The headlines scream "Ricky Martin announces online he is gay".
Apparently there is truth to the statement that denial isn't just a river in Egypt.
The corollary to the statement? Sometimes people float down that river a LONG, LONG time.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Addictions of the TV Kind
If you aren't addicted to the TV show 24, good for you. I'm not that lucky.
I'm hopelessly hooked on the comings and goings of Jack Bauer. I even identify the guy in the Allstate commercials as "MY President".*
And today, I learned, that 24 is coming to an end in just a few, short hours.
I almost cried. And I am worried sick about the state of terrorism in our country once Kiefer Sutherland stops portraying Jack and kicking the collective arses of goons from every corner of the world who are trying to blow us up, bomb us out, shoot us sky high, etc.
I understand they are making a movie, but it just won't be the same. My Monday nights, for the past eight years, revolved around Jack. My Thursdays around ER.
I've already lost ER and now this??? I'm not sure I can take it. What are the executives at NBC and FOX trying to do? Kill ME?
So, if you've never watched 24 and decide you'd like to catch it on DVD, please call me up and I'll sit with you through all 192 episodes so you, too, can share in the misery of 24 going away.
And if you call me in the next month on a Monday night and I'm crying like a baby? Just blame Jack.
*Truly, one of the saddest days in the history of the show was the day we lost President Palmer. If that dude had run for President in real life, he would have gotten my vote.
I'm hopelessly hooked on the comings and goings of Jack Bauer. I even identify the guy in the Allstate commercials as "MY President".*
And today, I learned, that 24 is coming to an end in just a few, short hours.
I almost cried. And I am worried sick about the state of terrorism in our country once Kiefer Sutherland stops portraying Jack and kicking the collective arses of goons from every corner of the world who are trying to blow us up, bomb us out, shoot us sky high, etc.
I understand they are making a movie, but it just won't be the same. My Monday nights, for the past eight years, revolved around Jack. My Thursdays around ER.
I've already lost ER and now this??? I'm not sure I can take it. What are the executives at NBC and FOX trying to do? Kill ME?
So, if you've never watched 24 and decide you'd like to catch it on DVD, please call me up and I'll sit with you through all 192 episodes so you, too, can share in the misery of 24 going away.
And if you call me in the next month on a Monday night and I'm crying like a baby? Just blame Jack.
*Truly, one of the saddest days in the history of the show was the day we lost President Palmer. If that dude had run for President in real life, he would have gotten my vote.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Momma Still Got It!
There are a few defining moments in dieting history. Today, I encountered one of them. And I learned that I'VE STILL GOT IT!!!
Well, kinda.
It is 3:15pm on Sunday. I am currently wearing a Dallas Cowboys pink T-Shirt, with a relatively inconspicuous pencil-lead-sized hole above my left boob. To complete the look, I threw on a pair of dark gray sweat pants that my brother accidentally left at my apartment years ago* and that, conveniently, fit me. My feet are in heavy socks clad with slip-on, backless tennis shoes.
I do not look like a genteel Southern woman. I don't even really resemble a carpool, soccer Mom, except that I'm wearing make-up and my hair is done. I look like a dollar store employee without the smock.
On any given day, this would be the extent of my wardrobe--half pathetic and 100% comfortable.**
But, after leaving church to run a couple of errands, I was still dressed up in an outfit that screamed "HEY! I've just been to church!" Black top with a sassy little belt accenting my reemerging waist, flirty little black skirt with green accents and a ruffle, black hose and peek-a-boo shoes. My toe nails, getting a good look at the sun via the end of the shoes, were even polished a pretty pink. My hair and make-up were still looking pretty good. Even I knew I looked somewhere above fair-to-middlin'.
Then it happened. I stopped at the Exxon for a cup of caffeine and he was there, getting his coffee fix as well. We were standing next to each other, dodging the store employee who was refilling the supplies. I had to move my keys and wallet so Mr. Coffee could reach a lid and I excused myself and he smiled. He was late 40's wearing a Longhorns jacket and running pants. Salt and pepper beard is about the only other thing I remember.
I stepped up to pay, after Mr. C had started out the door, and the store employee, in English broken by an accent that wasn't from "here", said "WAIT. You paid for two coffees!"
My gentleman "friend" said "Yes. I paid for hers." Smiled and exited the door as I said "That's very sweet of you."
(PPPPPPPSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. That's the sound my licked finger made on my skirt-covered butt when I got in the car to check and see if I was actually still as HOT as I felt at that moment.)
Now the funny part.*** Because, frankly, my life is anything but normal and almost always includes a twist:
I drove to the exit at the far end of the lot, after yelling "HEY! LONGHORN! God bless ya!" to which, I received a friendly wave. And he moved toward a BMW parked at the gas pumps.
Once again, due to traffic, our paths would cross. As the Beemer pulled in front of me, I saw Mr. Coffee in the passenger seat, sitting next to someone who could be described as (a) his girlfriend (b) his daughter (c) his wife. It wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, (d) his mother or (e) his grandmother. That was for sure.
I couldn't wait to tell Mike. He thought it was as funny*** as I did. And he reiterated, in his kind, loving, generous way that, to him, I was just as hot as the coffee-loving stranger thought I was.
Mike? I believe him. But, Mr. C? Let's just say that I don't know if Jesse James has a brother. But, if he does, I think I was just accosted by him at the coffee bar at the Plano Exxon.
As for my "hot" butt? It has cooled off considerably since this incident played itself out.
*Since they fit in the waist and were exactly the right length and he said I could keep them until we saw each other again, I just have NO IDEA how I still have them.
**And if any of you Yahoos decide to nominate me for the awful fashion show with that Stacy woman who brings her emasculinated friend into women's closets and comments on their clothing choices while throwing them into the trash can? I'll kick.your.butt. I hate that woman only slightly less than I hate Jillian from Biggest Loser.
**Funny as in odd, sad, pathetic, whacked, unusual, wierd, gosh-awful.
Well, kinda.
It is 3:15pm on Sunday. I am currently wearing a Dallas Cowboys pink T-Shirt, with a relatively inconspicuous pencil-lead-sized hole above my left boob. To complete the look, I threw on a pair of dark gray sweat pants that my brother accidentally left at my apartment years ago* and that, conveniently, fit me. My feet are in heavy socks clad with slip-on, backless tennis shoes.
I do not look like a genteel Southern woman. I don't even really resemble a carpool, soccer Mom, except that I'm wearing make-up and my hair is done. I look like a dollar store employee without the smock.
On any given day, this would be the extent of my wardrobe--half pathetic and 100% comfortable.**
But, after leaving church to run a couple of errands, I was still dressed up in an outfit that screamed "HEY! I've just been to church!" Black top with a sassy little belt accenting my reemerging waist, flirty little black skirt with green accents and a ruffle, black hose and peek-a-boo shoes. My toe nails, getting a good look at the sun via the end of the shoes, were even polished a pretty pink. My hair and make-up were still looking pretty good. Even I knew I looked somewhere above fair-to-middlin'.
Then it happened. I stopped at the Exxon for a cup of caffeine and he was there, getting his coffee fix as well. We were standing next to each other, dodging the store employee who was refilling the supplies. I had to move my keys and wallet so Mr. Coffee could reach a lid and I excused myself and he smiled. He was late 40's wearing a Longhorns jacket and running pants. Salt and pepper beard is about the only other thing I remember.
I stepped up to pay, after Mr. C had started out the door, and the store employee, in English broken by an accent that wasn't from "here", said "WAIT. You paid for two coffees!"
My gentleman "friend" said "Yes. I paid for hers." Smiled and exited the door as I said "That's very sweet of you."
(PPPPPPPSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. That's the sound my licked finger made on my skirt-covered butt when I got in the car to check and see if I was actually still as HOT as I felt at that moment.)
Now the funny part.*** Because, frankly, my life is anything but normal and almost always includes a twist:
I drove to the exit at the far end of the lot, after yelling "HEY! LONGHORN! God bless ya!" to which, I received a friendly wave. And he moved toward a BMW parked at the gas pumps.
Once again, due to traffic, our paths would cross. As the Beemer pulled in front of me, I saw Mr. Coffee in the passenger seat, sitting next to someone who could be described as (a) his girlfriend (b) his daughter (c) his wife. It wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, (d) his mother or (e) his grandmother. That was for sure.
I couldn't wait to tell Mike. He thought it was as funny*** as I did. And he reiterated, in his kind, loving, generous way that, to him, I was just as hot as the coffee-loving stranger thought I was.
Mike? I believe him. But, Mr. C? Let's just say that I don't know if Jesse James has a brother. But, if he does, I think I was just accosted by him at the coffee bar at the Plano Exxon.
As for my "hot" butt? It has cooled off considerably since this incident played itself out.
*Since they fit in the waist and were exactly the right length and he said I could keep them until we saw each other again, I just have NO IDEA how I still have them.
**And if any of you Yahoos decide to nominate me for the awful fashion show with that Stacy woman who brings her emasculinated friend into women's closets and comments on their clothing choices while throwing them into the trash can? I'll kick.your.butt. I hate that woman only slightly less than I hate Jillian from Biggest Loser.
**Funny as in odd, sad, pathetic, whacked, unusual, wierd, gosh-awful.
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