Diary

  • A post about television because I have nothing to say

    You might think I’m exaggerating when I tell you that my mind is a total blank right now. But I’m not. I am not exaggerating. Because I NEVER exaggerate.

    I think the problem lies with the Benadryl I took earlier in the day. And, yes, I know there are other medications I can take for allergies but they all make me feel like a slightly better version than death so I might as well dance with the one that brung me.

    I don’t even know what that means.

    And there’s also the option of taking Sudafed but it causes me to be all hyped up and, frankly, if I have a choice between being overly excited or completely lethargic, I’ll take completely lethargic for $100, Alex. At least that way I can just sit on the couch and try to work my way through all the new shows filling up my DVR.

    Speaking of new shows, I’d love for you to share your thoughts on the new T.V. season. Are there any new shows that you’re adding to your rotation? Any must see T.V. that I need to know about?

    So far I’ve recorded Undercovers and then deleted it before I ever watched it because it didn’t get great reviews and I felt that it might be an hour of my life I’d never get back. I also recorded My Generation on ABC and watched it the other day. It has a good premise but OH MY WORD the acting is horrendous and the whole thing made me want to bury my head in a pillow several times. Which means I’ll definitely watch it again this week. And every week from now until its almost certain cancellation.

    I can always be counted on to pick the absolute dog of the new season. Several years ago I even managed to get Gulley hooked on a show called Reunion (apparently I am very drawn to shows about people who have known each other since high school and all find themselves back together in a big quagmire of drama) and it was cancelled after about eight shows and we never found out who killed one of the other characters. It was a heartbreaker.

    The other new show I meant to try, but forgot to record, is Blue Bloods with Tom Selleck because MAGNUM P.I. Plus it comes on Friday nights and I could use a Friday night show to get my weekend started.

    The words you’re looking for are pathetic and sad.

    And, also, ragweed sufferer. Which has nothing to do with T.V. but everything to do with Benadryl.

    Other than that, I can’t think of anything else I’m interested in adding to my weekly watching schedule. Am I missing anything good?

  • It all started with the singing telegram

    Yesterday morning after I dropped Caroline off at VBS (It is Crocodile Dock for those of y’all who knew what she was talking about when she referred to Skeeter and skunk spray. Well done. I am impressed with your VBS knowledge.) I drove straight to Target. Ever since the Target moved an extra seven minutes and three stoplights away, I feel as though I must plan my trips to ensure maximum productivity, especially now that the big oil and gas companies have started their annual tradition of summer thievery at the gas pumps.

    I went to Target with four goals in mind:

    1. Purchase birthday gifts for the 342 birthday parties that Caroline is invited to during the next two weeks.
    2. Find a set of travel-sized hot rollers because I am tired of sacrificing maximum hair volume for room in my suitcase. (Yes, I still use hot rollers. It’s how I roll.) (I apologize for the pun. I couldn’t resist.)
    3. Attempt to find some self-tanner for my face because I keep it totally covered in sunscreen and it no longer matches my body.
    4. To spend less than $100.00 and not get suckered in to buying any Mossimo goods or Balinese-inspired tschotkes.

    I am proud to say that I achieved all of those goals, although there was a close call with a swimsuit coverup and the verdict is still out on the self-tanner because for all I know it might make me look like I’m going through puberty by tomorrow.

    Unfortunately, my pride in my Target success was short lived. Gulley called while I was at Starbucks buying myself a congratulatory Venti Green Iced Tea (I’ll take that with two Splendas and lacking in the deliciousness that is Diet Coke, please) and mentioned that she was in Target looking at Father’s Day cards.

    Dang.

    Father’s Day cards. I knew I was forgetting something.

    I certainly wasn’t going to drive all the way back to Target because I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it but the Target moved and it’s now approximately too far away for repeat trips. I told Gulley that I was just going to go to Hallmark and look for cards there. She told me that she’d thought about Hallmark but didn’t go there because she believes they have some big conspiracy going on involving a lack of traditional cards and a surplus of cards that talk or sing or tap dance out of the room when you open them and they charge $6.00 a card.

    Because you can’t put a price on being totally annoyed by a greeting card with singing hamsters.

    I kind of thought she was exaggerating even though I should have known better because Gulley and I never exaggerate or over-dramatize anything unless it’s our disappointment at Ed leaving “The Bachelorette” to go back to his job as a consultant in Chicago. But who can blame us because his departure RUINED the whole show and there is no way Jillian is going to find lasting love with any of the guys who are left. Breakdance instructors are fun to date but you don’t want to marry one because there’s a good chance he might do the caterpillar at your wedding reception and there are some wounds that are too deep to overcome.

    Anyway, I went into Hallmark and it was just as she predicted. There were a handful of traditional cards to choose from and then rows and rows of singing cards. Where are we as a society that we can’t just hand our fathers a simple piece of folded paper that says “Happy Father’s Day”? Will it add to my dad’s enjoyment to have a card that features Kool and the Gang singing “Celebrate”?

    Well, maybe. I mean it is Kool and the Gang.

    But I know for a fact that if I bought P a card with singing hamsters there’s a good chance we’d start our Father’s Day with mild profanity and homemade pancakes.

    I left the store empty-handed, then went home because it was past 10:45 a.m. which means it was time to get inside in the air-conditioning before the heat caused me to spontaneously combust.

    When I walked inside I was feeling a little irritable from the heat and the singing cards, but then I got the mail and my whole day changed. One little postcard made me feel as if I’d just won some sort of lottery. I wish I’d remembered to take a picture of the card but unfortunately I didn’t think about it until it was three layers deep in the kitchen trash.

    Do you know what it was?

    A card from the people at Nielsen informing me that my household has been selected to participate in the Nielsen ratings. They’ll be calling me this week to let me know more about it. I feel as if I’ve just been given the keys to a magical kingdom. In fact, I’m seriously thinking about purchasing some graph paper and colored pencils to properly chart my T.V. viewing.

    I’ve always looked at the Nielsen ratings and wondered “Who are these people and why do they not like all the same shows I like? What’s wrong with them?” But now, NOW, the viewing tables have been turned and I have a voice in what I want to see on T.V. Frankly, I am a little drunk with the power.

    Just know that if all of a sudden you see a drastic upswing in the ratings for “Tori and Dean”, “The Bachelorette”, and virtually any programming on BravoTV, you have me to thank for it.

    Well, and the folks at Nielsen for their brilliant choice in selecting my household completely at random.

    I’m just so glad they didn’t send me a singing postcard to let me know.

    Also, I just realized we’ll probably have to record P’s television habits as well. Good news for Uncle Ted and Ultimate Fighting!

    Nielsen has no idea what they’ve just unleashed.

  • I’m resisting the urge to use the word “aboot”, eh?

    Today I’d like to give a huge shout out to my DVR. There was a dark time in the not so distant past that it would have been practically impossible for me to watch four hours of television shows in one evening, but the DVR makes it all possible. Especially considering that a two hour “Bachelorette” only lasts about twenty minutes when you fast forward through all the commercials and Chris Harrison saying, “Coming up next on The Bachelorette…”.

    Dude, the show has been on for thirty-two years. We all know what’s coming up next.

    However, in all fairness, nothing prepared me for the dance-off. The last time I saw moves like that was at a YMCA dance in 8th grade when a couple of boys wearing parachute pants and Vans broke it down. They even carried their own cardboard to better facilitate their spinning efforts.

    It’s just hard to believe that anyone can actually make a living as a break dance instructor. I mean, is it the fulfillment of a lifelong dream or do you just wake up one day and say “I can’t work for the man anymore. I’ve got to start poppin’ for a living.”?

    Of course in this economy it’s probably a better career path than becoming a stockbroker or even a monkey trainer because who can afford the upkeep on a monkey these days?

    As I watched all those guys get out of the limo last night, I had two thoughts:

    1. Jillian looked lovely in her white dress (tricky, tricky undergarments that I never could figure out) but it was unfortunate that ABC hosed down the driveway for effect because the hem of her dress was filthy by the time it was over. It’s going to take some serious OxyClean to get that out.

    2. The large majority of the guys were a walking public service announcement for what can go wrong when twenty-five single straight men are allowed to dress themselves. I’ve never seen so many unfortunate ties in one place.

    After last season’s “Bachelor”, I halfheartedly vowed that I would never watch again, but I knew it would lure me back in because I don’t watch with the hopes of two people finding long-lasting love in the course of six weeks. I watch because where else can you watch one man kick a water bottle off another man’s head other than at my next family reunion?

    The bottom line is that even if Jillian finds the perfect guy for her (please don’t let it be weird foot fetish guy with the elfin ears), there will come a day that she will hypothetically spend the afternoon at her best friend’s house only to come home and discover that her soul mate has done this to her beloved home.

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    Then when she goes inside, she’ll discover this.

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    Perhaps, finally, she’ll notice that he was nice enough to clean up his mess.

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    Only to leave it in a pile in the middle of the hallway where it’s apparently awaiting pickup by the fairies that magically clean the house.

    But she’ll love him anyway because there will come a moment later in the evening where he’ll walk in the room while she’s watching “The Bachelorette” and pretend like he’s doing a break dance move as he accepts his imaginary rose.

    That moment beats jumping off a cliff in Hawaii every single time.

    And it definitely beats the ending of the “24” season finale which I won’t discuss in case you haven’t watched yet.

  • The big gulp

    Gulley and I lived on the convenience store diet throughout college. We would stop at 7-11 on the way to class in the morning and start our day with a Big Gulp. Dr. Pepper for her. Real Coke for me. Most days we would each buy a package of powdered donuts to go with our 72 oz. beverage.

    After all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

    We’d head to our Intercultural Communication class and daintily sip our carbonated drinks and eat our powdered donuts while we listened to Professor Gonzales lecture about you know, culture and communication. Obviously, all that sugar and caffeine was causing my brain to short circuit, because I actually made a 13 on a test in that class.

    A 13.

    I’ll never forget that he was about to pass out the graded tests and gave some lecture about how most people did pretty well, but there was one person who made a 13. Gulley laughed and wrote a note on my paper that said, “Maybe it was you. Ha. Ha.”

    It was me.

    Ha. Ha.

    And after I got that test back, I gathered up my donuts and industrial-sized beverage and headed to my academic advisor’s office to let her know I was dropping the class. I mean, let’s be honest, you can’t recover from a 13.

    Anyway, after a hard morning of academic achievement, we would drive back to our apartment and then go back to 7-11 with our roommates to get another Big Gulp. Everyone needs a little afternoon pick me up and what says pick me up better than 144 oz. of caffeine and sugar?

    As we talked about our Big Gulp consumption, I had a few thoughts.

    1. Did I drink even a sip of water throughout my college career?

    2. Why could I not figure out that maybe part of what was contributing to my ever increasing weight was the fact that I was easily consuming 2000 calories a day in beverage alone?

    And that’s not counting the Zima.

    3. Do college students still drink Big Gulps or have they become extinct with the advent of the Grande Mocha Latte with extra whip?

    4. It’s interesting that these days, unless I’m on a road trip, it would never even occur to me to drive to a convenience store for the sole purpose of purchasing something to drink. Sonic, yes. QuikMart, no.

    I realize I have rambled enough about this entire subject, but during our Big Gulp conversation, Gulley brought up a memory that I had long forgotten.

    Big shock there.

    During my first senior year in college and Gulley’s junior year, we lived in a duplex right around the corner from a Quikmart. Needless to say, we were frequent customers making around 4-5 visits a day. It was our standard stop. We even knew all the cashiers.

    One night, Gulley’s mama called and asked her, “Do you know somebody named Al?”

    Gulley thought about it and said, “No, I don’t think so.”

    Her mama said, “Well someone named Al called here looking for you and said he knows you from the Quikmart.”

    It was then that we realized that Al was one of the cashiers at our favorite stop. It seems he had gotten Gulley’s phone number off of one of her checks and wanted to ask her out. And no, Al wasn’t exactly date material for a variety of reasons, but first and foremost because he was about 35 which, of course, is ancient. Fortunately, the number on her check was her parent’s home phone number, not ours.

    As were laughing about this story this week, I made the comment that, looking back, it’s kind of scary that Al got her phone number off her check.

    And Gulley said, “I’m not sure what’s scarier, that he got my number off my check or that I wrote a check for 94 cents to pay for a Big Gulp.”

    Hope y’all have a lovely weekend.

    **Originally published March 30, 2007**