Downtown Girls: The Hookers of Hawaii (what? We love those HBO documentaries!), and in case you don’t want to click on that link, I’ll tell you that it’s about four male-born prostitutes in Honolulu. One of them has had sexual reassignment surgery, two of them haven’t but want to, and one hasn’t and doesn’t want to. In any case, it was certainly interesting. But it was while they were showing the six hundredth closeup of “Barbie-Q”s ass that I came up with a most excellent idea. You know how they sell shorts for girls that have writing across the ass that say “Juicy” and whatever else? They should totally sell shorts for older women that say “Saggy” and “Flabby.”
I know I’d buy a pair.
The documentary was interesting, but I don’t know who the filmmaker’s got doing those incredibly cheesy introductory segments – I suspect it’s the filmmaker himself – but they need to GO. They’re incredibly cheesy and don’t add a damn thing (except cheesiness) to the show.
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Those of you who suggested in yesterday’s comments that I read
The Omnivore’s Dilemma, rest assured that though I haven’t read it yet, I do own it and will be reading it long before it comes time to slaughter any chickens. I’m looking forward to it!
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Know what I hate? (You: “Everything?”) I hate it when you subscribe to a magazine, and THREE YEARS before your subscription is up, the magazine is fucking HOUNDING you at least once a week, trying to get you to extend your subscription. And as a special offer, you can get a FREE one-year subscription to the same magazine to give as a gift! Woo! Hoo!
I think it’s utterly ridiculous, considering that my subscription is good through the end of 2010, that Self Magazine is sending me mail telling me about this super-duper offer where I can give a one-year gift subscription to someone AND extend my own subscription by a year for the AMAZING two-for-one price! Well, I’ve been suckered into giving the free one-year gift subscription in the past, and you know what happens? Right around March, the goddamn magazines start harassing you to extend the gift subscription or the person with whom you gifted the one-year subscription might miss out!
And it’s not JUST Self Magazine, it’s pretty much every goddamn magazine I subscribe to – and I subscribe to a LOT of magazines – and it’s really pissing me off that every time I go out to get the mail, I have a pile of “Hurry! Offer ends soon!” and “Special 2-for-1 price!” bullshit.
Why I subscribe to so many goddamn magazines, I don’t know. I’m perpetually behind in reading them, and often times when I get around to reading an issue of People, we’ve swung from sympathy-for-Britney to god-Britney-is-a-boozing-whore and back again. I should just cancel all the subscriptions I have and read the same shit online, but I can’t help it. I have a magazine addiction!
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I watched the first episode of
Real Housewives of Orange County (Season 3!) yesterday, and there was this part that totally made me splutter. It involved
Vicki, the super-spazzy control-freak “housewife” and her daughter, Briana. Vicki says “Briana is such a good kid, I’m getting her a new car!”, so she goes and gets her a BMW, I think, and she shows up at Briana’s apartment and honks the horn ’til Briana comes out, and she’s all “It’s a new car! For you!” and Briana’s all “Shut UP!”, but she’s NOT acting excited, most likely because she’s thinking “Whaaaaat’s the catch, Control-Freak Momma?” and Vicki’s all jumping around screaming and “Aren’t you excited, Briana?!” and just as Briana gets suckered in and is all “Hey, this is kind of cool!” Control-Freak Momma says “Yeah, I got it for you! I mean, you’ll be making the payments every month, but it’s yours!”
And there’s a pop-up on the screen that tells us that the monthly payments will be $375, and I was all “Um, wha?” You go and get a car “for” someone and then are all “Yeah, but you can make the payments! Buh-bye!”? What kind of shit is THAT? I’d be all kinds of royally pissed if someone said “I got you a car!” and then told me I had to make payments. That is not “getting” someone a car, that is BULLYING SOMEONE INTO DRIVING THE KIND OF CAR YOU WANT THEM TO DRIVE. What if Briana wanted a Mustang? What if she wanted a shitty little $2,000 car?
I think she totally should have been “Yeah, I don’t think so, Control-Freak Momma. Buh-bye!”, but she admitted herself that she’s scared of her mother and wouldn’t dream of crossing her.
That show is absolutely my number one guilty pleasure.
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The foster kittens continue to do well. From the skittish bunch they were when we first got them, they’ve chilled out into pretty friendly ones. None of them care for being held, but they’ll put up with it for a minute or two, all of them except Deuce. Deuce prefers that his kitten-human bonding time involve him grabbing a finger with one of his claws and then pulling it (the finger) close so that he can lick and chew on it. He’s such a sweet guy, but definitely not a snuggler.
They seem to do the majority of their running around at night. We sit and watch TV and can hear them directly overhead, rolling toys across the floor and thumping around like monkeys.
Talk about your come-hither look!
Malley in the sun.
Fight!
“No, I’m serious! There’s a pile of catnip THIS HIGH! We’ve gotta figure out how to get to it!” (Jesikat looks skeptical)
Sweet little Peyton.
Spooky in the sun.
Malley in the sun.
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Yesterday evening I was in the kitchen cleaning up, and Tommy started dancing around making his whiny
I’m-disturbed noises, so I looked up to see a wasp hovering around the ceiling light. I grabbed the fly swatter and started swatting at the wasp, and eventually it ventured into the path of the fly swatter and I smacked it like a tennis ball, and it went flying.
I was standing in the middle of the kitchen looking for the wasp (they’re kind of hard to spot on a dark wood floor sometimes), when I heard Sugarbutt (who’d been hanging out on top of the cabinets) come racing around toward the refrigerator, then stop and sniff vigorously. He backed up suddenly, and started scrubbing at his face with one paw, so I grabbed the stepladder and climbed up to look on top of the cabinets, where I saw the wasp laying and kicking in a death-throes manner. I smacked it several times, then scooped it up with the swatter, climbed back down to floor level, and went and tossed it out to the chickens. (I don’t know if the chickens actually eat the wasps I toss out there, but they certainly get excited when I do it.) A few minutes later Sugarbutt came down from his perch and Fred got a close look at him, and told me he’d definitely been stung by the wasp, because one side of his mouth was all pink and swollen.
Long story short (too late!), Fred gave him an antihistamine, and within the hour Sugarbutt was completely back to normal. Considering that the last time one of the cats was stung by a wasp (Miz Poo, several years ago), she ended up at the vet’s for the day and a large bill, I’m relieved.
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Previously
2006: To prove that I have NO PRIDE WHATSOEVER, I post for your enjoyment a picture Rick took of me.
2005: It’s a fucking mystery.
2004: I seem to be a tad less fluttery today.
2003: No entry.
2002: Pictures.
2001: Fred in the dog house. Literally.
2000: I said “It’s a good thing you put your first AND last name, PLUS ‘your daughter’, otherwise I’d never have known!”
1999: Oddly, even though he’s had two doses of the antibiotic, he’s feeling worse instead of better. ]]>