Ah Bugger

The vapid utterings of a neurotic mind.

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Location: DC, United States

I ain't too proud to bug.

Friday, April 29, 2005

Five little monkeys jumpin' on the bed

One is leaving, then there were five. (On what else? AmErIcAn IdOl!!! Look how cool that looks. I am so cool. WOOOOOOO!)

Carrie’s hair extensions make her look short and wide. It’s weird. What is it with her and her hair? Yawn… What a boring song.
We learn that Carrie is a momma’s girl. And decide that the neck rocking while she sings must stop.

Paula might have a bird nesting in her hair. I think she may have let Carrie’s stylist do her hair. Yikes.

Clay Aiken! I swear he is really a tall woman with short spiky hair.

Bo’s girlfriend looks just like him. His mom is HOT!! She looks like a prettier and younger Bo Derek.

When he is singing, Bo looks like he is trying to take a bite out of the microphone, or maybe dislodge something from his throat. Whoa- he’s a bit epileptic in his movements. Random.

I wonder who the performers keep pointing at in the audience.

Ryan Seacrest was sitting on some middle aged dad-type’s lap. Um…

If Vonzell loses, will she karate chop everyone? She’s been Kung Fu fighting since she was six. She makes a bold move in singing a Christina Aguilera song. She did not quite hit all of the notes. Dang, that’s a hard song. (Turn To You.) Vonzell is a daddy’s girl. I like her, but she is somehow forgettable. I can’t put my finger on it.

Simon thought she was a bit flat. I have to agree. And she is a tad crazy. She apparently does not speak on Tuesdays. (To save her voice…)

Maybe it’s Anthony’s hair that makes him look that way. NO, I think he has a misshapen head. He is not a “popstar”. I think he’d be great on Broadway. He is so schmaltzy. There is that key around his neck again. He must be terrified of losing it.

Randy is sitting so far back from the judge’s table that he practically sitting in the audience. Perhaps Paula smells funny? Maybe she told him to sit far away from her because his pink striped shirt clashes with her leopard print shirt with turquoise trim. Simon is allowed to stay next to because his blue shirt coordinates with hers.

Wow, Anthony was super stoked to sing Celine Dion…. (Maybe the key is to Seacrest’s heart….)

OOPA! Here comes Constantine. He was apparently named after his mom. You know, he was way better looking before the rock n’ roll got to him.

Problem: His belt makes the focus on him very crotch-centric.

He is screwing up the song and the words. He says “Kayah” instead of “yeah”. No Good. Let’s see what the judges have to say.
Randy: High on performance, low on singing.
Paula: Her teeth are sooooo white. I dunno what she said. I was blinded by her teeth.
Simon: Bad imitation of the original.

Constantine makes Seacrest look like a midget. Constantine should go because he makes the phone gesture and mouths “Call for me” and then indicates the number performer he was. ANNOYING!

What is up with everyone’s overemphasis on vibrato? It’s distracting.

Scott is from Shaker Heights, OH. (Near Cleveland… Sorry, Jen.) He is the heart and soul of America. I really need to move out of the States if that is true. Jeepers. He gesticulates randomly. He sucks. I really just don’t like him. So I’m going to ignore him. His hands look like surgical gloves that were blown up and tied to be a balloon.

Simon seemed to have slept through the performance like me (HA!). He said “I’d pack your suitcase tonight.” Hope he’s right.

From best to worst, based on this and only this performance (in my opinion):
1. Bo
2. Vonzelle
3. Carrie
4. Anthony
5. Scott
6. Constantine

But no one was very good.

WEDS SHOW: (Someone’s gotta go)
I admit that I fast forwarded through most of this show to get to the part where they dump someone.


Constantine is going to go back to New York, so perfect his smoldering glance for his future nieces.

Paula looks so concerned. She’s crying. Strangely, for the first time she actually looks kind of pretty.

Scott is standing there laughing. He is such an ass.

Adeeo, Constantine.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

I am 31 and half, OKAY?

I am so sick of people telling me how great it is to look young. Let me tell you something, it's not that great. I have looked young all of my life. When I was little, people used to to tell me how much I would love it when I got older. I thought then that I would not be excited to look young and now I know that I am not excited. When you look young, no one ever takes you seriously. You have to work twice as hard, if not harder to prove that you are capable of accomplishing the same thing that people think a person who looks older is capable of (even if they are chronologically younger, and/or act younger). For me it is so frustrating to constantly have people telling me their "better ways" to do things and how I should be living my life. Everyone acts like I am incapable of managing anything by myself. I get so much advice on my personal life and how it should be progressing, even from perfect strangers. For example, a lady at my church lectured me for hours on how I am wasting my life away. She detailed all the things I needed to do to get by and spared no detail on how I was probably mismanaging everything I came into contact with. Now, this is important, I HAD JUST MET HER!
When I got promoted to my current position, my boss told me that people had warned him against hiring me in that position because I was not "experienced" enough. In the meantime, I have been there for four years, accomplished most of the things we do and proven myself beyond any shadow of a doubt. Yet, because of my youthful face, I am not credible.
Even my boyfriend only looked at me once when he first saw me because he thought I was too young for him. I had to pursue him (with ID in hand).
Listen, I am glad I do not look older than I am. I would like to just look my own age. So quit telling me how great it is to look young unless YOU look young and you have some great experiences to tell me about that back up your claim.

Monday, April 25, 2005

I need a fix

Oh, my friends. Now that Terri Schiavo has died, I am a one trick pony with my incessant coverage of American Idol. And you would be shamed to know that I tend to fast forward through a lot of it. I can't take all the lascivious gazes into the camera by ill-decorated popstar wannabes. Yet, I am addicted. But addicts don't always necessarily love the drug they take, right? I need an intervention.

Kelly Clarkson rocks ! ! !

Get down, get down...

Constantine: You can’t dance. I wish that you would not try. Are you wearing eyeliner? I don’t like your vibrato, or that baby fetus butt of a chin you’ve got. But you have a lot of energy.
I have the feeling Constantine is going to end up being that swarmy uncle at the family reunion in 30 years that makes eyes at all the young girls, even the ones related to him. “Come sit on my knee. Touch my gray chest hairs.” Ew. He moves like he’s a girl who is trying to be hot. The fat girls in the audience dig him. Good lord! Where does that zipper on his pants end? Disturbing.
You know what bugs me the most? It’s that he is one of the people who stands next to Ryan Seacrest holding up the number of fingers to demonstrate what number you should call. I hate that. That’s one of the many reasons I dislike Anthony so much. (Waving 2 fingers, mouthing “Two, pick two! That’s me! WOOOOO” Argh.)
I think he will finish 4th.

Carrie, Carrie, Carrie: I heard someone compare you to a white Kelly Clarkson. Ha. That’s a good one. It’s funny because it’s true. Now, Carrie. Who does that to your hair? It’s like they crimp the root and poodle-ize the rest. When Carrie sings, she throws a come hither look at the camera. It’s a bit off-putting. And she walks funny. It’s a dancey-walk, or are those shoes just really uncomfortable? (Wonder what their wardrobe allowance is?)
Did not really like her choice of song. There are so many better songs, especially by Donna Summer. But, Carrie can sing, and she is sooo cute. (The fat girls love her, too.) Simon says her look is Barbie meets the Stepford Wives. Truly! But Oklahoma is not the Okla-home-a to high fashion. (I am brilliant!) It’s not even a neighbor, I guess.
Carrie will win!

Scott Savol: sings every song exactly the same way. Hey, Scott! Is it illegal to tuck in your shirt? I think he has his pajama’s on. Maybe he is really tired. Rough week, you know? This way he can sing and then go climb into bed. He has Monchichi hair. He is an arrogant &*^*er. I hate how he looks down his ugly nose at everything. Such an ass. G’bye! (Simon’s keepin’ it real. Heh…Scott is very “urban” and Simon is not. That’s why that is funny) The fat girls don’t dig Scott.
I pick him to go next. (Alas, he did not go next. Anwar went next. Who is voting for this guy? He sucks!)

Paula’s hair has wings!!

Anthony Fed: makes me uncomfortable. All the boys, due to the 70’s style of music they are being forced to sing, have their shirts open to their belly buttons to expose their chest hairs (or lack thereof). Maybe Anthony should be wearing makeup. It might make him look more normal. Is his head too big? What is it about him that makes him look so weird? Is that a key around his neck? Key to his locker? Hotel room? Ford Focus? Paula’s heart?
Simon called him insipid and Paula said “Whatever” --- because she does not know what that means. What is wrong with Paula’s hairline? Anthony is a dork. G’bye!
He should finish 6th. (Though with Scott still here, maybe Anthony should be 5th and Scott sixth.) This whole Anwar being sent home thing before I finished writing this commentary, has really screwed me up!

Vonzell: Aw, she sang Chaka Khan. Marci loves Chaka Khan. Hee hee. Vonzell is starting to figure it out. She picks songs that people recognize and get fired up about. Good for you, Von. I’m starting to root for you. She is not the best singer, but you just like her. Paula is now dancing on the table. Has she lost her mind?
She will finish 3rd.

Anwar: He could have come from the 70’s. He looks like it. Another massive misbuttoning of the shirt. Hmm, male cleavage? Anwar has lots of energy, yet these translate into some peculiar Beyonce-like violent shoulder thrusts. (Yikes!) Paula is ripping her clothes off. She’s creepy. Her hairline looks like it’s molding.
I think he will finish 5th. Oops. No he won’t. He is officially out at number 7.

Bo Bice: He has some huge nostrils. Wonder if Prell has approached him to do commercials for them? No chest visibility! Yay! He rocks. I still like him. I want him to grow mutton chops.
He will finish 2nd.

No one sang Jungle Boogie. Ya’ll suck!

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Simon says...that I could not come up with a better title.

Dilemma. Simon Cowell on Oprah. I hate Oprah. (Ohmygosh! Did I type that out loud? If I suddenly disappear off the face of the Earth, understand that she is extraordinarily powerful and from what I understand, not a fan of those who oppose her.) I find her to have no credibility. She could have a guest on her show whose entire life is crumbling around them and while they are telling their devastating story, she is dispassionately gazing off into the distance, probably calculating how much money she is earning in the time this person is jabbering on. She never seems to react to anything unless the camera is on her. I do have to give her credit for getting rid of those light colored contacts. They made her look psychotic. (hmmm….) So, she’s got Simon Cowell on her show. It’s weird this crush I have on him. I think it is more of an intrigue than a crush. (I am pretty sure it is situational. All the people on American Idol are ugly.)
He winked at Oprah. I like that. It’s charming. He has pretty nice teeth, for a Brit. AND he only cares what puppies think of him. Puppies! Hello! Of course I am crushing on him. (Totally stole that from “Never Been Kissed”. Great movie. I may be the cheesiest person alive.)
He is completely charismatic on Oprah’s show. Is it because the audience is entirely female? (Would any straight guy willfully attend a taping?) But why did the audience cheer and applaud when he said that Paula Abdul called him a bad name? Are they glad he was called a bad name? AND he mentioned his girlfriend. Whaaaat?!? (Stalker alert!) I read somewhere’s that they broke up. (See, this information messes with my ability to use proper grammar…) At least he is not dating Paula Abdul. I can’t quite grasp why she freaks me out. Maybe it is because she reminds me of these crazy llamas I once saw when a group of my friends and I rented a cabin in the mountains a few years ago. They stood there and stared at us. “Quit looking at me, llama!” (And in Germany, a llama spat at me. I ducked. Nasty.) Simon did try to tell Oprah that Paula has the hots for him. She told him to look her in the eye and tell her that. It’s strangely hot to see Simon look deep into Oprah’s eyes and say “She wants me.” (Seriously, what is wrong with me?)
Simon Cowell came onto Oprah’s show to debut his new popera group “Il Divo”. The male divas??? For real. Pop/opera. They sang Toni Braxton’s “Unbreak My Heart” in Spanish, I believe. There is nothing like mass vibrato to knock you from your chair while you watch completely creeped out as these four boys grin slimily at the camera. They miss the whole point of the song. Geez! Must be related to Nadia Turner. (American Idol, baby!)
No, Il Divo, I do not want you to look so lecherous. Gross. I do not want Popera. (And Simon Cowell’s credibility was shot in one fell swoop.)I do want Simon to get a haircut and invest in a mansierre, or perhaps a bro. (If you don’t know what I am talking about, you are hopelessly pop-culture irreverent and should be ashamed of yourself.) And I want to see someone fall off of those insanely high chairs that Oprah has two of in the middle of an empty stage for herself and her guest to sit on. (Maybe it could be Oprah?) (Hey, maybe it was not a popera group, but rather a POprah group. Everybody wants to be Oprah’s friend. Except me.)

Monday, April 18, 2005

Bedtime sucks

I am procrastinating, like I could win a medal, going to bed. The worst part is that I hate getting out of bed as much as I hate going to bed . Does anyone know a cure for this?

I think I need a real vacation. (Because you don't have to go to bed and you don't have to get up. It's all your choice, baby!)

My bedroom is a mess. My bed is not made. I could hang out on the sofa... Maybe I will call in sick tomorrow. Naw, I am gonna save my "not at work" days for something good.

I took my mom to the beach this weekend. She is so awesome. We had a great time. I feel guilty because I did not take her sightseeing, but we did see a couple of lighthouses and a hockey game and a baseball game (thank you!). We meandered on the beach and all the dogs in the world walked up to her. To her. Not me. I understand. She does radiate good. I would run up to her, too. We watched Finding Neverland. (Lovely.) Went out to dinner and breakfast. Yeah, buffet! I ate enought cover the cost, too! I KNOW! That never happens. I learned a ton about my family history on the way home. I love to hear about these people. My mother had an idea to write about her childhood. Now my mission is to bug her until that happens. I can't imagine anything I would love more than to have the stories from my mother to experience any time I wanted. She is really going to think I am weirder than normal when every time she opens her mouth, I jam a tape recorder under it.

Okay, enough procrastination. Off to bed. I am going to try to wedge out the tape that is jammed into my VCR.

(Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my toys to break. So nobody else can have them. Amen!)

Not really about her anatomy.

I am obsessed with TV. Way too much. Thank goodness for my DVR. That way I am not watching TV all the time, but rather in large chunks when I have a bit of time. My favorite new show is "Grey's Anatomy". I don't know how to talk about it, really. Obviously another medical show. I have always liked them. AND I am actually older than a lot of the characters. That's not scary. oh wait, YEAH IT IS! But I love the messages that it brings. It makes me think. It is almost like a weekly sermon. Meredith Grey is the voice of the show. As she struggles through her residency, she also deals with her Alzheimer ridden mother. The girl who plays her has a tendency to lisp and look a bit like Renee Zellweger before all the collagen took over Renee's face. I like Sandra Oh as an overly ambitious resident who is all about procedure, forgetting that the patient is a human. It is such a departure from her roles on Arliss (Ditzy secretary) or Princess Diaries (kind of ditzy principal), but not too far off from her role in Sideways. I have just always liked her. I am glad she is doing well. Katherine Heigl is Izzy, the girl who paid her way through med school with lingerie modeling. Dude, she was a little tiny kid in My Father the Hero. Now she is all voluptuous. I mean Damn! But I have rooted for her for a while, too. And Marci loves Patrick Dempsey, so of course I had to watch to check him out. I learned in the meantime that at 21 he was married to a woman about 30 years his senior. He had a stepson a year older than him. Skeevy. Anywho... I know I did not sell the show very well, but it is well thought out and funny, sweet and smart. If you don't watch it, then you are probably doing something else. But you should watch it because it's really really good.

Punch the clock, AGAIN

I did not feel like being at work today. I wonder about days like these. Obviously we all go through them. I mean, ideally we would all have that dream job where we would be leaping out of bed to get to work. But, I imagine even those jobs have their days of "Oh God, not this again." It's the sameness of it all that gets to me. I get so irritated by the tricks my co-workers/bosses pull, because I have nothing better to do but sit, watching and judging.
I am not above them. I pull my own crap. A lot of it. Like today, I left at 10:45 to get my oil changed and car inspected. I did not return to my desk until 1:30ish. The rest of the day was spent lamenting about how much I did not want to be there. Unlike my bosses who can leave when it gets too much for them, I am shackled to my desk. Oh, so dramatic. I KNOW! Lemme alone. I get to complain. I know that I have a good job and make good money, yadda yadda yadda. I am just afraid sometimes that this is the best it's gonna get. This is the best of me.

I hear you when you say to go find something new, but what if it's in me? What if this is the best I have to offer? I have no idea how to figure out if I've got more. Damn, I must be the biggest chicken in the world.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

I can't come up with a good title for this.

I love David Sedaris. I love Amy Sedaris. I got to see David read some of his material yesterday, but Amy was nowhere to be found. Prior to finding our seats in the auditorium he spoke in, my friends and I had a few beverages. (Or as Marci liked to call it, dinner.) Now, being a responsible adult, I went potty before I sat down to enjoy the literary stylings of DS. But, they are not kidding when they say you rent beer. It’s hard to laugh hysterically whilst concentrating on your overfilled bladder. The mantra in my head was “be funny faster!”. But an hour and a half flew by, and I really enjoyed the show. David Sedaris has been reading to rowdy (ok, not so much rowdy) crowds like us for years. It was heartening to see that he can screw up, too. He’d lose his place or stutter over a word and I thought, well cripes… He is a professional. I should not be so hard on myself or my friends when we mash two words together to come up with some gibberish… Like drastic and dramatic make dramastic. Or how Marci once said that her mom went on a tyrant. (Tirade and rant.) I still think that is hilarious and I am probably going to get into trouble for bringing it up. It’s worth it! I also related to his random naming of books. “Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim” had nothing to do with anything in the book. He named it after a dream his boyfriend had. A collection of short stories he compiled was named after a work of art he laid eyes upon in a museum. “Children Playing Before a Statue of Hercules”. Naming my little observations is my favorite part of having a blog to write in.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Are the thoughts in my head disturbing you...?

In my mission to keep myself from becoming the world's ugliest couch potato, I have been trying to go do something after work every day. I just want to get myself to the point where I am super excited to go out anytime as opposed to being a lazy arse who preferred Netflix to a shower.. Gross...
So, I went to the World Market to buy some 50% off Easter candy for my fellow employees and on my way in, I stopped by the shoe store. As I wandered aimlessly through the aisles, blinded by a cruel sun streaming through the windows and the prices of discounted Via Spiga shoes, I made a new friend. I don't know how it happened, but suddenly we were chatting up a storm and we exchanged numbers. She even told me she thought I was smart! (That never happens.) She is from Toronto. I have a thing for Canadians, I guess. But honestly, they are so cool. It's interesting because I have been thinking how I needed to make a new friend. I think my internal thoughts shriek aloud to some being. My pastor has a tendency to preach about whatever is on my mind. My horoscope is frighteningly accurate. And when I need someone to remind me that new friends are there to be made, someone comes and taps on my shoulder.