Ever since I saw Britney’s performance on the VMAs (I saw it on YouTube, don’t start panicking thinking we got cable, people) I’ve been wanting to title a post "It’s Manda, b****!" but I’m not brave enough!! THIS IS WHAT ENTERTAINMENT DOES TO US PEOPLE! IT MAKES US WANT TO SAY BAD WORDS IN INTRODUCTORY PHRASES!
Speaking of bad words, I just saw Mandy Moore scowling and singing on The View, trying to be all serious and grown-up. While I appreciate that she is an unapologetically curvy celebrity who seems to have lots of publicly awkward moments (they amount to tripping and laughing at herself or wearing an un-flattering sundress, while her peers — BRITNEY, BIOTCH — regularly flash their special lady area to paparazzi while getting out of cars, ew), I have to say peeps that she’s cute, but not-so-talented. I saw that movie she was in where she played a chef who shacks up with two different guys: one she actually likes and one she’s only hooking up with to please her mother and I was like WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING? Someone paid money to make this movie?
Please understand: It was one of those weekends when my husband was out of town and I went on chick flick overload with the intention of distracting myself from the fact that I am lonely but it only serves to remind me how good I really have it. I mean, my husband gets right up in my greasy morning face with my stinky morning breath and smooches me. He brings me coffee just the way I like it and even re-adjusts the milk level without complaint! He eats and praises anything I cook! Even reheated leftovers! He hates feet and he LOVES my feet and likes touching them! And let’s not forget that he works three jobs to keep me and two fat dogs fed and steeped in Target while I stay at home and complain that there’s nothing on t.v. but the Tyra Banks Show (gag)! And unlike bad chick flicks, we don’t EVER have to have a moment of crisis or misunderstanding to find out that yes, we do truly love each other. I miss him when he’s gone so I stock up on sushi, pizza, peanut butter M&Ms, and chick flicks and hole in at home with the phone by my face. And then I usually end up weepy at the end of a movie like Catch and Release which totally STUNK and WASTED the genius that is Jennifer Garner. Because I love you John, bad chick flicks get me emotional. If that shouldn’t go on a Hallmark card I don’t know true love, people!
Also, while I’m addressing people: KEEP O.J. SIMPSON IN JAIL OR HE WILL BRING NICOLE BROWN BACK FROM THE DEAD AND KILL HER AGAIN JUST TO PROVE THAT HE CAN GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING!!!
While we’re being random, here’s another reason why I Love Lucy is the best show in the history of television: in today’s re-run Lucy is trying to get down to a size 12 and gets so desperate for food that she fights with a dog for table scraps. God bless you Lucy, I can certainly relate.
I should probably transition into a real-life discussion now. I don’t want to ruin People magazine for you this week.
Yesterday my husband bought me six new dinner plates at World Market for the bargain basement price of $20! Now I can feed 12 people in one sitting, as compared to the previous use of only paper plates or the significantly less-popular practice of eating in shifts. Woo hoo! Also, did you know that they make a sugar-free version of Lorina? I haven’t tried it yet but you bet your boots I saw that sugar-free label and I bought it.
Sad news: I woke up to Henry having a small seizure this morning. John had already left for work at LMU and I was still in bed when I heard the all-too-familiar jolt of Henry going into convulsions on the floor immediately next to me. So, blind and half-dressed I tried to comfort him and fend off the always-curious Juicy, which probably only made things worse. See, my curious basset hound has this issue with not minding his own business … particularly when Mama is on the toilet, and we all know that when Mama is on the toilet there is an invisible NO VISITORS sign on the doorknob. All of us know, except Juice, of course, whose favorite thing to do in life is visit Mama in the ladies’ room. (I know people, you’re thinking "Manda, shut the dang door and shut your dang mouth" but people, my bathroom door does not latch properly and sometimes when we’re in a rush it only appears to be latched and locked.) So to him the words "NO JUICY, GET OUT OF HERE" really mean nothing. And Daddy wasn’t there to drag him to time out in the hallway so there we were: blind, convulsing and NOT minding our own business.
There ain’t enough coffee in the world today, kids.
p.s. Henry’s ok now. He’s resting on the couch with me. My poor baby.