Tag Archives: television

Time out.

2 May

The Voice is starting to piss me off. My rage is uncontrollable. I don’t know where to begin to express my discontent with the judges. Christina got rid of Jesse Campbell, quite possibly the best male vocalist on the show. RaeLynn was one of my least favorite in the beginning of the show, and quickly became one of my favorites. When she rocked out “She’s Country,” I fell in love. Then Blake’s stupid ass kicked her off! WHAT IS HAPPENING!??!?! I feel like I’m taking crazy pills. I still like you, Blake. But…but…!!

Also, Christina is being a total C-word. What, she lost five pounds so now she gets to be a bitch to everyone? Her negative criticism is always unwarranted and rude in general. She needs to be slapped in the tits.

Now it’s down to the wire though. I am saddened that Lindsey Pavao has left us. I think Juliet Simms will win this show. She’s a badass. Jermaine has a good voice, no doubt, but something about him bores me, same as Javier Colon last season. It’s like….they’re so powerful and good technically, but lack character in their singing. I don’t know, they don’t grab me as individuals like the others do.

My aspartame consumption is really causing my memory to debilitate, and I keep blacking out other parts of the show. I can’t remember who is left anymore. Go Juliet.



The world has destroyed my attention span. I used to be able to wait for dial-up internet, and now I can’t wait for a 10 second YouTube commercial. I get pissed when it takes longer than 2 seconds for my email to load. I’m aggravated when the gas station pump takes 8 seconds to print a facking receipt. I feel like a six year old waiting for Christmas Eve when my oatmeal is in the microwave for 1:30. It can’t be reversed. Impatience is now ingrained in my generation.

I am finally the proud parent of a gloriously simple and sophisticated white iPhone 4s. I could not be happier. Deactivating my Droid was like getting ice cream on a 100 degree day. I was overjoyed. I am amazed I had the self control to not hurl my Droid at a brick wall up until this point. Siri and I are best friends. I asked her what I should wear this morning, and she said, “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing right now?”  I asked her again about an hour later and she responded with, “I’m sure whatever you wore yesterday would be fine.”  Haha. Attitude. Thanks Siri.



Of course after receiving my new phone, I had to go peruse through the apps and get all my conveniences set up for myself, beginning with weather.  I’m a real freak about my weather updates. I want to know the real temperature, the “feels like” temperature, the chance of precipitation hour-by-hour, the 10-day forecast—I need to be in the know. Anyway, while I was deciding which app to choose for my weather updates, I read a few reviews. One particular weather app had a comment from a user that read,

“Cool app but isn’t always right.”

….No shit. Welcome to the WEATHER, kid. Weather forecasts are never “always right,” you nimrod. That’s like saying, “The Celtics are good but they don’t always win.”  Sigh.

WELL, time to do work things. Bi!


B:  “The bad thing about rice cakes is that I eat like six of them at a time.”

A:   “That’s because they’re filled with air.”

The scent of a woman.

15 Mar

I keep snapping my head from left to right and nosing the air after catching whiffs of something really fresh and delicious smelling. *Sniff sniff*–what is that fantastic smell? I wonder. Then I realize it’s me. More specifically, it’s my shirt, because Tide laundry detergent + Febreze is the elixir of life and Proctor & Gamble’s gift to the world. Every article of clothing comes out smelling like what I imagine David Beckham smells like. My clothing emits a delightful, welcoming and comforting aroma of freshness like a field of wild flowers on a spring afternoon. I want to eat my shirt. It’s irresistible. I recommend it.



Coincidentally, I just logged onto Yahoo News to find other shit to write about, and the first story that caught my eye was the following:


^ People stealing Tide. Haha. It’s not about the drugs, Yahoo. It’s about the heavenly smelling Tide.

Tide + Downy is also orgasmic. Try them both, choose for yourself.

The Voice continues to grab me by the balls. I love this show. I also love Adam Levine’s face, eyes, mouth, and body. That is when I’m not so distracted by Christina Aguilera’s bazoongas to see it. What the f-ck is up with Cee Lo Green and his giant white cat?



Am I watching The Voice or Austin Powers? The cat’s name is Mr. Purrfect. Unbelievable. One second I’m watching a very intense singing competition, and the next second I’m watching Cee Lo Green stroke his white cat in his red silk pajamas and make commentary on the show like it’s perfectly normal. He’s doing it to f-ck with everyone. Haha.

There is perhaps nothing more frightening than having a full bottle of soda erupt in your face while driving 80 miles per hour down the interstate in the winding, snowy mountains. The other day after five hours of intense snowboarding, my brother and I stopped at a 7/11 to get some garbage to put into our bodies to not help it recover from all the aggressive physical activity we put them through that day. We picked up some Doritos, Dr. Peppers, and Cadbury Eggs, gassed up the car and hit the road. About five minutes into the drive, I asked Richard to pass me my Dr. Pepper with much anticipation. With my knee on the steering wheel, I twisted the cap, and like Mt. St. Helens in 1980, it violently exploded all over the driver’s side of the car with the fury of a thousand volcanoes. I was literally dripping in Dr. Pepper from head to toe. I have no idea what happened. It was never shaken, bumped, or disturbed. Richard stared at me with his mouth agape. We were so confused.



“I don’t even know what’s going on right now,” he said. Haha. I was pissed. My coat, pants, face, lap, seat, center console, door, and steering wheel were coated in sticky pop. What happened, Bill Nye? Did the cashier pull a prank on me? I did make her go through a bit of trouble with manufacturer’s coupons during the checkout……what a bitch.

Anyway, time for me to go paint my nails. I’m becoming a nail painting addict. It’s fine. Gotta keep my game tight, knowhadamsayne?



“Imagine your dick as a bus. Even a small bus is still a huuuge bus. You know?”

Polly Pocket.

7 Mar


Welp, Monday was spent recuperating from the previous three days at the SnowBall Music Festival. I spent 72 consecutive hours destroying my body, mind and spirit with alcohol and elicit drugs. I couldn’t be happier. What an insane f-cking time. There were bananas and champagne and glow sticks everywhere. Got about 30 solid hours in the onesie, circa 1986 (eBay gem), pillaged roughly $180 of merchandise including Snowball shirts, Burton tees, and Burton beanies, danced like an asshole and burned 150,000 calories (all the more reason to continue my daily carb-loading routine).



Top shows of the electronic music festival for me were:

  • Ghostland Observatory
  • DallasK
  • Minnesota
  • Bag Raiders
  • Dada Life
  • Bassnectar
  • MiMOSA
  • Boombox
Initially I mistyped “Boobmox” on Boombox. Everybody makes mistakes. Like I said, my brain is seizing. I’m lucky that my heart is still beating today. I cannot wait for next year.

I wish humans had built-in pockets. There are several things I like to always have on my person. Chapstick, tissues, my phone. I could really benefit from having the convenience of a built-in fanny pack. Basically I wish I were a marsupial.



I can’t stop feasting on the enormous batch of breakfast burritos Trent made last week. These delicious tortillas are filled with zesty chorizo, fluffy eggs, a fiesta blend of Mexican cheese, a river of Cholula (clutch), onions, and roasted potatoes. Mmm. I’m not really sure how burritos can actually qualify as a “breakfast” food, but then again, when have Americans ever really followed the rules. I like how we slap the word “breakfast” in front of various non-breakfast items and consider it perfectly acceptable. Breakfast pizza, breakfast burritos, breakfast casserole. Just put the word “breakfast” in front of it, then it’s healthy!

We’re fat.

Speaking of fat, Christina Aguilera needs to stop wearing hats. What the f-ck was she wearing on her head this week, a Bedazzled vinyl record?



Awful. What kind of drugs is she on, and why weren’t they available to me at the Snowball Music Festival this weekend? If it’s possible, she has gotten even more orange. I’m beginning to think it’s a biological thing, like she gets oranger with age, like a tangerine.

ANYway, time to go get more much needed REM. Adios, muchachos.


“Whiskey. Rum. Mali. Coke. Shrooms. Jager. Weed. Beer. Vodka.”

“This text message thread would be a gold mine for the police department.”

You’re as cold as ice.

26 Feb

Actually, I’M cold as ice. If I bumped my knee on the coffee table right now, it would shatter into a million pieces, because it is now a frozen solid block of ice.



It is stupid cold today. The wind is gusting with a vengeance. It feels like a million tiny daggers ripping through my body. I need more pants. On. I need more pants on. It will take me at least one hour to thaw out. I brought No Balls Rals to the dog park today for some exercise so that I wouldn’t have to play with him myself at home later while I’m watching 14 consecutive episodes of Dr. 90210.

For the first time ever, we arrived and there was not a single other canine at the park. Probably because most people realized that glaciers were about to sail into Eagle County and hypothermia isn’t on most peoples’ agendas on a casual Sunday. After standing around waiting for about ten minutes and chattering my teeth like someone on too many prescription medications and a gallon of medium roast, a gaggle of dogs finally showed up and they ran their little hearts out. Meanwhile, I suffered from frostbite and lack of circulation to my frozen extremities.



My creamer intake continues to escalate. I am spiraling out of control. I have bought two liter-size jugs of it within four days. This is not normal creamer consumption, I am almost sure of it. It has become my heroin. This French vanilla elixir of life has got me by the balls. I’m going to need an Intervention. (I’ll resist help 100% of the way).



I spend a lot of time playing Zynga word games on my phone. Mainly Hanging With Friends and Words With Friends. Since I am a cheap ass and refuse to pay for these games in order to get ad-free playing time, I am continually bombarded with advertisements during my ass-whooping gaming sessions. I used to get a lot of ads for “increasing your battery life” and “Zynga Poker,” but lately it has strictly been online dating websites. Every time. What is Zynga trying to say? That because I play word games on my phone for so many hours a day, I couldn’t possibly have a life? Haha.

They’re right.

WELL, time to go hack my lungs up. I seem to have caught some sort of a cough. I’m not happy about it, but what can you do.


“What are those big jugs called that you put water in?  …Oh yeah, water jugs.”




Survival mode.

20 Feb


I’ve been watching The Colony a little bit lately. If you are unfamiliar with the show, it is basically a reality show based on a social experiment (a la Survivor) in which people are placed in a simulated “end of times” scenario where there has been a giant disaster and people are left to fend for themselves: find food, shelter, create a safe environment, generate electricity, fight off marauders, etc. Basically they have to figure out how to survive and start over with little resources. The group consists of people who are experts in various fields. They have an electrician, a mechanic, a self-defense instructor, a nurse, a biologist, etc.

The point is, I would be useless in the end of times. I can’t do anything. If I were given the task of say, starting a fire, or wiring an electrical outlet, or gutting a fish, I would shit in my pants. What can I do? I mean….I could like, tell jokes. I wouldn’t be necessary to the survival or prosperity of the group. Basically they would kill me and eat me for food.

So I guess there’s that.



I miraculously have to pee as soon as I get all of my gear on prior to snowboarding. It’s getting annoying. I purposely hydrate at night so that I don’t have to chug a half a gallon of liquids in the morning before I ride, causing me to pee one hundred and fifty times throughout the day, and just when I think I’ve emptied the tank and have put on my long-johns, socks, snowboard pants, Under Armour, thermal, fleece, and down coat, nature calls. Like clockwork. It’s irritating and inconvenient. I think my bladder is playing pranks on me. Can organs do that?



I have progressed from just abusing the French vanilla coffee creamer in my tea by using unnecessary amounts of it to actually taking straight pulls from the bottle. Next thing you know, I’ll be doing beer bongs of vanilla creamer in the kitchen. This can only end badly. It’s just so damn delicious, you guys. How do they do it? WHY CAN’T ALL THINGS THAT ARE GOOD HAVE NO CALORIES?!?!?!?!?!?

Life’s not fair.



I have started sending snail mail again lately. I love doing that. There’s just something about sending and receiving physical letters written with sparkly gel pens, covered in flamboyant stickers that really warms the heart, you know? Snail mail. So slow. They try to act like it’s not though. First class, priority—they all sound like the fastest one. It’s trickery.

In other news, the broken laptop situation turned out well, relatively speaking. I sold my broken computer to a dude who fixes computers for $300, and got the exact same 13″ Macbook that I had before for $700. Four hundred bucks to replace a computer isn’t so bad I guess. I’ll definitely be placing my computer on higher land from now on. No longer shall it share the same plane with liquids.

Well, time to go do other stuff. BYE!


B:   “Are you gonna try that little jump?”

J:   “I don’t know, maybe.”

B:   “Even if you only get a couple inches, at least you’ll know what it feels like.”

J:   “That’s what she said.”


A cut above the rest.

8 Feb

Well, I trust you all enjoyed the Superbowl this past weekend. I didn’t. In case you’re wondering why, you can find a nicely arranged list of reasons here:  http://wp.me/pNzT7-ZJ

Superbowl Sunday does not give me a hard-on like most people. I despise football more than Lindsay Lohan apparently despises not being in jail. I did not watch the Superbowl, but I ate like I did. On Sunday I busted out a big ass block of Velveeta, a pound of chorizo, and a can of Ro-Tel and fired up the ol’ crockpot in preparation to whip up a nice fat pot of queso dip to enjoy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner until it ran out.



After cubing the Velveeta and frying up the chorizo, I took the can opener to the Ro-Tel. Moments later, I stuck my finger under the lid of the Ro-Tel can to remove the top and dump out the zesty tomatoes and chillies, when -SLICE- , the stubborn aluminum lid sliced straight across my right thumb, leaving a deep cut that bled like a bitch.

“YYEEEEOOOOOWWWW!!!!”   I yelled (kidding, it was more profane). It was pretty deep, and bleeding profusely. Unfortunately, my father who usually stitches up my wounds is back in Iowa, and would be unable to tend to my gaping thumb cut. I had to act alone.

After applying pressure for about ten minutes with some tissues, I painted on some liquid bandage, and then tried to figure out what to do about the fact that my thumb was split wide open.



I super glued it.

Duct tape is so 2011.

I am back in Colorado for a few weeks to enjoy some snowboarding. Unfortunately I have not  done any physical activity since March of last year. That’s eleven long months of being completely sedentary. Not even a jog. Not a single jumping jack.



My body was not prepared. Day 1 was spent riding hard for six long hours at Breckenridge, followed by a three hour session at Beaver Creek the following morning. My body = destroyed. I need a wheelchair. My hamstrings, knees, and spine need some serious TLC. Won’t someone bring me a hot tub and some Percocet? I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

I hate it when people say  “slightly obsessed.”   Like,  “SoOoOo…I’m slightly obsessed with Glee.”   First of all, Glee sucks. Second, you can’t be slightly obsessed. That’s like saying you’re “slightly pregnant.”  Obsessed is an extreme. You’re either obsessed, or you’re not.

The Voice is back on television. I am absolutely jacked for a number of reasons. One, I love singing. Good singers give me a woody that could scrape the skies. Two, Adam Levine. Adam Levine is the sexiest man on planet Earth. He just is. I want to scream it from the top of a mountain. I love this show. Christina’s tits are as big as ever. They’re like beach balls. They have their own center gravity. They are just obnoxious. Blake Shelton, for some reason I like you, and I am happy to see you again. Cee-Lo, you have midget arms, but you say some funny shit.

Well, time to watch 11 more episodes of Dogtown. Talk to you fools later.


“If I get strep throat, I’m gonna mail you some anthrax.”

Wiggity wiggity wiggity WHACK!

26 Oct

I am filled with tacos, and am now plunging into this night’s episode of The X Factor. I will be simultaneously blogging along while I view the show. Spoiler alert for those of you who got drunk instead and are planning on watching it on the ol’ DVR.

Boys group goes first. LA Reid opens with “The Astronomical Kid.”



Well, everyone pack your bags and go home. How can anyone follow up little “Astro” Brian Bradley after killing it with a Kriss Kross song? He absolutely murdered everyone before they even got a chance to perform. It’s unbelievable. For a kid his age and in the genre that he’s dealing in, there are so many opportunities for him to get slammed. But there is just nothing to pick at. There is no room for criticism. He owns it every single time.



Holy makeup, Chris Rene. I’m sure you didn’t do it to yourself, but I’m surprised you could even move your face at all with the cement sidewalk made out of foundation that you had piled on your face. You looked like the fake robotic Santa from The Santa Clause 2 with Tim Allen.

Any last words before you leave tonight, Phillip?  “Yeah, it’s just really a shame that I’m going home tonight. I guess I just wasn’t black enough for LA Reid’s team.”  That’s what he should have said. Haha. Geez. “Believer?” Come on, LA. He may as well have sung “Yankee Doodle Dandy” or “Jingle Bells.” He had no chance.



Ah, and Marcus. Marcus, you have the voice of an angel, but I still think Brian dominated everyone like little school girls tonight. You’re a solid number two.

I called the lineup to a T. Sorry, Lomax. This just wasn’t your scene. Next to go home will be Chris Rene. Sorry brother, it’s just written in the stars.

Up next is the groups. Not my favorite category, and by not my favorite I mean my least favorite category. By far. I’m not into groups. I haven’t been into groups since The Spice Girls and BBMak. I’m sure Stereo Hogzz will win, but that’s because they’re the only tolerable group out of the entire bunch. To be honest, I can’t even remember any of the other groups, because they are that forgettable. What’s that girl group? Lakoda Rayne? What are they going to follow that up with, “Next Time He Cheats?”  Not great. Also, awful name.




“Intensity.”  Just send these kids to Nickelodeon already. They need to be doing Glee style plays, not making records. Also, what’s up with that white, blonde girl without the eyebrows? I don’t understand why they couldn’t just pencil some brows in there. They could have just spent 30 seconds less on Chris Rene and fixed her brows. Was that too much to ask?

Uhh….Nicole? Have you been “borrowing” Paula’s pain meds? “You’re just my pumpkin patch of yummy pumpkins!”  Are you serious? You’re starting to freak me out. Too much cooing, oohing, ahhing, “honey”ing and all around weirdness. Go back to just being sexy. You’re good at that.

And into the over 30s. Always a wild card. If Dexter doesn’t go back to banging on buckets on the streets and sleeping in his car, there’s no hope left on this show. I mean, I get that he’s a lovable goof, but a five million dollar winning recording artist? No chance in hell. The Gaga-esque dancers on his set tonight? Everything is just wrong.

Also, I want to Febreze his hair. Can people with dreds and wild black hair Febreze it? I feel like it wouldn’t be a bad thing. (Moving on).

I don’t know why these girls haven’t figured out that they need to be wearing waterproof mascara yet on this show. The last thing I would want on national television is to be looking like Courtney Love just hit by a car after a night of heroin. (That’s what I look like with my mascara running down my face, making me look like a melting raccoon).

LeRoy and Stacy perform. Stacy is good. LeRoy is likable. Dexter gets the boot. There is a God.


The girls open with Simone. I hate her. She does this “Uh! Yeah. Hey! Come awn everybody!” shit too much. It’s unbearable. Her voice is mediocre at best. She’s pretty, but tacky, cheap, fake, and annoying. Her performance was terrible. I liked nothing about it. I feel like I’m in the 21st century twilight zone of confusion with Dexter Haygood right now trying to understand how she even made it this far. Is Simon Cowell pulling a prank on the USA? You’ve got us, Simon. April Fools.

Rachel Crowe, you little fire ball. I really enjoy this child’s voice. I wasn’t thrilled about the song choice for her tonight however, especially since Drew Rxs$wyzc rocked it so much better in the auditions. Weak sauce. I feel like Simon chose this song on purpose to have an excuse to send her home (at this point I don’t know who is being sent home). Swap the ice cream cone out for the microphone more often though Rach, and it will help your career. I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m saying this to help you.

Drew, your voice is angelic. Keep on keepin’ on. Fourteen years old. Yikes.

Aaaaand Tia Tolliver. She grinds my gears. The girl is driven, but she cannot sing in tune. Period. Simon just likes her because she’s plastic and commercial. He can cut and paste and decorate and make her pass as a pop star. Plus she’s a biologocical Nicki Minaj clone. Immediately off key. No surprise there. CAN SHE NOT HEAR HERSELF?!?!?! Ugh. She needs to be kicked off the stage.



MELANIE!!!!! Melanie is so incredible. Just raw talent and a solid powerhouse. Nothing can stop my tears from flowing every time I hear her sing. Let me just say this though—last episode I said, “Slap a weave on her and she’s ready to go!”  And what do we have this episode but a brand new rockin’ head of hair. Haha.

Simon has to send two bitches home. Pretty easy if you ask me: Tia and Simone need to go back to slobbing on knobs and making sandwiches. Unfortunately, Simon likes the skanks. WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN?! If Melanie doesn’t make it through, I will shoot all of my neighbors and then myself.

…and Tia and Simone. You know, before I off myself obviously.

Here it comes…the decision.

It’s between Tia, Simone, and Melanie. I swear, I SWEAR if it’s not Melanie, I will go APE SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The crowd is cheering MELANIE! (x23402)

THANK GOD!!!!!! It’s Melanie. I don’t have to murder anyone and I can continue to enjoy the show. Goodnight everyone.

Drink Pepsi.


C:   “I wish Simon was my friend so I could just text him quick and ask who made it through. I hate waiting.”

Home is where Taco John’s is.

25 Oct


Only a few more short weeks until I can travel back to the Dirty Bluffs of Iowa and be reunited with the homies and skanks I grew up with. One of the first things I will be doing upon my arrival back in the Midwest is getting Taco John’s. Apparently they don’t believe in Taco John’s in the eastern hemisphere of the country. They don’t believe in a lot of things in this area of the country though. Politeness, courtesy, selling alcohol, using the left lane on the highway, gas pumps that stick so you don’t have to hold them with your hand the entire time you fill up, efficient road systems, Bank of America, pet friendly apartments, kindness, fun. The list goes on. There is really nothing here to miss when I leave. Except Sheetz. Sheetz is the one savior this dismal place has to offer.



It’s like QuikTrip, but better. They have DELICIOUS french fries, fantastic milkshakes and other beverages, nachos, sandwiches galore, free air, perks, hilarious slogans, the cleanest bathrooms you’ve ever seen, AND it’s open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Sigh. This I will miss, and this alone.

Tonight’s going to be a great night. It’s Taco Tuesday, and the X Factor is on. That is unless baseball decides to so rudely stick its ugly head into my television schedule YET again, in which case I will be writing a very harshly worded letter to the MLB, mark my word.

I wish Facebook chat had away messages like AIM did back in the day. AOL had it all figured out. “Stepped out to lunch.”   “On the phone.”  “Be right back.”  They even let you make your own. “Dog just puked on the carpet – be back in 5.”  “Sprinting after the mailman.”   “I ate Peking Garden for lunch, now I’m exploding in the bathroom.”  I don’t like to have to log off of Facebook just because I need to go stir my pasta and I’m afraid someone might chat me up and I won’t be there to answer politely. Can’t I just leave an away message? This is such a simple addition to the already complex chat system they’ve created. What’s one more detail?



It’s the time of year again where my hands are permanent frozen blocks of ice until the weather consistently reaches temperatures above 72 degrees. Shaking hands is super awkward. The person reaches in for a warm firm shake and is met with a deathly cold ice hand. They always jolt back, wide-eyed as if they just reached out and got an electric shock. It’s unavoidable. Someone get me battery operated heater-mittens, would you?

WELL, time to go.


“What’s ‘Ron’s weed room?'”

“It’s a big room full of weed, and it’s Ron’s.”

Pillow talk.

19 Oct

I was driving down the road today when I thought of something funny to write about. Being that I was manning a sports utility vehicle at the time, I didn’t have the means, nor the opportunity to jot it down. “I’ll remember it later,” I said.

I didn’t.

Alright, Lauren Conrad. You have sucked at life on your annoying reality tv shows in good old California, and for that, you are on my shit list. However, your Kohl’s clothing line has nearly completely redeemed you. Great threads. Just great. So much lace and chiffon and lovely neutrals and dusty roses and OH the goods. I need six million dollars to spend on trendy clothes. Someone win me the lottery.

It was decided that our pillows were in need of replacing finally. What once were fluffy, springy, puffs of comfort are now flat, lumpy, lifeless sacks of sadness. We needed new ones. After drooling uncontrollably over Lauren Conrad’s clothing line at Kohl’s, I made my way back to the bedding and started looking at the pillows. I didn’t know where to start. Shopping for new pillows is a daunting task. You stand there trying to hunch down and rest your head on the pillow which is enclosed in a plastic bag, then you start squeezing it with your hands in an attempt to gauge the firmness, except that doesn’t work because no one ever squeezes their pillows between their palms. What does this pillow feel like?! You stress. How does it compare to my old faithful?! AHHH!!!!!


I went with a medium and a firm. The medium was a mistake. It swallows my head like an angel food cake made of down. Should have gotten two firms. Good thing Kohl’s has a rockin’ return policy.

Can anybody tell me what the F-CK Nicole Scherzinger was thinking when she put freaking Dexter through on The X Factor? Are you kidding me? Dexter is a kooky old homeless black man that has critters living in his hair. He wears platform shoes, stumbles around like a drunk prostitute with prosthetic legs, lives in an air-brushed denim jacket, and just scowls and screams. The man doesn’t even sing. He’s a crazy bum. What is this, Boiling Points? Also, Nicole, your long, dramatic pauses and unnecessary “build-ups” are really making me want to stop watching. Don’t be so kitsch. You’re just annoying. I’m sorry. You’re mega hot, but you’re being f-cking annoying.

And SIMON? Lay off the liquor. I don’t know if you noticed, but you put stupid f-cking Simone through instead of hot, angelic voiced Caitlin Koch. Simone is an idiot. I hate her. And then MELANIE?! You’re lucky you redeemed yourself and brought her back, because I was enraged and ready to boycott the television show. Little chubby Rachel and Melanie hold it down. Their voices move mountains. Drew Xzyq40wicz is also just incredible.

I’m really glad LA Reid & Rihanna aren’t total morons and got rid of the Vanilla Ice imitating pest named Nick Voss and his hopeless, irritating Elvis persona. His jitter leg? I wanted to fire a cannon at him every time he jitterbugged and Parkinsoned his ass around the stage. Ugh.

Little rapping Brian makes my day. Little niglet really gets me going. He’s great. And then Marcus? Marcus has the voice of a g-ddamn angel.

Well, time to go watch more shows about serial killers. Investigation Discovery Channel has got me by the balls.

….Stop lookin’ at mah mom! Mah mom!

X Factor joke. Whatever. Bye.


“That’s what she got me for my birthday. Like, I know almost everything came from the Dollar Store, because I’ve seen it there.”

The gift of giving.

14 Oct

Uh….Fox? First you put a friggin baseball game over The X Factor, and NOW you move X Factor to Sunday on top of DEXTER?!?!?!  Whoever is making the decisions up there needs to choke on a pickle and croak. To make matters worse, for some reason it is impossible to record The X Factor on the DVR. It gets all f-cked up. Looks like we’ll be watching The X Factor in real time, and watching Dexter immediately afterward. Sigh. Difficulties.

Last night before bed, my dog failed to take a dump. Meh, he’ll go in the morning, I shrugged. This morning when I took him out to do his business, he trotted to the end of the porch, realized it was pouring rain and gusting wind, and turned right around and marched back to the front door. I did manage to convince him to at least face the rain for a quick minute to take a pee, but he galloped back to the front door as fast as he could to get out of the driving rain (he’s a diva). Skipping two typical times to poop was unusual, but I figured he could wait until I got home after lunchtime to pinch one off.

My day dragged on, and by the time I finished my tasks at the office and ran to Wal-Mart to get some groceries, it was already 3:45 before I made it home. Trent had beat me there by no more than a minute. The front door opened, and out bounded Raleigh, followed by a displeased looking Trent. “Why don’t you go look at what your dog did,” he said distastefully.

I walked inside the apartment, stepping into the kitchen with a direct view into the living room. Trent’s birthday is on Monday, so there is a nice pile of festively wrapped birthday presents in the corner of the living room. They were all from me, except one. Looks like Raleigh left a “present” of his own. Directly next to the pile of presents was a big steaming pile of runny shit. Poor Raleigh had held his poop in for 18 hours longer than usual, and just couldn’t hold it any longer. When I didn’t get home until late afternoon, he had no choice but to let hell break loose on the living room carpet.

It was a bad one, too. Not just a tidy little dog log. This was a sloppy pile of mushy dog poo. Not ideal.

Anyway, that was my Friday afternoon.

Sorry about how gross that dog shit picture is by the way. Look how shiny it is.


While I was at Wal-Mart today, I paused at a shelf at the end of the pet aisle and investigated this product:

“It’s a rain coat…..it’s a bandana…..it’s a…..rain bandana.”

…Is this the best they could do? That’s not even clever. They didn’t even give it a creative name. It’s meat…..it’s a loaf…..it’s a…..meatloaf.

Is anyone really going to buy their animal a rain coat? Is any animal actually going to wear a rain coat? I know my dog is a pussy about the precipitation, but I’m not about to slap a raincoat on him before he scurries outside to tinkle.

Well, that’s enough blasphemy for today I think. Time to bury my face in a million baked goods, compliments of my mother.


R is the most menacing of sounds. That’s why they call it MUR-der, and not muckduck.”