Dear God, Please Make It Go Away!!!
My schedule for the past month has been a little insane and it doesn't look like things are going to slow down until we hit the beginning of May. I sub for coed B volleyball on Monday nights and I play women's indoor soccer and Coed C volleyball on Tuesday nights, coed indoor soccer on Wednesday nights, women's indoor soccer and womens B league volleyball on Thursday nights and I usually hit up the volleyball open gym on Friday nights. Throw in weight lifting on Monday, Wednesday and Friday before games and you'll see that I've pretty much got something going every night of the week.
How does one cope with such a loaded schedule, and how did I allow myself to get talked into all these activities, you might ask. The answer is simple, my friends: large quantites of booze and chocolate, and I'm a sucker who just can't say no. That's right, if you come to me with some sob story about how you just need one more girl for your team and I'd really be helping you out and the whole team is so excited about playing but you're one chick short and if you don't get someone to play the entire team is going to fold, and I'll cave like Big Kev in front of the doughnut section at Safeway. (Or like Whitney in front of the crack house. Or like Shorty in front of the one-legged hooker on South Cushman.)
Since my life is so crazy busy, I really value my down-time, and one of the very few things that keeps me sane and brings a little joy into my life is House. I love that show. I obsess over it. I sob when it's over and wait with baited breath until the next week when I can slump my tired butt onto our comfy couch, curl up with Shorty and the cattens and lose myself for an hour in the rapier wit of Dr. House, Cameron, Foreman and the insanely hot accented Chase. (There are times when I'm stuck at a volleyball match or soccer game, so Shorty, valuing his life, will record House for me so I can watch it when I get home. Either he loves me unconditionally or he understands that I will go Tonya Harding on his ass if I miss an episode.) So you can imagine my crushing disappointment when I rushed home last night, sweaty, exhausted and sore from my soccer game, only to discover that, instead of House, American Idol is airing. Again. And again. And again. Over and over and over - AUGH!!! This show is like dirty, broken, cracked fingernails (damn, that was a good visual!) on a chalkboard to me. Seriously, if I wanted to hear some out-of-tune, big haired, half nekkid hootchie, who's managed to pour herself into an outfit that's clearly several sizes too small for an 8 year old, screeching an out-dated song that everyone wishes would just die, I'd tune in to Beyonce's latest remix. I hate this show. I detest this show. The worst type of torture imaginable would be to be duct taped to a chair and forced to watch re-runs of American Idol. Ryan Secrest is one of the biggest douches on the planet, and Paula Abdul is so overly-medicated that I'm amazed she can remember the names of her fellow judges. This show is a horrible waste of air time.
So, after several seconds of helplessly sobbing into my pillow, screaming my frustrations and a nice, calming round of puppy-kicking, I grabbed a book and a glass of red wine and headed to the hot tub, leaving Shorty in a Nyquil-induce fog, curled up on the loveseat with a fuzzy blankie and a spoiled boy cat, watching Flags of Our Fathers.
posted by Arctic Skipper @ 10:06 AM
2 Comments:
did you just say id crumble in front of the doughnut section? no you didnt! thats it! no more gallons of chinese food for you!
I gave up crack. I only crumble at the feet of...crap...now what am I going to crumble at the feet of?
American Idol does blow goats and other small barnyard animals. I can't stand that show. I hate Simon, I hate Paula, and Secrest can go feck off. I hate them!!!
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