Shows That Make Us Love our Lives

The creation of reality t.v. has taken over America and probably the rest of the world.  These shows are designed to make us either love or hate our lives in comparison.  I've been realizing that after I watch some shows I want to take a disinfecting shower.  While other shows make me look at my shoe box of an apartment, fantasize about burning it down, robbing a bank or marrying a Park Ave. 90-year-old.  So in 2 postings I will share with you the shows that make me either LOOOOVE or HATE my life.

1) Bad Girls Club:  I just love watching this show.  Why?  Because I want to run to my parents and thank them for raising me to NOT: a) become a stripper or porn star b) do crack-cocaine c) punch bitches on a regular basis d) get punched by bitches on a regular basis e) buying my casual clothes at Frederick's of Hollywood e) be a STD incubator and distributor f) put my drugged, lesioned ass on t.v. for everyone to see. 

2) 19 Kids And Counting: I think that's pretty self explanatory.

3) Tool Academy: Now granted even though many of these shows are fake I can't help but think they are real.  It boggles my mind that a chick would write to the show begging that her boyfriend attend Tool Academy.  If that isn't a red flag the size of Texas then I'm clearly old fashioned.  I imagine the letter to look like this:

Dearest Tool Academy People That Run The Showses,

My boyfriend is needed to go on your show.  He does not respect me and he is sometimes mean and throws stuff.  Last night he threw my mom across the trailer and then my kitchen table out our only door.  He drinks a lot and stays out late at night with his friends and if I ask him why he stayed out so late then he gives me this look like I'm asking him something stupid or something and tells me to "shut -up dummy slut" so then I tell him to sleep on the couch but I really let him sleep with me then he puts his cigarette out on my dog and doesn't even say sorry to Princess.  He slept with my sister but they say they only spooned and i think they kissed or something because he had a hickey on his nuts.  He has not had a job in 3 years and i pay for everything and he asks me for money and I can't say no because where is he gunna go ya know? He only has a scooter and he can't get to a job.  so i think you guys could help him so we can get married and have babies because i love him.

Thanks,
Tammy Train Wreck

4) Rock of Love/For the Love of Ray J/Real Chance of Love/Frank The Entertainer:  Thanks VH1 for isolating this cesspool of STDs.  Bret Michaels is a balding, face-lifted, has-been who continues to woo porn stars and Dr. Seuss characters (who all have FF silicone buoys) with his 1988 hit "Every Rose".  Most of these chicks weren't even born then but still desire fame at the expense of kissing those puffy, pouty collagen infected injected lips.  It shouldn't be a reality dating show it should be a Guiness Book sex-a-thon.  "Brett just 355 more chicks to go before sundown!"  And oooh Ray J.  He has a sex tape out with Kim Kardashian and he's Brandy's brother so he must be Quali-T.  Yes Ray J please give me a nickname describing what a hot mess I am.  How about "Daddy Issues", "Low Self Worth", or "Wide Open 24/7"?  I can't even get into Real and Chance.  What in the hell do they have to offer?  Do people even watch this? After watching this video I may start watching it because Animals ARE Awesome...http://www.vh1.com/video/shows/real-chance-of-love-2/438994/we-are-the-animals.jhtml#id=1621967
Frank the Entertainer.  VH1 you went too too far this time.  He lives in his "parents' basement" and hoses dates a bunch of chicks who have never outgrown the toddler motto "bad attention is still attention".  I mean must you continue to create the same show over and over?  I wonder what your meetings are like?  "How about Shit-For-Brains should we give him a show?  Why not? Let's put him in a poorly decorated mansion and have him date a bunch of Macaques and Bonobos. Yes, Bonobos."

5) Get ready for this.  I did some research for you.  In chronological order: Road Rules All Stars/RWRR Challenge/RWRR Challenge 2000/RWRR Extreme Challenge/Battle of the Sexes/The Gauntlet/The Inferno/Battle of The Sexes/The Inferno II/The Gaunlet 2/Fresh Meat/The Duel/The Inferno 3/The Gauntlet III/The Island/The Duel 2/The Ruins.
Yuuuup 17 of them.  Derrick, Katie, Tonya, and Veronica have been in 8 of them.  Why do I love my life thanks to this show?  Because a) my resume does not have "MTV drunken whore" all over it b) I have lived my blundering, mistake-ridden life off video camera  c) I thought I was an alcoholic until I watched this d) I am not Tonya.

The shows that make us hate our lives is up next...

P.S.

Don't worry I'll be getting back into my funny.  Just trying out some new stuff.

The Rescue

"What is that crawling up your arm?" Polly said looking at me while trying to keep her eyes on the road.
"Ew it's like red lice or something," I said squashing it with my thumb.
"Oh my god are you gonna have lice now?"
"I have no idea," killing another one. 
"I can't believe we're rescuing this thing right now you are nuts," Polly replied when the light turned green.
"I thought it was a good idea until this moment." 
We were only 5 minutes into a 25 minute drive.  I looked down at the creature which appeared to be reading a small book very quickly.  I felt badly for it but was also feeling pretty badly for myself considering I had lice moving at a feverish pace up my arm.  I had limited access to my digits being that I needed both hands to cradle the feathered animal.
"You should have just let it die on the side of the road."
"I was just thinking the same thing."

We stood on her porch talking when it happened.  A white pick-up truck screeched to a halt.  Then drove-off.  A second later we heard some rustling.  We looked at each other then I said "I think a bird just got hit."
"I hate birds," said Polly.
"You hate birds?"
"Yeah totally freak me out."
"Well, I'll go over and check it out."
I walked the 30 feet to the noise slowly.  I was not sure what I was about to encounter.  Pondering what state the bird may be in.  Worst case scenarios popped into my head.  If it was bad I may have to kill it.  Up to this point the only living things I have ever killed have been mosquitoes, spiders, and plants.  Oh and a rabbit, accidentally, a story for another time.  Was I going to have to ring the bird's neck?  Hit it with a shovel?  Curb it?  I looked around at the other Denver row houses hoping a brawn man would come to my rescue.  No one was around.  I stepped around the parked car blocking my view and saw it flailing in a circle.  
"It's not bloody," I yelled to Polly.
"Well that's good."
"But it's in the middle of the road and could get run over."
She didn't reply.
"Do you have an old towel?"  I asked secretly hoping for a no.
"Yeah.  Why?  What are you going to do?"
"Ring it's neck."
"What?!"
"Kidding.  I want to get it out of the road."
"And do what with it?"
"I dunno, let it get its bearings."
"It's bearings? Oookay."
She ran into the house and grabbed a towel.  She walked briskly down the street to me and extended her arm out as far as she could while leaning back and looking away.
"You're gonna pick it up?"
"I guess. "
Polly screeched a little and shuttered.  I threw the towel over it and slowly tucked the wings back in.  It was trying still to fly but was putting up less of a fight than I thought it would.  We walked back to her front steps and she said "What do we do now?"
"I have no idea."
"Is there a wildlife number?"
"I have no idea."
"But it's a pigeon.  No one cares about pigeons."
"I know."
"I'll call our veterinary clinic, maybe they know?"
"Great idea."
She asked if they accepted pigeons then shut her phone.  "Yuuup.  I guess we're going to Littleton."
"Huh I guess people do care about pigeons."

When we got there we both expected the Vet Tech to look at us like we were nuts.  Instead she took the pigeon out of my hands and asked if we wanted the towel back.  "Ummm nooo thanks," Polly responded.
"So what are you going to do with the lil guy?" I asked.
"Well we'll examine him and decide what to do then."
"Ok can we call and check on him tomorrow?"
"No we don't really do that because it's wild."
"Oh ok.  Oh by the way..."
"Yes?"
"Am I gonna have lice now?"
"No they only like birds.  But you should wash your hands and arms. The bathroom is right there."

As we walked out to the car Polly asked "You think they're gonna kill it?"
"I don't know.  Probably.  Bet that's why we couldn't call tomorrow."
"But he looked better," Polly cheered.
"I know.  Those are some picky red lice hunh?"
"Yeah you'd think they'd get a meal where they could." 
"I probably shouldn't take it personally, huh?"

True Story.

Pride? What Pride?

There is something totally awkward and uncomfortable about self promotion.  Something I have to do right now to get feedback on my writing.  One's writing is only as good as how many people read it (monetarily at least).  I can love my writing as much as I want but if I'm the only one loving it, I may as well journal.  So now I have to promote my website hoping to lure more people in so I get a sense of what people like, and what they could do without.  My attempt at fiction won over the ladies but they guys didn't give a shit.  Why?  It was a goddamn love story.  Not shit guys weren't into it.  But this is exactly what I need to figure out. 

At first I told only a few close friends and family members that I was writing. They all gave positive feedback (their job) so I decided to share my site on FaceBook.  I definitely freaked out a little because then I started getting so many hits per day I was totally embarrassed. What the hell do I do now?  Do I really want THAT many people reading my writing?  People I haven't talked to in years started commenting about my writing.  But all of it was positive (thanks for holding back any negative comments haha).  So I got comfortable in my exposure and started to have fun with it.  When all of a sudden, FaceBook changed its format.  I couldn't see everyone's posts nor could they see mine.  Now I'm getting a quarter of the viewership because my FB posts are not seen by all.  It was then I created a fan site.  Ugh FAN SITE.  I did not create the FB language.  But I feel like I'm asking people to BE MY FAN.  Really?  I feel like I'm begging for votes to become prom queen.  "Vote for me! *tap dance* Oh you're voting for Jane, ok."  It's like taking your pride and stuffing it into a sleeping bag compression sack or putting Spanx on it.  It's a humbling experience but a learning experience nonetheless. 

For all of you who read my ridiculous stories, I thank you.  I appreciate your feedback and your shared laughs.  Let's take the heartache, pain, and loneliness of life, put it where we all can see it and dress it up like Ziggy Stardust.

Suck It Winter.

Hey Old Man Winter, GO FUCK YOURSELF.  You are the grumpiest bastard I have ever met.  I mean I get it you're cold, heartless, and moody but do you have to take us down with you?  My life is pretty happy 9 months out of the year until you come into town stomping out every little bit of joy I have.  Wanna go for a run?  NOPE.  Winter is gonna give my nose frostbite.  Take my dog for a walk?  NOPE.  The Old Man is gonna try to turn my 7 pound lil Mexican into a pupsicle.  Dress-up and put on make-up?  WHY BOTHER.  The Frigid, Sterile Man's Wind is gonna make my eyes water so badly that I look like I'd just been to a funeral.  The only time I enjoy winter is when I'm renting a mansion in the mountains with friends, there is a foot of powder for snowboarding, it's 30 degrees out, there's an outdoor hot tub, a fridge full of beer, and a fire in the fireplace. 

Don't get me wrong I love the Northeast.  My family and friends are here and that's ultimately what matters.  I do not want to live anywhere else right now.   I love the cities, the close proximity to mountains/ocean and I can relate to the the people.  Yes, we can be harsh but we're to-the-point, crass (just my humor type), and for the most part, not fake.  I mean maybe it's Old Man Winter that makes us this way.  He's a cold-hearted snake.  He doesn't give a shit about you.  You forgot a glove, too bad you get frostbite bitch.  There has got to be an easier way to survive this cold and, even worse, greyness.  No sun, no flowers, no leaves, just a grey dirty city.  I actually forgot why I moved here in the first place until Saturday.  It was a sunny, 45 degree day so pup and I walked around Central Park.  And I remembered that there's nothing I love more than a sunny day in Central Park.  So much life and activity and beauty.  I guess I should be thanking that crummy, ass-wad of an Old Man for one beautiful day to remind me why I love this city, and the 3 other seasons. 

6 Train Takedown

I was on the 6 train two days ago when I witnessed maybe one of the funniest things I have ever seen.  It was so funny that as I laid down to sleep, and thought about it, I wound up in a giggle fit.  I could barely get the story out to tell my cousin the next day.  I hope my written words can express just how funny/amazing/stunning this was.

I got on the train and moved towards the opposite door to stand away from all the other germ carriers.  Two stops later a 350 pound man in a wheelchair was pushing himself backwards with his feet trying to get his back wheels to jump the 3 inch high gap between the train and the platform.  The angle was off, so only one tire was making contact. He was so aggressive with his pushing, people were afraid to help him (and he was dirty).  He simply had no regard for anything behind him.  Finally one person was brave enough to turn him just enough so he could to hoist himself onto the train just before the doors shut.  The man that helped him was in his 60's and wore a calf-length Alpaca, light green, winter coat.  He stood about 6 feet tall and was well groomed. We'll call him Greenman.  The man in the wheelchair also appeared to be in his 60's (so he was probably 25) and I would classify him to be a few eggs short of a dozen.  Let's call him Burt.  He could move backwards well enough but certainly was not a normally functioning human.  He had big fat tongue that he used to push out his big fat lips and had a big fat, round face.  He had beady eyes, wore glasses and had on a winter hat.  A very worn, dirty canvas bag hung from the back of the wheelchair and a plastic bag full of god knows what hanging off the left armrest.  I made mental pictures of all of this while looking at the back of the chair, as he stared at the train doors he almost didn't make it through.  A few stops later was when the mayhem ensued.

The train doors opened up to Greenman's exit.  As he tried to squeeze by the door-blocking-Burt, Burt decided it was a good idea to floor his wheelchair gas pedal forward off the train to get out of Greenman's way.  I have never seen a wheelchair launch off a train and move so fast in my life.  Maybe Burt is a genius and figured out a way to put Nitros in his chair?  Anyway the problem for Greenman was, when Burt launched forward, the left wheelchair armrest entered Greenman's right coat pocket and dragged him off the train.  As Greenman struggled to keep his balance Burt just kept his wheelchair's petal to the metal.  Greenman was trying to prevent his feet from getting run over while simultaneously trying to figure out what the hell was going on.  He was in shock, like getting attacked by a Great White Shark.  He writhed in the chair's grip but the chair just kept speeding ahead.  Finally about 5 inches from the platform wall Burt stopped.  And just as soon as he stopped he thrusted his chair backwards and was jumping his chair onto the train again.  Greenman stood stunned on the platform, patted down his fine coat, and walked out the subway exit. Burt wasn't phased even a little.  He made no eye contact and did not say a word.  Just a regular day for Burt. 

It was then that I realized my mouth was agape.  What just happened?  Did I just witness one of the most amazing moments in history?  I literally said "oh my god did that just happen?" out loud to my fellow passengers.  They just looked at me and shook their heads.  I mean I wish I could interview them.  Maybe invite them to the White House for beers to reconcile.  Would Greenman tell this story to his grand kids?  I wanted to shake Burt's hand (with a latex glove on) and thank him for one of the best things I have ever seen.  I wanted this on tape.  So much so that I would have sacrificed the taping of my first born's first-steps to have the Burt and Greenman video.  Without hesitation.

The Bachelor: On The Wings of Gayness

See the man pictured above?  He is a very hot, lame, cry-baby, TOOL.  This show is actually called 'The Bachelor: On The Wings of Love' and yes, the theme song is "On The Wings of Love" BECAUSE HE IS A PILOT.  Wow ABC how long did it take you to come up with that one?  I hope less than 8 seconds.  DONE.  And the song has a different elevator version each episode.  Make out with a chick.."oooon the wiiings of loooove", look at the ocean "oooon the wiiings of loooove",  awkwardly run "oooon the wiiings of loooove".  And I know I'm choosing to watch the show.  But it's like when you sit in traffic only to find that the traffic is from rubberneckers checking out the accident in the break-down lane.  And you swear at these 10-mph drivers telling them "to stop looking at the freaking accident and driiive!"  But as you approach the scene you think "hmmm that blue car rear-ended the red one...and oh God I see a stretcher...body bag?...blood?...you see blood?...oooh there must have been a fire..." like a detective until you realize YOU are now holding up traffic.  So YES I am the donkey watching this garbage but it's everything that's wrong with our society beginning with Jake THE PILOT "oooon the wiiings of loooove" SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP Jeffrey Osborne.  Here's some of the blood and guts of this accident:

1) Jake you cry ALL the time.  You know you're a cry-baby when Regis is making fun of you. "He cries all.. the.. time!" (in my best Regis Philbin accent) Send a chick home...cry.  A chick hooks-up with someone who works for the show (he knew her 2 days)...cry.  A coconut hits the ground...waaaaahhh.  Choose one PILOT: you are... a) a total wein-dog who has more estrogen than all the girls on your show combined or b) turning your back on the camera and pinching your scrotum, making yourself cry to seem multi-layered and sensitive.  In either case no one wants to date a Sally.  Please make your balls descend out of your abdomen and back into your bruised scrotum, and return to manhood. 

2) The host had to pull Roslyn aside because she had "inappropriate relations with someone from the t.v. crew".  That part was actually amazing.   The wreckage was when all the girls were crying with Jake over the incident.  Really?  You feel that bad for him?  There are like 15 of you left.  Don't worry mamas, he'll be juuuust fine.

3) Ali, one of the last 4 bitches, was destined to be in the final 3.  Jake said it, she was in.  But then her work rang her up and said she had to come back to work or she was fired.  So she, being a smarter-than-the-average-bachelor-play-thing, went back to work.  But her senses were short lived because she called Jake and begged to be taken back.  He said no.  Pinched his scrotum and cried.  And Ali regrets leaving.  Really Ali?  You should be pissed he pretty much forgot your name in a week.

4) Tenley, one of the last 2 chicks, has only slept with one man in her life.  This man was her husband and cheated on her.  So she, being a mess over it, decided it was a good idea to go on THE BACHELOR?  Ummm...so it wasn't enough that you got cheated on by your virgin hungry husband but now you're gonna put yourself on a show where the main guy makes out with every set of lips he can land?  Then, accept an over-night with him knowing 2 other girls jumped his bones as well?  I don't know much 'bout psychology Tenley, but somethin' smells like masochism. P.U.

5) Jake has told the camera that he is "falling in love" with every chick.  "I just feel so connected to them."  "I just can't believe how much I am into them." "Can I marry your daughter?" (He asked 4 parents this same question).  Oh ABC how dare you pull at my heartstrings.  This poor, poor guy is torn by 4 hot chicks who will spread their legs knowing full well that he's about to hit, and quit, you AND the 3 others.  How can you go on Jake with such tough punan choices? 

6) Because I am writing about it.  I hate you Bachelor and your "wiiiings of looooove".  Next season can you at least put on some serious crazies?!  I wanna see some bitches throw down.  Word to your moms.

Magnum, P.I.

Recently one character just keeps popping into my twisted brain: Magnum, P.I.  The dude lived and drove around Hawaii in a Ferrari.  Jello?  Yes please.  I seriously think it would be so fun to follow people all day long and take notes on their every move.  I mean I love gossip so wouldn't I love spying?  I could buy all sorts of wigs and cute outfits.  I think my specialty would be catching cheaters.  I would film their every move and then show the victim what their significant other was banging on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and paying for on Sunday mornings.  Then they would exclaim "That's why I have Chlamydia?!" and I would say "yes" handing them tissues and ask they want to confront the cheater.

I imagine the scorned a heavy-set woman, named Bess, with self-bleached hair, wearing a faded leopard-print tank top smacking her gum.  I would show her footage of her boyfriend, Dick, who has a 6 inch rat-tail heading into a rent-by-the-hour motel with ChaCha who serves him Bud-heavies at the bowling alley.  I would park my Ferrari just out of sight and set-up my bionic ear (a device not my actual ear) and high zoom/resolution camera.  And just as things heated up I would have my bouncer kick open the door (for drama) and let Bess have her way with the two of them.  Now I know that there is a show called Cheaters but here's where my P.I. work would differ... Instead of breaking up the fight between Bess, Dick and ChaCha I would turn it into a televised Gladiator event.  Bess, being the victim, would get a bean bag gun, Dick would get African tranquilizer blow darts, and ChaCha would get a whiffle ball bat with thumb tacks sticking out of it (sorry ChaCha that's what man-stealin' hoes get).

I would put them in Giants stadium and let 'em at it.  I may even throw in a hungry komodo dragon, some little people dressed as superheros with paintball guns, and 10 trained chimpanzees with chinese stars.  I can't imagine that people wouldn't want to see this so I would sell tickets and televise it on Pay Per View. 

Normal aspirations.

Wax Schmax

Since last week I wrote about one of the best days of my life I found it fitting to now write about one of the worst.  This event does not qualify as "the worst day of my life" but certainly is in the top five.  This day was the first, and second to last, bikini wax I would ever get.  Bikini waxing has scarred me for life.  My body literally shutters and basically has a grand mal seizure upon spotting hot wax.

The first time I decided to get a bikini wax was when the word "brazilian wax" became a household name.  I've been pretty fearless in my life and this was not even a little scary.  "How convenient," I thought "I do not have to shave, for like, weeks."  So I skipped on into a salon that had a good reputation.  What I did not know was that their reputation had recently kamakazied into shitty-ass-salon status.  My waxer, we'll call SATAN, brought me into a room, and literally threw see-through, blue gauze, disposable underwear at me.  She said "put these on" and shut the door.  Ummm, shouldn't I at least get a "Hi how are you?", a "welcome to the salon", a "I'm about to destroy your vagina"...something?  Words, use your words, SATAN. 

It's times like these I truly wish I listened to my inner fear child.  I picture a really cute, little furry (fitting) creature shaking and hugging itself in my head saying "Get out! Get out!".  But I told the creature to "Man-up, this is... ahhhhh... normal."  I sat in the room with these creepy diaper, disposable underoos on awaiting SATAN's return.  When she came in I don't recall eye contact but she said "lay back", and went to the waxing.  I'm not even sure it would constitute for waxing as much as Chinese torture.  With each pull there was a half second delay before the pain would hit me so hard I thought I would go into shock.  And just as I would recover from that strip she would yank on another.  I couldn't even get a "Ahh Kelly Clarkson" out. 

I was afraid that when I stood up I would have no more skin left and I'd be able to see my uterus.  She left as quickly as she came in and thankfully so.  I was really close to punching her in her vagina.  I was sweaty, my eyes were bloodshot, and the chick left wax ALL over me.  Nevermind that I looked like Pooh-gone-wild but she didn't even get all the hair.  Feeling like I should file a police report, but too scared to, I walked out to pay and pouted all the way to my car.  I was a little afraid SATAN was gonna jump me in the parking lot.  I called my friend D and asked if my experience was normal.  She howled a "NOOOOOO!" and made me go get a refund. 

Years later I tried one more time at a place a friend referred to me.  It was the same miserable experience except it ended without being slathered with hot wax and all the hair was gone.  So when chicks tell me they get bikini waxes (which comes up more often in conversation than you'd think) I pretty much think they are masochists and like to get knifed in the face as well.