Red hot.

We got Comcast cable for our apartment here in Greensburg last week. This is the first time I have had cable television in over three years. Er go, I am now finally able to be in the loop about the major current events and goings-on in our world;  terrorist attacks, who’s pregnant, who died, who got arrested for coke charges,  the weather forecast. Usually I find out about these things via peoples’ vague and unclear Facebook status updates.  Suddenly I start seeing statuses that say things like,  “Praying for the people in Japan,”  and,  “I can’t imagine what it would like to be living in Japan right now,”  and I’m sitting here going, “What happened in Japan? Polio outbreak? Did SARS make a comeback? Was there a tsunami? Earthquake?”  I try connecting the dots, making my own assumptions and gathering clues until I get some sort of idea of what might have happened in Japan. It takes me at least six days to get the story straight.

Is The Weather Channel trying to seduce me? I’m sitting here minding my own business on the couch with my laptop in front of me, and suddenly this sultry jazz music starts oozing from my television. The lights dim. Suddenly I can smell oil and rose petals. I look up to see The Weather Channel showing me a low pressure system shifting across the northeast. What are they trying to do, get me to take my pants off? “It’s getting hot and sticky out there,” it says. Now I’m uncomfortable.

Moving on.

I just saw “Bridesmaids” starring Kristen Wiig. I laughed out loud like a little delirious lunatic child. Pretty good characters. Lots of great one liners. No demon-possessed squawking boy in the theater this time, although I did sit next to a little porker who couldn’t have been more than 9 years old, and he kept repeating all the swear words the entire time. We went through the entire movie without him commenting on any of the sex scenes, blowjob jokes, or beaver references, and then at the very end of the movie when “Annie” and “Rhoades” kiss, he yelled, “EWWWW!”

Kids are so stupid.

My armpits smell like wild roses. I am not being sarcastic. I didn’t just come from the gym after 40 minutes on the elliptical and am now making a joke about smelling nice when in reality I smell like the underside of Chris Farley’s belly.

My armpits actually do smell like delicious, fresh, wild roses. Dove “Wild Roses” deodorant crossed my path, and I couldn’t resist the temptation. I’ve been sniffing my underarms like an inpatient all weekend. My underarms are irresistible. It’s as fragrant as perfume. I’m delighted.

Starbursts has really figured their shit out. I’m delighted to find that they have cut right to the chase and started selling the best flavors without all the stupid ones in the same package. The best flavors being all the red ones, of course. Anyone who knows anything understands that the only good flavors belong to the red palette. They call it the “FaveReds.” Cherry, strawberry, fruit punch, and watermelon. Nothing but reds in the entire pack. What a great move. It wasn’t economical for me to purchase an entire bag of Starbursts if I was only going to pick out the red pieces and leave all the rest. What if I get a shit bag and only even get four reds in the entire package? They’ve finally cut out the middleman. I’m not the biggest fan of the watermelon, but I’ll take 75% deliciousness over a gamble any day.

Alright, peace out.

Becca.

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“It must be so nice to be married and have a family! Your kids—“

“Listen. Last night, I was at home making a really nice dinner for my family. My son comes in and says, ‘I want to order pizza!’  I said, ‘No honey, Mommy’s making dinner tonight.’ He says to me, ‘Go f*ck yourself, Mom.’  He’s nine.”