Blah, Blah, Blog


So I have a confession to make.  It’s kind of a big deal, but I feel it only fair to let you know just what kind of weirdo I am, since you’re reading my blog and all.  So, here goes…I watch America’s Next Top Model.  Frequently.  Like, set my DVR to record every episode kind of frequently.  And I watch Toddlers and Tiaras and Dance Moms.  Deplorable, I know.  In my defense, I never watch the truly vile monstrosities like Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo (seriously, what the hell was TLC thinking??) or Duck Dynasty (*shudder*) or The Bachelor or anything like that.  I mean, the few “reality” shows I do watch are by no means deep, significant creations that will ultimately better mankind.  They’re pretty much crap (though I do love some of the photo shoot ideas on ANTM).  But they’re excellently entertaining brain candy.  Hopefully, knowing this shameful factoid about me will not scare any readers away.  On a side note, I really don’t understand any of those dating type of reality shows.  People sign up to take part in this fiasco.  They know the premise of the show–a bunch of guys/girls compete to get the attention of one person.  They all start the show gushing about the guy/girl being the perfect mate, and claiming to be perfect for them as well.  Then, and this is what truly baffles me, they claim to have fallen madly in love with aforementioned person in the course of the show, though they have spent virtually no time alone with this person and has witnessed him/her spending time with their competitors.  I even saw one woman who tattooed the dudes name on her neck!  SHE TATTOOED THE DUDE’S NAME ON HER NECK!!!!  On purpose!  Before she even knew if he would pick her–which he didn’t, by the way.  What the hell is wrong with people?  Call me a prude, but I prefer not to battle with, like, 20 other women for some guys attention.  And I sure as hell don’t want to spend time with a guy who is, most likely, bumpin’ uglies with some other girl or girls.  I’m a good sharer and all, but not when it comes to a man.  And I just have to say that I just cannot like the dumb duck dudes show.  I find it downright ridiculous.  I know people love this show, many people I love simply adore this show, but I just don’t get the appeal.  A bunch of hairy dudes selling duck calls while sounding as uneducated and redneck as they possibly can.  Yet, in reality, most of them are rather well-educated.  Why on earth would someone deliberately make themselves seem less intelligent than they really are?  I would find it much more impressive if they used the show to prove that you can be all into hunting and fishing and wearing camo, and still be intelligent.  And Honey Boo-Boo?  Lord, all that show is good for is proof that some folks just should not reproduce…ever.  Oh, and to remind fluffier people to keep their neck-fat wrinkles clean.  *shudder*  Just eeww.

Daily randomosity:  I think I fail as a chick.  Other than the fact that I dig men and the color pink, I pretty much just suck.  I don’t get all excited over high heels or dresses or skirts.  I hate make-up and I’m fairly certain I would kill myself if I tried to walk in a pair of stilettos.  Pantyhose make me itchy and perfume gives me asthma attacks.  I don’t even own hairspray and find it baffling to spend excessive amounts of money on jewelry or flowers.  I find nearly all romance novels dreadfully hokey and I like zombies way better than cutesy little Precious Moments-type things.  But, I do loooove non-high heel shoes and flip flops and cute shirts and butterflies and wind chimes and hair clippies and bright, obnoxious polish colors for my toe nails and glitter etc etc etc.  I wonder, if my cat jumped on my stomach (which he seems to enjoy doing, perhaps because of the “umph dear god get off me” noise I make), and his 23.5 lb self caused some kind of serious internal injury, how on earth would I explain it to the E.R. doctor?  I mean, I got weird looks when I had to tell them my leg got injured in a golf cart incident when my idiot friend decided to embrace his inner Duke boy, and that’s actually more sane sounding than “my fat cat tried to kill me”.  I wonder, if I hadn’t named my first fish Drop Dead Fred, would he have lived longer than three hours after I got him home from the fair?  I wonder if it’s true that a dolphin can pick up stuff with its penis?  My little stuffed llama is really adorable.  His name is Ferdinand Fandango.  


Peace out girl scout!


One thought on “Blah, Blah, Blog

  1. Tom

    “umph dear god get off me” Having been around Dart, that is about the only sound you can make when he lands on you. Sometimes when he comes close to landing on you.


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