Plant matters.

I am obsessed with NBC’s The Voice. My week revolves around my anticipation for and then viewing of each weekly episode. I have a few thoughts.

I hate Raquel Castro. Let me count the ways.

1.  She has midget arms. Raquel Castro holding the microphone reminds me of John McCain on the news.

2.  She can’t sing.

3.  She performed a Ke$ha song for a singing competition. Was this a joke? Ke$ha herself can’t sing, hence why she talks/shouts about glitter on all of her tracks. Terrible choice of “song.”

4.  There’s just something about her nose… It’s a beak. Too bad she can’t sing like a bird. (I get it, I was stretching it with that joke).

Frenchie Davis stole the show. Her performance was flawless. Her pitch and notes were 100% on point. Her voice is strong, smooth, and precise. She rocked it. I can’t stop belting out “WHEN LOVE TAKES OVEEEEER—uhhYEAAAhheeeyeaaah!” every few minutes in the hallway/car/shower. I really need to learn the words so I can sound like less of an idiot.

Beverly McClellan also puts on a magnificent, entertaining performance, and again her singing is on point. She is never pitchy and never out of tune. Looks like the balds are really one-upping everyone this season.

Dia Frampton also makes me happy. What a cute little girl. I think I have a crush on her.

Performance-wise however, I have to give it to Frenchie last week. She got me going. Big love.

Adam Levine is a fox. I want to butter him up and put my tongue on his face. (If he asks anyone if I said that, I’m going to deny it. Unless he’s into it). Also, his team has the best singers on the whole. Blake Shelton is really nice and I like his personality, but he is terrible at song choices and pairing singers together. When everyone else is joining peanut butter with jelly, Shelton is up there pairing chocolate with ranch dressing. He just doesn’t quite get it.

Christina has been getting on my nerves. She is an attention hog, and a hog in general (she’s a porker). My love and appreciation for that powerhouse voice of hers just won’t quit though. I just generally dislike her personality and her butting-in on everyone else’s mic time. Cee Lo is a pleasant, fat black man. He needs to stop starting every critique with, “You know you’re one of my favorites,” though. Not everyone can be a favorite, Cee Lo. You’re watering down your impact every time you say that.

Adam is sexy.

I think I already said that.

I don’t wash my produce before I eat it. It’s a survival technique. I figure if I sample all the low-intensity germs and diseases floating around between the farms, factories, and supermarkets, then I’m giving my body a good workout in strengthening my immune system. You know, giving it small doses of poison to make it stronger. Sort of like how the flu shot works.

Actually I’m too lazy to wash my strawberries and carrots. The other idea sounded good too though.

Adam is hot.

Okay, time to peace out.

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Dear sun, we’re already social outcasts. Can’t that be enough? Sincerely, sunburned gingers.

Which seat will you take?

So, is someone else going to murder Rebecca Black, or do I have to?

Every time this song is played, someone aborts a baby.

Ke$ha took a shit, and this is what came out. This is the most terrible song ever created. Ever. Are we really even allowed to call this a “song?”  If Ke$ha was dubbed the infamous talk-singer, I think her title has been stolen.

I have heard better lyrics come out of a Fisher Price toy. Are you telling me if I narrate my morning routine to a crappy pop loop and then explain which day of the week the current day falls on in respective order to the others (“Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday—today it is Friday! To-morr-ow is Saturday, and Sunday, comes afterward!” – perhaps she knows what number comes before and after 7 also?) that I, too, can become famous? Mine would be a little different:

“10 a.m., I’ve hit snooze 65 times, gotta get up, but not for school—dropped out of co-llege sophomore year, gotta go knock on doors to sell roofs.” (Continue on explaining the days of the week and making sure everyone knows what today is by repeating it relentlessly throughout the rest of the “song”).

“We we we so excited—we so excited. We gonna have a ball to-day.”

You you you so dead, Rebecca.

“Fun, fun, fun, fun, looking forward to the weeeeekend!”

I know my idea of fun x4 is getting really dressed up with my tween friends and then hanging around in a parking lot surrounded by cars that I’m not old enough to drive yet. Unless 13 year olds are drinking Smirnoff Ices in club parking lots now, I don’t know how to label what they’re doing. Certainly not “Partyin’, partyin’, YEAH! Partyin’, partyin’, YEAH!” I believe it’s actually referred to as “loitering.”

Who is the 32 year old black dude checking out the school bus full of 13 year olds in this video? Clearly he is pissing his career (assuming he had one prior to this atrocity) into the wind. Anyone associated with this girl or her “music” have thrown in the towel long ago, and really don’t give a shit about their lives at this point.

A large part of me is insistent on believing that this entire music video and song has GOT to be a joke. No one would ever create this in all seriousness and think it was a hit, right? This is a parody…right? Of herself? She’s joking? Tell me she’s joking.

Is it April 1st yet?

Well, at least Justin Bieber is getting a finally getting a break from all the hate-filled harassment I guess. Your parents must be proud, Rebecca. You’re really “blackening” the family name. (See what I did there? lolz). Not to mention mine.

Hahaha—So, a bunch of people on YouTube started commenting things like, “RIP Rebecca,” and “You guys, she killed herself.” For a second I had a glimpse of hope. Then I realized it was everyone else’s wishful thinking. Keep wishing, kids. If she hasn’t yet, she definitely will. 1,018,784 dislikes, and I am literally watching the thumbs down count go up as we speak like a ticking clock. Before I even finished that sentence, the dislike count has gone up to 1,018, 831. Hahaha.

Someone else left a rebuttal comment back to all the dissing that said, and this is a direct quote, “U guys need to stop, jus think about all the suicides becuz of cyber bullying, what if she like cuts herself.” She needs to. Okay? We’re all waiting for her to pull the trigger.

Well, if you’ll all excuse me, I literally need to go throw up my breakfast after having to watch this video at least three times to get all my points down on paper. Sacrifice. That’s what it is. You’re welcome.

Oh, it’s 1,019,041 now.

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“Hazing is a fun way to let a new employee know that she is not welcome or liked.”

Dirty Secrets.

I have to wait until September 27th for season five of Dexter to come back on. That’s too far away. I feel like I’ve been waiting for over a decade already. I don’t have cable, either, so that means I will be getting my fix streaming episodes off Hulu.com. In other words, that means I will be spending 95 minutes trying to watch a 52 minute episode, where every four minutes is interrupted by “…BUFFERING..28%” repeatedly.

In the meantime, I’ve been trying to fill the void in my television diet with Six Feet Under. Things were going swimmingly until the show just started to get really weird.

Am I watching pornography, or Six Feet Under? Brenda just keeps sleeping with everyone she sees, spreading gonorrhea all over California and beyond, Keith keeps getting more and more annoying, less and less black, and more and more gay by the second, Claire keeps dating psychos and thinking they are her emotionally vulnerable and needy prince charmings, and Nate keeps screaming at people out of nowhere. Over and over. I need more substance than this, you guys. Mix things up. Kill somebody. Uncover somebody’s sex change. Turn somebody into a dinosaur. Surprise me!

The radio stations here in Pennsylvania are nothing short of broken records. I am not exaggerating when I say that every hour is just a repeating cycle of Ke$ha – Your Love Is My Drug, Travie McCoy – Billionaire, Eminem – Love The Way You Lie, and B.O.B – Airplanes. Over. And over.

And over.

It’s unreal. On two separate occasions yesterday I switched from 92.1 to 99.3 to escape hearing Ke$ha’s scratchy hooker voice rattle off about brushing her teeth with rum, only to find 99.3 playing the SAME song. It was a nightmare. I felt like I was in the Labyrinth. What is this, Boiling Points? Am I being Punk’d? Come out, Ashton.

In other news, after a short hiatus from the volcanic temperatures the northeast has experienced as of late, the fiery, hell-on-earth weather has returned to fry me like a slab of tilapia on a George Foreman grill. I actually became turbulently angry yesterday as I was working outside because of the escalating, blood-boiling heat that Mother Earth was smothering me with. The humidity was thicker than Lindsay Lohan’s pile of misdemeanors. I genuinely could have baked a rump roast on my doorstep. Why is this happening? What have I done to deserve this? I need to be locked inside a meat locker until October rolls around. I’m not built for this sort of climate.

Yesterday I did an inspection on a house for hail damage. After my inspection of the property, I asked the homeowner if we could go inside to discuss the damage and the insurance claim process. The overweight, white wife shot a panicky look to the fat, shirtless husband, and exchanged a concerned glance. “Uh….yeah….” she said, and slowly led me through the back door.

Once inside, I quickly realized what the hesitancy was about. I was jack-hammered in the face with the foul stench of cat urine. Boxes of miscellaneous junk were piled ceiling-high. Fur covered every inch of space. There was barely enough room for me to squeeze through the “hallway” into the living room. These people were hoarders of the worst kind. If I didn’t stink before (which I did), I certainly did now.

How do people live like this? “Excuse the mess…we’re in the middle of several…projects,” she said. Right. I know that most of the projects my family and I work on involve gallons upon gallons of cat piss, newspapers from 1992, and garbage piled so high it makes the Appalachian Mountains look like Kate Hudson’s boobs.

People with hoarding issues just need their family members to intervene by setting fire to their homes. This is really the only way to fully nip the problem in the bud, if you will. By destroying every item in their “collection” (for lack of better words) by fire, you effectively remove the emotional connection that would otherwise make it difficult for them to “let things go.” Unless their McDonald’s Mini Beanie Babies and expired canned tomatoes mean more to them than their skin, lips, and hair, there is no chance in hell that the hoarder can sprint into the fire to retrieve their worthless, space-consuming belongings, aka garbage. And if they do, just let them. They probably need to die.

Well, time to go.

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Me: “These gross ugly people from high school keep requesting my friendship on Facebook, and every day I deny them. Haven’t they caught on?”

Cole: “Maybe you should include a message next time. ‘Look at my profile picture, and then look at yours. Can we really be friends. I don’t think so.’ “

Things that I have zero interest in whatsoever.

1. Kate Gosselin and her 45 kids.

• Things I care more about than Kate Gosselin or her offspring:
• Britney Spears’ favorite condiment
• Laura Bush’s Zodiac sign
• Denmark
• Cardboard

2. Kate Gosselin’s book.

3. Kate Gosselin’s hair extensions.

4. Football.

5. Lost. I have never seen, nor do I plan on seeing, a single episode of the television series Lost.

6. Terrel Owens and Chad Ocho Cinco’s teammate compatibility. Can they coexist? Does William Shatner like Honeynut Cheerios? I don’t care.

7. World of Warcraft.

8. Farmville.

9. Justin Beiber.

10. Being friends with anyone whose profile picture is of a truck.

• Things I would rather befriend than “Ford 4×4” boy:
• a grizzly bear
• an empty shoebox
• Heidi Pratt (maybe not)

11. Lindsay Lohan’s delinquency.

12. Having a child.

• Examples of things I would rather do than have a child:
• eat fire
• walk on fire
• be on fire

13. Hearing Ke$ha’s Your Love Is My Drug one more time.

14. Getting my nipples pierced. I’m no masochist.

15. Owning a cat.

16. Dancing With The Stars. I feel as though it’s time for the United States to declare war with someone else again when the most breaking news on NBC is the latest ligament injury on Dancing With The Stars.

17. Allowing Tyra Banks to live a day longer.

• Things I would rather see living than Tyra Banks:
• Joseph Stalin
• a centipede the size of a subway train
• a tyrannosaurus rex

18. Jersey Shore.

• Things I would rather watch than Jersey Shore:
• The Catholic Channel
• 35 consecutive hours of educational television
• a bowl of mashed potatoes

19. Meeting Flava Flav.

2o. Learning about any more of Tiger Woods’ mistresses.

• Things I could do with my time that are more important than learning about Tiger Woods’ sex partners:
• poop
• snip split ends off of my hair one by one with scissors
• sleep

21. Glee

22. Country music

• Sounds that are easier on my ears than country tunes:
• screaming infants
• freight trains
• Ke$ha

23. Brad Pitt’s beard

24. The Bachelor

25. Hugh Hefner’s sex life. I don’t want to know.

26. Running a marathon

• Things I would do before participating in a run this long:
• Adopt a child with autism
• Eat a whole pineapple
• Challenge Chuck Norris in a duel

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“You guys wanna see a dead body?”

Five Guys inside me.

Today was the first time I’ve ever had Five Guys inside of me. Sunday is my “cheat” day, and I allow myself to do things I don’t usually do. It was anything but ladylike. My mother would have been ashamed. I had my mouth and both my hands full. I felt dirty afterward. I was in desperate need of a shower, and probably a doctor’s appointment.

Today I had Five Guys Burgers & Fries for the first time. There I consumed the most delicious bacon cheese burger that has ever made its way across my tastebuds. I am not kidding. Usually I’m not the biggest fan of restaurant burgers, and tend to favor eating 900 french fries instead, and leaving the majority of my patty behind. But not this time.

Their bacon cheeseburger is unparalleled. The chewy, sweet bun was soaked in the delicious grease from the handmade beef patty, topped with a slice of American cheese, crispy, freshly fried bacon, and a generous amount of ketchup and mayonnaise. It was worth the heart attack I am going to have because of it. This is why I pay health insurance premiums.

Tomorrow I’ll be pooping Five Guys.

….literally and figuratively.

Trent and I have managed to survive 24 days now without a microwave. I wasn’t sure it was possible to go 24 minutes without a Magic Chef, but we’ve been going medieval on this biatch. “But—but—HOW?!” you might ask. Well, when you’re working 12 hours a day, and surviving entirely off of granola bars, peanut butter and jelly and turkey sandwiches (but not together—I mean, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and also turkey sandwiches. Not a turkey, peanut butter, and jelly sandwich. Gross), peaches, and pretzels, you don’t have time to use a microwave, let alone have food to cook in it. I have been boiling water in a pot for my tea and my morning oatmeal, and so far have only had to eat cold leftover Chinese once. We’ll see how long we can go without one before it becomes a matter of life or…cold food.

Ke$ha needs to stop making “music.” If I hear “Your Love Is My Drug” one more time, I will kill everyone around me and then myself. “Heey….heEeEeY! *hehehe*…I like your beard.” I’m going to assassinate her. What producer looked at this cracked-out looking broad with frizzed out hair and goopy eye makeup and saw talent? I would be lying if I said “TiK ToK” didn’t have me bopping my head, but only because of this man:

Alex Hiesberger – TiK ToK

Thanks, Alex.

—-

“It’s so black! It’s so impossibly black!”