April 25, 2007

The Weekly Numbers, Idol Edition

Ah, The Numbers. At least I didn't wait another four months before hauling them out again. So this is really almost good, even if they've yet to re-achieve "weekly" status.

And really, aren't you just glad I'm blogging again? It's been like, a week! And what better way to come back than to live-blog "Idol Gives Back," Weekly Numbahs style?

118: Number of times I've rolled my eyes since this 13-hankie sobfest started.

3: Number of minutes ago it started.

4: Number of times I've teared up. (Damn you, Idol.)

15,000: Times I managed to yell out, "Fuck right off and take your damn Match.com commercials with you, Dr. Phil." during his 30-second segment. That's 500 times a second, y'all.

1: Small squirts of laughter-induced pee that escaped during Jack Black's rendition of "Kiss from a Rose."

10,000: Number of goosebumps that erupted from the first note of Carrie Underwood's African-Children-Themed version of "I'll Stand By You." (Yes, I know. But I'm already a complete sucker for The Underwood--as in, I honestly CRY when I hear "Don't Forget to Remember Me" (no really, I KNOW)--but I am an even bigger sucker for The Pretenders, and a still BIGGER sucker for that particular song, which has been putting Seacrest-sized lumps in my throat since 1995.

10,000: Number of close-ups of tears rolling down sad, sad, African children's faces during said song.

7,348: Approximate number of Chicken McNuggets the lead singer of Rascall Flatts ate before tonight's show, from the looks of things. Coincidentally, also the number of grams of mousse in his Idiot Hair. You're like, 35, Tubby. Maybe time to lose the Jonathan Lipnicki 'do.

123: Honest approximation of the number of times I said the words, "No really guys, I need to move back here." while in D.C. this weekend (hey, it's a commercial break!).

3: Number of words I could understand from the "Save the Redneck Mountain Children" segment. Those kids sound like Cletus' kids from the Simpsons.

1: Number of tickets to Hell I just booked. I'll bring the beer!

3: Number of years the "Stayin' Alive" video appeared to last....Oh, Gwyneth. Charity is wonderful, but isn't this just a little beneath you? Can't you just adopt 300 kids or something like Angelina? You don't see HER shaking her ass to the Bee Gees on American fucking Idol.

0: Number of jokes I can make about the "People Dying in Africa while Ryan and Simon Watch" segment. Jesus Christ. And oh my god people. Josh Groban and little African kids and I swear to GOD, the same violinist who made me cry from "Titanic" doing the "You Raise me Up" song.

1,000,000: Official count of sadly falling tears from THIS chick right now. What? There are little African children singing with fucking Josh Groban. I am not made of STONE!!! Fu has a freaking HEART people! Sometimes! I'm like the Grinch right now with that little teensy heart breaking the Heart Magnifyer Thingie. Tears!!!! TEARS!!!

0: Number of people I think are getting the boot tonight. THAT is going to be the shocking results. How can they kick someone off on charity night? They said "most shocking result in our history," right? That would've been Melinda, and we know she's safe already. So that's that, no one goes home.

20: Number of dollars I obviously am going to have to donate in order to not feel like an asshole. It ought to be 50, but I went shoe-shopping this weekend.

(They are red gingham! So cute.)

24: Approximate number of pounds Kelly Clarkson has gained since the last time I saw her on television. I feel you, sister. And I like your hair extensions a lot. But tell the director not to shoot you from behind next time. I love a girl who isn't disgustingly thin (looking at you, Underwood), and you've got a great bod. But? You've also got back fat. Hey, I totally know how you feel! That's why no one shoots me from behind either. (Heheh, "from behind," heheh...I'm 12.)

14,817,955: Number of ways the Celine Dion and "Elvis" duet was just....so very wrong. The King would be rolling in his grave if he weren't banging Asian hookers in a South Pacific hut somewhere right now.

14,817,961: Number of new ways it's wrong once the top six join them on the stage and sing along with Ghost Elvis. Now he IS rolling in his grave, becuase if he weren't dead before, he IS now.


9: Aside from the number of times Annie Lennox just made me say "holy god, she is SO good," it is also the number of minutes left in the show. Where's Bono???

Ha!!! No one goes home, Fu was totally right. It wasn't that hard a guess, frankly. But I still feel awesome.

2: Number of Idols going home next week. I didn't call that one!

So Bono shows up to promote his big "One" campaign. But doesn't sing? Jeez, Bono.

Dear Virginia DMV:

Please tell me the owner of this vehicle. I don't care if they are handicapped, whoever came up with this license plate is someone I need to spend the rest of my life with. Because seriously.

April 17, 2007

God Bless Red Sox Season

Classic. Courtesy of Kevin. I'd link him, but he no longer blogs. Booo, Kevin!

But seriously. The incident is funny enough on its own, but with Remy and Orsillo cackling like hyenas throughout the whole thing, it just ascends to a new level.

April 12, 2007

Nice Try, Mickey D

Sorry, McDonald's.

Your commercial for the new iced coffee you're pimping--invented by Paul Newman, oooooh--may be cute, with the intern drinking it all before it gets to the guy he delivers it to, but honestly.

Please.

You really can't compete guys. This is New Hampshire. You can't swing a dead cat (not that I've killed mine for waking me up at 4 a.m. again or anything) (errrr...) without hitting at least three Dunkin Donuts chains. And unless you're adding crack to your iced coffee (and I actually think Dunks already has the patent on that, so again, nice try) I really don't think you're going to put much of a dent in their market.

I can think of no less than seven, seirously, between my apartment and my parents' house, depending on which way I go. But no matter which way I go? I drive down a road that has two within 300 yards of eachother. Seriously. There's even one that has drive-thrus on both sides.

I think the reason I always shunned Starbucks while living in D.C. was becuase I just don't believe in ordering coffee from anywhere but inside the cool leather comfort of my damn car. You just won't find me tapping my stillettos in a fricking line when I could be seated comfortably behind the wheel with Howard Stern on in the background.

That reminds me. The lady who gives me my iced coffee in the mornings is elderly. She really, actually, believe it or not, looks just like my Grammie.

So imagine my horror the other morning when I pressed down on my window to collect my coffee...and realized a second two late that Howard had a couple of porn stars riding his orgasm machine. And they were doing a rather good job of it. Loudly.

Grammie pretended she didn't hear, even though she had to have.

Grammies are cool like that.

Kurt Vonnegut, 1922 - 2007

A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved. ~Kurt Vonnegut

April 11, 2007

Ow! No really, OW!!!

I have these shoes.

Okay, well I have many, many, many shoes.

But I have these particular shoes. They're cute. They're grey, with brown leather trim, they're cut super low on the foot so they show a little toe cleavage (wait, is that gross?), they're slingbacks, they've got sturdy heels of a reasonable height...they ought to be comfortable. I've got heels twice as high that fit like bunny slippers.

And yet, each time I wear them they hurt just a little bit worse than that last time.

Pain. Painful. They are somewhere on the pain scale between Jennifer Lopez' nightgown-slash-death shroud that she wore on "American Idol" tonight and Jennifer Lopez' "singing" on "American Idol" tonight.

So the only way to walk in them is to sort of jut my hips forward, and sit back on my heels as though I'm carrying a load in my pants, or am Ed Grimley. I should really walk like Ed Grimley all the time. It's like, everyone thought he was just a dweeb, but really he was just a man who led with his crotch. Shouldn't we all?

But seriously, these shoes. I'm so torn. I don't want to ditch them, I would never abandon any of my babies. I have a pair of fricking size 9 gold pumps from Target that are waaaay too big for me, but I just stuff a little TP in them bitches and strut my shit.

A girl's not gonna give up on her shoes just because they lived a previous life as a damn bear trap (though she'd prefer it if they'd lived their previous life as a bear claw, at least those are soft and mooshy--not to mention delicious).

(Actually that's kind of appropriate. Becuase I left a number off of yesterday's Weekly Numbers. "Number of pounds less than a North American giant Grizzly Bear I weigh currently: Approximately six.")

April 10, 2007

The Weekly Numbers, Easter Edition

Good god! Didn't I invent the weekly numbers to be...weekly?

It's been months! Which, I suppose, ought to be the first official number of this, the reinstatement of the Weekly Numbahs.

4: Number of months since the last Weekly Numbers. For shame, Fu, for shame....

8: Current number of episodes of "The Wonder Years" stored on my DVR. But come on! I found out it was coming out in syndication, I figure I will record all the episodes from the very first one, figure out how to burn them on DVD's, sell them on Ebay and make a fortune! It's gold, GOLD I tell you! They won't ever come out on DVD, apparently, because the music rights are so hard and expensive to obtain. I'm not sure, but I feel like it's Michael Jackson's fault.

3: Number of times I've watched the pilot of "The Wonder Years" since I first recorded it last week. Man, this show was probably my all-time favorite show growing up. It was so much better than freaking "Full House" or "Growing Pains" or any of that other shite. Too bad Kevin Arnold grew up to be so dorky looking, but his involvement in both this and "The Princess Bride" cements him in my official "Fu Will Always Love Forever" group.

(Oh my god, though, seriously, this show is so f'n good. The one that was on tonight was when Kevin broke up with Becky Slater--who was so badass, by the way, so much better than that prissbag Winnie Cooper--and she punches him in the face. Then he has a "Star Trek" dream sequence with him as Kirk, Paul as Spock, and Becky and Winnie dressed up as go-go pussycat Fem-Bot alien life forms that attack them. It was SO good.)

6: Approximate number of inches taller Winnie Cooper was than Kevin Arnold in these first season episodes.

About 20: Number of cigarettes smoked in the first three months of the year...which is actually pretty good when you consider that about 18 of them were smoked all in one bad weekend.

About 20,000: Number of cigarettes smoked over Easter weekend. Man, oh, man. On the Stairmaster tonight it felt like my lungs were going to leap up into the back of my throat and start seeping out through my ears.)

2.5: Number of days in a row I went without feeding my cats this weekend. I was distracted! One of them could use it, too. They're fine. Shut up!

48: Number of hours it took between me meeting a really cute guy that told my friend Alicia he liked me, and him being all over one of my best friends instead. Good times!

1: Pounds of chocolate consumed in the last two days since the no-candy Lent period ended.

18: Minutes until I give up candy again, for at least another two weeks. It's clearly just necessary.

12: Number of times I voted for "American Idol" tonight. I know, I know.

8: Days until I get to go to D.C. for the weekend!

134,487: Number of cigarettes I will probably smoke, with or without the damn smoking ban.

5-10: Inches of snow expected Thursday night. (Seriously? SERIOUSLY???)

21: Confirmed Jack Bauer kills on the season. Can you even imagine actually being Jack Bauer? "Jack, what'd you do yesterday?" "I killed 21 people, including my own brother and former colleague, in about the first 18 hours I was awake...and god knows how many after that. What did YOU do?"

0: Number of things I have left to say....

Will try to make the next set of numbers more interesting...when they come out. Next quarter.

Sorry! Oh, Except I'm Not

Walking to the gym this evening, as I approached the door I could see someone else coming around the corner towards the door...out of the corner of my eye.

They seemed a good distance away so I just kept right on a-walkin', letting the door slam shut behind me.

Moments later the door opened behind me and some dude shouted, "Hey thanks, I appreciate it."

I turned to discover it was a dude balancing a big tray of coffees, who'd (gasp!) had to open the fricking door on his own.

I told him I was sorry, in a way that clearly telegraphed exactly how un-sorry I was.

Like...I'm sorry (heh), but I never got the whole "stand there like a tool holding the door open for the person behind you when that person is several steps away from you" thing.

Someone walking right behind me? Sure. I'll hold the door open. It's only polite.

But someone walking far enough behind me that I have to stand there awkwardly holding the stupid door for like five full seconds? Sorry, Holmes, you're on your own. Maybe it's rude, but I attribute it to the fact that whenever someone does that to me I feel the need to scurry so they don't have to stand there all day waiting for my strolling ass.

And I tend to wear heels a bit on the tippity-top side of things...I prefer to stroll.

Now, in this particular case...well all right, I'm the asshole. But I barely saw the guy out of the corner of my eyes, I was in a hurry, and I didn't see he was carrying something precarious. I swear!

That didnt' mean he had to make a snide little remark. Give me a break, pal.

In fact, pretty much all the "forced politeness" rules of society drive me bonkers.

You know what else I hate to do? Hold the elevator.

This one killed me when I worked in D.C. I worked in a busy downtown office. There were six elevators. I think I waited for one to get upstairs like...maybe once. And I worked there three years. And I prefer to ride the elevator alone. Sue me.

Sometimes I'd be in an already crowded elevator, and people would just keep holding it and holding it, and holding it, and HOLDING it for every late motherfucker scooting their slow asses across the damn lobby.

I never did, but I always wanted to just say, "Goddamnit there are FIVE OTHER ELEVATORS."

I used to think it was just city living that made me so high strung. Now I think I'm just a bitch.