Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

David Cook: A Theater Nerd After My Own Heart

Singin' In The Rain - Make 'Em Laugh - 2001 High School Performance

Till eBay Do Us Part?

There's nothing you can't find on eBay.

If you think I'm overstating, you obviously haven't gone looking.

For instance...

This morning one can bid on a used pair of Dolce & Gabanna underwear for $9.99. 

Novelty dog poop can be yours for the bargain price of only $2.99!  Buy It Now!

How about two dozen assorted empty watch boxes?  Bidding starts at $3!

Like the water?  This 1910 canoe can be yours for only $2500!  Buyer must pick-up.

In the market for a real stuffed bird?  Someone in the United Kingdom can make your dreams come true!  Bidding begins at GBP 9.99 (roughly $19.47 USD)

No table is comfeet, sorry, complete without a set of red toenailed salt and pepper shakers.  Get in on the bidding for only $4.99!

A Kentucky horsefarm, complete with this house can be snagged for $79,000.  New laminate floors, too!

My point is, it's all out there if you just type it into the search box.

So it came as no surprise to me that for a brief moment in time, this listing was also active:

Yes, a gentleman (I use the term loosely) in the UK was offering his "Adulterous, Lying, Cheating, Bitch Whore" of a wife for auction.  Bidding actually hit £500,100 before Paul, who had indicated in the ebay ad, "please do not bid on her because she is worth sod all" (sod in this instance being loosely translated as nothing), took it down.

(Not that eBay would have allowed it to remain - they have this thing about human trafficking.)

According to Paul, he began suspecting something was up a while back.  “I started checking her emails and I realised the rumours were true. They had been discussing their sex life together and making plans for the future.

“I was absolutely destroyed. I gathered all her stuff in bags and dumped it in the drive.”

Sharon begged to be taken back, which lasted all of two weeks before he was convinced she was at it again with a coworker.

He says, “In a fit of rage I put the advert on eBay. I later took it off because I realised it wasn’t the right thing to do. I was just so angry.”

Well, Sharon's angry now, too.  She and her co-worker have filed a police complaint against Paul for harrassment.  (Paul included both Sharon's and her supposed lover's full names, phone numbers and addresses in the listing.)

Personally, I think it's a tad juvenile to air your dirty laundry on eBay.  Auction it off, fine.  But don't air it...

(Not even kidding - dirty laundry AND Thomas the Tank engine clothes hamper - Bid now!  Starts at $16.99!)

F Bomb Detonates Career?

Everyone from presidents to preachers have been caught mumbling, cursing, or even dissing another person while wearing a microphone they thought was not on.

President Bush has done it numerous times, one of the most notable being an exchange with Tony Blair in which they mocked Syrian leader Bashar Assad as "sweet" and " a honey".  Bush then elaborated that Syria should tell Hezbollah to "stop doing this sh*t" to resolve the Lebanon crisis.

I don't think that disturbs me near as much as Bush getting Tony's attention with the words , "Yo, Blair..."

CNN's Kyra Phillips chatted it up in the ladies room not realizing she was also taking world viewers along for an exclusive poop scoop.

It also works in the inverse.  Radio DJ Andy Grenier forgot to push the button on his mic and spent an entire hour broadcasting ... to himself.

I'm betting MSNBC anchor Sue Simmons is wishing that had been her mistake...

I'd say that's not putting your foot in your mouth - that's swallowing your whole damned leg!

Simmons maintains she thought they were recording the segment, and did not know they were actually LIVE.

Speculation has been rife since Monday's "bombing" that her 28 year career may be effed as well, however, the station released this statement of support yesterday afternoon...

"Sue Simmons is a highly valued 30-year veteran of WNBC. Sue, along with WNBC, remains deeply sorry for her offensive remark on Monday night for which she quickly apologized. It was an unfortunate mistake that she truly regrets."

Wow, that's pretty f*cking nice. 

Ooops...

Measuring Up ... Or Would That Be Down?

Thank you to Lina for kicking my day off with this laugh!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE A KID AND YOUR PARENTS LINED YOU UP AGAINST A DOOR FRAME TO MARK HOW TALL YOU WERE AND DATED THE MARK?

WELL, THIS CARTOON BRINGS A WHOLE NEW PERSPECTIVE TO THAT EXERCISE!

There Is A God...

And He doesn't like hour long results shows either.

It only took a full season of constant complaints on every blog, board, and post out there, but the PTB at American Idol have announced they will cut the results shows back to 30 minutes next season.

Wow - I think I just felt my brain uncurdle a tad...

FantasUH?

Well, spurred on by the comments, I headed to YouTube and found Ms Thang's performance of Bore ME (Yawn) from last night's Idol.

And if Simon was wearing an expression of WTF?!?, mine most certainly is GTFO.

From the hair dyed the color of strawberry Kool-aid (or like Leigh in FL said - it looked like the Doppler radar of my storm had been superimposed over her head), to the sausage casing jumpsuit (to borrow a line from Steel Magnolias - "It looks like two pigs, fightin' under a blanket."), to the unintelligible (unintelligent?) lyrics, to the trio of bodacious (read: scantily clad) back up singers / dancers, it was a fierce, hot mess of a performance.

The one quick shot of Puppy made me think he may have peed his pants a bit in fear.

And Simon?  Well, he looked like he had just been presented with a platter of steaming hot goat poo, sauteed horse rectum, and a fork. 

I don't think I have ever seen him look so incredulous and disgusted, not even in the worst of audition rounds.  And when you can best THIS, you know you've jumped the shark and shit the bed in terms of shock value:

In case you missed it last night, too, here it is, in all its ... um ... glory?

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Mom

You know, if the past couple weeks of Mother Nature's and Papa Earth's fury have taught us anything, it's that they are terribly inconsiderate houseguests.

They come to call with very little notice, leaving a person no time to vacuum, make a bread bowl of spinach dip, or dig out a life-saving shelter.

Our personal schedules and obligations mean nothing to them. 

We can plan all we want, we can schedule our every move, we can program our every waking moment into our Blackberries and iPhones, and still have none of it ultimately matter to them.

If the earth is going to shake, it doesn't check to see if it's a convenient time for you.  If the wind is going to blow, it just does, no courtesy call so you can reschedule your bikini wax, doctor's appointment, movie date ... or life.

So it went last night in Austin.

I had warned in the previous blog entry that the recap would be delayed till today due to circumstances (read: kids' schedules) beyond my control.  My role last evening was one of function, not FUN.  I was a sherpa with no mountain.  A taxi driver with no tip at the end of the ride.

And that was fine with me.  The kids do their part in being straight A, athletic, overachievers and budding Ethel Barrymores, and I do mine - facilitating their drive (literal and figurative) towards their individual successes.

I had last evening scheduled down to the minute.  I had to.  Three kids, all involved in three separate activities, none closer than a 20 minute drive to the next.

I had every start time, pick-up time, drive time, and fast food line factored in.  The schedule was tight, but I could manage it.

Mother Nature was not impressed with my Schwarzkopf-like logistical planning, however.

No, she had a bug up her ass last night, the size of a Boeing Dreamliner.

Sideways.

I had picked up Culley and run across town to drop Carson at soccer training.  On-time, doing fine.

The sky was rather gray and ominous.

After asking a team parent to keep an eye on Carson, and safe in the knowledge that should the skies open up in my absence, they would keep her in their car till I could get back, I hit the road to take Kendall across town to the fields where she would be reffing her 8pm game.

The skies that direction were the color of a bad mood.

Arriving at the fields, I overheard many of the parents who were arriving for the game muttering about the weather, and if the game would actually be able to take place.

Deciding that my plan of going back to pick up Carson then taking she and Culley home before heading back out to wait for Kendall needed altered, I decided that I would speed back to Carson's fields and then right back to Kendall's fields to be there just in case the game got called due to weather.

It was on the drive back to pick up Carson that my phone rang with updates from other soccer parents about the weather moving in.

The skies were now almost inky.

Tornado and Severe Thunderstorm warnings to the west of us, moving in quickly.

Picking up Carson, the drive back to Kendall's fields was one of those "anal puckering affairs", especially when my friend called to update me that the tornado warning now included two more counties - the one where Kendall was working, and the one where we live.

I got back to her fields - it was very dark, save for the bright lights of the single field being used for play.

I queried several parents on the sidelines to see if they were aware of the warnings - No.  They were only aware their daughters were playing soccer.

Within three minutes of my arrival, Kendall blew the whistle for half-time, and I blew all protocol to cross the field and get her attention.  As the center, she was in charge of the game, and she needed to know about the weather, as she would have to make the call to stop the game.

I filled her in, and she confabbed for one moment with her crew.  I then watched her walked to both coaches to explain the situation and the danger that was coming.

During her brief exchange, the lightening show began.  Small flickers, but all it takes is one blip to call a game.  You don't mess with electricity.

She immediately called the girls from both teams back to the field, setting them up for a courtesy kick-off of the second half, so the record would show the game had been played in more than half its entirety.  The ball was kicked, and she blew the whistle.  Very professional, and everyone ran for the parking lot.

We were not two minutes into the drive home when the sky turned into a strobe light.  Seriously, I have never seen such an impressive display of flickering, twisting, illumination since John Travolta had Night Fever.

The 20 minute drive home was tense, and Rudy was on the phone giving us updates on our weather via his computer in Seattle.

It was coming our way, hard and fast.

We had just turned onto our street when the first piece of hail hit the roof of the van, then more hit the windshield.  In five seconds, it was raining ice chunks the size of tiny men, and my Hallelujah was seeing the garage door open in response to my frantic pushing of the button.

Once inside, and very much aware that Mother Nature was not just coming, but pretty much on my doorstep and obviously on the rag, I tried the TV to check the weather report from the local stations.

No satellite.

Great.

Checked the computer, pulled up the Doppler.

WHOA.

(And that's one of the GOOD pictures from later in the evening.)

The one I pulled up when I got home actually had purple and black areas.  PURPLE.

The hail was knocking the house around, and certainly giving the appearance of cellulite to every car parked out on the street.

The girls and I immediately emptied out the closet under the stairs - the middle of the middle of the house, and they dragged down pillows and quilts.

It became our Hunker Bunker for the evening, as three separate waves of intense, warning worthy weather rolled through the area.

Eventually, things calmed down enough outside that I was able to get the kids (and animals - poor Ro, she was so freaked out and obviously unable to go outside to potty in the hail, that she pooped on the carpet - a forgiveable offense, all things considered.  Heck, I'm surprised I didn't poop on the carpet too.) calmed down inside and convince them it was safe to go to bed.

Things are quieter this morning - rain, with the potential for more thunderstorms.

Unfortunately, one of the subsequent messes that has resulted - aside from the huge one that now exists from us emptying that large closet of its boxes and copious amounts of crap, is that I have no Idol on my DVR.

No Fantasia, in all her glory?  I am surmising from your comments that I missed something fairly, um, shall we say, interesting?

I know from reading online that Syesha went home.  But then I would have known that without watching, without a computer.  Hell, one barely needed a pulse to know that was coming.

So I am left in the position of asking YOU to entertain ME.

Tell me what I missed.  What Paula was wearing.  What ridiculous Cirque du So Lame maneuvers Ryan used to announce the final two.

I apologize for not being able to chime in with my insight, but as I said in the beginning of this piece, Mother Nature just doesn't give two poops in a whirlwind. 

Oreo does, but Mother Nature doesn't.  :O)

Flight 514 to AI Recap: Delayed

Hey everybody, with a huge MEA CULPA up front (God knows, if I get my arse reamed for posting a satirical recap last week, I fear what repercussions NOT posting one on time will earn me), I need to let you know that the Results Recap will not be up until tomorrow.

Things are a little off kilter for a Wednesday night on this end.

Carson's training has been backed up by an hour and a half, Culley has play rehearsal, and Kendall has been asked to center a select game that does not even start until 8pm tonight across town.

Translation:  My evening will be spent primarily in my minivan, and while it does have many bells and whistles (DVD player, Sirius Radio, stow-n-go seats, seat warmers, sunroof), it does not have a satellite dish and TV.

So, please talk amongst yourselves in the Chat Room, post your comments here after you watch, and look for the recap to go up tomorrow as soon as I can bang it out.

Sometimes real life IS more important than American Idol.

~~ Linda :O)

Ain't That a bITCH?

Don't you hate it when you get an itch somewhere on your back that you can't reach without monkey length arms, and no one is around to come to your aid?

There's not a single one among us who hasn't used a doorway, wall corner, hanger, ruler, or fencepost at one time in our lives to attack an itch we could not otherwise scratch.

And we all know that an itch can literally drive you crazy (although, admittedly, for some, that is a very short drive).

Meet Jorge Espinal, 44, of Fort Worth. 

Jorge was drinking beer with his buds and playing poker around 3am yesterday morning when he got a nasty itch along his back. 

Now, dudes being dudes and all, he wasn't about to compromise his machismo by asking his amigos to lend a hand.

So he got up, went to the other room and grabbed the first thing he could find to help reach the offending tickle.

A revolver.

And promptly shot himself in the back.

I'm not even kidding.  (That must have been one of those nasty traveling itches that moves around.)

He went back into the room where no one would believe him till they saw the blood trailing down his keister.

After they finished laughing, they took him to a local hospital where he was treated and released.

I dunno - call me old fashioned, call me cheap even, but I'm going to stick with the old school approach, Jorge.  This back scratcher is a helluva lot cheaper than a box of bullets, and besides, bloodstains are awfully hard to get out of the carpet...

(I'll scratch your back, you shoot mine?)

No Teacher Left Behind?

Our education system is in the shitter.

As of yesterday afternoon, I am more convinced of this than ever.

While driving to the store after school, Culley was reading Angels and Demons.  She paused and asked me how to pronounce one of the words in the book.

It was cacophony.  I explained it is pronounced  kuh-kof-uh-nee.

Her response?  "I thought so."

She then explained that it came up in her AP English class and her teacher - her AP TEACHER - stumbled on it, finally pronouncing it CACK-UH-PHONE-EE.

And it's not enough that she was unfamiliar with the pronunciation, she went on to explain it meant shrill, like "the sound of a witch's cackle".

I actually felt my brain curdle as Culley told me this.

I explained that a "cacophony" could be likened to walking into a Best Buy and having all the TV sets on different channels with the volume blaring.

Or, in fairness to her teacher - a bunch of witches cackling at the same time.

I then asked her what she did when this took place?

She said she just dropped her head and didn't say anything, knowing her teacher was completely off the reservation.  And also knowing that an entire AP class was going forth in the world from that point with CACK-UH-PHONE-EE now a part of their vocabulary.

Sigh.

How can we even hope to have "no child left behind" when our teachers missed the school bus themselves?