Nothing worse

I have often had to survive total humiliation. However, this most recent scene in the mortification play in which I often star, surpasses most on the richter scale. I'll get specific: my girlfriend's mom came for a visit, a long one. This is just dandy, except her stay was through Sunday eve...the L Word finale. My babe asked her mom how she felt about watching the L Word, she said "absolutely not". Understood. Well, my GF was a bit miffed by this extreme HELL NO reaction to a little girl/girl love plot, so she took hold of the ol' remote and decided to do a quick switch over to see what the ladies were up to...as usual, they were up to no good. Up to their elbows in Shane's boobs and Molly's nether region! Oh lord....way more than GF anticipated...and low and behold, the remote suspiciously would not respond to repeated attempts to change the channel! L's mom was horrified...in fact, I think viewing the innocent slaughter of baby kittens would have been easier for her to stomach. Needless to say, I slunk off to bed, eight shades of red-wanting to disclaim as I passed by "we don't really do that, ya know".

What is truly amazing is that when we watched the entire show the next day, we found that scene to be the only racy scene in the entire hour...what timing, what luck! Wow...what are the odds?

When you just can't go on

I've had a real battle on my hands...a battle to complete the book I raved about before reading--which is always a big mistake. An equally large mistake is buying the fucker in duplicate twice over and giving it to friends and family as a little gifty. Sorry to all whom I gave this whiny piece of anti-literary babble. I'm speaking of the boring and tedious Eat, Pray, Love. A better and more accurate title would have been Bitch, Piss, Moan and Eat. God. I had to quit.

An actual excellent and worthwhile read is Left To Tell. Real Good.

No words

I am compelled to write about the sad and increasingly scary Paula Abdul. I am wondering why there has been no formal intervention for this poor soul who continuously shows up to work clearly high and/or ripped. This sad sack cannot even manage a simple declarative sentence, and yet the room hushes in anticipation of her strange and convoluted responses! I mean, I wanted to bury my head and skulk out of my own living room just to avoid being my own witness to this disastrous gal. Then I asked myself the question..."why". Why is she employed? Who made that executive decision? Is it because of her extreme talent and the huge success of that one song she sang once? Is this evidence of her capacity to find the next "big" thing? I think not. I feel for these poor little Idols who just want to hear..."good job" or "you suck" rather than PA's dribbling diatribe bordering insanity.

Paula, please go home and get help.

Perhaps I could cease watching this train-wreck and read one of the 15 books I have stacked up waiting for me. I don't know why I'm so resistant to doing things I actually enjoy instead of opting for the cringe-factor, which stresses me out...not sure about this one. I think I'll google it and see if I can diagnose.

Be back with an answer soon....