Category: Oh, No They Di’unt

Supah Bowl

Sunday, February 2nd, 2014

I plan the following week’s menu and grocery list every Friday.  I completely forgot this was Super Bowl Sunday.

So instead of gumbo, chili, hamburgers or something equally footballin’, I made pot roast and garlic-rosemary roasted potatoes.   Meat and potatoes.   That’s so…American!  Um, like football.  And every damn thing else advertised during the Super Bowl…

Which brings me to why we have the Super Bowl:  commercials!  One word sums up the 2014 roster: disappointment.  The ad agencies sunk to a new low this year, relying on lowest common denominator: patronizing patriotism.  Everything was “truly American” and “yay for the troops.”  Here were the other lowlights:

  • Masarati wins most wasted money.  Those who buy Masaratis do not do so based on television commercials.  Who the hell sees a Masarati commercial and thinks “Yeah, I was gonna buy a Honda, but I think I’ll buy one of those instead!”
  • Subway thought it was a good idea to have health conscious Olympians push a cheese-covered, Frito-stuffed sandwich?  Ridiculous.
  • Axe Peace mocking global despots?  Incredibly naive and stupid.

My only kudos go to TMobile’s commercials: one featuring Tim Tebow and the other with just text.  Both were brilliantly crafted means of conveying the desired message.  That ad agency earned every dollar of its fees.

But what’s even better than the commercials?  THE HALF-TIME SHOW!!! Well, okay, not always… but this year it was!  I’m biased, because I adore all things Bruno Mars.   I loved his energy and tone. And while I was bummed to see the RHCP were co-headlining, their limited appearance was perfect.   Why the RHCP hate?  I haven’t recovered from the horrific radio and MTV overplay that “Under the Bridge” got in the 90’s.  Every time that song came on, I wanted to jump off a bridge.

In the end, I enjoyed the game.  I was routing for the Seahawks, because they have the inspirational Derrick Coleman as well as the key winning indicator: better uniforms than the Broncos.   While there was no contest whatsoever, I appreciated the football this year and did not mind it interrupting my commercials and half-time show.

I would’ve appreciated a good fight or two among impassioned competitors, but that’s okay.

That’s what Olympic figure skating is for.


IKEA: Beyond Thunderdome

Wednesday, July 6th, 2011

So I’d be remiss if I didn’t share our IKEA experience from this past weekend.

It was their super-duper, only happens twice a year (or more) July 4th inventory blowout sale.  Dan and I went Friday night to check out an armoire and changing table.   We went fairly late, so it wasn’t very crowded.  Having selected a Pax system, we took the worksheet home to configure the best possible closet for Wiggles.   Dan hearted the Pax big time and daydreamed of either bogarting it for himself (Wiggles could have his half of the master bedroom closet) or just sharing.   I kinda like the latter.  I have giggle-inducing visions of him biking to work in wintertime while accidentally wearing her BabyLegs.

Once we took measurements and made our system accessory selections, we were ready to seal the deal.   It’s a truth universally acknowledged that no sane person in want of keeping his limbs goes to IKEA on a weekend, especially during a sale.  If it must be done, the earlier or later the better.  We opted for later at 6:00pm.

It was not late enough.  The place was insane.  Luckily, Dan had written down all needed parts numbers, so we were able to quickly order our pick-up items and pick up our self-service pieces.   While heading for the drawer aisle, I noticed a lughvlay, well-fed, scarcely dressed family.  The 10-ish kid and whom I assumed to be his father were wrestling mid-aisle.  Kid kicked dad full force in the knee, so dad retaliated with a roundhouse kick to the kid’s chest.  I gasped.  Seeing he was okay, I hauled ass to get as far away from them as possible.   Mom intervened and the ultimate fighting ceased.

We encountered them again as they stood behind us at checkout.  It turns out dad was really uncle.   I realized this when kid and actual dad got into mini shouting match with mom threatening to smack him for back-talk.  Once kiddo was gone, their conversation returned to more prescient matters:  who wanted ice cream and/or cinnamon buns.

Next came the pick-up/delivery scheduling area.  I plopped my feet up while Dan patiently waited in line behind the biggest jackass.  We’d seen him earlier, when he interrupted us trying to order our Pax system.  He had two carts full of various bed and dresser elements, and wanted them delivered to The Woodlands.   I should mention that the delivery area was packed with the weekend’s haul and the line of future delivery requestors was growing by the second.   As the IKEA clerk tried to verify the item count with him, he refused to help.   He stood piggishly by as she explained the items on his receipt didn’t match the items on his cart.   For delivery, those numbers must match.  Makes sense to me right?   He insisted she was wrong but did nothing to expedite the process other than bitch and moan.  His helpful wife pitched by remaining silent and eating multiple cinnamon buns.

After twenty plus minutes of this nonsense, the IKEA clerk decided it was best to just nod and move on.   Meanwhile, the family from before was right back behind Dan.   Their discussion had progressed.  Now they debated dinner options (fajitas or lasagna) while eating cinnamon buns and bitching loudly about how lazy/dumb/shitty IKEA’s customer service was.   Mind you, the clerk sitting mere feet away could hear everything.  Dan was next in line and I felt things would go much more smoothly when I saw him making her smile  I waddled my way over and assured the clerk she wasn’t to blame for the delay.  She’d had a day and we agreed that IKEA had some serious WT asshole customers.

That’s when Eurodad walked up, screaming, red-faced newborn in hand.  I’d seen him checking out as his catatonic wife remained seated.  This kiddo was miserable, so Eurodad bounced him like a sack of potatoes.  Shockingly, this did not soothe le bebe.  He explained to the clerk it had been 20 minutes since he’d checked out and he needed to go, pointing to his infant.  Here’s an idea: don’t bring your one month old to IKEA during a crazy weekend sale.   I turned to Dan and urged him to smack me if that same idea ever sounded good to me.   If it got to that point, I’d surely have lost my ever-loving mind.

Two hours after our initial arrival, we were out the door.  The crowd had thinned significantly by then.

In hindsight, we should’ve gone much later.  If ever asked how to say “much later” in Swedish, the answer is simple:


Kinda Carwreckish…

Monday, June 14th, 2010

Normally, I steer clear of TLC’s “Toddlers and Tiaras.”

The white trash stage moms blowing college funds on pageant dentures and weaves…the clown whore-faced children with performances one pole shy of an Elizabeth Berkley movie….  It’s just disturbing on so many levels.

But every now and then there comes that one special child who captivates my attention; a child whose behavior goes so above and beyond s’assy that one could easily believe her to be the spawn of Flo from Mel’s Diner and Satan.

Reader(s), I give you Makenzie.  The video runs a few minutes long, but, trust me, it’s worth it.  If by the end you aren’t wanting to sterilize her parents, you’ve either got Mother Theresa’s patience or you’re an orthodontist seeing dollar signs in the Ni=Ni induced lisp.

What I’m Twerkin With

Tuesday, April 20th, 2010

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a person in submission to a massive migraine will be in want of a taser.

I awoke this morning with a huge headache, one much bigger than the one I took to bed.  I rushed through my early morning work routine with aspirations of settling into a mundane, drama-free day.  The universe had a different agenda.

Our two newbies needed my immediate, constant attention.  I finally ended up doing one’s work for him, because I could complete the task in one fourth the time it took to give step-by-step instruction.  But I added “This is me teaching you how to fish.”  It was my way of saying “I’m this headache’s bitch today – not yours for eternity.”

I get these headaches whenever the weather changes, especially when rain’s imminent.  They typically kick my ass until lunchtime.   Not this one.  No amount of liver sacrifice in the form of gel caps and hot caffeine offered relief.  I’m pretty sure its extended stay was in direct relation to my trainees’ lack of plausible comprehension.  If only I could have whipped out a ruler like a 1950’s knuckle-wrapping nun.

Not wanting to cook dinner, I dragged my bootay to Beaver’s with Dan.  Somewhere between the Chicken Wings and Chopped Beef Samich, the clouds parted and my headache lifted.

This is a very good thing for everyone.

And their knuckles.

Hello, Self, Pay Attention!

Monday, April 5th, 2010

Like everyone else, I get those flashes of future foibles.  Call it deja vu or foresight, it’s simply that little voice that says “Don’t do that or this will happen.”

Last week, as I got into my car and switched casings from my old to new iPhone, that voice said “Whoa, hold on, be careful. You don’t want anything to happen to the old phone…”   Of course not!  I had every intention of selling it to lessen new phone sticker $hock.  Silly voice!  What kind of idiot would lose track of an iPhone.

So, yeah, I lost the phone.

That’s right.  I lost it.  Dan and I have looked everywhere, but we can’t find the booger anywhere.   I cannot find it in the house.  I cannot find it with my spouse. We’ve turned over couch cushions and crawled through our cars.  I’ve pulled out drawers and emptied my laundry bin.  Nada. Nothing. Zilch.

But you want to know the kicker?  I’m 99.9% sure the damn thing wasn’t dead to begin with… Good times.

Anyone know a good lost and found psychic?

I need help locating my happy place.