July 2, 2010
Looking back, I suppose my funktastic dance the other day to “Alejandro” could have been misinterpreted as a Rain Dance. Perhaps that new move I did with my arms seemed a bit Native American, but I was only trying to bring da funk, not da rain, so could you please cancel this mess ASAP?
(Warning to Anne: I say barf a lot in the following paragraph. Proceed with caution.)
Seriously people, this rain is getting on my nerves. I like a rainy day every now and then for two reasons: #1-So I don’t have to remember to water my outdoor plants, and #2-So I can lay around the house reading, eating and watching tv in my PJ’s without feeling like a complete loser. Other than that, I don’t particularly care for the stuff. Especially when it’s rain of this magnitude. Honestly, this is getting ridiculous. My nice summer glow has completely faded and I am pretty sure I am starting to grow mold. If the upstairs air conditioner wasn’t on the fritz, I would make us all sleep up there just in case the first floor floods during the night. I am already crabby enough if I get awakened in the middle of the night, I don’t need to get awakened by bayou water and alligator’s crashing through my windows. To top it all off, Ethan is sick today. Well, since he barfed all night last night I guess he was sick then too. If there’s one thing my son can do, it’s barf. He is so spectacular at it because he’s had lots of practice. If there’s a virus out there than involves barf, he’ll find a way to get it. At least he’s a polite barfer. A few years ago he used to blame us for the barf and yell at us for holding buckets in front of his face, then turn his head and just barf wherever. But now he barfs and then apologizes for it, as one should. Barfing is not something that anyone likes, so if you’re gonna do it in front of people, it’s only good manners to say you’re sorry. Anyway, I am not having PMS this time, but I have enough things making me cranky that I decided to post some recent additions to my Shit List. Enjoy.
Patti’s Shit List-Week of June 27th.
Local News Teaser Commercials: I’m talking about those dumb-ass commercials that run on TV all day long. The commercials that I usually get to bypass, thanks to whoever the rock star genius is that invented DVR’s. Seriously, whoever invented these things deserves a national holiday or at the very least, a postage stamp or a special sandwich named after them, because as far as I’m concerned, this is the best invention since the internet, which Al Gore says he invented, but was actually invented my my 19-year-old ass while I was babysitting one day, wishing that I could somehow use the crazy parents’ computer as some sort of magically electronic encyclopedia to search for a way to make their really weird and annoying kid go into a deep coma-like sleep, and then I could use the magic computer to look for pictures of tiny things. I felt jipped for a long time, but I’m over it now. Anyway, the teaser commercials are the ones where they say all that crazy/scary stuff that causes you to stay up all night in a sweaty panic because they told you to watch the 6 o’clock news to find out more, and you forgot, so now you’re most-likely gonna die from either eating bagged salad or by parking in the wrong parking garage. Last week the teasers that told me that if I wear make-up of any kind, my face is probably gonna melt off, and that I really better keep an eye on my mail carrier because he is either going to murder me or get me addicted to crack. I’ve really had it with these commercials. If something is that important, they need to tell me right freakin’ now and not in 7 1/2 hours when I have important mommy crap to do and wine to drink. If my make-up turns my face into a giant oval-shaped scab with eyes, and I start prostituting myself for crack money, it’s your fault, news teaser people. You suck!
Exclusive Furniture: This is some dumb store here in Houston that has really stupid commercials which are usually on the radio instead of TV which I’m pretty sure is because radio is cheaper and TV is only for really pretty people, and while I haven’t actually seen these furniture people, I can tell by their manic, screaming voices that they just aren’t right for high def. For all I know, this store has really nice stuff in it…but I highly doubt it. Any store which has a commercial that informs you that if you buy one of their mattresses you are gonna have a better sex life, is just crazy. How are you furniture freaks gonna keep this promise? Does this mattress come with a hooker and some porn? Does it revolve and/or vibrate? Is there a money back guarantee if you buy one and you still only get lights-off missionary? If you’re gonna make a statement like this, you have to back it up! Exclusive Furniture people…you suck!
Elizabeth Hasselbeck: Wow. I don’t even know where to begin. I try to protect my eyes and ears from all things Hasselbeck, but sometimes the uncontrollable urge comes over me to flip by The View to see if Barbara is still alive and if Whoopi has grown any eyebrows. Sometimes E. H. is gone having a baby or whatever, but usually she’s there, being all smug and annoying with her whiny nasal voice and her dumb opinions. Rosie O’Donnell had her own set of problems, but if there’s one thing that Ro and I could bond over, it’s our dislike for Hasselbeck. But Rosie also loved Tom Cruise and Barbra Striesand, so our bonding really ends with Hasselbeck. When Rosie was on, I never missed an episode, because I was 99% sure that she was gonna finally blow a fuse one day and beat her with one of her crocs, but to my great disappointment, it never happened. When Whoopi joined I thought that she would be just the kinda gal to knock some sense into her, but now Whoopi is starting to talk out of her ass just like Elizabeth, and that eyebrow thing is really starting to creep me out. Now my only hope is Joy. Sometimes I see it…that little bubbling of Hasselbeck Hate. If she’s, by any chance, still going through menopause, we may have a shot. Maybe during a hot flash or mood swing she will finally lose her shit and smother her with her big, red wig. Not ’till she’s dead. Just ’till she passes out. I’m not that crazy, people. Elizabeth Hasselbeck…you suck!
Ke$ha: Why do you have to be so damn annoying? Your voice sounds ok when you sing, but from what I have heard you don’t sing quite as much as you sort of talk in a sing-song, bratty teenager voice. I used to be a teenager, so I know that voice and I know it well. But I am not a teenager anymore and Ethan has a few years to go, so for now I’d prefer to not have to hear it over the airwaves, thank you very much. Maybe your mom needs to ground you or something. Maybe take away your phone. It looks like she already took away your pants because whenever I see a photo of you, you’re not wearing any. I admit that I like to walk around without pants just as much as anyone, but I only do it in the privacy of my house. Now granted, I don’t close the blinds first and sometimes I run out to the garage for a beer or something, but at least I’m on my own private property and not going out for dinner like that. And you have a dollar sign in your name, which is just idiotic. Are we supposed to call you Ke-dollar-sha or are we just pretending like it’s an “s”, and if so then why not just make it an “s”? And it’s still a mystery to me why you woke up feeling like P. Diddy. What does that mean? You woke up feeling like a rapper? Like an African American? Like a really self-absorbed rich guy? And in the same song you basically say you think Mick Jagger’s hot. Have you seen Mich Jagger? He is far from hot. He is cold. Like death. Even a hundred and some odd years ago when he was younger, he was still not hot. He was 80 pounds, not even 6 feet tall, lips the size of inner tubes and he danced like a chicken. Granted, he sang ‘Paint It Black’ which is an amazingly awesome song, but that, my dear pantsless whiner, does not make him handsome. Ke$ha, you annoy me, and you may be higher on my list save for the fact that you once barfed in Paris Hilton’s closet. I have to give you props for that. You really, really annoy me, but if you could do that a few more times I might forgive you. So for now you suck, but barf in Paris Hilton’s closet again, and I’ll reconsider.
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