Okay so they went ahead and made several episodes of this television show and they've subsequently decided to show them and it seems that people actually do care about my opinions (You people must be really cracked, you know?) so I'm going to review/synopsise (Is this a word? It is now.) the second episode of ABC's 'The River'.
The second episode opens with a Christmas episode of Emmet Cole's television show and there is this creepy scene where Emmet gives the 8 year old Baby-Bear's 8 year old girlfriend a hat or something. I'm not really sure what they're trying to do here. It's like they're trying to set this up as Emmet Cole was as a father figure to this girl but it's just off-kilter enough that it seems a smidgen pedophilic.(Is this a word? It is now.) Because for some unknown reason the Good Dr. Emmet Cole never contacted his wife or his son on his last voyage but he was in constant contact with Baby-Bear's girlfriend and she seems to know an awful lot about him. Like where he keeps his hidden stash of tapes that show him, the Good Doctor, walking on water and summoning a fireball. Clearly he has found 'The Magic' that is 'Out There.' Creepers. Also he can control dragonflies. This is important later.
So they've finally got the boat working. AGAIN. Seriously, I'd find a find a new boat. And Baby-Bear's Girlfriend, whom we'll just call Hooker for the mean time, has figured out where the Good Doctor is by reviewing some tapes and analyzing a bug bite or something. For serious people, they make GPS transponders. Jesus.
It's the middle of the night and the boat cameras catch this dragonfly flying in the boat down the stairs, making a left, then a right, and finding Ghost Girl and crawling right on in her mouth and down into her stomach. Most normal people would wake up and be seriously pissed AND have a case of heinous indigestion but apparently Ghost Girl is a medium or something and lo and behold she is possessed by none other than the Good Doctor himself. But it takes the crew members at least 20 minutes to figure this out. I'm not sure why it took them that long because they all saw the same tape I did where the Good Doctor controls the dragonflies and I knew immediately. Then again I wouldn't go traipsing through the Amazonian Jungle on a budget-ass boat with a dried-up old Harpy screaming for her emotionally distant husband, I'm practical that way.
Anyways Ghost Girl, who is really the Good Doctor at this point, tells Mama Bear not to come looking for Emmet Cole. That he's trapped deep within in the jungle and it's super dangerous. Again I feel that most normal people would go 'Welp, we gave it the college try. Emmet says not to come get him. Let's honor his last wishes and go find the nearest hotel bar and get shitty.' But alas, they decide to go trekking out into the jungle and leave Ghost Girl on the boat with her dad the mechanic. Who is displaying a pretty normal reaction by begging his daughter to barf up said dragonfly.
Our wonderful crew go traipsing through the jungle and happen upon the creepiest tree in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD. IT IS COVERED IN OLD DOLLS. And not happy dolls, creepy dolls. And guess where they decide TO CAMP FOR THE NIGHT? Yes, at the creepiest tree in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD. Also, Baby-Bear's baby-bear, actual teddy bear, is tied to this tree and he steals his bear back. This becomes important later. If any of these jokers had read The Tommyknockers they'd be high-tailing it out of there to find a different fucking tree but noooooooo, they don't worry that the creepy ass dolls are going to come to life and fuck with people. I mean I get that it was the aliens in the The Tommyknockers but there are all those crackpots that swear the ancient Mayan's were aliens, or maybe that was the Egyptian,s but the point being is that something is in the mother-fucking jungle and these idiots are too damn stupid to just burn the fucking jungle to the ground and deal with the environmental backlash later. Or here's a thought: Maybe listen to the Good Doctor and GO BACK HOME.
Long story short the dolls start moving and in the middle of the night they try to steal Mama-Bear. But the crew rescues Mama-Bear and they decide that Baby-Bear needs to give his bear back and when he tries to the tree keeps throwing the bear back at Baby-Bear and they all run the fuck away. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, WHEN IT IS DARK. I swear to God if I ever have occasion to go camping again I'm taking a shotgun with me.
Apparently, the ghost of the creepiest tree in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD is a little girl who lost her mom so she steals Mama-Bear because she needs a mama. Talk about not winning for losing. If I had to pick a mom I certainly wouldn't pick one that had exposed her child to every known parasite in the tropical world by the time he was 6. There is something to be said for the constancy and safety of Surburbia. The crew then decides that the only way they're going to get Mama-Bear back is to dig up the grave of the little girl's Mama who has been dead for nigh on 150 years now. And miraculously they have shovels.
So they dig up this poor dead woman and throw her in a puddle and eventually Mama-Bear crawls out of the dead-girl's mom's grave and everyone is happy again. And they give up and go back to boat after deciding that the Good Doctor is not in that specific area. Surprise, surprise. Who in their right mind would really hang out at the creepiest tree in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD? Let's give the good doctor some credit.
So they go back to the busted-ass boat and Baby-Bear begs Ghost-Girl who is still inhabited by the Good Doctor to tell him where his exact location is but that would just be too damn easy wouldn't it? Just as Ghost Girl is getting ready to spill the beans she actually, literally gives up the ghost and the dragonfly crawls back out of her stomach and flies off into wilderness. Of course Ghost-Girl apologizes. Why, I'm not sure.
But they're all still alive and left to fight another day in this idiotic quest for a man that doesn't want to be found, and proceed down
the river to the next episode which involves some dudes with no eyeballs who also lack proper hygiene and we see the true origin of river blindness.
*On a technical note, How the hell do they have any fuel left? I have not seen one single Citgo anywhere on this river. Also, I'm still confused as to where they poop?
Monday, February 20, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Every ABC Show Needs a Smoke-Monster, or Anna Reviews 'The River'
If you haven't watched ABC's newest show, 'The River', you should watch it before you read this or actually maybe you should read this first before you watch it; maybe you'll save yourself from the mind-numbing idiocy of the people in this show.
'The River' opens with this sad tale of woe about an explorer, Emmet Cole, who is lost in the jungle and pronounced dead. He had a wildly popular TV show that was on for 22 years and somehow he and his boat, the bastardized Magus (think 'mag' from magazine and add- us to it), just up and disappear into the Amazonian Jungle. Now it's up to Mama bear and Baby bear to go find dear old dad.
Here's the kicker, they all hate each other. Mom's is screwing the TV producer that is accompanying them on said journey who was miraculously left out of the last, final voyage of Emmet Cole and his boat for some unknown reason. Actually it seems as if everyone on the new expedition was somehow left off this last, final journey and they're all supremely pissed about it. God only knows why? You know your life has to suck when you'd rather be in some deep, dark jungle having your head shrunk by the locals than in civilization dealing with your daddy issues.
We'll skip to about the middle of the episode when they actually find the Magus and go aboard.
Of course they get there and it's almost dark. Of course. It wouldn't be fun if you couldn't traipse around the river in the daylight. Noooooooooooooooooo. Let's go in the dark! So they're standing on the deck of the boat and all of a sudden they hear this banging noise from inside the boat. Do they do the sane thing and say 'Welp, we found the boat and asked if anyone was here and no one showed themselves so let's be on our merry little way. I'm sure there is a Marriott down the river a ways.' No. They go inside the boat to find the source of the noise, which happens to be the panic room. The door is welded shut from the outside.
Aaaaaaand they decide to open the door because whenever they bang on the door twice, whatever is inside the panic room bangs back twice. I'm sorry but I'm gonna need a whole lot more evidence of intelligent life than some banging on some pipes. You better damn well know some mother-fucking Morse code and bang out your full name, occupation and blood type before I go opening a door that is WELDED SHUT FROM THE OUTSIDE. Meaning, obviously, that whatever is in the panic room needs to stay in the panic room. But these people are stupid and Mom is all like 'But it could be Emmet!' so out comes the grinder.
In the mean time the engine mechanic has managed to get the electrical systems on board and all of the cameras on the boat are working again. Why in the world they couldn't just look in the panic room with said cameras I don't know. The engine mechanic's daughter also happens to talk to ghosts and she's all like 'Dude, don't open the door. No bueno.' No one listens to her because they're all racist fucks and figure a 16 year old Brazilian girl can't know what the fuck she's talking about when they should be saying to themselves 'You know, we've been on TV for 40 minutes now and she is the only person on this boat that makes any damn sense, maybe she's right?' But they don't and they open the door and this thing flies out and cuts Baby bear's girlfriend on the leg. I'm not sure how the thing cut her because it doesn't really have a body so to speak, but it does manage to cut her and now the thing is hungry because it has tasted blood. Homegirl who talks to ghosts is essentially like 'I fuckin' told you so.' Oh and guess who is not in the panic room? That would be Emmet.
Now this demon critter is flying around the jungle and the crew is straight up panicking to get off the boat (Finally.) and their rafts have been sank. Imagine that. So now they have no choice but to get the boat running and get the fuck out of dodge. To do this they need to clear the propeller of debris. So baby bear and his girlfriend jump right on in the river, in the dark mind you. I have several problems with this: 1. No sane person jumps in an Amazonian river in the dark unless you're on fucking fire and you would rather be eaten by a 12 foot anaconda than be burnt to death. 2. Homegirl was just stitched up 5 minutes previous and she is in the river. Any sane person would have enough sense to stay out of the river with an open wound because I don't know, YOU DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOUR LEG? Who knows what kind of bacteria and parasites are swimming around in the stagnant water beside that boat. 3. PIRANHAS anyone? But they do manage to get the debris cleared and the engine working and they're moseying on down the river.
They've still got the thing from the panic room to deal with though and ghost girl explains how they can trap it. The two cameramen that are on this 3-hour tour go out onto to the deck to try and get footage of the thing and this the point at which 'The River' becomes very much an episode of 'Lost'. The trees are snapping back and forth and there is this weird mechanical sound and you never really see anything; you just see the one cameraman eat it. I've often thought that the smoke-monster from Lost was really under-utilized and I have to admit I was more than a little excited when I thought that maybe, just maybe, he was making a comeback. Think about it. How much better would every show, ever made, be if it had a smoke monster?
Grey's Anatomy - The smoke monster could eat Meredith and we'd all be happier for it.
True Blood - What would bring the vamps, wolves and witches together better than a common enemy?
Law & Order: SVU - It would be a rape without evidence! That story arc would last at least 3 episodes.
The Housewives of Orange County - Oh come on, you know you'd like to see those tramps eviscerated by a smoke monster too.
Anyways, back to The River. They manage to trap the thing, which would be better as a smoke-monster, in a large pecan shell and it tells the Mom that Emmet is still alive by scratching her twice on the belly. (Yeah, I don't know either.) At this point Baby bear is convinced too and he and Mama bear decide they need to go deeper into the unexplored wilderness to find dear old dad. Baby bear, Lincoln, decides that whoever does not want to go should have the opportunity to get off the boat and not go. I don't mean to be critical but I'm not exactly sure what he was going to do with them if they in fact did decide they didn't want to go on this wild goose chase as they are in the middle OF NOWHERE. 'Oh you don't want to go with us? Well I'll just pull the boat on over to the river bank here and you can hop off. The nearest highway is only about 500 miles that way through the uninhabited jungle fulls of poisonous snakes and God knows what but here's a sandwich!'
Lo and behold they all decide to stay on the boat and go on further down the river to the next episode which involves some creepy ass dolls, ghost girl swallows a possessed dragonfly, and once again, they're all traipsing through the jungle in the dark.
*On a technical note, I'm not sure exactly how they plan to stay alive on Emmet's boat as they didn't bring any supplies from their original boat on the rafts nor do they stop for supplies? Also, where do they poop?
'The River' opens with this sad tale of woe about an explorer, Emmet Cole, who is lost in the jungle and pronounced dead. He had a wildly popular TV show that was on for 22 years and somehow he and his boat, the bastardized Magus (think 'mag' from magazine and add- us to it), just up and disappear into the Amazonian Jungle. Now it's up to Mama bear and Baby bear to go find dear old dad.
Here's the kicker, they all hate each other. Mom's is screwing the TV producer that is accompanying them on said journey who was miraculously left out of the last, final voyage of Emmet Cole and his boat for some unknown reason. Actually it seems as if everyone on the new expedition was somehow left off this last, final journey and they're all supremely pissed about it. God only knows why? You know your life has to suck when you'd rather be in some deep, dark jungle having your head shrunk by the locals than in civilization dealing with your daddy issues.
We'll skip to about the middle of the episode when they actually find the Magus and go aboard.
Of course they get there and it's almost dark. Of course. It wouldn't be fun if you couldn't traipse around the river in the daylight. Noooooooooooooooooo. Let's go in the dark! So they're standing on the deck of the boat and all of a sudden they hear this banging noise from inside the boat. Do they do the sane thing and say 'Welp, we found the boat and asked if anyone was here and no one showed themselves so let's be on our merry little way. I'm sure there is a Marriott down the river a ways.' No. They go inside the boat to find the source of the noise, which happens to be the panic room. The door is welded shut from the outside.
Aaaaaaand they decide to open the door because whenever they bang on the door twice, whatever is inside the panic room bangs back twice. I'm sorry but I'm gonna need a whole lot more evidence of intelligent life than some banging on some pipes. You better damn well know some mother-fucking Morse code and bang out your full name, occupation and blood type before I go opening a door that is WELDED SHUT FROM THE OUTSIDE. Meaning, obviously, that whatever is in the panic room needs to stay in the panic room. But these people are stupid and Mom is all like 'But it could be Emmet!' so out comes the grinder.
In the mean time the engine mechanic has managed to get the electrical systems on board and all of the cameras on the boat are working again. Why in the world they couldn't just look in the panic room with said cameras I don't know. The engine mechanic's daughter also happens to talk to ghosts and she's all like 'Dude, don't open the door. No bueno.' No one listens to her because they're all racist fucks and figure a 16 year old Brazilian girl can't know what the fuck she's talking about when they should be saying to themselves 'You know, we've been on TV for 40 minutes now and she is the only person on this boat that makes any damn sense, maybe she's right?' But they don't and they open the door and this thing flies out and cuts Baby bear's girlfriend on the leg. I'm not sure how the thing cut her because it doesn't really have a body so to speak, but it does manage to cut her and now the thing is hungry because it has tasted blood. Homegirl who talks to ghosts is essentially like 'I fuckin' told you so.' Oh and guess who is not in the panic room? That would be Emmet.
Now this demon critter is flying around the jungle and the crew is straight up panicking to get off the boat (Finally.) and their rafts have been sank. Imagine that. So now they have no choice but to get the boat running and get the fuck out of dodge. To do this they need to clear the propeller of debris. So baby bear and his girlfriend jump right on in the river, in the dark mind you. I have several problems with this: 1. No sane person jumps in an Amazonian river in the dark unless you're on fucking fire and you would rather be eaten by a 12 foot anaconda than be burnt to death. 2. Homegirl was just stitched up 5 minutes previous and she is in the river. Any sane person would have enough sense to stay out of the river with an open wound because I don't know, YOU DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOUR LEG? Who knows what kind of bacteria and parasites are swimming around in the stagnant water beside that boat. 3. PIRANHAS anyone? But they do manage to get the debris cleared and the engine working and they're moseying on down the river.
They've still got the thing from the panic room to deal with though and ghost girl explains how they can trap it. The two cameramen that are on this 3-hour tour go out onto to the deck to try and get footage of the thing and this the point at which 'The River' becomes very much an episode of 'Lost'. The trees are snapping back and forth and there is this weird mechanical sound and you never really see anything; you just see the one cameraman eat it. I've often thought that the smoke-monster from Lost was really under-utilized and I have to admit I was more than a little excited when I thought that maybe, just maybe, he was making a comeback. Think about it. How much better would every show, ever made, be if it had a smoke monster?
Grey's Anatomy - The smoke monster could eat Meredith and we'd all be happier for it.
True Blood - What would bring the vamps, wolves and witches together better than a common enemy?
Law & Order: SVU - It would be a rape without evidence! That story arc would last at least 3 episodes.
The Housewives of Orange County - Oh come on, you know you'd like to see those tramps eviscerated by a smoke monster too.
Anyways, back to The River. They manage to trap the thing, which would be better as a smoke-monster, in a large pecan shell and it tells the Mom that Emmet is still alive by scratching her twice on the belly. (Yeah, I don't know either.) At this point Baby bear is convinced too and he and Mama bear decide they need to go deeper into the unexplored wilderness to find dear old dad. Baby bear, Lincoln, decides that whoever does not want to go should have the opportunity to get off the boat and not go. I don't mean to be critical but I'm not exactly sure what he was going to do with them if they in fact did decide they didn't want to go on this wild goose chase as they are in the middle OF NOWHERE. 'Oh you don't want to go with us? Well I'll just pull the boat on over to the river bank here and you can hop off. The nearest highway is only about 500 miles that way through the uninhabited jungle fulls of poisonous snakes and God knows what but here's a sandwich!'
Lo and behold they all decide to stay on the boat and go on further down the river to the next episode which involves some creepy ass dolls, ghost girl swallows a possessed dragonfly, and once again, they're all traipsing through the jungle in the dark.
*On a technical note, I'm not sure exactly how they plan to stay alive on Emmet's boat as they didn't bring any supplies from their original boat on the rafts nor do they stop for supplies? Also, where do they poop?
Thursday, January 26, 2012
I'm sexual and It's awesome.
I was reading this article* at jezebel.com about this girl who is 'asexual' and about how awesome it is and how she has all these great intimate relationships and how they're so awesome and then I saw a link on the side-bar about a dubstep cat and I immediately lost all interest I had in hearing said girl's tale of woe about not being respected as an 'asexual.' For serious, dubstep cat is the greatest thing ever btw. Check him out: DUB-STEP! Cat yo!.
For some reason this seems to be a hot topic lately, it even made it to an episode of House which I consider to be the epitome of the medical frontier. Asexuality, not dubstep. Although dubstep does seem to be quite popular these days...
Look, I don't care if you're asexual. Exactly like I don't care if you're heterosexual or homosexual or trisexual or whatever-sexual you want to be just as long as you shut the hell up and quit bitching about it. You, as an asexual, cannot even bitch about not being able to get married because you're aromantic and don't want to be married so exactly what are you complaining about?
Oh, you're complaining because people ask you if you have 'someone special' in your life? You're whining because people actually care enough about you to inquire as to your happiness? Aaaaand they're nice enough to not assign a gender to it. Should we just look at you from now and say: 'Gee Connie are you non-suidicidal today?' Count your lucky stars that you're mother doesn't take you down the kitchen accessories aisle in every store and gesture no-so-surreptitiously to the turkey basters and wink at you because even she now assumes you've got no chance in hell of scoring a significant other. According to you, you have a significant other. According to you, it's awesome being asexual. Why do you feel the need to write about it and prove it to people?
(I'm going to leave out my theories on your gender identity issues since you abbreviate your name to initials only. Not there is an issue with that. Own it, I say. Say it loud: I'm confused and I may be proud?!)
You've got a vagina, might as well use it right? Never mind that whole biological imperative business where we as human being, nay animals, have a biological imperative to procreate. Hell, even the plants have sex. It's the burden of being a higher order organism. Let us all shake our fists angrily at evolution and its need to introduce genetic diversity through this clever mechanism!
I think your general displeasure with the societal acceptance of being 'Ace', which is about the lamest pseudonym I've ever heard in my life by the way, is your general displeasure with life. Okay, you're best friends forever with a couple of people and you don't bone. You know what? The next time I get the urge to have sex, I'll think about you and feel sorry for you that you can't appreciate the richness that sexual activity lends to a relationship.
Congratulations on being asexual and owning it and willing to advocate for it.
I'm sexual and it's way awesomer than you remember.
*Here is the article if you want to read it for yourself. If you can get through this entire article without being distracted by dubstep cat you're clearly a psychopath.
For some reason this seems to be a hot topic lately, it even made it to an episode of House which I consider to be the epitome of the medical frontier. Asexuality, not dubstep. Although dubstep does seem to be quite popular these days...
Look, I don't care if you're asexual. Exactly like I don't care if you're heterosexual or homosexual or trisexual or whatever-sexual you want to be just as long as you shut the hell up and quit bitching about it. You, as an asexual, cannot even bitch about not being able to get married because you're aromantic and don't want to be married so exactly what are you complaining about?
Oh, you're complaining because people ask you if you have 'someone special' in your life? You're whining because people actually care enough about you to inquire as to your happiness? Aaaaand they're nice enough to not assign a gender to it. Should we just look at you from now and say: 'Gee Connie are you non-suidicidal today?' Count your lucky stars that you're mother doesn't take you down the kitchen accessories aisle in every store and gesture no-so-surreptitiously to the turkey basters and wink at you because even she now assumes you've got no chance in hell of scoring a significant other. According to you, you have a significant other. According to you, it's awesome being asexual. Why do you feel the need to write about it and prove it to people?
(I'm going to leave out my theories on your gender identity issues since you abbreviate your name to initials only. Not there is an issue with that. Own it, I say. Say it loud: I'm confused and I may be proud?!)
You've got a vagina, might as well use it right? Never mind that whole biological imperative business where we as human being, nay animals, have a biological imperative to procreate. Hell, even the plants have sex. It's the burden of being a higher order organism. Let us all shake our fists angrily at evolution and its need to introduce genetic diversity through this clever mechanism!
I think your general displeasure with the societal acceptance of being 'Ace', which is about the lamest pseudonym I've ever heard in my life by the way, is your general displeasure with life. Okay, you're best friends forever with a couple of people and you don't bone. You know what? The next time I get the urge to have sex, I'll think about you and feel sorry for you that you can't appreciate the richness that sexual activity lends to a relationship.
Congratulations on being asexual and owning it and willing to advocate for it.
I'm sexual and it's way awesomer than you remember.
*Here is the article if you want to read it for yourself. If you can get through this entire article without being distracted by dubstep cat you're clearly a psychopath.
Friday, January 20, 2012
The Best Advice I Ever Got, I Got From a Stripper
When I was 16 years old my dad starting dating this 20 year old stripper from Tampa.
(I know, you're wondering how I'm so, so well-adjusted.)
Apparently, he was at the bar (Surprise, surprise.) and she walked over to him and mussed his hair. Read what you will from that. And voila a truly great 6 week romance began.
We went to dinner this one time, the three of us, and she was complaining about having to drive all the way to Orlando to go to work. She didn't know that I knew she was a stripper and she had this whole elaborate ruse going on trying to talk about her 'Office' and her 'Co-workers' and about 9 million mixed metaphors for the VIP room, any of which I cannot remember. I'm truly kicking myself about it too because some of them were pretty good. I then asked if she lived in Orlando and she said no, she lived in Tampa.
Well, I didn't ask anything then mostly because I was having a hard time trying to keep my dinner down from watching the two of them act like they were my age. Seriously, they played footsies. I know because I got caught up in the fray once or twice. (Again, you wonder why I'm not shell-shocked.) On top of this Stripper-Girl is carrying on this inane charade of trying to be mature and sickeningly maternal. Nevermind that she was a whole 4 years and some change older than me; she seriously wore a pant-suit and sweater. But she was a stripper so she just looked a whorey office stripper instead of a mature, matronly figure. Now before you assume that I hated her because she was a stripper I'll say this: I didn't hate her because she was a stripper, I hated her because she was stupid enough to date my father. And assume it wasn't going to end disastrously. I have no patience for idiocy for the sake of idiocy. And blatant denial.
After dinner and a refusal of ice-cream on my part -- Whaaaat? I know I refused ice cream and only loony tunes do that but there was no way in hell I was going to continue participating in this pathetic attempt at family normalcy or whatever it was they were trying to accomplish with this whole hanging out together business -- I finally inquired as to why she just didn't move to Orlando.
And she replied with the only honest thing I believe she said to me all evening: 'I work in one town and live in another so I can party and not run into my co-workers. I can keep my professional and personal lives separate.'
I imagine what she was really going for is that she didn't want to run into any of her 'co-workers' -- read clients here -- when she was dropping her kid off at kindergarten. I get it, it makes sense.
And That ladies and gents is why I work in one town and live in another. So that my co-workers are never privy to my drunken ramblings and stumblings and general debauchery.
But they've met me so I'm sure they're aware.
(I know, you're wondering how I'm so, so well-adjusted.)
Apparently, he was at the bar (Surprise, surprise.) and she walked over to him and mussed his hair. Read what you will from that. And voila a truly great 6 week romance began.
We went to dinner this one time, the three of us, and she was complaining about having to drive all the way to Orlando to go to work. She didn't know that I knew she was a stripper and she had this whole elaborate ruse going on trying to talk about her 'Office' and her 'Co-workers' and about 9 million mixed metaphors for the VIP room, any of which I cannot remember. I'm truly kicking myself about it too because some of them were pretty good. I then asked if she lived in Orlando and she said no, she lived in Tampa.
Well, I didn't ask anything then mostly because I was having a hard time trying to keep my dinner down from watching the two of them act like they were my age. Seriously, they played footsies. I know because I got caught up in the fray once or twice. (Again, you wonder why I'm not shell-shocked.) On top of this Stripper-Girl is carrying on this inane charade of trying to be mature and sickeningly maternal. Nevermind that she was a whole 4 years and some change older than me; she seriously wore a pant-suit and sweater. But she was a stripper so she just looked a whorey office stripper instead of a mature, matronly figure. Now before you assume that I hated her because she was a stripper I'll say this: I didn't hate her because she was a stripper, I hated her because she was stupid enough to date my father. And assume it wasn't going to end disastrously. I have no patience for idiocy for the sake of idiocy. And blatant denial.
After dinner and a refusal of ice-cream on my part -- Whaaaat? I know I refused ice cream and only loony tunes do that but there was no way in hell I was going to continue participating in this pathetic attempt at family normalcy or whatever it was they were trying to accomplish with this whole hanging out together business -- I finally inquired as to why she just didn't move to Orlando.
And she replied with the only honest thing I believe she said to me all evening: 'I work in one town and live in another so I can party and not run into my co-workers. I can keep my professional and personal lives separate.'
I imagine what she was really going for is that she didn't want to run into any of her 'co-workers' -- read clients here -- when she was dropping her kid off at kindergarten. I get it, it makes sense.
And That ladies and gents is why I work in one town and live in another. So that my co-workers are never privy to my drunken ramblings and stumblings and general debauchery.
But they've met me so I'm sure they're aware.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Candy Babies! Is this okay?
Today I was surfing around on the facebook and I saw the following image on my ad-bar:
Am I truly a psychopath or does this disturb anyone else?
My immediate thought was: 'Why are they making baby shaped candy now?'
My second thought was: 'Wait? Are those actual babies?'
This was quickly followed by: 'That is a very large hand.
. . .
I wonder what the rest of him looks like.
. . .
I guess that's kind of dirty.'
Also, what does this exactly have to do with ultrasound technology? Yes I understand that's how they come up with those creepy 3-D profile pictures of everyone who is and ever will be preggers from this point forward on the Facebook* but there are other things you can view with an ultrasound. Why not have a stock image of an actual ultrasound machine. Or better yet, a semi-pro medical professional in loud scrubs holding an imaging wand and looking pleased about gainful employment. That seems as if it would attract more traffic than a giant hand holding babies like one would hold M&M's? It's as if the giant has a bag of babies and he's just shaken a couple out into in his hand to devour for a snack.
This is truly disturbing! As I've mentioned. Who would decide to make baby shaped candies? Disturbed people, that's who! But way to go Facebook for adding a little creep to my mid-afternoon. I'll promise to stop deleting my browser cookies, if you'll promise to invade my privacy by monitoring my web shopping habits and go back to popping up customized shoe ads.
*On a side note I think I've figured out how to get gall stones so I can actually can post those ultrasound pictures of my gallbladder like when I first told you of my qualms about ultrasound images for profile pictures, here: It's your insides. Keep it to yourself. Yes, I'm considering giving myself gall stones to get an ultrasound and put the images on the interwebs for all of creation to see. Because that is acceptable now. I keep an open mind and I find it's discriminatory to other organs to exclude them from their own notoriety.
 | ||
| This is a giant hand holding little babies like they're peanuts. |
My immediate thought was: 'Why are they making baby shaped candy now?'
My second thought was: 'Wait? Are those actual babies?'
This was quickly followed by: 'That is a very large hand.
. . .
I wonder what the rest of him looks like.
. . .
I guess that's kind of dirty.'
Also, what does this exactly have to do with ultrasound technology? Yes I understand that's how they come up with those creepy 3-D profile pictures of everyone who is and ever will be preggers from this point forward on the Facebook* but there are other things you can view with an ultrasound. Why not have a stock image of an actual ultrasound machine. Or better yet, a semi-pro medical professional in loud scrubs holding an imaging wand and looking pleased about gainful employment. That seems as if it would attract more traffic than a giant hand holding babies like one would hold M&M's? It's as if the giant has a bag of babies and he's just shaken a couple out into in his hand to devour for a snack.
This is truly disturbing! As I've mentioned. Who would decide to make baby shaped candies? Disturbed people, that's who! But way to go Facebook for adding a little creep to my mid-afternoon. I'll promise to stop deleting my browser cookies, if you'll promise to invade my privacy by monitoring my web shopping habits and go back to popping up customized shoe ads.
*On a side note I think I've figured out how to get gall stones so I can actually can post those ultrasound pictures of my gallbladder like when I first told you of my qualms about ultrasound images for profile pictures, here: It's your insides. Keep it to yourself. Yes, I'm considering giving myself gall stones to get an ultrasound and put the images on the interwebs for all of creation to see. Because that is acceptable now. I keep an open mind and I find it's discriminatory to other organs to exclude them from their own notoriety.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Find my iDignity
Tonight the couch up and swallowed my cellular telephone not once, but twice.
I know. Believe me I do. I figured that I wasn't stupid enough to lose it in the couch twice but alas.
While I was trying to find my phone and panicking about where my watch was (I totally lost my watch last Thursday and spent ALL DAY LONG sobbing about it; I cried harder about losing that watch than I did 'The Boy.' Yes, I am THAT shallow.) I figured that I would take full advantage of technology and use the 'Find my iPhone' application.
First I'd like to say that I spent a good 10 minutes trying to figure out how in the blue hell you actually use the app. Google it and see if I'm not right. The interwebs tells you all about how to set it up and what it can do but never does it actually say 'Go to website, log-in and follow the directions. Finally I manage to log into my iCloud account. I'm not really 100% on what an iCloud exactly is but I logged into it and apparently have some space there. Maybe they'll let me put down laminate flooring sometime in the future. From this point it was fairly easy to find my iPhone and I could even send myself a friendly message that says 'Gee Anna, you really are a dumbass. Again?'
This technology is creepy. You can log onto a remote server from the interwebs and not only find, but text, wipe and lock your iPhone and/or iPad. I see the novelty in this, especially as I lose things by the time I've turned around but if I can figure this out, you iPhone owner are officially in a shit-storm. Don't leave anything you don't want seen by the world on your portable device. Secondly, I would like to know why in the hell we cannot do this with keys.
And maybe other less-tangible things? Can Apple create an app that prevents me from doing 87 of 100 things I do daily that make people cringe. Can I buy back my shame from Apple? Is it gone forever? Can I purchase discrete units of it and save it for future use? Or can it pinpoint my dignity on a map?
I figure that is the true connotation of the word. This is truly what they're trying to do to our society.
iCloud -- 'Everything you've ever been ashamed of; recorded digitally and saved for the rest of creation.'
I know. Believe me I do. I figured that I wasn't stupid enough to lose it in the couch twice but alas.
While I was trying to find my phone and panicking about where my watch was (I totally lost my watch last Thursday and spent ALL DAY LONG sobbing about it; I cried harder about losing that watch than I did 'The Boy.' Yes, I am THAT shallow.) I figured that I would take full advantage of technology and use the 'Find my iPhone' application.
First I'd like to say that I spent a good 10 minutes trying to figure out how in the blue hell you actually use the app. Google it and see if I'm not right. The interwebs tells you all about how to set it up and what it can do but never does it actually say 'Go to website, log-in and follow the directions. Finally I manage to log into my iCloud account. I'm not really 100% on what an iCloud exactly is but I logged into it and apparently have some space there. Maybe they'll let me put down laminate flooring sometime in the future. From this point it was fairly easy to find my iPhone and I could even send myself a friendly message that says 'Gee Anna, you really are a dumbass. Again?'
This technology is creepy. You can log onto a remote server from the interwebs and not only find, but text, wipe and lock your iPhone and/or iPad. I see the novelty in this, especially as I lose things by the time I've turned around but if I can figure this out, you iPhone owner are officially in a shit-storm. Don't leave anything you don't want seen by the world on your portable device. Secondly, I would like to know why in the hell we cannot do this with keys.
And maybe other less-tangible things? Can Apple create an app that prevents me from doing 87 of 100 things I do daily that make people cringe. Can I buy back my shame from Apple? Is it gone forever? Can I purchase discrete units of it and save it for future use? Or can it pinpoint my dignity on a map?
I figure that is the true connotation of the word. This is truly what they're trying to do to our society.
iCloud -- 'Everything you've ever been ashamed of; recorded digitally and saved for the rest of creation.'
Thursday, December 8, 2011
There is no sexy way to remove your Spanx.
Men, I blame you.
I have to blame someone and I certainly am not going to take the blame myself so I'm blaming you. You are the reason why I feel the need to wear the spanx.
'Hello God, it's me Anna.
. . .
When will I ever learn to love my body?'
If you aren't aware of what a spanx is I will explain. It's the wearable version of a battleship hull. It holds all the important parts in while letting the guns swing freely and giving the enemy a decent idea of what is in store for the remainder of the evening if they so choose to engage said ship. The makers of spanx call it 'shapewear.' I'll leave it at that.
(Although I will say it does do wonders for a girls shape.)
Anyways I bought these Spanx to wear under my little black dress because I'm fat and blah blah blah and haven't been to gym lately because I'm busy blah blah blah and I'm a stress eater blah blah blah and they make mayonnaise in gallon jars blah blah blah. Let's just say that I have a demonstrated need for said spanx.
There is just one problem. They are not easy to get on or off but it's not so much the getting them on part that I'm particularly worried about. There's always mayonnaise in my house (see above), so in the worst case scenario we can slather me in mayo. My friends will hold the spanx open at the end of our bar and I'll just take a running slide down the bar into them. Wam. I'm in my spanx and ready for my dress all without messing up my hair. Booyah in YOUR dooyah.
But what if someone sees me in my little black dress, which is PHENOMENAL by the way, and decides they would like to take me home and see what's under my little black dress. Here is where I'm going to need to be creative. They don't just come off. You can't just pull them off. There is wiggling, and jostling, and some praying, followed by some hopping and hoping along with groaning, moaning, wailing, the gnashing of teeth and pushing. Yes you actually have to push them down off of your body, there is no pulling. And guess what? You've still got to get them over your ass!
Nevermind that that whole charade is less than attractive, much less sexy, but it takes a solid 10 minutes and 3-man crew to get the damn things off. And I'm not really sure why they're pluralized when there is only one garment. Praise the Lord Baby Jesus for that. If there were two of them I might just die. But seriously? Who wants to watch that? Who wants to watch a warthog try to escape from a sinkhole? Maybe the warthog should have the good sense to stay the fuck out of the mudhole and just wear a fracking reasonable PANTSUIT. Who would want to see someone struggle out of their underwear?
'Why yes, I'd love to come home with you but first I need you to take these percocets, drink this whiskey and let me know when you're good and fucked up. Then I'll come in the room without my spanx on.' It is lying, plain and simple. Imagine if you took some broad home to have relations with her and when she went in the bathroom she was Scar Jo and when she came out she was Christina Aguilera at the latest music awards. And ladies imagine you're going home with Top Gun Val Kilmer and you end up with present day Val Kilmer*. It's just not right; you can't do that to a person. People want to take you home and rip off your clothes and see that you've miraculously maintained your svelte shape. They don't want to watch you explode like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man.
Whatever am I to do?
I suppose I could always just cut a hole in the crotch.
That could turn out fun. Right? Less sexy but a smidge more disturbing.
Maybe I'll just wear pants.
*I still probably would. I'm not proud of it but I'm being honest.
I have to blame someone and I certainly am not going to take the blame myself so I'm blaming you. You are the reason why I feel the need to wear the spanx.
'Hello God, it's me Anna.
. . .
When will I ever learn to love my body?'
If you aren't aware of what a spanx is I will explain. It's the wearable version of a battleship hull. It holds all the important parts in while letting the guns swing freely and giving the enemy a decent idea of what is in store for the remainder of the evening if they so choose to engage said ship. The makers of spanx call it 'shapewear.' I'll leave it at that.
(Although I will say it does do wonders for a girls shape.)
Anyways I bought these Spanx to wear under my little black dress because I'm fat and blah blah blah and haven't been to gym lately because I'm busy blah blah blah and I'm a stress eater blah blah blah and they make mayonnaise in gallon jars blah blah blah. Let's just say that I have a demonstrated need for said spanx.
There is just one problem. They are not easy to get on or off but it's not so much the getting them on part that I'm particularly worried about. There's always mayonnaise in my house (see above), so in the worst case scenario we can slather me in mayo. My friends will hold the spanx open at the end of our bar and I'll just take a running slide down the bar into them. Wam. I'm in my spanx and ready for my dress all without messing up my hair. Booyah in YOUR dooyah.
But what if someone sees me in my little black dress, which is PHENOMENAL by the way, and decides they would like to take me home and see what's under my little black dress. Here is where I'm going to need to be creative. They don't just come off. You can't just pull them off. There is wiggling, and jostling, and some praying, followed by some hopping and hoping along with groaning, moaning, wailing, the gnashing of teeth and pushing. Yes you actually have to push them down off of your body, there is no pulling. And guess what? You've still got to get them over your ass!
Nevermind that that whole charade is less than attractive, much less sexy, but it takes a solid 10 minutes and 3-man crew to get the damn things off. And I'm not really sure why they're pluralized when there is only one garment. Praise the Lord Baby Jesus for that. If there were two of them I might just die. But seriously? Who wants to watch that? Who wants to watch a warthog try to escape from a sinkhole? Maybe the warthog should have the good sense to stay the fuck out of the mudhole and just wear a fracking reasonable PANTSUIT. Who would want to see someone struggle out of their underwear?
'Why yes, I'd love to come home with you but first I need you to take these percocets, drink this whiskey and let me know when you're good and fucked up. Then I'll come in the room without my spanx on.' It is lying, plain and simple. Imagine if you took some broad home to have relations with her and when she went in the bathroom she was Scar Jo and when she came out she was Christina Aguilera at the latest music awards. And ladies imagine you're going home with Top Gun Val Kilmer and you end up with present day Val Kilmer*. It's just not right; you can't do that to a person. People want to take you home and rip off your clothes and see that you've miraculously maintained your svelte shape. They don't want to watch you explode like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man.
Whatever am I to do?
I suppose I could always just cut a hole in the crotch.
That could turn out fun. Right? Less sexy but a smidge more disturbing.
Maybe I'll just wear pants.
*I still probably would. I'm not proud of it but I'm being honest.
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