Caterwauling

Damn it, “American Idol” just ain’t the same without him. *sniffle*

Photo kifed from EntertainmentWeekly.com

Asshole!

(Link NSFW, especially if you work among Republicans or the otherwise-uptight, as though those could ever be mutually exclusive. Heh.)

via Sherri

My building is pretty quiet, save for the pitter-patter of about five sets of little feet in the apartment across the hall. I was talking to the gal who lives just under that unit, and she said all the running around drives her mad. (As for me, I’ve heard cadavers make more noise than my upstairs neighbor, so I’m pleased with him.)

I was curious and asked how many bedrooms she has, as it’d be the same as the one on my floor. She said it’s a 1BR plus den. Which means there’s a mother, father, four wee ones and an infant living across from me in that iddy biddy space. Seriously, I figured they’d need at least three or four bedrooms with that litter. I know it’s not a cheap place to live, by any standards, but it’s hard to find bigger/less expensive in D.C.

I would think, however, that the cost of birth control would more than offset the cost of a place to comfortably house all those kids. Britney Spears can afford to shit out a kid every year, but she’s also got the moola and the mansion to house them. Although with Britney, it might not hurt to give a social worker their own bedroom to keep an eye on her and Federfuckup!

Tagged for a soul-searching meme by the equally introspective Trouble:

Read the rest of this entry »

Trouble gives us the best post I’ve read in a long time.

And as I am approaching another birthday (on Thursday!), this especially rang true:

Thought for the day: You aren’t getting older…you’re getting more interesting. … Don’t lose your inner little girl. You’ll miss her, so desperately, when she’s gone.

Thanks, Trouble, for that loving tribute to yourself. I’d lost perspective on all of that myself.

What is UP with season finales making me cry? The series finale of “Will & Grace” had me welling up just a tad, the season finale of “ER” had me sobbing for Michael Gallant (who was needlessly killed in this needless Iraq war fustercluck) and for Luka and Abbey and their unborn baby during that mess of a shootout, and my beloved “Grey’s Anatomy.” *sigh*

From the GreysWriters Blog:

And here’s something you maybe don’t notice until all our interns are gathered in the room with Izzie who lies on the bed with Denny’s body: the prom clothes are actually mourning clothes. Funeral clothes. Suddenly, you see that Meredith and George and Cristina and Callie and Alex are all dressed, not for a prom, but for a funeral. Everyone in dark colors, everyone dressed somberly. As if they were in mourning. Only Izzie is in happy pink. Only Izzie looks like she didn’t know this was coming.

Izzie is the embodiment of “Pretty in Pink,” seeing as though we’ve got the whole John Hughes/”Breakfast Club”/Brat Pack motif going on throughout the show. I’d noticed that. I noticed that everyone wore black to the prom. I had just assumed it was so that Izzie could shine — that it was the happiest day of her life. I admit, I didn’t think Denny was going to die either. I know the writers and the male writers’ wives would divorce their husbands for Jeffrey Dean Morgan, and maybe I would too, if I had one, that is. 😉

But the ending had to happen. I see lots of comments saying “How could you?” on the blog. He had to die. He was a metaphor for their idealism, all of them. While everyone’s busy screwing around and just getting through the day-to-day on a wing and a prayer (like all of us), he had to exist to show us beauty and he had to die to show us its transience.

I identify with Izzie not because she’s the “pretty” girl, the one no one ever thought was smart or talented or destined to do anything with her life, but for being her polar opposite. All I have is my mind. My only claim to fame is my ability. I have nothing else. If I’m not working hard and doing things as perfectly as I can and innovating and achieving, who am I?

I say this because now is a time that I need to be creative and innovative. I need to stand up and stand out. I need to prove myself in a way I never have before. … Aaaannndd, I’m tired. Worn out. So consumed in the day-to-day and the darkness that instead of entertaining the brilliant flashes, I ask them to go run out and get me a cup of coffee so I have time to put on my sunglasses. I stare at the usual barriers and wonder if I’m going to have the strength to hop over them, or if anybody thinks I can. I wonder whether I’m just another one of those Gen-Xers who is just bored easily and who needs more than this or whether there’s a certain amount of time one must put in before they can feel like they deserve change.

And in that, I am Meredith. I want the surgeries. And I want the McDreamy. I am left in my own cliffhanger, staring at two equally attractive roads and resisting the urge to just bolt in the other direction.

When TV season ends, it’s like I lose all my support groups.

I’ve been having one of those decades weeks in which I can work and work and work, but I have a hard time looking back and saying that I accomplished something.

This theme continued today whenI learned I cannot even so much as walk directly to the bathroom that I sit by without being detoured and forgetting my original purpose.

I’d needed to carry some girly supplies with me, and I am not a fan of pockets. So, sometimes ya gotta get creative with where you, uh, store things for future use. Let’s just say that “the girls” were carrying stuff around for me. But alas, after a detour and a brain synapse, I found myself at my desk just scratching the hell out of my skin — I was so itchy and wasn’t sure what was up. Anyway, hours went by until I finally decided I needed to go to the restroom, and as I went to stuff my bra, I realized that there already existed a treasure trove of feminine delights — hence the itching from the paper I’d had stuffed in my bra for a good four hours. Whee.

I just hope no one noticed something pointy protruding out of one side and not the other in the interim!

Or, what I had for dinner last night. And weird as it sounds? It was tasty. Pasta spirals with a cheese sauce topped with melted cheese on garlicky bread. What’s not to love?

My mom has a variety of nicknames for me. Throughout my life, I’ve been forced to answer to the most ridiculous array of monikers that she must have pulled out of her ASS, because they have no bearing whatsoever on reality.

Read the rest of this entry »

This is one of those entries that I’m going to write and I’m never, ever going to want to read it again. Either that, or I’m going to edit it and wonder what everyone else is thinking when they read it, if they indeed can sit through an entry about where an emotional scar came from.

Read the rest of this entry »