Woulda Coulda Shoulda

I’ve had an incredibly busy day. First, I had to sleep late. After that, I had to watch a bunch of television, interrupted only by bits of food choked down with some advil and a few phone calls which invariably came while I was napping. (I especially enjoyed the follow-up call from the hospital. Perky Voice asked me “And how are you feeling today?” and seemed unfazed when I replied “Like someone ran over my chest with a truck, thanks!”)

Part of me feels like I should be making a greater effort to get up and moving today, and part of me remains firmly convinced that this is my opportunity to catch up on quality programming I’ve not had time for while feeling human. And the television distracts me, somewhat, from staring in horror at the bloody mess of bandages on my poor boob. (The boob, it still proudly proclaims YES! It’s such a trooper!)

But friends, I feel that I must come clean. I’ve… hit bottom. Seeing Kelly Ripa with hair extensions this morning was bad enough, but now I’ve been sucked into this atrocity. On the upside, it makes a breast biopsy seem like small potatoes. On the downside… well… I just feel DIRTY being so fascinated. Note that this is not stopping me from eating kettle corn while I continue to watch.

I swear I’ll leave the house tomorrow. This is obviously a cry for help.

Realize that it’s just a precious few years standing between Apolo Anton Ohno being “incredibly hot” and “young enough to be my kid.”

[Also, this just in: Ice dancing is STILL NOT A SPORT. Please take your spackling equipment (used for application of eye make-up) and go home.]

I dunno, maybe it’s because I was getting the kids to bed and doing laundry and I’m just not feeling my best today… or maybe it’s because I’m just getting old and jaded (shaddup)… but this year’s Superbowl was perhaps the lamest in recent memory. For me. If it was a great game for you, well then, um, great. I’m happy for you.

It’s only fair to point out, I suppose, that I don’t care at all about either the Steelers or the Seahawks. Chickadee stated emphatically that she was cheering for the Seagulls and I assured her that that was as prudent a course as any. (Later I did correct her, but really I think the Seagulls is a great name for a a football team.) So the teams didn’t move me. The actual gameplay wasn’t very exciting. The commercials were dumb. The halftime show FRIGHTENED me.

[Note to Mick Jagger: Enough, already. Also, consider some aerobics or something to build up your pulmonary endurance. Or a nebulizer you can take onstage with you.]
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First things first: I am continuing my deep and abiding love for Tae Kwon Do. Not only did Chickadee crane around and flap her belt at me in excitement today (“LOOK MAMA,” she mouthed, “ALL MY STRIPES!”), but I arrived for pick-up in time to watch the class go through a short routine where there was punching and positioning and HI-YAing and it was really quite impressive.

And not just because MY wonderful and talented child (who is, by the way, one of the youngest in the class) was one of maybe only 5 (in 30 kids!) who had successfully passed both memorization quizzes and earned maximum stripes. (Aren’t you glad I’m not one of those moms who brags on her kids?)

Anyway. Likely I cannot, you know, form a fulfilling relationship with Tae Kwon Do wherein it brings me snacks while I’m watching television. For that, I may need one of those, um, you know. Man-things. A guy. But you KNOW how I feel about the whole guy thing. So I thought I’d get some perspective from a friend of mine who is perhaps not as jaded and cynical and I am.
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Like most hip and happening people my age, I like to cut loose after a long week by eating kettle corn in bed while watching TLC. On Friday night. In my jammies. What? That’s not what you do? You do so. Admit it.

Anyway, we all know that I enjoy What Not To Wear. What you might not know is that I’ve recently started watching Ice Diaries as well, because it’s on directly after.

[For a while, Miami Ink followed WNTW and that was a far superior arrangement. What is there not to like about tattoos? Done by and for weird and fascinating people? Nothing! That show totally appeals to my inner rebel! You know, the same rebel who eats popcorn in bed all willy nilly!]

Ice Diaries follows 4 Olympic figure skating hopefuls, and after watching a few episodes, I really feel enlightened. And horrified. But mostly confused.
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The children are well and fed and bathed and sleeping. Phew! (Monkey is completely recovered, and Chickadee had a MUCH milder version.)

My “famous” pecan pie is cooling on the counter.

On the one hand, when I review what’s happened since last Thanksgiving, there’s so much in the last 12 months I would love to forget.

On the other hand, all of that had to do with getting here; and for all of my bitching and moaning, here is still pretty good. I’m plenty thankful these days.

And just now? I was sitting here watching the Food Network and I found this shirt, and now I know I’m not alone. Hee.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Admittedly, I shouldn’t be watching–or then, admitting that I watched–Trading Spouses: Meet Your New Mommy.

I should be ashamed. I am ashamed. Would you like some cake? I just baked it. You need cake with trash TV.

Anyway.

This two-part episode where they swapped a new-age hypnotherapist with a devout Christian was a neat idea, I guess. I mean… dramatic tension and all that. I certainly understand why they thought it would make good entertainment.

And swapping a new-age hypnotherapist with a devout Christian WOULD’ve been good entertainment, I think.

But this show was just a little bit different than that. Just a tad. See, this show was swapping a new-age hypnotherapist with a batshit crazy FREAK.
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I am watching the Food Network and was so excited to see that we’d be learning how a red velvet cake is made. I mean, I live in New England, and red velvet cake is not a staple around here. So, yay! What a thrilling way to spend my Friday night!

Except that Al Roker was chatting with the bakery lady while they made the cake together, and then he… he… *shudder* he spanked himself with the rubber spatula while declaring the cake “sexy.”

That was just wrong on so many different levels. Any desire I had for red velvet cake? GONE.

In fact, I think there’s an entire market waiting to be tapped with the Roker Aversion Diet. They could call it RAD for short, and people everywhere who previously failed every diet will soon be thin, just from having to watch Al Roker being playful with foods they used to love. Gah.

In other news, the world ended today.
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There’s a phenomenon in reality television shows that I refer to as the “but NEXT WEEK” principle. Basically it has to do with dramatic tension and how–depending on a given show’s construct–each successive episode is even more scary or riveting or unexpected or WHATEVER than the last. Things just grow and grow and there is no going back.

For example: I have a friend who desperately wants to be on “What Not to Wear” on TLC. I’ve nominated her a couple of times, and I suspect that some of her students have as well. But WNTW has already done square-dressing school teachers. They can’t possibly do another one, because now they’re however many episodes in and the people they feature now are regularly heading out to the grocery store wearing nothing but burlap sacks tied up with rope, and for formal events they don polyester jumpsuits in various flowered patterns. The fact that my friend relies overmuch on polarfleece really can’t compete.

When those nanny shows started up, the kids in them were stubborn and rude. By now, you tune in to one of those shows and the nanny is confronting a small army of shrieking minors armed with AK-47s and fully rotating heads.
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Many important things happened this weekend, but I’ve got to watch TV right now or, um, I would be less pathetic. And we don’t want THAT to happen.

Although, I did go out on Saturday night amongst grown-ups to a comedy show. That was almost like being a social person. And the last comedian actually improvised (hilariously) for over twenty minutes on some random audience member’s wallet. And I was very pleased we weren’t sitting right in front.

I believe someone previously recommended to me “those thingies that dissolve in the shower and create vapor” when I had a cold. They just ran a commercial for them–Sudacare Shower Soothers. They look like urinal cakes; which, I suppose, may indeed scare the snot right out of you. However, I think I’ll pass.

Anyway! On to the big news!
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