Random Things that Piss Me Off

I generally am a pretty laid-back, good-hearted gal, but there are, of course, things in the entertainment world that, well, piss me off. Since I've been dwelling on them today, I've decided to list a few here for my own personal amusement.

1. When did the world become a steaming pile of sarcasm? Sit-coms today are basically one sarcastic, evil-hearted remark after another. I can see why Leave It To Beaver appealed to so many. It would be nice to watch something that didn't involve others pissing on each others' feelings.

2. Simon Cowell is not attractive. He has man boobs. So why does he insist on knocking the appearance of the contestants?

3. Waylon Jennings recorded many beautiful songs. A veritable plethora. The Dukes of Hazzard themesong is probably the least of all of these songs, yet this is the one on which today's ignorant generation is fixated.

4. Paris Hilton manages to look mentally challenged in every photo she takes. I'd rather look at Salma Hayek's pinky finger than her face. BTW, if I were gay, I'd worship Salma Hayek.

5. Ving Rhames. Hot black man who is incredibly underrated.

6. Trace Adkins' song that begins with the word "Honkytonk" is so ignorant that I can't even bring myself to say the entire title. Whoever wrote this drudge should be taken out back and shot. It's obvious that the stellar country geniuses of yesteryear are pretty much country music's last hurrah. No one will ever take their places, at least if Trace Adkins, Keith Urban, and Shania Twain's music are any indication.

7. Try as I might, I can't sit through an episode of Lost or Desperate Housewives. I can watch a thousand live childbirths on TLC, but these shows make my skin crawl. Not sure why.

8. Kill Bill 1 & 2 were great, but I have found the fans of these movies (who were all around me in the theater, btw) to be mainly large, stinky fanboys who were practically masturbating at all of the symbolism. Yikes.

Food for Thought from Erma Bombeck

If you have children, read this. Take it to heart. And then try not to cry.

No More Oatmeal Kisses by Erma Bombeck

A young mother writes: "I know you've written before about the empty-nest syndrome -- that lonely period after the children are grown and gone. Right now, I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry and muddy boots. The baby is teething; the boys are fighting. My husband just called and said to eat without him, and I fell off my diet. Lay it on me again, will you.''

Okay. One of these days you'll explode and shout to the kids, "Why don't you grow up and act your age?" And they will. Or, "You guys get outside and find yourselves something to do. And don't slam the door!" And they won't.

You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy: bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on the shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it to stay this way.'' And it will.

You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and you'll say, "Now, there's a meal for company.'' And you'll eat it alone.

You'll say: "I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do your hear?'' And you'll have it.

No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti. No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms. No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps. No more clothespins under the sofa. No more playpens to arrange a room around.

No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent. No more sand on the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathrooms. No more iron-on-patches, tight boots, rubber bands for ponytails, or wet knotted shoestrings.

Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it. No baby sitter for New Year's Eve. Washing only once a week. Seeing a steak that isn't ground. Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.

No PTA meetings. No car pools. No blaring radios. No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night. Having your own roll of Scotch tape.

Think about it. No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste. No more sloppy oatmeal kisses. No more tooth fairy. No giggles in the dark. No knees to heal, no responsibility.

Only a voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?'' and the silence echoing,
"I did."

My child is a genius.

My 18-month-old baby girl can count to ten! She was sitting in the floor yesterday, playing with a stuffed cat, and I heard her say, "Un, two, tree, four, five, sex, siven, eight, nine, toon!"

I immediately snatched her up and proclaimed, "You are the smartest girlie in the world!"

She replied by putting her little hands on her belly and saying, "Mart!"

:)

Naming Children. Badly.

I joined a baby naming site recently. Yep, they actually have those. They consist of large groups of women peppered with a few men who gather together to rate and debate potential names for babies.

One is not allowed to have a strong opinion on a baby naming site. If you do not like the name in question, you are supposed to say "nms", which means "not my style." If you really hate the name, you can pump that up to "nmsaa" (not my style at all). If you express a really strong opinion at all, then you are a troll or a hateful, evil, fat bitch with no sex life. I kid you not. I have actually seen women say this to other strangers on the internet. I actually lurk instead of responding, mainly because I have no desire to be torn apart by the wolves that babynaming women seem to become.

But, I digress. One particular name that was mentioned over and over is actually what I want to discuss today. The name? Nevaeh. If you have never heard of Nevaeh, some say it is pronounced Nuh-vay, others pronounce it Nuh-vay-uh, and 90% pronounce it "Nevaeh-it's-heaven-spelled-backwards." Yes, it's heaven spelled in reverse.

The name Heaven is also popular itself lately, but, for those mothers who don't want to give their daughter a premade stripper name, Nevaeh is the alternative. Never mind that this begins a lifelong tradition of the following conversation:

Stranger: Hi, my name is .
Nevaeh: I'm Nevaeh. It's-heaven-spelled-backwards.
Stranger: Oh.

Hilariously, most mothers who brag about giving their daughters this abomination always follow it up with, "Everybody loves her name." As if strangers would tell you that your baby's name sucks. Well, strangers other than me. If indeed a fellow poster tells one of these idiots that the name is stupid, the reply is invariably, "Why do you want to pick on my daughter? You're hateful and mean and she's a sparkly purple princess who will never grow up!!!1!!!" The 1 is in there because, dammit, there are always 1s in there. I kid you not.

I suppose it is your business what you want to name your child. I suppose it is okay if you want to name your daughters something that assumes they will always be tiny, perfect, beautiful cheerleaders. However, stop to consider, please, general populace, that little Nevaeh will grow up. I promise. And she may not call you when you're in the rest home if you saddle her with such a suck-ass name.