Keeping My Fingers Crossed

Folks, I am beginning to lose all hope.

I’m still trying to be positive, but time is running out.

With only 2 weeks left in their audition process for next season, I have not yet been called by Survivor.

I don’t think I ever got around to mentioning here that I finally sent in my audition tape for the Fall 2012 season. I finally sat my sexy ass down to make the tape during the Christmas break, and I was too busy roasting my chestnuts over an open fire to do much blogging.

But record my beautiful face, I did. Again. This is attempt number FOUR for me, and I have yet to make it to the Los Angeles auditions.

I’m not sure what’s wrong with the folks over at CBS. What else do I have to do for these people? In past videos, I’ve run around the woods pretending to be the Blair Witch, given a sappy testimonial, and last year I even sent them a video of me taking my clothes off!

Seriously, who the Hell can resist a naked ME? Whenever I watch that video and see how hot I am, even I have to run into the nearest closet and start masturbating! (What, doesn’t everyone masturbate in their closet? No? Just me, then? Ok, moving on…..)

Maybe they are just intimidated by my unbridled sexiness to dare to put me on the show, in fears that the other contestants would all voluntarily throw themselves into a bonfire after standing so close to my pure perfection?

Yeah, that MUST be it!

Anyway, they told me that all potential contestants will be notified by February 29th. That still gives me two whole weeks to hear some good news.

I need to really throw myself into that Promise bullshit and start thinking positively. Actually, calling it “Promise Bullshit” probably means I’m doing it wrong from the get-go.

But really… EVERYONE is pulling for me to be on that show.

All my family is hoping I get on, all my friends are hoping I get on…..

Shit, in the banner picture above, even that old battleaxe Susan Boyle is apparently keeping her fingers crossed that I make it.

Two more weeks. There is still time.

And if anyone from CBS is out there, I am not above giving out sexual favors for a chance at a million dollars….

… or, for a sandwich, if I’m hungry.

Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter

You’ve heard about this, right?

In 2010, author Seth Grahame-Smith wrote this book about the untold story of our 16th president, and how he secretly waged war against the undead.

I’ve been wanting to read this for a while now, as it just seems like a fun read. It certainly got tons of good press and reviews.

And inevitably, whenever a book makes some money, someone comes along and turns it into a movie.

The trailer finally hit the interwebs last week. Check it out, holmes:




I really want to like this movie. I really do.

But 2 words scare the crap out of me where this movie is concerned……….

Tim Burton.

I can’t fucking STAND Tim Burton. He just puts too much ‘weird’ in all his movies for my taste. And I really do think he does it just because he thinks people expect him to be weird, and not because it makes sense to do it that way. Plus, without his pal Johnny Depp agreeing to be in almost all of his films, I think we wouldn’t have heard anything from him for 10 years now.

Anyway, Mr. Burton is thankfully NOT directing this movie, he’s just producing it, so I am going to still hold out some hope that this doesn’t turn out to be “Edward Scissorhands 2”.

Naughty, Naughty, Teacher

My son’s teacher is naughty.

No, not THAT kind of naughty, you degenerates….

Quite simply, she’s just a bitch.

Remember when I told you a while back they she was refusing to let him go to the bathroom?

Well, I straightened that shit out a while ago. She gave me some bullshit story that he asks to go every 5 minutes. My son SWEARS that he asks no more than 2 times a day, and fuck it all if I’m gonna believe this bitch over him.

But since I spoke to her, the bathroom issue has been resolved and my son’s bladder is once again at peace.

But this…. this… this… WOMAN, keeps pushing my fucking buttons.

Every night this week, Mini-Me has had a math packet to work on, to prepare for some state sponsored test that’s coming up soon.

Some of these questions are pretty difficult, and honestly beyond his abilities (Beyond Friz’s too… math isn’t her strong suit), but bless his little heart if he doesn’t come right home from school every day, sit at the kitchen table, and tries his very best to get it all done by himself so I can check it when I get home.

So, last night we were going over his math packet, and when I was done checking it, I discovered that he had answered only 1 out of 7 questions correctly. To be fair, he would have gotten partial credit on almost all of his wrong answers, since he did something careless on each one (i.e. switching 2 numbers, writing down the wrong number in the answer box, etc).

But, a wrong answer is still a wrong answer. When I finished checking his work, I told him that he did a good job, but he needs to be more careful because he would have had most of the answers right if he had checked his work.

I swear, that is ALL I said!

The next thing I know, the little guy is crying his eyes out, hysterical. When I finally calmed him down enough to see why what I said upset him so much, he told me that what I had said wasn’t why he was crying at all.

It took a bit of coaxing, but I finally found out that Ol’ Miss Crabby-Crotch gave the kids a practice State test that day, and afterwards she had told the class that they hadn’t done very well, and that ONE CHILD HAD GOTTEN 22 ANSWERS WRONG!

So, after his poor showing on his homework, he was upset because he was sure that HE was the kid who got so many wrong on his test.

I swear if the bitch was standing there, I do believe I would have decked her. Or at least given her a wedgie.

What the FUCK does she think she will gain from announcing to the class how poorly a bunch of 4th graders did on a practice test? Did she hope to scare them into performing better on the real thing? How many other kids went home last night thinking that THEY were the dunce of the class?

She should have just went the Full Monty and pinned the low test score on the offending student’s shirt, so they could have their very own Scarlet Letter to carry around all day for the other kids to mock.

I keep telling my son that he only has 4 more months that he has to deal with this harpy, and then he can forget about her forever.

I just hope that I can hold out that long, before I’m forced to dig a shallow grave in my backyard….

Missing The Point

I love helping Mini-Me with his homework at night…. I really do.

But there are SOME days…… oh boy, are there SOME days….

Last night, he had to do a math sheet, and he just wasn’t getting it. He’s a smart little bugger, but sometimes he gets himself tripped up on word problems. I think, somewhere in the middle of the sentence, he just forgets what the Hell he was reading and completely loses site of what he was trying to figure out in the first place.

Sometimes, having to explain the same stuff over and over again begins to get irritating. And sometimes, after a long day of work, and coming home to a puppy that often seems to be more wolf than dog as he incessantly gnaws away at my socks while I’m trying to explain this stuff, I really start to lose my shit.

But then, my little man says something that brings me back to Earth.

Last night’s math conundrum:

“Billy goes to the store to buy a new pen. He gives the salesman $5.00, and gets 2 dimes, 1 nickel, and 2 pennies of change. How much did Billy pay for the pen?”

Stud: Ok son, did you figure out how to do the problem?

Mini-Stud: Yup, it was easy!

Stud: Ok, so what did you get for your answer?

Mini-Stud: $27!

Stud: -Sigh-

Mini-Stud: That’s not right?

Stud: No son, that’s not the right answer.

Mini-Stud: Hmmmmmmm. Ok, let me look at it and try again.

5 Minutes pass.

Mini-Stud: Ok, I got it!

Stud: Are you sure?

Mini-Stud: Yup, I see what I did wrong!  That was a silly mistake.

Stud: Ok, hit me…..

Mini-Stud: Billy won’t buy the pen because paying $27 for a pen is stupid!

O.J. Makes Me Mad

No, not THAT O.J…..

THIS O.J.

More specifically, I get mad when I don’t get to have my O.J. in the morning.

Most people need some kind of pick-me-up in the morning. Some people need to get in an early morning jog. Some people need a big steaming cup of coffee.

For me, all I need is a nice glass of ice cold orange juice.

Just one glass, and I’m good to go. That one swig will keep me awake and looking fabulously sexy all day.

So, what exactly has my panties in a bunch today?

It’s when CERTAIN PEOPLE (*COUGH FRIZ COUGH*) decide that “Golly, a glass of orange juice would be nice right now!”, and pour themselves a big honkin’ glass of it, leaving me with an empty container in the morning, WITHOUT TELLING ME.

So, not knowing any better, the next day I bounce out of bed all wide-eyed with excitement and anticipation for my glass of morning Orange Juice, only to find 1/10th of an eye-dropper-full left in the damn container.

Sometimes, to add insult to the injury, while I am trying desperately to lick clean the inside of the container in a futile attempt to get my fix, I happen to look in the kitchen sink, only to find a half-full glass of orange juice, laying there among the dishes, mocking me.

On the few occasions where I have calmed myself down enough to ask about the offending glass, the reply I usually get has been, “Well, I decided I wanted some orange juice, so I poured myself a glass, but I couldn’t finish it all. What’s the big deal?”

Whats the big deal? WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL? I’d like to try to pull that shit with her and her coffee in the morning, because believe me, if SHE ever came down from her morning stupor and opened her can of coffee to find it empty, I do believe that the world would be brought to DEFCON 1 with her wrath.

Sometimes, I even buy an extra containerof O.J. and try to hide it in the back of the refrigerator, behind something that I know she’ll never want, like Yoo-Hoo or some such shit, but no matter what I do, she inevitably manages to ferret out my secret stash and ruins my morning.

It’s almost enough to make me switch my morning pick-me-up to vodka. Or cocaine. Whichever’s cheaper and easier to get….. I’m not really up on these things.

“Ferris Bueller, You're My Hero......”

I’ve spoken here often about my love of John Hughes, and specifically Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

That 1986 movie still remains one of my most enjoyable movie experiences of all time.

It’s just a good, fun, quotable movie all around, but I guess why it struck such a memorable chord with me was because when it came out in May of 1986, a hormonal 17-year old Slyde was just one month away from graduating high school himself, and Ferris’ outlook on school, and life in general, really mirrored how I felt about those things, as well as my upcoming college experience.

Anyway, the point that I am belaboring here is that I fucking LOVE that movie.

For years, there has been a script floating around Hollywood entitled, “Ferris Bueller’s Sick Day”, which centers around a much older Ferris, now working on Wall Street, up to his old shenanigans, trying to take a day off from work. As much as I would LOVE to see a sequel, I tremble at the thought of a movie studio tarnishing one of my childhood magic movie experiences. It’s probably a moot point, anyway, as I don’t think that movie is EVER going to be actually be made.

So, I guess for now, I will have to settle for this. You may have seen clips of this online already since its kinda gone viral, but a much older Mathew Broderick has made a 2 ½ minute commercial reprising his classic role. It will appear during this weekend’s Superbowl.




How cool is that? Even if it’s not insanely funny, and it IS kinda jarring to see Matthew looking so much older when for YEARS he never seemed to age a day, this commercial still brings a smile to my beautiful face.

I think this weekend I may have to pop in my DVD and revisit my old friends.

I’m A Baaaaaaaaaaaad Boy…..

I am ashamed of myself.

Really ashamed.

And not for one of the dozens of reasons that you might probably suspect.

No, I am ashamed to say that I have officially become one of THOSE people.

I have become one of those infuriating people that sometimes let my dog go poo on your lawn and not pick it up.

I know, I know. It makes me mad too. And, I’ve always HATED those people. REALLY hated them.
But that was B.F. (Before Puppy).

Now, before you go all Super Hater on me, let me at least explain.

Every night I take little Ozzy for his nightly walk/run. I try to do about a mile and a half with the little wolf, mostly in hopes that I can tucker him out so I can have a peaceful night of watching American Idol.

And during these walks, he inevitably needs to make a poo-poo.

Now, I WILL say that, at the start of each night’s walk, I have every damn intention of cleaning up after my mad little pooper. I even went out and bought this fancy mechanical scooper, that’s spring loaded and has its own bag dispenser so all I have to do is reach down, pull the handle, and the offending doody is scooped right up into a handy little baggie that I can tie up and toss away.

After about a quarter mile into our nightly runs, we stroll pass this public water pumping station. It’s a one block piece of town land that is mostly just grassland, with a small little building in the middle surrounded by a chain-link fence.

The first time we ran by it, little Ozzy stopped dead in his tracks there, obviously sniffing all the dogs that have come there before him. Without a second’s thought, he squatted down and did a poop there, in the grass by the fence. Being a responsible public citizen, I scooped it up.

The next day, when we got to the station, he again stopped to make a poopsie there. I was running low on baggies, so this little devil popped onto my shoulder and said, “Hey stud! Just leave it there. No one lives here, anyway! Whats the harm?”

So I did.

And then I did it again on the next night.

And the next night after that.

Each day, it’s gotten easier. If little Ozzy can make it to the water pump, I let him unload there in the darkness, and then skulk away into the night. If he DOESN’T make it to the pump and poops on someone’s lawn, THEN I do my civic duty and clean it up.

But damn it all, if I can make it to that fucking water pump and not have to waste a baggie (those things are expensive!), I feel like a winner.

A slightly GUILTY winner, but a winner nonetheless.

So, does this make me a bad person?

Do you all think less of me now?

Will you all still respect me in the morning?