Most of you are either in bed, watching Seinfeld reruns, or possibly even enjoying the cult of personality known as the Democratic National Convention. Not me. I am keeping abreast of what's really important, what's going on in the real world, RIGHT NOW.
Okay, not really. But I do have a tasty bit that bears mentioning. Have you ever seen Californication on Showtime? Some of my friends are big fans, constantly trying to sway me. And I think it's crap, and I'll tell you why. David Ducovney. He is the creator, the writer, and the lead actor in the series, which as far as I can tell is an excuse for him to simulate getting pussy and/or head in almost every scene. I don't even know what it's about, to be honest. I think it is the tale of a man, a shitty writer with one story to tell (not unlike Robert James Waller,but less romantic) who has milked his bestseller status into as much trim as he can get away with. It is purely a vehicle for Ducovney to see himself having sex, because we won't pay to see him fuck himself, which is what he really wants to do. Well, guess who went to rehab? That's right. And guess why. Yep, poor David Ducovney has checked into rehab for sex addiction. So to all my peeps who dig Californication, here's a big "Fuck you, I told you so." As my husband pointed out to me, now that he is surrounded by his peers, he can get some real pussy.
On a side note, we must recognize with sorrow the passing of the 6 legged deer that was found recently limping and dragging its way through Georgia. It died in surgery, although why anyone would separate that poor thing from its extra limbs is beyond me. Now the world will mourn its loss of that poor innocent abomination to the Lord. Amen. Forgive me, I just watched "Jesus Camp." Which, coincidentally, is not that different from the Democratic National Convention. The message, yes, different, but the method, eerily the same.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
(Sigh)
I have no discipline. Seriously. I say this after sneaking another Reese's Batman dark chocolate peanut butter bat from my husband's stash. (And no, they are not as good as they sound, if eating bat shaped chocolate is your thing. It's not my thing, but I have finished all of my own stash of secret chocolate and am now raiding his. Only 2 more months till Halloween!) And also from realizing that my blog has been sorely ignored for these past four weeks. I don't have any excuses, other than I feel my life spiraling out of control for no good reason, except, say, the first sentence. The sad part is that this was not always the case.
I actually used to be a very disciplined person. Anal retentive, some might even say. I tend to be very organized and on top of things in my life, or so I thought. Now I realize I am much more disciplined with my family than I am personally. I have all the laundry done in a timely fashion. Meals are punctual and well balanced. Activities and parties are scheduled and executed. Bedtime is promptly at 8:15, but only after lunches are packed, piano is practiced, showers are finished, and tomorrow's clothing laid out neatly. There is a clearly defined sense of order, and the expectations for everyone, from the kitten to the male head of household, are not a mystery.
But when it comes to me, it is a different story. I start the day precisely, but somewhere around mid morning my resolve fizzles and I am left an amorphous blob, as opposed to the other kinds of blobs, which have recognizable forms. And then I sit in front of the computer and waste time, usually snacking, until the dryer buzzes or the garage door opens and I realize that another hour and a half went by while I searched for free MP3 downloads and played Scrabble on Facebook. And usually there is some hummus involved in that time frame.
If my husband asks too many personal questions, I get defensive immediately. An innocent "What did you do today?" becomes a seedy interrogation, bright light shining in my face, no lawyer, no phone call, no Miranda rights. I am sure in his mind, he is asking an innocent question, trying to show how sensitive he is by being interesting in my day. To me, it is a personal attack, hinting at disapproval of my slothfulness and time wasting, a judgement on how I am always many steps away from self actualization. It is bad enough that I know how I wasted my day, but do I really have to detail it for others?
I actually used to be a very disciplined person. Anal retentive, some might even say. I tend to be very organized and on top of things in my life, or so I thought. Now I realize I am much more disciplined with my family than I am personally. I have all the laundry done in a timely fashion. Meals are punctual and well balanced. Activities and parties are scheduled and executed. Bedtime is promptly at 8:15, but only after lunches are packed, piano is practiced, showers are finished, and tomorrow's clothing laid out neatly. There is a clearly defined sense of order, and the expectations for everyone, from the kitten to the male head of household, are not a mystery.
But when it comes to me, it is a different story. I start the day precisely, but somewhere around mid morning my resolve fizzles and I am left an amorphous blob, as opposed to the other kinds of blobs, which have recognizable forms. And then I sit in front of the computer and waste time, usually snacking, until the dryer buzzes or the garage door opens and I realize that another hour and a half went by while I searched for free MP3 downloads and played Scrabble on Facebook. And usually there is some hummus involved in that time frame.
If my husband asks too many personal questions, I get defensive immediately. An innocent "What did you do today?" becomes a seedy interrogation, bright light shining in my face, no lawyer, no phone call, no Miranda rights. I am sure in his mind, he is asking an innocent question, trying to show how sensitive he is by being interesting in my day. To me, it is a personal attack, hinting at disapproval of my slothfulness and time wasting, a judgement on how I am always many steps away from self actualization. It is bad enough that I know how I wasted my day, but do I really have to detail it for others?
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