Author: Robyn

I’ve been spending a little too much time admiring Nance’s cutie pie lately, it appears, for he’s entered my dreams. Last night I dreamed that Fred went out and adopted a puppy looking very much like that one, and then promptly went on a business trip, leaving me alone to house train and clean up after the little guy.

I was not pleased.

I was telling someone to back off – or thinking of telling someone to back off, I don’t remember exactly – earlier today, which made me think of Darin from Love Cruise, and when he said "If I want to give my feelings to someone, you just back off!" The term "give my feelings" cracks me up for some unknown reason.

Also cracking me up today is the Kids Say the Darnedest Things thread at Three Way Action.

I’m so hating Team Guido on The Amazing Race (how sweeeet the sooooound). Why can’t they screw up in a big way just once, so I don’t have to look at their SMUG FUCKING FACES every show? I know I’ve said that I wish Karyn and Lenny would get their asses disqualified and put them out of their misery, but I would have been happier to see Team Guido go. I think everyone in the race with them would have been happy, too. Emily was a horrid brat last night, and I would have smacked her upside her little head if I had been her mother. I’m fairly certain that the reason all those people were crowding around the taxi is because they thought there was being a movie filmed – in fact, I HEARD someone say "movie" – and Emily’s little temper tantrum just made her look like the spoiled bitch she is. She was reminding me an awful lot of Amie on the first show, when Amie was screaming "You LIVE here! How can you NOT know where it is?!"

But the thing that left me nearly speechless was when Karyn broke up with Lenny at the end of the show. I was sitting there with my mouth hanging open and yelling "What a bitch!" For the entire run of the show until now, all we’ve heard is her screaming "LENNYYYY!" and haranguing him to move faster, to do something (everything) better, how everything he does is wrong, and by the end of the show, as they were approaching the finish line, I said to Fred, "If he doesn’t break up with her the second they hit the states, I’m going to hunt him down", and not ten seconds later she’s breaking up with him in front of the cameras. Why do people act like such assholes on national TV, I’d like to know? She couldn’t have waited until they were alone? Jeezus.

Maybe someone’ll get eaten by that lion on Survivor tonight. I wouldn’t mind that, at all… But you know as much of a fuss as they’re making over the lion, showing it in every preview and everything, it probably only appears for ten seconds as it moseys on by.

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There was much wildlife action in the bedroom early this morning. (Wait – that sounds perverted, doesn’t it? Get your mind out of the gutter!) I woke at 4 to the sound of Spot‘s squeakily pissed-off meow, and looked over to see him slapping at something – a spider, I assume – on the floor, which he eventually ate. At 6, I was awakened again by Miz Poo‘s whiny, chatty meow. I thought she wanted to lay down with me, so I repeatedly called to her and patted the bed (why I thought she’d whine if she wanted to lay down with me, I don’t know – she always just flops down where ever she wishes, and kicks her hind leg up in the air so that I might rub her belly), and finally I rolled over and looked down at her, and saw her smacking at something that was rather large. I put my nightgown on, fumbled for my glasses, and turned on the light, to find a huge-ass moth fluttering brokenly around on the floor. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper and put it out of it’s misery, which I think rather pissed Miz Poo off, ’cause she never came looking for her morning dose of love.

Fred is a freak. I know that shouldn’t surprise me, and yet sometimes it still does. Why is Fred a freak? Because the spud’s birthday is on Friday, and "all" we’re giving her for her birthday is a subscription to YM and Cosmo Girl magazines (too bad Sassy isn’t still around), a Mudd purse, and a watch. Fred’s under the impression that that’s not ENOUGH to be giving the spud, that we must go out and buy a pile of shit she neither wants nor needs, so that she can cram more STUFF in her already-stuffed room. When told to come up with a birthday list, the child couldn’t come UP with anything she friggin’ wanted, so what does that tell you? That’s right – that she already HAS too much stuff.

Speaking of the spud’s birthday, when we went to Maine this summer, she played with her cousin’s Playstation 2, and decided she wanted one for her birthday or Christmas. Then her father came up from Rhode Island to visit with her for a week, and according to the spud, he told her that HE would buy the Playstation 2 for her birthday or for Christmas (she wasn’t clear on which). Last week (or maybe the week before), I emailed him and asked what he was getting her for her birthday, hoping that if he was buying her the PS2, we could coordinate, and Fred and I could get some games as presents. The ex emailed me back and told me that he’s getting her a color Gameboy and games to go with it.

Now I’m wondering – did he get confused and think she wanted a color Gameboy, or is he getting her that for her birthday and the PS2 for Christmas, or what? I guess I’ll wait ’til a week or so after her birthday and ask him what he’s getting her for Christmas, or tell him we’re getting her a PS2, or something in between.

Damn those things are expensive, though.

You know, sometimes I’m a bit of a ditz. Other times, I’m a LOT of a ditz. This morning I was sitting on the loveseat reading, and I glanced out the door where Fancypants was sitting on the patio. He was surrounded by a nice-sized pile of leaves, and I thought to myself I wonder where all the leaves came from? I guess maybe the neighbors have trees, and their leaves are falling into our yard… To see whether I was correct, I put down my book and went out the door to look into the neighbors’ back yards, and as I walked through the door, I realized that we actually HAVE two trees in OUR backyard, and duhhhh, that’s where the leaves are coming from.

Okay, that’s it for today. I pulled some muscle in my shoulder while lifting weights this morning, so I’m going to go wait for Dr. Fred to come home and determine whether I’m going to live.

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No, that entry yesterday was not to indicate that I’d had a flat tire recently; I haven’t had a flat tire in many, many years. If I were to write an entry about how to change a flat tire these days, it would read: "Retrieve cellphone from purse; call AAA." Though of course that could bring up a slew up fuckedupness when I discovered that my cellphone was uncharged, or I’d left it at home, or our AAA membership had lapsed. Here in BitchyLand, there’s always some small detail to fuck everything up.

In the mail today, I received a huge catalog from Pallotta Teamworks detailing their events for next year. I haven’t looked through it yet, because I know once I do, I’ll want to sign up to crew every single event, and Himself wouldn’t much be liking that. If JournalCon’s going to be taking place in the fall, chances are good I’ll pick an event in the spring or summer to crew, so they won’t conflict.

Other things I’ve received in the mail recently include Pain Management, the newest Burke book by Andrew Vachss, which the wonderful Athena bought for me off my wish list, because she’s awesome (I’m almost done with that book, and just let me say – I love me some Burke!). I’ve also received several cool homemade stamped cards from women on one of Teresa‘s mailing lists, which was a nice surprise. Have I mentioned how much I love surprises, both giving and receiving?

And last but not least, I received something I ordered last week, and for which I’ve been waiting impatiently. This:

That particular purchase would be the fault of the Bitter one, who linked last week to High Cotton‘s webpage, and once I saw that doormat, it was all over. It cracks me up to no end, between the sentiment – "the cat don’t"! Hee! – and the font it’s written in.

Oh, and while I’m a linking fool, I don’t want to forget to link Melissa, who’s leaving in a day and a half for Dublin to run a marathon to benefit the AIDS Foundation. Go, Melissa! God knows you’d never catch ME running, unless it was to catch the ice cream truck…

I woke up this morning feeling rather crappy – in fact, I didn’t even get out of bed until 8:15, and that only because Fred called to tell me something and said, all judgemental-like "Oh, you’re still in BED, you lazy bitch?!" (or something like that)*, and so I started feeling guilty and forced myself out of bed, head aching and reeling, and forced myself into my yellow shirt and black spandex/ coolmax shorts (you understand that no one ever actually SEES me in the shorts, right? Wouldn’t want anyone to pass out from the horror of it all), and toddled downstairs, climbed onto the bike to do my 20 minutes of ass-kicking cardio…

And crapped out after 5 minutes.

Then took a shower and went back to bed and watched TV until 11:30, when I needed to go run errands, after which I came home and laid about the house, napping and just generally feeling like crap.

At some point I looked up the signs of Anthrax inhalation (or whatever the hell it’s called), and discovered that I’m too phlegmy for it to be that, so perhaps I’m merely coming down with the flu.

I actually feel a little better tonight, maybe because I woke up right before the spud got home and saw a big-ass spider on the ceiling directly over my head, glaring down at me and rubbing two of his 60 legs together, with a look in his eyes that clearly conveyed "I wonder if I could get her wrapped up before she wakes up?", and so I rolled off the couch like the hounds of hell were after me, and the adrenalin forced the blood through my veins, waking me up and making that blah feeling go away.

But just in case, I think I’ll go sit on my ass and read some more. ‘Cause, y’know, I never get enough of sitting on my ass…

*Okay, so maybe he didn’t actually SAY the "lazy bitch" part, and maybe he only sounded slightly surprised instead of judgemental, but it’s MY journal and I’ll exaggerate if I want to.

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How to Change a Tire

Though it may look fairly difficult, changing a tire can be accomplished in a few simple steps. First and most important, you must be driving down a deserted, rarely-travelled road between the hours of midnight and three a.m. when your tire blows. Pull over to the side of the road and hit the steering wheel with your fist. Address the dashboard, as though that is where God is currently residing, asking questions such as "Why me, God?" and "Why now?" When the dashboard makes no reply, step out of the car. Slam the door as hard as you possibly can. Repeat this step until your arm starts to hurt.

Next, stalk indignantly to the flat tire. Eye it as though you are regarding a rare and contagious disease. Kick it, hard. When you bruise your foot, swear loudly. Once you are certain that the tire is truly flat, choose your favorite four-letter word. Say it. Repeat it at least ten times, making sure to say it louder with each repetition. Sigh heavily, giving in to the inevitable, and walk to the back of the car. Open the trunk and locate the jack. Walking back to the flat tire, place the jack underneath the correct bumper (if the flat tire is in the front of the car, place the jack underneath the front bumper, and vice versa). Take approximately half an hour to figure out how to operate the jack. When you finally figure it out, tell yourself what an idiot you are. Ask yourself why you bought this stupid car. Tell yourself that you are never going to drive anywhere again, ever, ever, ever. You are going to lock yourself in your apartment and become a soap opera addict. Make sure that you are operating the jack during this entire tirade. When the car is almost at the correct height (ie, the flat tire is almost off the ground), it will roll three or four feet down the road.

Pick up the jack and throw it down as hard as you possibly can. Repeat this step several times. Scream a few four letter words, making up a couple if need be. Perform the "flat tire dance." This consists of dancing around your car, waving your arms wildly about your head, and yelling every swear word you’ve ever heard. When you have exhausted yourself, take a deep breath and lean against the car. Prepare to repeat this entire sequence of steps.

At this time, a car will be speeding down the road in your direction. Jump up and down, waving your arms; at this point, you would welcome even the sight of Jeffrey Dahmer, dead or not. When the car does not stop, throw a major hissy fit. Scream at the top of your lungs, yelling to no one in particular about the assholes on the road these days.

When you are reasonably calm, reach inside the car and set the emergency brake, telling yourself again what an idiot you are. This time when the car is at the correct height, it will not roll. Breathe a sigh of relief, telling yourself that this really isn’t all that difficult. Get the spare tire and the lug nut wrench out of the trunk. Return to the flat tire and assure yourself that this will only take a few more minutes.

When the lug nut wrench does not fit the lug nuts on the tire (the lug nuts are too large for the wrench), punch the flat tire, then scream, sure that you have broken one finger and possibly two. If you have correctly executed this step, you should also have the added bonus of watching the car roll another three or four feet. Scream every four-letter word you know, as many times as you desire.

Grab your coat – it has begun to rain – and walk to the nearest payphone, which is a ten-mile walk up some very steep hills.

Call a tow truck.

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Did y’all see Survivor last night? Was that just the NASTIEST friggin’ thing? I couldn’t watch, ‘causing I was afraid I’d gag. GAH.

I haven’t been to Wal-mart in days, y’all. DAYS. I’m afraid the stock price may have plumetted from the very shock of it.

Man. I just have NOTHING to write about. Would you be interested to hear that I set up a sweater-dryer in the bedroom specifically for the kitties to lay on, and every time I go into the bedroom, there’s a different cat laying there? And to increase their comfort, I put a towel on the dryer so that they’d have something warm to snuggle up in?

How about the fact that I have a clothes basket in the corner of the room with old clothes in it (which are waiting to be given to the needy), and which I left there specifically because Spot likes to sleep there at night.

I’ve turned into a crazy cat lady for real, haven’t I? What next – will I start sleeping in a corner huddled on a sleeping bag so the cats can have the whole bed to themselves? Lordy.

Okay, that’s it for me. I’m going to go watch Friends and ER, which I taped last night, while Fred and the spud watch their Friday night crappy movie.

Y’all have a good weekend!

PS – If you hadn’t noticed, you can now get to the journal by just going to bitchypoo.com, without adding /bitchypoo.html on the end. I accidentally uploaded the calendar to that page sometime in August, recently discovered it, and figured I’d just keep on doing that. Anyone who wants to find me isn’t going to have much difficulty – try doing a google search for "Robyn Anderson" sometime – so why hide? Besides, it’ll make it easier for y’all. And I’m all about making life easy for my readers ’cause I loooooove you.

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I have only this to say about The Amazing Race (aside from the fact that I always think “How sweet the sound” after I hear or type the name):

Team Guido? ASS. HOLES. Oh my god, how I loathe them, from the tips of their bitchy little heads to the bottom of their too-cute-for-words matching outfits.

Oh yeah – and I wish Lenny and Karyn would get disqualified and be put out of their misery. Have you ever seen a less happy-looking couple?

Anyway.

Bigtime congratulations to Amy, who had her own little sprig of parsley. Welcome to the world, Quinn!

Y’know, there just ain’t a damn thing going on today, aside from the laundry and little housecleaning (wanna help?), so I think I’ll put some pictures up and call it good enough.

Yes. They’re cat pictures. As you were.

I swear the damn cats have a water bowl. Perhaps Miz Poo didn’t want to go alllll the way upstairs? Note the evil green glow emanating from her eyes. (PS: I swear, the sink isn’t usually that dirty. Really!)

Fancypants dozing in the sun.

I think this picture came out pretty well. It’s obvious, but just in case, I’ll tell you that Spot was out back, and Miz Poo was watching him from the library. And Spot was licking something off of his nose, as well. That Spot, quite the talented kitty.

Ya gotta love the Poo.

 

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Warning: Love Cruise spoilers ahead.

Oh. Muh. Gawd.

OH MY GOD.

Did you see it? Did you see the final episode of Love Cruise last night? When the two couples had tied after the voting? And they were banished downstairs whilst the voters deliberated longer? And they were sitting in their cabins talking? And Darin said to Melissa (and there were captions so we could understand what he was mumbling) “When boy Tony came up, I thought I was gonna start�”

Wait for it.

“I thought I was gonna start�”

It just blows my mind.

“I thought I was gonna start balling.”

Oh yes. That’s exactly what it said.

God in heaven, if you think I didn’t run to the bottom of the stairs and yell that information up to Fred, you don’t know me at ALL.

Who wants to bet that there’s a captioner out of work today? Man, what a colossal fuck-up.

GOD I wish I’d been taping the show. But I’d already gotten the bug-eyed pictures of Toni, so I didn’t think there’d be anything else to capture.

Melissa and Darin won, which makes me not so happy. I don’t know who I wanted to win – not any of the couples in the finals, in any case – but definitely not Darin and Melissa.

And Host Justin stepped up and said something like “Melissa and Darin conducted themselves with dignity and class, and so they really deserve this cash and this trip.”

Dignity and class?

Darin? Perhaps, if to sniff about after a pouty bitch who HAS a boyfriend and is a pouty bitch can be said to behave with dignity and class.

Melissa? Not so much, if to pout and bitch and stomp and yell and throw temper tantrums means not acting with dignity and class. Which she didn’t. At all.

Although I’ll point out that there are plenty of pouty, bitchy, stompy and yell-y temper tantrums around here, so, uh, kettle? Hi, it’s pot.

Moving on…

Lord, lord, lord, how I miss my Lucky Charms. See, back on the OLD calorie-countin’ eating plan, I often had a small bowl o’ Lucky Charms at the end of the evening. Since I’m following the Body for Life eating plan, Bill Phillips would probably (does this sound familiar, Athena? 🙂 flip out and send his goons to my house to force me to do 65,000 sets of crunches if he heard that I was jonesing for the charms (marshmallow goodness!), so I’ve been behaving.

How long is this challenge thing, anyway? 12 weeks, you say? Why, that means I only have 80 days to go. Woohoo!

I bought a 12-pack of lemon diet coke yesterday, because I read about it in Melissa’s journal recently, and it sounded potentially good. So yesterday at Publix, I was looking to buy a 6-pack, which they didn’t have. I fumed and fussed for a few minutes, until I realized that due to the current sale, a 12-pack would cost the very exact same as a 6-pack. Bargain! So I bought a 12-pack each of lemon and the regular.

When I got home, I put a few cans in the refrigerator, because as much as I’ve come to like diet coke, I still can’t drink it warm the way I could the non-diet stuff back in the day when I was an addict. Hell, back then not only would I have liked it warm, I would have lapped it up from a puddle on the sidewalk if given the chance.

Anyway, come dinner time, Fred asked if he could have a can of the stuff, and I very kindly allowed that he could.

As he stood up after dinner, after only taking a few sips, he pushed the mostly-full can over to the spud.

"I don’t like it," he said haughtily. "It’s not even REAL lemon juice. It’s citric acid!"

Well. Could I pass up the opportunity to make fun of him?

"Whuh?!" I exclaimed over-dramatically. "You mean they took a can of CHEMICALS" I lifted the can to dramatize my point "and just ADDED more CHEMICALS to it?! I thought for sure they’d be hiring kids from Guatemala to stand over the cans and squeeze fresh lemon juice into them! I think we’d better call the Better Business Bureau!"

He just makes it so easy to make fun of him sometimes.

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I had a wickedly creepy dream last night that I was kidnapped and held hostage so that the creepy kidnapper could do some kind of weird mindgame-playing with me.

Not to worry, though. In the end, I kicked the kidnapper’s ass in a big way.

Today was a busy day for me. I didn’t roll my ass out of bed ’til 7:35, and then I had to exercise and shower before my hair appointment at 9:00. I made it in plenty of time and got to cool my heels in the waiting room for about ten minutes while listening to my hairdresser discuss her problem of the moment with her mother and 4 year-old son.

It appears that two checks HairChick was going to deposit had disappeared, and her mother was of the opinion that the 4 year-old had been playing with them. He was so damn cute my uterus contracted.

Anyway, I got some good reading time in while I had my hair colored (but not cut – remember, I’m growing it out), and I was out of there a little after 10:30. Then it was off to Kroger for Kashi bars for Himself, and while I was there I bought a couple of pots of pretty chrysanthemums:

Aren’t they pretty? And isn’t that little hedgehog the cutest thing, too? $3 at the grocery store (for the hedgehog, I mean)

Thennnnn, it was off to Wal-Mart for clay pots to put the mums in, since it’s windy around here, and I don’t want them blowing across the yard.

Is it just Fred and I that immediately think "Chrissie-anthemums", or did y’all see that episode of Three’s Company as well?

After a stop at the post office to mail something for Himself, I headed home to drop everything off quickly, grab a bottle of water, and then leave again, after giving Miz Poo a kiss on her sleepy head.

I went alllll the way across Huntsville to Sam’s, ’cause Bill O’Reilly‘s newest book came out today and Fred was spastic at the thought that he might not have the book in his hot little hands by the end of the day, and I refuse to shop at Books-A-Million because books there are SO damn expensive. Sam’s did have the book, which I got for less than it would have been at Amazon AND I didn’t have to pay shipping, so all was good.

Since I’d saved all that money on the O’Reilly book, I bought another book I saw, and a $10 Crimson Tide sweatshirt. I’m just doing my part to help keep the economy afloat, people…

Then, I went home, and stopped on the way at Publix to pick up the grocery items we either forgot to put on Saturday’s list, or ran out of between Saturday and today. By the time I left Publix, it was after 1, so I stopped at Wendy’s for lunch (grilled chicken sandwich, side salad, diet coke), and then I came home.

And now, I think I’m going to go start dinner and veg until the time comes that the scary lady:

comes to dominate the television one last time.

‘Night, y’all.

 

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Man, the nominations for this quarter’s Diarist Awards end today, and I just squeaked in under the wire. You’d think while I was doing all that sitting around last week, I’d’ve gotten around to doing my nominating, but nooooo. The Procrastination Queen, that’s me.

Anyway, it’s my quarterly cheater entry, where I link to everyone I nominated in lieu of writing a REAL entry:

I really liked Mary’s WordGoddess collab.

Melissa’s entry about the difficult decision to take her cat back to the shelter.

Fred’s response to someone who believes that it was easier for him to lose weight because thisthatandtheotherexcuse. Yes, I’m allowed to nominate my husband, especially when I think it’s an awesome entry. Least, I didn’t see anything in the rules that said I wasn’t allowed to…

I think it’s a rule that I have to nominate one or more of Saundra’s entries each quarter, isn’t it?

I love me some Jolene , who consistently puts up incredibly brave entries like this one.

Liz’s entry about trying to figure out what she believes and what she wants, religion-wise, really struck a chord with me

(PLEASE do not email me and tell me that you’re praying for me to find my way back to jayzus, ’cause I love my readers, but I do NOT want to hear it)

Elizabeth’s entry about her father’s experience in 1981 was awesome and made me tear up. I spend too damn much time tearing up while reading journals, y’all.

Another thought-provoking entry from Rob.

As usually happens after I read something she’s written, I read Wendy’s entry and said "Amen, sister!"

If there were a Diarist Award for Ookiest Entry, I’d nominate this one. I was reeling around clutching my eyes, which were throbbing with sympathy pains, believe you me (and then the photo essay at the bottom made me laugh).

Oh, and while I’m talking about Bitter Hag entries, I nominated this one. "Genetically predisposed to White Trash" cracked me up something fierce.

I don’t remember the date on this entry, but I’m positive it was before September 11th, and an excellent entry on it’s own, but even moreso since September 11th happened. If that makes any sense.

I linked to Viv’s Eye of the Storm back when I first read it, and it still cracks me up.

I don’t know that Shelley’s entry about Dickie can really be considered a journal entry, but I don’t care. I nominated it anyway, ’cause it made me cry. Shelley always makes me cry, when she’s not making me laugh my ass off.

Carrie’s entry about being made to feel that she needs to defend her choices is really good. But actually, I DO think she’s brave. So there!

I intended to not nominate entries about September 11th – there are so many of them, and they were all really good – but I couldn’t not nominate this one.

And this one.

Never’s instructional entry tells it like it is. Sing it, sister!

Secra caught some shit for this entry, but I loved it. LOVED it, and it’s one of my most favorite entries ever.

Athena’s entry took me by surprise and made me cry, and it’s just an incredible entry.

Boy, I’m original, aren’t I? "An incredible entry", "an awesome entry", "made me laugh!", "made me cry!". Next thing you know, people will be paying me to say nice things about their entries so they can quote me at the bottom, like movie reviews…

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::whimper:: Mommy, I had another dream about the scary lady. Her eyeballs fell out of the sockets and rolled down her cheeks, and then Anthony came over and stomped on them, and she was flailing around screaming "I can’t see! I can’t see!" and Anthony was laughing, and then he grew horns o’ evil and laughed and laughed. Can I sleep with you and Daddy tonight?

(See the horns of evil? Anthony kinda reminds me of a young Kurt Russell in this picture)

So yes, not that it should surprise you, but I’ve been watching Love Cruise, each and every show, and waiting with bated breath for Toni to do the bug eyes. I kinda liked Toni at first, but her hysterical weeping every time someone got voted off started to get old. Christ, it’s not like they were going off to DIE, they were just going off to a crappy resort. IN ARUBA. Poor darlings.

::whimper:: And THEN Toni turned into satan and ate Jeanette’s face off, Mommy!

Personally, I think the whole bunch of ’em need a good smackin’, and I’m volunteering to do it. Everyone except for Darin, who HAS to be a mass murderer, with those innocent little puppydog eyes. He reminds me of Greg Brady, with those pretty eyes and the thick eyelashes.

So who does he have the hots for? Why, Melissa, o’ course. Melissa, who has the pouty bitch look down cold. Melissa, whom I’d like to slap every time I see her do the little pouty pursed-lip face.

There she is, in an amateurish attempt at the bug eyes. And note she’s got the pouty lips going. I think Jeanette should jettison Michael, and Darin should kick Melissa’s bitchy face to the curb, and they should team up. That’d fix Melissa’s little red wagon, wouldn’t it?

::whimper:: And then the scary lady was looking at ME, and yelling "You can’t malign my character like that!" ::sob::

Ah me, trash tv at it’s finest. The one chick I liked at the beginning – Lisa – because she was all self-conscious about being the only small-chested non-blonde on the ship (well, practically), turned out to be the biggest freakin’ drama queen of ’em all. Gah.

Did y’all watch Survivor last night? Man, how shallow am I – Fred said "The president’s supposed to address the nation at 7, Bessie! He’s going to be on when Survivor‘s going to be on!" And my bitchy little response was "DAMNIT! Tell him to go run his fucking war and stay out of the way during Survivor!" Lord. Let the stampede to unsubcribe to my notify list begin!

Anyway, Survivor. The only ones I could identify by the end of the show were Clarence, Diane, THAT FUCKING ASSHOLE TOM, and Ethan. Except that I got him mixed up with Silas, so I just started calling Ethan "moptop." I think he’s adorable, but perhaps needs to unclench a little. THEY AREN’T GOING TO LET YOU DIE FROM STARVATION, MOPTOP. IT WOULDN’T BE GOOD FOR RATINGS.

Actually, it’d be excellent for ratings, but those damn human rights activists would be all up in arms. Those people just ruin all the fun…

I don’t think I’ve hated any Survivor castmembers so early in the series as much as I LOATHE the FUCK out of that ASSHOLE Tom. GodDAMN, if I’d been on his tribe, I’d have just lost it and started bellowing at him to shut the fuck up when he was doing his mentally deficient "Apologize to HER, ’cause that was HER food you stole too! And apologize to HER, ’cause it was HER food too!" and so on. And Clarence just DID. I would have said "FUCK YOU OLD MAN, WHAT THE FUCK MADE YOU THINK YOU’RE THE BOSS OF ME?!"

I’m going to be the first one voted off Survivor 45: Antarctica, aren’t I?

Hmph. I could be at JournalCon right now. Actually, I was pricing tickets last night, but last-minute tickets from here to Chicago are prohibitively expensive, it appears. Who’d’ve thought?

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