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The writing staff of Lost — if they think I’m buying the deus-ex-machina “explaining” the black smoke monster was planned from day one — not to mention what other crocks of shit they plan to feed me about the island and its majesty later on this evening.
The eyes of Shannon Brown, Grant Hill, and (of course) Ramona Singer.
The eyes of any children that might hypothetically reproduce, if any two of the above three were to (gasp!) decide to reproduce together.
Me, giddy with the the prospect of (knock on wood) a Lakers/Celtics NBA Finals.
The idea that we needed to have scientists sent up to the BP oil spill to tell us that it is “much worse than has been reported by BP.”
Me, for not realizing that this list would be somewhat challenging to write.
You, if you think I’m spending two hours watching recaps of Lost before the two hour finale tonight.
People who think that @Shitmydadsays is going to make a good network TV show.
Parents’ groups who are up in arms about the fact that @shitmydadsays is going to be made into a network show.
The fact that the next session of Bloggy Boot Camp appears to be almost sold out.
How many conferences have cropped up in the past year based on the concept of transmitting small messages to people across the world on a tiny network of tubes, consisting of only the same number of characters as there are (supposedly) in Charles Dickens’ The Pickwick Papers.
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Sonja’s sex hair — while admittedly still wildly inappropriate for lunch with Jill and Ramona at the Four Seasons — is still not big enough for the Sheriff’s dinner in Franklin Lakes.
Ramona’s eyes are almost as crazy as Danielle actually is.
On RHONY, “Brooklyn” is an insult. On “RHONJ,” “Jersey” is not an insult.
When Dina was saying she got rid of everything in her life that made her unhappy, did she mean her husband and her daughter? And was Teresa’s husband somehow involved in this elimination?
Wait. What show am I watching? Oh, that’s Barney’s, and these people appear to have a lot of money, ergo this must be RHONY. Wait–these people are overweight. And their accents are not European affectations. What happened?
On RHONJ, when the producers need to manufacture drama, parties are thrown ostensibly for “law enforcement.” On RHONY, when the producers need to manufacture drama, parties are thrown for what are ostensibly “magazines.”
It’s unclear who would be most horrified by the fact that they are occupying the same cast position, Teresa, or the Countess, but if they were to meet, you know they would totally fake being friends, commiserating about their periods in Italian — just as long as they weren’t making red sauce at the time (so as to respect the wishes of the “old school Italians,” because LuAnn is big on manners like that).
Are they going to bring in another character for Danielle to be friends with besides the manicurist?
Did they bring in this other Jennifer woman to make Jill look like less of a bitch? Or is she someone I’m supposed to know?
Will somebody please either explain to Sonja the difference between a French and an English garden or take away her brownstone and give it to someone who deserves it like me?
Did I say that outloud?
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Mr. Right-Click: Hey, Lady Gaga is on Oprah.
Me: Oh yeah, I meant to watch that.
Mr. Right-Click: Well, there she is.
Me: Is she wearing a sea anemone on her head?
Mini: I want to go there!
Mr. Right-Click: She’s not that great.
Me: She sounds terrible. I mean, she sounds way better on the album.
Mini: [Dancing]
Me: [Singing] I want your love and I want all your lover’s revenge, you and me can write a bad romance . . .
Mr. Right-Click: [Looking at me, horrified.]
Me: What? I listen to her in spinning.
Mr. Right-Click: Wait, did you see that? Did you see Oprah . . . dancing?
.
Me: Wow, that was . . . embarrassing.
Mr. Right-Click: Rewind it.
.
Mr. Right-Click: Does she really think she’s going to break that windshield? Not going to happen.
Me: It’s like they just said, “Hey, Oprah, you’re on camera, look like you’re having fun or something.
Mini: GAGA SHOW GAGA SHOW! I want to go THERE!
Mr. Right-Click: Why is she even doing this? She doesn’t need Gaga.
Me: Dude, Gaga is huge. People want the Gaga.
Mr. Right-Click: Yeah, but her audience?
Me: Apparently.
Mr. Right-Click: Well she seems confused.
Me: She’s trying to figure out if she should just go with Lady Gaga’s comparison of herself to Ghandi, or if she should trouble it. Her ego is at odds with her intellect.
Mr. Right-Click: She’s like . . . she’s like Madonna.
Me: Yeah. Pretty much.
Mr. Right-Click: But you like her?
Me: I . . . like her about as much as I like Madonna.
Mr. Right-Click: Wait, rewind that, look at the audience.
Me: No wait, go back — there’s more of them.
Mr. Right-Click: They’re multiplying.
Me: Is Oprah going to be sick?
Mr. Right-Click: Well, Oprah, people want the Gaga.
Mini: GAGA! GAGA! GAGASHOW! Let’s GOTHERE!
Just Like The Number Where 2+2=Six. A blog about life in the family Six, party of four.
ABDPBT GLOSSARY
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ONLINE DATING CHRONICLES
Sure, I eventually met my husband, Mr. Right-Click, through online dating. But not before I had dated nearly one hundred of Los Angeles' least suitable bachelors. Laugh along in my Online Dating Chronicles.
SPY ON ME
Looking for something to read? Wondering what I'm reading? Perhaps it's time to start Spying On My Google Reader to find out about the coolest stuff I've read lately on the internet.
MUCKRAKING
Sometimes I like to muckrake. You can read about it here. Oh, and here too. Listen, if I don't do it, that muck will just keep piling up until we have to call a roto-rooter. So really, you should thank me. You're welcome.
LISTS
You know, you slave away at blog posts day after day, you try to write fiction, you try to provide interesting social commentary, but at the end of the day, they come for the lists. Check out List Mondays to see what all the hullabaloo is about, because I sure as hell cannot explain it.
OTHER ABDPBT BLOGS
ABDPBT Personal Finance
Shining a light on the big business of poop.
ABDPBT Tech
Tech for mommy bloggers. Or bloggers who aren't mommies, but hang out with them. Or Dads. Whatever.
ABDPBT Commodity Fetishism
This is where I post stuff that I think is cool. Maybe you will think it's cool, too.
FULL ARCHIVES
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ABDPBT Archives
LOS ANGELES
Los Angeles is where I was born and raised. I always thought I'd leave, but for some reason I never did. Sometimes, I like it here. Other times, I'm not so sure. But good or bad, it has made me who I am.
Sometimes I take the melodrama of my life and twist and turn it until it looks almost charming. I do this because I want you to like me:
Cigarettes & Green Felt: This is about the time I figured out that adults were mostly full of shit.
Assburger: It's not just a disorder on the autism spectrum: it's also one of your relatives!
On Truth: Sometimes somebody will say something and it hurts your feelings. And then you will write a story about it and your aunt will call it "phenomenal." Everyone else will try to pretend like it never happened.
The Sheer And Unmitigated Power of Bob Mould: Sometimes you spend your formative years obsessed by an unrequited teenage crush, and then one day you realize that person is now an orthopedic surgeon who lives in your neighborhood. It kinda sucks when that happens.
Ben From Madera: For one Halloween, Ben dressed up like a bee, like that kid in the Blind Melon video. That's how I will always remember him.
Mr. Right-Click
He is my best friend, even if he uses a PC. And the fact that sometimes he will pretend to be a "Pancake Pirate" is only part of the reason. Arrrr!
Mini
His cutie-pie percentile group is off the charts.
Spinning
If you think this is just about exercise, then you have underestimated how wildly inappropriate people can be when they undergo physical pain in a group setting.
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