7 Days

They're watching Mass in the living room. And I feel like a bad person because I'm in here blogging and, well, not watching Mass.

I'm evil.

The second one is incorrect (it should be whom), which is usually enough to get an icon banned from my blog to the fiery depths of grammatically incorrect hell forever, but I liked it too much.

Worked last night. Ugh. So. Not. Busy. At. All. Somewhat thankfully, Pam was having a slight existential meltdown upstairs because the store kind of hasn't recovered from Harry Potter yet, and there are piles of books waiting to be reshelved, and nowhere near enough people to do it, what with the contingent that must be in the cafe AT ALL TIMES OMG. So I was recruited to help.

First I got to put CDs in those little anti-theft thingies, which is massive amounts of fun. I highly recommend it if you ever get the chance.

Then I was handed two baskets full of overstock and told, "Oh, yeah, they go up there somewhere *gestures vaguely towards the ceiling*". So I got to play on the ladder by the overstock shelves. And let me tell you, not so easy to balance twenty-eight copies of Tim Russert's book that IS NOT SELLING AT ALL while perched somewhere over the music secion.

Very dusty. And hot, what with the being right under the lights and all. I don't recommend this
so much.

Finally, the children's section. *organ music plays*

Reason #438 Not To Have Children: Those little buggers are MESSY. Seriously. I'd clean up the spinners, and then go over to the actual shelves to put away some books. Five seconds later, the spinners would be DESTROYED again.

Pam actually called them "little bastards". I found that rather amusing, whilst suggesting that she not refer to them as that in front of their obnoxious parents.



While I was waiting for Mom to be off the phone yesterday (I don't remember why. I'm sure I had a good reason, though.), I started going through her pictures, from the 1970s.

I'll spare you all the customary lecture on Why White Men Should Not Have Afros and Porn Mustaches Actually That One Applies To All Races, Creeds, and Colors Because It Is Not Of The Lord, Y'All. You've all heard that.

I shall instead comment briefly upon my mother's absolutely gut-wrenchingly deplorable taste in men, at least until she met my father.

Shall we begin with Chet? Who had the same creepy-ass smarmy grin under his porn mustache in every picture? The pictures that spanned like then ENTIRE decade, because again, DEPLORBLE TASTE!!! One should not look the same in 1978 that you do in 1975. It's not right, y'all.

Also, why was she at so many damn Democrat functions? I mean, I know she was dating him, but couldn't she have been like, "Um, you know honey, I'm gonna sit this one out. I don't feel like KILLING BABIES TONIGHT!!!" Sheesh.

Or the bastard whose name she didn't even remember, but the mere memory of which sent my aunt into hysterics?

Not quite the hysterics I was in when I saw a picture of her (My aunt, not my mom. Don't worry, Dad.) old fiance. They looked like a very typical lesbian couple. My mom was trying to explain that he was considered attractive back in the day. Um. Yeah. If you like chicks.

(Also got the actual story on my mother's retarded friend who apparently didn't realize that she was having sex. It was gross. But intriguing.)

Finally arrived in the 1980s, when my Daddy showed up. Accompanied by Baby Mr. Mickey, and several overweight friends in short-shorts. I'm not sure that I'll ever feel clean again.

Still better than Chet. *gags*

Nobody expects spanish inquizishun.

Oh, good. I like them. I was worried I'd have to stop watching in order to quell my feelings of homicidal rage towards Barbara Walters.

Speaking kind of of The View, well, duh. How stupid did she think we were???

Post-Pre-Sale Update: The Return

Milwaukee: Center floor. Row 19.

St. Paul: Side floor. Row 25.

That's right. I rawk.

I was not pleased, however, at exactly 10 o'clock when all that the site would give me were crappy seats in the balcony. I did not join the fanclub for balcony seats, y'all.

Also, Green Bay was sold out. *tear* But that's okay. I'm good with the two.

Also Squared: this does not make The Worst Night Of My Life okay. NOTHING will make that okay. EVER. I could marry Josh and give birth to his adorable curly-haired children and it would still not make it okay. Do you understand. NOTHING. So do not even bring it up, or I will be forced to throw something at you. Hey. If I can threaten my 90-year-old veteran grandfather, I can threaten you.

Other than rejoicing about my ticketed blessings, I've done absolutely nothing today. Wait. That's not true. I've drunk about twelve cups of coffee (not sure, but I know I made eight this morning, and then remade ten, but my mom and sister had some...so...), downloaded Kelly Clarkson's new single (What? I'm a dork. I never pretended to be anything else.), and joined a bunch of Facebook groups (now a proud member of "I tried to ford the river and now my *not appropriate for a family blog* oxen died (uwm chapter)". Hell yeah. Also the Sheriff of Nottingham Appreciation Society. Represent.

Nobody told me it was freakishly addicting.

Have lots of other stuff to do. In theory at least. The house is filthy, there's laundry up the chute, and I have a paper to write (the final one of freshman year---woot). But that Oregon Trail group was so much more fun.

Oooh, bought The Queen yesterday---sooo good!!! Everybody should go see that movie, not just nerds like me. One of the best movies I saw all 2006.

Supposed to go see Fracture tonight, if Person I'm Going to See Fracture With ever calls me back. *sigh* Does anybody know what that's about? I know Notebook Guy and Anthony Hopkins are in it, and I think Anthony Hopkins plays a killer (duh), but other than that I'm not sure. It's totally not my kind of movie, but there's nothing else out.

Rosie's leaving The View. Oh, sad. I loved her on that. Now I don't have a reason to watch every day. Boo!!!

Ding dong the one-legged, gold-digging whore is gone. I'm sorry. That was mean. But you do not hurt the only Beatle people care about and get away with it, missy. That's right. America doesn't feel so sorry for you anymore.

Just a quick note- I'd like to apologize for the end of the last entry. I had just joined the facebook group "Alan Rickman is a Dead Sexy Beast". Shut up.

*fin*

An Open Letter to the Ladies of The View.

Ladies, I love you. Watch all the time. You have my undying devotion. I tape you. I'm thinking of being you for Halloween. *smooches*

But you and your completely untenable arguments concerning gay marriage and the Clinton impeachment are really, really, really starting to bug me.

First, the Clinton impeachment. Now, I realize that 1998 was, like, nine whole years ago, but if I can remember it (I was ten), I think you probably can. In fact, Barbara, I'm pretty sure that you covered it for ABC. Anyway, not the issue.

The issue arose this morning when Rosie called for the impeachment of President Bush (I'm not entirely sure why), and when Elisabeth said that it was perhaps dangerous to start impeaching the President in the middle of a war, Rosie shot back that it was okay to impeach a President for having sex (?)

Rosie's obviously faulty logic aside (what? How did we get on Clinton? *snickers* No pun intended.), you then proceded to have a screaming match about it.

No. No. You have to know that Clinton was not impeached because of some lofty right-wing conspiracy to crack down on extra-marital sex, or because he "lied to the American people" or something stupid like that (do we really care? Honestly?), but rather because he freakin' COMMITTED PERJURY. (Perhaps you've heard of it. One of the biggies. Federal law.) The fact that he perjured himself by saying "No, she wasn't under there. Why? What have you heard?" has absolutely nothing to do with it. Gah.

So, in conclusion, perjury=bad; sex with Clinton=just icky, not illegal.

Second issue: please please please stop whining about how homosexual couples are being denied their Constitutional rights.

Also, completely false. Now, I'm assuming they're referring to marriage or civil unions, as you can sleep with whomever you want however you want, and you will not be denied due process. Or the right to a speedy trial. Or the right to form a militia. Or the right to refuse to quarter soldiers in your house during wartime. All those, along with the rest of them enumerated in THE CONSTITUTION- hence the term "Constitutional rights", are still available for all citizens of the United States regardless of creed, color, or Gucci shoes.

And this really bugs me, because NO ONE has a Constitutional right to be married---to ANYONE. I'm a woman, and I like men. I don't have the Constitutional right to get married to one. A friend of mine's brother is obviously a man and likes other men. He doesn't have the Constitutional right to get married to one. I'm sure Rosie and Kelly are deleriously happy, but they do not have the Constitutional right to marry each other.

Because it just doesn't exist.

You may be pissed that you don't have the same legal rights, or even the same social ones, but I hereby forbid ANYONE from EVER saying that they have a CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT to be married EVER AGAIN.

Thank you, and good evening.