Time For A Book-Burnin’: Shit Lit for the Modern Female Reader

Growing up, I was always a voracious reader. My ideal Saturday afternoon was spent wandering around the stacks of the public library, checking out piles of Judy Blume or V.C. Andrews books while my mother remained blissfully clueless about the content of my reading material.

The sole source for 95% of my sexual education.

Today in Rage

Have you heard of Clocky? The plucky little alarm clock on wheels that JUMPS off your nightstand and rolls around your room trying to hide, beeping all the while?

Causes more homicidal rage before 9am than most people experience all day.

Full of Sound and Fury

HoST and have been watching DVDs of the Canadian television series Slings and Arrows, sent to us by that great enabler of never having to leave the house, Netflix.

fizzical activitee: DO NOT WANT!!1!!11

The series is OK. Definitely some funny moments, but I don’t know if they’re plentiful enough to merit sitting through each 40-minute-plus episode. And I think the show is best enjoyed by theatre types – people who’ve seen firsthand the somewhat chaotic business- and creative process-end of professional theatre, people who’ve known the great pain of being committed to a show that truly sucks, people who have ever had to miss a wedding/funeral/graduation/baby shower because of a contract stating they have to traipse across a stage in period costume for 4 weeks in August.

Methinks my mother will never forgiveth me for missing my Aunt Trisha’s wake.

Thanks a Million, CNN.com

For always giving me something new to worry about:

I think I’ll file this right above “Falling into the Grand Canyon,” but just below “Farm Vandals Tormenting My Alligators.”

Dammit!

I Hear God Also Frowns on Illegal Left Turns, Under-Tipping and Neglecting to Flush

Have you heard? The Vatican released a whole new list of reasons why you will burn in hell, you filthy, filthy sinner.

I told you all that masturbating would catch up with you, you adorable little snookums.

Hydrangeas ARE Pretty, And You’re Not Looking Too Bad Yourself

Hey, Internet! I got tagged to do one of these list-y things! By an actual person who actually reads my actual blog (and I don’t even actually know her in actual life). Her blog? Hydrangeas are Pretty. And really, I can’t argue with that.

So thanks, pretty-pretty Hydrangea lady. I feel like tagging me is the internet equivalent of inviting me to sit at your lunch table in the cafeteria, and having been the new kid in school on more than one [awful, horrendous, scarring] occasion, I know what a kind gesture that can be.

Psst! Don’t trust that chick in the red shirt. She will totally tell everyone in gym class that you were the last girl in the 7th grade to get her period. GOD!

OK, so, here we go, in the copy-and-paste manner of things:

Make a list of 5 things that you have to get done this week (NON-Work related, no matter how small)

1. Finish the shadowbox-jewelry shelf thing that I saw in a magazine, got inspired to make, and bought all the supplies for TWO MONTHS AGO. Try to ignore the fact that the above-mentioned magazine has actually stopped being published, that is how long I have dragged my feet on this project. Sigh.
2. Get some preliminary ideas for the baby shower I will be hosting in May, which sounds so exciting right now, but will probably end in tears of rage, blown paychecks, and stress-related diarrhea.
3. Finish reading The Well and the Mine; convince HoST that we need to name future child “Gin,” because that is possibly one of the most bad-assiest Southern names ever.
4. Iron clothes, which I have been putting off for WEEKS. The completion of this one pathetic little task will expand my wardrobe tenfold.
5. Try not to beat myself up when I fall asleep on the couch tonight (and every remaining night of the week) at 9:30, leaving my shelf unfinished, my shower unplanned, my book unread, and my clothes un-ironed. Those smug bears get to hibernate; why should I be denied?

And I tag:

A Girl and A Boy

- and -

CC

So…I guess these people just figure out through the magic of the internet that I’ve tagged them? Do I email them? Send them a card? Wake them gently in the night?

As you can see, tagging me for these things turns me into an 92-year-old woman trying to log into her AOL account.

Oh, heavens – this poor man in Nigeria needs my bank account number. I hope I can get it to him in time.