Reality TV (and my red hot hatred of it)

I know that everyone is caught up in the latest Survivor or Bachelor series, but I can NOT stand these idiotic programs!  Lets put aside the fact that there are gazillions of writers out of jobs because of our latest fascination with watching other peoples "reality".  
Lets, for a moment, discuss reality.  Now; last I checked I am surrounded by reality.  In fact some days I am drowning in it!  My life is pretty good, better than some, worse than others, so why would I want to watch others peoples crap when I have my own?  Likewise, if my life is momentarily crap-free, then why would I want to fill mine with theirs??  I will admit when Survivor first reared it's ugly head back in 1788 (approx) I was watching.  The first couple shows were good until the whole strategy thing became an issue.  It's not so much a strategy as a plan to
1. Make secret alliances with the person directly to the left of you swearing undying loyalty until the end of time.  (Unless it's just the two of you left on the island, and in that case, that bitch is on her own.
2. Make a second secret alliance with the person directly to the right of you swearing undying loyalty until the end of time.  This alliance of course is complete garbage and you are just screwing with them to get info about other peoples plans.  Essentially, you have to toss everything you learned about being a decent person and become that evil chick we all knew in high school. 
3. The third and most important part (This applies to the females only) you must, and I mean MUST either be sporting a DD in an A cup bikini, or an A cup and just wear the headband/buff thing as a tube top.  Part this also involves you jumping up and down as much as possible in case people have forgotten to look at your boobs for a moment.
  This program does provide entertainment in the way of difficult challenges, but my biggest gripe with the show is that it ultimately rewards people for being mean.  They do everything that we teach our children not to and they win money and fame.  It is a sad revelation that this is where we are as a civilization. 

Now, on to "The Bachelor"...

Yes; millions of people love this show, some of my closest friends are addicted to it like crack.  I don't judge, I say watch away!!  My only request (other than PLEASE don't make me sit through an episode) is that at the end of the show when the "proposal"  happens, they must accept!!  Not only that, they must remain married and live together as a couple for a minimum of ten years.  You want fame?  You want money?  Fine!  It's yours!!  But you will have pay for it with ten years of your life.  If you think you can find the love of your life by acting ridiculous to gain the attention of some yahoo that got dumped last year then go for it!  I mean, it's not hard to fall in love when you are in Paris having a private dinner with the Eiffel Tower in the background.  Or on a private beach on a tropical island.  (insert puking sound here)  How about putting some reality into "reality" TV?  I want to see them get up and go to work, come home, make dinner, do laundry, clean the house, run errands and all the other fun stuff that reality brings.   Most of these contestants are wanna be actors or models and are hoping to spin their 15 minutes of fame into a lifetime.  Spare me!!  I especially love the syrupy sweet girls who bat their eyelashes and hang on every word the guy says.  Then tosses her hair back with a giggle that makes even Minnie Mouse roll her eyes.  The real pros are the ones who pick imaginary lint off the men in order to keep touching them.  My favourite part??  When these clueless morons actually fall for this shit!  (BTW ladies- thank you for putting the women's equality movement back about 300 years.)  I would love to see the sequel to this program where we get to see the raving shrew this barbie doll has turned into after living with her prince charming for a month.

If after watching these show you still want reality, come to my house and follow me around for a bit.  Today I am planning on cleaning the lint trap in my dryer, vacuuming and possibly cleaning out my fridge.  If you are super super lucky... you may even get to see me yell at my teenage daughter for having ten pairs of inside out jeans laying on her bedroom floor.

Or maybe I'll save that for my season cliffhanger...

FB Most Beautiful Teenager... WTF?!?

Sadly, this is not my usual type of post.  I felt compelled to write something about this and here it is.  In all it's ugliness...


I'll admit when I first saw the whole "Most Beautiful Teenager" thing on FB I wondered which pedophile thought of this one.  I mean seriously?  Encouraging teenagers to post their picture so the world can tell them whether or not they are beautiful.  Yikes... that poses a million different problems but I am going to focus on just a couple. 
First of all, most of these kids are indeed gorgeous.  What is saddening is that they need the rest of the world to adore them as well.  They know they are attractive... they can see the pictures as well as we can.  What makes them want to still gain the approval of the universe...well...human nature and insecurity I guess.  But still, it is disturbing.
What I find more disturbing is the trend to post pictures of kids that are either handicapped (sorry, not sure what the latest PC description is)or disfigured from either a disease or accident.  So now we must crawl into the head of your average teen, which is frightening in itself, and try and sort out the thought process.  They look at this person and know they are not what society deems as physically attractive. Whether these standards are fair or not, I don't want to discuss, it is a personal opinion.  However, these people do in fact look very different from what this contest is looking for.  So if a kid looks at this picture and DOESN'T vote for them they automatically think less of themselves for being so shallow and picking the girl with the perfect little nose and big brown eyes.  It is messing with their heads.  Lets imagine two pictures... one of the gorgeous girl and one of a girl who is disfigured in some way.  The contest is for the most beautiful right?  It is safe to say they mean physical beauty because if that wasn't what they wanted you to vote on, then you would need more than a picture. 

What do they do in their spare time? What are the persons moral beliefs? What are their opinions on social issues?????

Most people would pick the brown eyed girl in private but if their choice was made public they would choose the other one.  This causes self esteem issues for everyone...
They aren't picking the person they want to, they are picking the person they think they should because honestly, yes, the perfect looking kid is more attractive. In order to make this choice we need to know more about the person.
That being said... we are assuming that the pretty girl is a raging narcissistic beast and the other girl is a warm, caring child who would do no wrong.  What if that assumption if wrong?  Just because a person looks one way on the outside, it doesn't mean that automatically look the opposite on the inside.  We all know people of different levels of outward beauty and I think we can agree that some are indeed evil and some are in fact the nicest people we know.  At the same time, who's to say the untraditional looking person isn't a bad person on the inside.  We all know these people too!! 
I know I sound heartless towards some of these kids and I don't mean to.  The few that I saw that looked different we submitted by friends or family.  They are trying to convinve their friend/child that the whole world thinks they are as beautiful as their friends and family.  Why do they need this reassurance?  Not everyone finds the same thing beautiful and I don't know these kids well enough to make that judgement.  It results in votes out of guilt, because no, they aren't as physically attractive as some of the others.  With that being said, who cares?!?!  A lot of people find Angelina Jolie beautiful... I think she looks like a bobble head doll with facial features much too large for her head.  So what does it matter??
This whole contest is ridiculous I think has the potential to create more harm than good in the brains of our children.  If it were a contest about who is the better person, (which btw is a better idea) then all looks would be considered because it would have no bearing.  Because it specifically asks for what we deem "beautiful" I think it should remain that way.  Perhaps a contest on the most "Beautiful Soul" should be considered?? 

 Or, perhaps, we just leave this sort of thing alone and each enjoy beauty in its own way without having to compare and create winners and losers out of every ridiculous thing on the planet.

So here's the deal.... EVERYONE is beautiful in their own way.  Some in a traditional physical manner others by who they are and what they do.  Having the planet vote on this will make no difference.  Do not seek approval from the planet...it lies, it's shallow.  Trust the opinions of those who love you unconditionally. 

A person is as beautiful as the person they see when they close their eyes and see themselves from the inside.  Unless of course it is only important to you that you are physically beautiful and that the FB world agrees with you.  In that caase, congrats on your gorgeousness...enjoy it now, because when you are 85 and no longer have your smooth skin and shining hair you will be miserable.  And with any luck you will get to know that person who has had inner beauty their whole life and finally understand the meaning of the word. 

Merry Christmas! OKAY?!?!?

Ahhh, Christmas... that magical time of year when I can sit on my couch and watch the beautiful little lights on my Christmas tree twinkle along with the soothing holiday music.  I can look out my window and see the huge snowflakes seemingly take forever to tumble to the ground and balance delicately on the branches of the giant trees in my front yard.  You know that sound a record makes when you drag the needle across it?  Insert that sound here...

I can sit on my couch; awkwardly positioned in my living room to allow for the half assembled entertainment unit it is facing.  Any happy Christmas tunes attempted at being heard are being drowned out by the sound of drills being used to attach the last pieces to my new cabinets.  And Christmas tree???  I have a sad little 10" tree on a small table in the window that basically conveys the message,
"Yes, we are Christians and YES we know it's Christmas.  THIS IS THE BEST I CAN DO RIGHT NOW!!"  

The last thing to save the lack of Christmas spirit permeating in my half finished house is the beautiful snow, blah blah blah.  I look outside and see giant naked trees;  brown and sad, looking at me hopelessly as if to say,     "We ditched our leaves for THIS?!? Seriously??  We are naked out here.                   NAKED!!!"

 

The road is covered with remnants of snow, which has basically become big patches of dirty ice. The only thing that made me feel better about not getting the yard put back together before winter was that the ugliness of it would be hidden under a blanket of white snow, hiding the grossness until spring...Yeah... didn't happen.  Bumpy brown dirt is sitting out there mocking me.  "nice yard, Redneck!" 
Our reno addition that was started in the spring was supposed to be done by September, middle of October at the latest.  Here we are, less than a week before Christmas and I still do not have plumbing in my kitchen.  Ahh yes... I remember the good ole days when I could go into my kitchen...turn on a tap... and water came out.  Now THAT was living!  This morning I was washing a few mugs out to be put back into the cabinets.  This involved filling a bucket with water (from my bathtub) and washing them in there.  Yeah... that was fun.  After the water cooled and needed to be replaced for the second time, I managed to utter a wonderfully "un-Christmas like" word and was done for the day.  I think I've been fairly patient throughout this adventure, with only minor intermittent bitching.  Although in my defense, before we even started I did inform my husband that there would be whining, to which he replied "Yes; shocking".

My beautiful living room... be jealous.

"SuperMom!!"... and other words that get me irate.

I am what some call a "stay at home Mom".  This is seriously annoying and I find myself always having to explain why and then justify it...
Here are a few comments that make me completely insane;

1) "You don't do ANYTHING?!"
2) "You don't feel guilty not contributing to the family?"
3) "Must be nice to have that luxury!"

In regards to comment #1... Of course I don't do anything!  The kids have been able to feed and clothe themselves since birth!  The house stays perfectly clean because my children are absolute angels and always insist on cleaning up after themselves...Now if you'll excuse me I have to go and lounge on my sofa and watch soap operas all afternoon...

Comment #2... Not contributing?  I would like to sit down and add up what it would cost to hire someone to look after the kids and house... but my tiny little housewife brain just can't handle those big numbers.

Comment #3... Luxury?  Doesn't feel like a luxury when I am nursing two sick kids while trying to keep up with the barfed up bedding they keep producing.  While you are going out for lunch with your co-workers, I am having headless animal crackers (because my darlings find them "creepy") and watching TreeHouse while sitting on the floor and being used as a human bean bag chair.  There is no extra money for evenings out, hair appointments, nail appointments and girls night involves Polly Pockets spread from one end of the house to the other.
I am not complaining!  I chose this life and I have loved it (Well, MOST of it).  However, when some snotty desk jockey mom looks down her nose at me simply because I opted to stay at home and raise my own children  *gasp!* I get a little annoyed.   And if she dares to go into the "poor me... I miss my babies all day!  It breaks my heart to leave them! 
Uh... bite me!  Yes some moms have to work, especially if they are a single parent or the father can't work for whatever reason.  But again... did you NEED to have half a dozen kids?  (because these people never have just one or two.)  I guess it's easier to have a baby knowing you don't have to be the one staying at home and raising it.  I think that is a MAJOR insult to the Moms out there that are forced to work because of situations beyond their comtrol.  I know of some who would love to stay at home with their kids but thanks to disappearing husbands and fathers, they can't.  And if I hear the term "SuperMom" one more time I may actually have to hurt someone.  Unless you are wearing a red cape and can actually fly; you are NOT super.  You're a Mom.  Working all day and then volunteering on every committee there is doesn't make you a super Mom.  It makes you an absent one. 
All I'm saying, is that just because what I do all day isn't witnessed by an office full of people that doesn't make it any less important. 
I'm sure lots of women out there would disagree with me but I will share with you a valuable life lesson I have learned from my kids...
Place fingers in ears and shout,
"I'M NOT LISTENING AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!!"

It Might Sound B*tchy, but...

OK... here's the deal. 
 I don't like you and I know you don't like me, so why must we do the pathetic little chit chat thing when we happen to be within arms length of each other??   Everyone knows this person... they greet you with that annoying high pitched long drawn out "Hiiiiiiii!!"...
                  Why, oh why are you talking to me?!?!
 I can't stand to be around you, in fact, I would rather staple bologna to my face and put my head in a piranha tank.  I know you don't like me because, believe it or not, you do not  own the rights on gossip and I've heard what you say behind my back.  I am OK with this... really.  Could not care less.  So why does this type of person INSIST on chatting with me like we are old friends?  After the exaggerated "hi" they usually hit you with a lame compliment, "I like your hair"  (it's been the  same since the late 90's), "I love your shoes" (year old Sketchers with paint splotches)... etc.  Why can't we just nod hello, maybe force a smile and go on our way?  Even after those heart warming compliments, I am unlikely to divulge any personal info that you can use at your next gossip session.  Although I seriously, SERIOUSLY want to make up some fantastic story just to see if you repeat it.  My favourite ideas generally involve me being abducted by aliens and enduring somewhat invasive procedures in my butt region, or how I had lunch with the Power Rangers last week.  But no... I try and act like a respectable adult and just smile numbly and endure your stupidity....all the while imagining what it would feel like to smack you up side the head with my purse.  (which is huge and freakishly heavy I may add)  I understand we have to act civil to our fellow man and I am fine with this.  But no where does it state, that I should have to endure your stupidity for longer than a nanosecond. 
So I am asking everyone to do me a favour... a favour for the world of science and psychology really.  Next time this happens to you, stop the person mid sentence and say,
" I can't listen to you without feeling my brain literally dissolve inside my cranium.  Please don't take this personally, I just have a low tolerance for stupidity and you are exceeding the acceptable level.  Have a nice day". 
See what I did there?  By adding the "have a nice day", it takes the sting out of the glaring reality that this person is just here on the planet, sucking up perfectly good oxygen.

I do see that this does sound sort of, if not completely bitchy, but who among us enjoys this sort of encounter?  I am just the one saying this out loud (or inside your head as you read).  So as they say, put on your big girl panties and move along.
                                               

Back to School!

Oh, the back to school frenzy!!


  The summer is over (albeit a crappy one) and everyone needs new EVERYTHING to start off the school year.  I'm not sure why or when this became a rule, because I'm pretty sure you can still learn math even if you are wearing 3 month old jeans.  Anyway, I lug my 14 year old son to the mall to try and find jeans.  Now, shopping with a 14 year old boy is painful enough, but I get the added pleasure of trying to find a size of jeans that does not exist anywhere.  He is 6'1" and has a 28 inch waist (I know... I hate him too)  So this requires him to have an inseam of about 35 or so.  I dare you to go into any clothing store and ask the first employee you see (preferably one that is 15 and works only 4hrs week.  Just to mess with their head) and ask for a size 28-35.  Now, if I were working there and someone asked me for this particular size I would reply, "Sorry, we do not make clothing for snakes", but I understand that people generally have a filter that stops comments such as these before they leave their mouths.  I, alas, was born without a filter.  It is a real medical condition...trust me.  So we search through a mountain of denim trying to find something that will sort of fit.  We find a pair of 30-34.  He tries them on and with the help of a generous belt, they will work!  Of course they are just long enough and he will likely outgrow them before we leave the mall and get back to my truck, but they fit and we have to buy them.  Never mind the fact that they look like they have been worn by a guy working on the rigs for a week without washing them and then thrown into a cage with denim hungry tigers.  Why do the tigers like to eat holes in the jeans?  I don't know, THEY JUST DO!!!  So with the hardest part behind us I try and focus on shirts.  I wasn't aware of this until that moment, but apparently I have awful taste.  Every shirt I suggest is either greeted with an eye roll accompanied by a scrunched up 'Are-you-freakin-kidding-me' face or a comment something along the lines of "I'd rather go to school naked in January".  So I give up and let the boy pick out his own shirts.  I kid you not, he walked by the table, grabbed every second one down the line and said he was done.  Seriously??  The ones I chose were too dorky but having his boxers visible through the holes in his new jeans isn't?  Fine... we head to the till and I get to pay a massive amount of money for a pair of dirty looking ripped up jeans and random t-shirts I'm fairly certain I could've picked out.  Hooray!  We are done!  (Except for having to find a pair of non-dorky running shoes in a size 12... but that's a whole other story)  We haul everything back home and he tosses it on his bed... oh, soooo thrilled he has new clothes for school.  I am just relieved THAT is over! 

  I sit quietly for a moment when I hear my 13 year daughter come in ,"Hey Mom...when are we going shopping for my school clothes?" 


 I break out in a cold sweat; and everything goes black.

Oh the Dreaded OB/GYN Appointment!

Here's what I find amusing...

Men spend a better part of their days thinking about one thing.   Start up a conversation regarding sex, women's underwear or any combination of the two and you have their undivided attention.  Throw in a detail or two of your latest pap test and they are running off to a dark corner to vomit.  Fickle creatures they are...

Anyway, I go for the dreaded exam and tolerate all the usual preliminary questions.  I hardly know you, but yes, I will tell you about my latest menstrual cycle.  That is not a fun conversation.  I can try and act all nonchalant, answer your questions as if we are discussing the weather, but we both know this is seriously weird.  This dude is getting paid to ask questions that in any other context would be considered sexual harassment. 
So we finish the chit chat and he leaves me with a "gown" that is better described as an overgrown paper towel.  I focus all my energy into trying to imagine the cute little sponge pockets commercial but it doesn't help.  I am heading full force into a panic attack.  I know I only have a short amount of time before he knocks on that door and the charade of this lovely little visit is destroyed.  So I hurry out of my clothes as if they were on fire and neatly tuck all under garments inside the leg of my pants.  This guy is about to get elbow deep in my business and I am worried he's going to see my bra lying there.  Yeah... now THAT would be embarrassing.  Why do I feel the need to hide it?  Would I rather have him believe I don't wear a bra?  Or maybe he's read my previous blog about the black bra incident...
So I scurry up on the table trying desperately to somehow look dignified and cover my ass with this delightful paper ensemble I have been provided with.  For extra measure... they have given me a larger paper towel to put on my lap, because that makes me less aware of the fact that all that is separating myself from him is a thin layer of recycled paper.  Nice try.
I sit waiting... my hearing has now gone super sonic as I strain to hear any encroaching footsteps.  I sit perfectly still so to not make crinkling noises, because again, THAT would be embarrassing.  He finally returns with of course the mandatory nurse in tow.  Why not?   Let's sell popcorn and have an audience!!  I realize she is there to prevent any law suits, but seriously... this whole experience is about as sexy as a senior home dirty dancing class.  Yep, not really into hitting on the doctor at this juncture.  So he does what he needs to as the nurse and I engage in mindless chatter.  This makes the entire thing completely enjoyable.  I imagine we are just sitting at a coffee house having a pleasant conversation.  Except that a man I hardly know has his hands in places I'm pretty sure they aren't supposed to go and has asked me to "skooch down just a little".  To top it off he didn't even have to buy me dinner first.  What a rip off.

I survive the ordeal and leave his office as if I were fleeing a crime scene.   I am free once again!  I enjoy the rest of my day trying to repress the memory of the days earlier adventure and return to a fairly normal train of thought.  Have coffee with a friend and head to the grocery store to buy the bread I needed and pretend that was my only errand that day. 
 Fate of course could not allow this. 
 I am paying for my groceries trying to be normal, when who is in the line behind me... you guessed it... Dr. Cold Hands.  I don't care who you are... there is no way to have a conversation at a check out with a guy who just touched your cervix...EVER.