondering... yes, I am single. Shocking, I know.

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Too Much Information

I just poo'd. And because my little cousin (hi, cousin!) is staying with me during the week while she goes to school, I figured I'd be considerate and spray some air freshener (oh, please, people... in the words of my mother: "as if your shit don't stink"). I, literally, have a bazillion containers of Febreze Air Effects (what can I say... there was a sale!) so I grabbed the first one and sprayed.

Ya... somehow "Vanilla and Baking" is a disturbing scent when coming from the loo. The kitchen? Yummy. The bathroom? Yucky!

Sugar cookies will never be the same.

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Poor Planning

I went for a meander this evening, if for no other reason then the lack of quality programming on TV. My first stop was Starbucks, were I overestimated the size of beverage I needed and grossly underestimated the capacity of my bladder.

I then loitered around Chapters (The Canadian equivalent of Barnes and Noble, for you American folk), where I proceeded to spend $10 on something I actually needed... and then $30 on stuff I didn't need in the least. Why? Because I had a coupon to get $10 off if I spent $40 so, in my mind, it was like I was getting the one thing I actually needed for absolutely free. FREE, I say! What a deal!

From there I decided to drive across town in an attempt to find Ketchup Pringles (Google it, my friends to the south, ketchup chips do exist and they are divine!) and, single handedly, ruin the diet I've been meaning to start. But on the way there? And on the way back? Speed humps. That's an 'h' as in hump, not bump. These marvels of modern technology are a very wide version of speed bumps... fun when you're on a scooter and catapult yourself over, Evil Kanevil style, but not so fun in a 1997 Toyota Tercel that is apparently in need of shocks.... with a full bladder (me, not the car).

Needless to say I came home directly after scoring some Pringles.

And barely made it in time...

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Journalism at its Finest

Oh CNN... first you change your layout, thus making me check your website about a bazillionth of a fraction less then I used to. Then you go and post a story on how 'It's good to be George Clooney'? Um... hello... obvious police? I'd like to report a violation!

I mean, really, that's like printing a story saying 'Richard Simmons Is Annoying' or 'Nobody likes Rosie O'Donnell'. George Clooney lives a charmed life? Well, gee, what was your first clue? Oh wait... I know! It's called 'The Facts of Life'!

Seriously.

Perhaps I could overlook this journalistic blunder. Perhaps. Except when I got to the photo of George with Mr. Obama (you know... the president?!?), on a panel discussing the travesty of human genocide in Dafur. A project Mr. Clooney is committed to. A serious, serious topic that demands respect and a certain level of self-reflection and humility.

And this is the only photo CNN could possibly dig up? I mean, I know the anniversary of Sesame Street is tomorrow but surely there's a better way to segway from Clooney to Muppets?!? I mean, really...


Although the resemblance to Sam the eagle is rather uncanny:



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If The Shoe Pants Fit....

I bought a new pair of black dress pants. Not because I needed them, per say, but because they were on sale and because my current black pants, while still in fine form, are 16 years old.

Yes, that's right... if my pants were children, they would be getting their drivers license.

So I figured it was probably time to retire them. After all, I find most things should be replaced after 16 years. Like carpeting, furniture, pants and men.

The curious thing is that my old pants can only be compared to a cockroach after a nuclear explosion. They've stood the test of time. They've literally grown (grown... stretched... whatever) as I've grown. And they haven't met the timely death of most of my clothes in that no buttons have popped, no seams have ripped and any food spills have remained stain-less. Perhaps they've faded but, if so, it's been at an even, gradual rate so no one, myself included, is none the wiser.

I've had these pants for more years then I haven't. They've been in my closet for precisely half my life (don't do the math... do NOT do the math!) and given the fact I've worn them at least once a week, every week for the past 16 years they've been part of my ensemble approximately 832 times and gone through, give or take, 416 wash cycles (what?!? As if you don't squeeze an extra wear out of your pants between washes?!?).

But there seems to be something inherently wrong with that. Pants you wore as a teenager should not be worn as an, um, non-teenager. The things are indestructible. And that concerns me. I mean, is there a world record for the oldest, actively used pair of pants to be worn/owned by one person?

I'd be lying if I said I actually plan on wearing the new pants. They're meant to be more of an emergency back-up pair. You know, for when I'm 96 years old and finally wither away (one can dream!) to the point where wrapping a belt twice around will no longer suffice and the old pants need to be retired.

Of course by then moths will have most likely eaten my new pants.

Life's a bitch, like that.

PS... no, the picture is not of me and my pants. Hell, if I had that body I'm pretty sure I'd go around wearing no pants at all. Just saying...

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Oh Michael Patrick King....

...what have you done?!? First there were the rumors of a series aimed at tweens about Carrie's high school years. Then you put Jennifer Hudson in the first movie (granted, she ended up being okay in a 'if I try real hard, it's like she's not even there' type way but, seriously, a feature film is not the time to be introducing new lead characters!) and now this?!?

The only upside is if Miley stars as herself in the movie she, surely, can't play teeny-bopper Carrie in the Degrassi-aged series, right? RIGHT?!?!? Because, I swear, King... these stunts you're pulling are borderline Grey's Anatomy and I just might be tempted to stop watching!

Seriously? Seriously!!