Thursday, January 29, 2009

Ode to an Unemployed Governor

Be glad, fellow Flatlanders
Land of Lincoln is safe
All is well
Gone is he
Oh, my soaring Midwestern-bred heart!
Joy has come to the Penny-heads
Everyone say hi to Governor Quinn
Victory is ours
Impeachment never looked better
Chicago, Rockford, Springfield, Peoria...
Hallelujah, Illinois Citizens!

In the nation they did laugh
Media blitz be damned
Political Pundit you are
Even my dogs were amused
Always deluded, narcissistic, so grand
Couldn't believe you got caught
How dare they do this to you!
Employed you are not
Don't wanna see you in this State no more.

Good luck, Governor Quinn! You've got my vote.....at least you don't have a tough act to follow.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Say Cheese
Now that we're back from the LLL, we are busy doing fun things like laundry, watching reality TV, catching up on email, cleaning the carpet where Freckles decided to pee & poop (that'll teach us to go out of town) and laughing out loud at Governor Blago (the narcissistic, anti-social man who puts his name in the same sentence as Gandhi, Mandela and King Jr). Who goes on a media blitz when being impeached? Only in the Land of Lincoln. (I thank the gods that I didn't vote for him. Go, Green Party!) Blago on "The View," Blago on "Larry King," Blago on EVERYTHING! What a pompous, deluded ass. I'm thinking the insanity plea is starting to sound like a sane idea in his case.

......Of course, we ARE all talking about him and we ARE watching him and he's ALL over the news, so he's probably orgasmic at this point. (Um, Rod--isn't it a bad sign when you have to hire Drew Peterson's public relations team???)

The photo (above) of this group of field-tripping teachers & the soon-to-be-ex-Illinois Governor was sent to me by Environtom. Take a good look, as this is one hilarious teacher and an even better photo. (If you need a closer look, click on the photo.)

Politics as usual in the Flat Lands.

Saturday, January 24, 2009


Strumming along with the Hero de la Guitar

Hey, I am out of town, borrowing an unsuspecting friend's work computer (man, hope they don't give her trouble for using this machine to write mindless dribble), writing a quick, impromptu blog entry while awaiting my next turn on Guitar Hero.

And, I am ALL ABOUT my next turn at the axe.

You have never seen anything like a bunch of middle-aged women trying to be Guitar Hero-ettes, especially those of us who do not have any sort of gaming system. We are doubly-impaired: we are trying a new skill on a system we do not have.

(I took lots of photos but can't post more than one of them today, as I don't have the camera cord; besides, this isn't my computer and there is only so far I should push my luck. This one shows how much I have to concentrate to play this stupid guitar.)

It's another meeting of the LLL. You blog neewbies are going to have to go back and check out previous LLL blogs so you understand this concept. Suffice it to say there are twelve us us hanging out in a farmhouse many miles from home, eating our way into food comas and torturing ourselves with video games and singing along with Mama Mia (did you know there is a sing-along version?). Me? I'm just praying I poop sometime in the next twenty-four hours. You'd think all this food would have poop shooting out of my butt left and right but for some reason my bowels have decided to stay indoors and have done so since five days prior. (Soon, my pants will not button. There is only so much poop you can keep in your pooch before it's impossible to snap those jeans shut.)

Since it's below zero out, the LLL will spend most of our time eating copious amounts of unhealthy food, playing board games, walking to Leslie Sansone, eating a bit more healthier foods, go back to eating unhealthy food, laughing about everything and anything, building Guitar prowess, talking about bearded dragons (seriously--this is nothing perverted), napping and working on nicknames for the three that don't seem to have any (or, we can't remember the names as we are indeed having those peri and menopausal moments).

I love these women and I love the LLL. I wish we met more than two times a year but I'll take what I can get.

Since I am with eleven other friends, I best not take too much time ignoring them while writing a blog entry. The wife doesn't take kindly to my need for technology. So, I'll get back to you tomorrow or Monday....

......Besides, I have to concentrate on the screen so I can improve my Guitar-hero-ness. Dude!

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Number 44

What a wonderful, wonderful day, one I will never forget. I will always remember where I was, who I was with and what I was wearing during the inauguration. Always. (For the record: at work, standing in the exercise area., watching an old analogue T.V. completed with rabbit ears; with the clients and staff at work; light blue sweater, darker blue corduroys, black shoes.) I was NOT in front of my computer, as the Internet crashed at work and thus my original plan of watching the event via Facebook thankfully did not come to fruition--it probably turned out to mean so much more being surrounded by people who had lived through segregation, who had experienced repeated discrimination, who never thought they'd live long enough to see such history. Men and women in the 80's and 90's, watching, clapping, listening and having a tear or two.

I am one lucky person. What an honor to have had the chance to be with these fine people.

My day of Obama Inauguration started with a visit to Dr. Pasture, gynecologist extraordinaire. Not exactly my ideal inauguration breakfast event but important nonetheless. When Dr. Pasture walked in, took a look at me, flashed a moment of surprise, shook a pointing index finger at me. He had never seen me as a patient, only as a concerned partner with a uterus the size of Cleveland. He recognized me and gave a soft chuckle. I acknowledged that he had indeed motivated me to get my sorry ass in gear and my feet in the stir-rups. His dry, quiet, witty humor was in tact and ready for use on me, even though I don't have any fibroids or other foreign objects taking space in my abdomen.

I will spare you most of the details related to having a pap smear but I can't ignore his well-deserved chastising.
"Do you go to the eye doctor for check ups?" he asked.
"Yes." (Uh-oh. Where is this going?)
"How often do you get your eyes checked?"
I give him a quizzical look and state, "every year."
"Do you go to the dentist?"
"Yes."
"How often do you go?" he queried, slight smile on his face.
Oh dear. I see where this is going. "Twice a year."
"So, you get your eyes checked once a year and you go to the dentist twice a year and you go to the gynecologist every three years?"

Touche.

I assured him I was very motivated to come see him yearly after the whole wife-favre-o-roid ordeal.

Dr. Pasture was distracted from further taunting by the unveiling of my tattooed back. (I always forget that's back there, as I can't really see it....) As he pulled my gown open in the back, I squeaked out, "I guess I should have warned you that was coming." I must say he was very intrigued by the artwork and he took time to identify each and every cartoon character splashed across my back, poking them as he went down the line. "Mickey Mouse....Goofy... Spongebob..... who's that?" I answered that it was "Atom Ant," and he exclaimed in recognition "that's right!" (He is the first person who actually seemed to know who Atom Ant was and who genuinely excited about it.)

Of course, there were a speculum to be put into use, so tattoo talk was limited in nature. The exam was uneventful and, as noted, I will spare you the details (despite some really, really funny commentary from Dr. Pasture--none of which I can figure out how to appropriately post in this blog, so I'll leave well enough alone). For the record, I had a normal, boring exam and certainly do not have any fibroids floating around seeking attention. I was out of there and on my way to enjoy the day's political events without delay.

Yes, I will always remember the day--the swearing in of Number 44, the people, the clothes, the feelings, the hope....and, I will always remember I was with Dr. Pasture talking about my tattoos on the same day Number 44 became President.

Maybe I need a new tattoo in honor of the new president.........

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Ketchup (er, I mean catch up)

The dogs have had their baths, the house is vacuumed, the juncos are fed, the sidewalk is shoveled, the laundry is drying, the photos have been downloaded, the president-elect is on his way, the plane is out of the water, the crock-pot veggie lasagna is slow-cooking, the Mold Mobile is back in commission, my poop is in my bowel, Book de la Face is "down" for maintenance, my bills are paid, the peanut butter is tainted, I'm still looking for Milo and I'm ready for my nap. I wouldn't need a nap except I woke up too early this morning after going to bed at 1 A.M. and thus didn't get my required hours of beauty sleep. When in doubt, take a nap......

.....of course, Lucy Bark of Poteidaia decided that me taking a nap is a very bad idea, so she's been crying and whining and moaning and begging and jumping around in an effort to ensure I do not take a nap.

Who won? Hmmmm. Let's see--since I'm sitting here typing this blog, it means she won. I gave up on the nap idea. I thought about suffocating her with a pillow but that seemed a bit much. I decided that a bowl of ice cream would suffice instead of a nap. Lucy REALLY liked that idea as she is an ice cream fool and I am fool enough to give her some, despite her horrible manners regarding nap etiquette.

Last week was a doozy, wasn't it? Oprah featured menopause banter (I love you, Dr. Northrup), the temps in town tied the all-time low (minus 26 degrees! e-gads!) and a jumbo commercial plane landed in the Hudson River. I don't think I'll ever forget the images of those passangers standing on the wings of an airplane in such an urban setting--and, in water, no less. I bet all of us pay closer attention next time we're on a plane and the flight attendant is doing her safety spiel. I have to say that the place the plane landed looked very familiar to me....that's because only a few short years ago, I ate in a very fancy restaurant overlooking the Hudson River (toward Manhattan) and that restaurant is right where that plane plopped down in the river; in fact, I can see the restaurant in some of the photos. I can't imagine what it was like to be sitting in that restaurant as the plane descended. I imagine New Yorkers who were witness to the event were sweating, as 9-11-01 can't be too far off their minds. Someone give that pilot a medal!

The wife improves every day and has gained enough strength to do lots of things around the house. This makes me extremely happy, as you can imagine, as I am SOOOOOOOOOO over being a housewife. She still can't lift much but that's okay--I'll lift and she can dust. She is looking forward to her six-week check-up, which will feature an internal exam. Yum. In an act of solidarity, I will be going to see Dr. Pasture on Tuesday for my own personal exam. Yum squared. It is my hope I poop by then or he won't be able to feel a thing-- "Ovaries? What ovaries? I can only feel this colon full of poop." With my luck, he'll add a rectal exam as part of the package. Yum cubed.

As for the Mold Mobile, it spent some time with its new friend, the mechanic. It wouldn't start last week and had to be towed away, quite to the dismay of the wife. As the Mold Mobile (MM) is only worth approximately $1.37, it's hard to justify putting a lot of money into a money trap on wheels....however, the wife's options are limited unless she wants to take her beloved Mustang out of storage and drive it in the winter (which is a VERY bad idea--ever see people driving Mustangs in the snow?). All the wife wants is to make it through the winter so she can make an educated vehicle decision in the spring. I am happy to report that the MM is back in commission, ready to go with its $400 worth of new parts and labor. It seems the water pump is teetering on extinction....and, if that happens, we will have a pile of mold and plastic in our driveway which will never seen the pavement again. The wife has faith the MM will make it until the thaw. I'll keep the faith for her but will drive my own car when going any further than around the block.

Now that I've been typing, guess who's taking a nap? That's right--Lucy. I'd write more but I have to go poke her and bother her and irritate her and keep her awake. Heck if she's gonna sleep if I can't....

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Frosty Flashbacks

It's about 257 million degrees below zero outside (okay, so it's "only" going to be 27 degrees below zero tonight and that's "only" a record for the coldest day ever here, so that translates to 257 million degrees below zero in my math count) and thus there is little to do outside the home. The wife is settling in to watch "American Idol" (does that count as a reality show?) and I'm plugging along on Book de la Face.

I notice that I have a pending friend request. It's a guy from high school. I recognize the name but am stumped in what capacity I knew him (band? speech team? art club? algebra class?). I learned my lesson from the last time I accepted a high school classmate as a friend, only to be deleted right from friendshipland by the guy who had just asked for it. Sheesh. Seems Mr. "Million-Man-Marching-Christian" Religion didn't want a heathen like me for a Book de la Face friend. I am smarter now--I check out the requester's home page before saying "yes" or "no" to friend status. (This is hard--I'm a friend whore and want as many friends as I can get---but, one must have SOME scruples.) I check out his page...and, yup--evangelical Christian. He is SOOOOO not going to want to be my friend. In the long run, I will probably ignore his request. I'm going to need reference material before making a final decision....

I am going to need my high school yearbook.

I go to the basement and dig out my high school yearbook (senior year, of course). You bet your bippy the wife had a look of terror on her face when I came up from the basement carrying my yearbook, as she knows I had to go digging for it. "WHERE did you get THAT?" she asks skeptically. I smile knowingly that no answer will suffice, so I mumble assurances that I put everything back where it belonged. (For the record, I actually DID put everything back from where it came but I highly doubt it is EXACTLY in the same wife space.)

I peruse the pages, recognizing many of the faces and names, but the "way" I know them remains very fuzzy in most instances. I start with the senior portraits and move on toward band photos, sports photos, nerdy club photos. I get distracted and start reading what people have written all over the book.

If I had any words of wisdom to my nieces regarding the signing of yearbooks, it would be this: SIGN YOUR FRIGGIN' LAST NAME TO YOUR ENTRY!

I have no idea who these people are, as most of them only wrote their first name. Combine the first name with the generic entry ("You are so fun! I"m so glad I got to know you! We will always be friends!") along with twenty eight years of brain cell loss and I am left scratching my head.

From what I can tell from my senior year yearbook, I was: (1) really funny in Algebra II; (2) I was really funny in general; and, (3) everyone wanted me to have good luck in everything I did upon graduation.

For the record, I hated Algebra II and really sucked at it; in fact, I did whatever possible to avoid that class. I spent a lot of time in the Band Room in an effort to not go to Algebra II. (I'm math impaired. I don't like it, it doesn't like me. I want to like math. I really do. I just don't have the oomph to try. In my opinion, they invented calculators and computers so I wouldn't have to worry about algebra. That's also why I have the wife--math goddess, that she is.) When I actually went to the class, I did my best to have fun. (I think it's telling that the teacher wrote that I was a "very interesting student.") I do remember that I consumed $48.00 of band candy while in Algebra II (not all in one day, thank god) and that I didn't get a very good grade. Between Algebra II and Physics, it is an absolute miracle that I graduated number four out of 600. (All those extracurricular activities must have made up for those two classes).

Side note to the nieces: no one cares about your high school class rank when you get out into the real world. It's all good when trying to get into college and maybe when getting that first job, but otherwise, no one will really care, which kind of pisses me off, being that I graduated way up there.
Be proud and work hard, anyways. You and I will always know you rocked high school.

I thought it'd be hilarious to copy some of the hand-written entries. Heck, it's too cold outside to do anything else and I really want to put off finishing the laundry and shoveling the sidewalk (AGAIN!).
  1. "How could anyone not love you? If I were a guy, I'd probably adore the ground you walked on." (I swear I did not make that up; some band girl wrote that in big, cursive letters.)
  2. (This one must be dedicated to my mother) "When you get married, you have to serve your family cube steaks and beef & gravy."
  3. (What IS up with all the girls professing their love for me?) "I really have to come to love you dearly. Next time I wink at ya and tell ya I love you, I really mean it, okay?!"
  4. "Good luck with your Flying School for Deaf and Blind Algebra Books. I know it will be a prosperous organization." (Um, I don't even know what to say about that. And, no I didn't recognize the person who wrote it.)
  5. "Even dodging the dog poopies was fun."
  6. "There are times when I wish I could just hug you but thren I think of [insert girl's name here] and I keep my hands off!" (Okay, really--what is UP with all these straight girls writing this queer stuff?)
  7. "Whenever I hear the name Jane Addams, I'll think of you."
  8. "I hope you will remember me." (Not so much. Don't recognize that name at all.)

Final words to nieces: don't bother putting your phone number after your signature. Really. You won't call anyone, anyways. Besides, you have cell phones and palm pilots; you don't need phone numbers in year books.

My goal was to learn if I wanted to accept the Book de la Face request. The yearbook was no help in that department but looking through the book was a heck of a lot of fun. I suggest all of you go and dig out one of your yearbooks. The hairdos alone will make you laugh.

You know, I am going to accept his friendship request just because he motivated me to take a stroll down memory lane. He'll remove me from his friendship list as soon as he reads my profile but it will be worth it.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

The Secret's Out

I was staring at Jack Canfield's "The Success Principles" book this morning (staring at the book on my nightstand while trying to figure out what color socks to wear), which got me to thinking about "The Secret" which got me thinking about writing a blog. (It did not, however, help me decide what color socks to wear, so I went with white. Oh well.) I liked the catchy phrase "The Secret's Out" because it can have so many meanings. Besides, it's "Can You Keep A Secret?" Day on Lifetime Television (which has nothing to do with this blog entry, "The Secret" in general or any of my personal secrets but it's dang good timing to have that day on Lifetime on the same day I am thinking about secrets and just for the record, I was thinking about "The Secret" before I knew what Lifetime day it was). Is it:
  • "The Secret" is OUT--meaning, "The Secret" (movie/book/website) is SOOOOO passe. (I do not think this but what the heck, it sure is fits the title).
  • "The Secret" is OUT--meaning, people are catching on to "The Secret" and the law of attraction. (I do think this, so get out there and start visualizing world peace or at least visualize me selling that dang electric snow blower.) I know "The Secret" is not new at all (many a blog entry before has yipped about this and Merry Marketing is all over it right now, good for her!) but it seems there is a small resurgence in those who visit the Addiverse, so good for us and good for the Universe.
  • The secret is out that I watch Lifetime TV. (Busted!)
  • The secret's out that the wife is addicted to reality TV. (Busted Squared!)
  • THE secret is out that the Cable people are NAUGHTY when they sell you those stupid bundle packages for an incredibly low price but "neglect" to tell you that there are all sorts of charges related to getting the package installed, as learned today when Mr. Cable Man came to bundle the phone/Internet/cable. That $89.99 a month package is sure cheap.....if you don't add in the new box, or the other new box, or the installation of the stupid boxes or the.....you get the idea. I learned this today after the cable man had finished installing our new package, even though I had specifically asked about this when agreeing to the package. ("Oh no, ma'am--that's the total cost, $89.99.") I can't wait to get that first bill. There'll be no secret when the bill comes in the mail because I'll probably hear the wife screaming from where ever I am in town.
  • The secret IS out--meaning, I got no stinkin' secrets (which is very true, quite to the wife's chagrin); or, perhaps it refers to specific secret I did have which is now out and no longer a secret. (The only blogging secret I have is where I work but that's not really a secret, that's just ensuring job security. Man, I hate that secret, as I have SO MANY funny stories from work and I can't share any of them. Double Dang!)
  • The secret's out that I STILL have that stupid brand new snow blower for sale (that's no secret--it just seems like a secret because I still haven't attracted a buyer for the new in box, sealed, electric snow blower) and it seems like it's a secret of how to get ahold of me to buy the snow blower as I haven't had one single call about it but that might be because my phone number seems to be a secret, as they printed the wrong phone number in my newspaper add.
Take your pick. Is YOUR secret out?

It's no secret this morning featured "New Experience #457," Gassing up the snow blower. It was snowing (AGAIN!!!!) this morning and this time the snow blower ran out of gas right in the middle of the driveway. This meant I was about to have another learning experience during the wife's recovery: gassing up the snow blower. It isn't a hard thing to do, except.....the wife has THREE red gas cans in the garage, each for some outdoor implement of some sort or another. I know one of the three is set for the snow blower, one for the lawn mower and one for nothing I have a clue about (another secret?!). I know she showed me which can to use before she went to surgery (she really did try to think of everything but do you think my poor little pea brain could capture all of that mind-numbing information during such a stressful time?) and I know that if I pick the wrong can, I will be in SOOOO much trouble. I stare at the cans and see that one of them is labeled for the snow blower. This might seem as a no-brainer but you don't know me and just because it says one thing doesn't mean it's not another in my universe. I go with the one labeled as such and say a quick prayer to the Universe, begging that I have "attracted" the right can to the right equipment....

....since the snow blower started right up and kept going through my snow clearing experience, so I am assuming all is well in the Addiverse as well as the Universe.

And now, I shall go meditate on making the successful, simple, quick sale of the said electric snow blower, new in box, still sealed, still sitting in the garage. I envision someone handing me $160 in cash (mostly twenties) and putting it in their car, taking it away while I smile and hold their cash. I envision the wife smiling as now there is one less thing in the garage. I envision our current snow blower working just fine and I envision the cable people coming through and being really nice when I am screaming at them in a few weeks. I envision them taking away all those extra charges and apologizing for the inconvenience of raising my blood pressure.

And, I am going to go now and create a nice day for you, me and the person who buys the snow blower.....

The cable company lady who sold me that package is soooo on her own.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

This and That Thursday

Today's triumphant house-hold virginal experience: sweeping the garage floor. Now, I have to say I see no point in doing this in the dead of winter (or, ever at all, I suppose), but the wife asked and I complied. I have to say I did not enjoy this experience; in fact, I rate it right up there with washing the floor on my hands and knees. I don't know why I found it so unappealing as it really wasn't labor intensive or time consuming...it was just a pain in the patooty. I'm sure I did not do half as a good a job as the wife does but hey, I'm a rookie--cut me a break.

Today's non-virginal experience: Returning to my Beloved Lady Chiropractor to address the issue of knee pain. She was yipping and yapping away, obviously had a great holiday, lots of funny stories. Who cares about your knee when your beloved Lady Chiropractor is talking non-stop to you? When she asked about the knee (which she eventually did), I confessed that as long as I don't do Jillian Michael's 30 day shred, I'm all good. That made her laugh. (I didn't mention the washing the floor on my hands and knees, as the wife says I only did that once and that could NOT be the source of my knee pain.) I get to go back in three weeks unless the pain intensifies. I think that should qualify for non-washing-the floor duties (unless I WANT to go back sooner than three weeks).

JILLIAN AGAIN...NATURALLY I did Jillian's 30 day shred three days in a row, realized how much it made my knee hurt, thought about doing it one last time.....and, instead went to bed and called it a week. Let's face it: my insides do not match my outsides. Meaning? Looking out from my brain out my little eyeballs, I think I'm still 30 years old. Looking in the mirror and feeling the knee pain and noticing that everything has gone south reminds me I am actually 46. Brutal, brutal, brutal. I don't think Jillian was made for 46 year olds, although I am sure she would disagree.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of putting on one of my new business suits (yeah, one of the ones I purchased at the end of summer) didn't fit very well. Why? Because my hips and thighs have gone on strike and refuse to fit into those new pants. I squeezed myself in there and didn't bend down once as I knew I'd blow out the back of those trousers. The hell if I'm gonna let that suit go to waste....I am SO gonna go buy myself Spanx!

BOOK de la FACE FIFTY!!! Break out the champagne! I made my goal of fifty friends on Book de la Face. I had wanted to reach this goal by New Year's Day, so I am 7 days late, but I'm still so stoked I don't really care. Fifty friends! I would have had 51 but that Christian guy dumped me before I could dump him. I am proud to say that I know all of my friends and that I haven't slept with any of my Book de la Face friends.

Yet.

You remind me of.......... You know my job that must not be named? Well, my boss and I were chatting in his office chatting (not as much as me and my Beloved Lady Chiropractor were chatting this morning) and he says he FINALLY figured out who I remind him of: Ellen DeGeneres. This made me laugh out loud. He has no idea how right he is (no offense to Ellen). I have heard this comment repeatedly at this job that must not be named. (That's because all lesbians look alike, don't you know? And, none of us have last names, but that's a whole 'nother story.) He then quickly assured me this was a compliment (hello! I thought it was a great compliment.)

I did alert him that I am a better dancer than Ellen.

And, I am.

I end This and That Thursday adding only one last thing: the wife says I forgot to list "Wife Swap" and "The Real Housewives of Orange County" as reality shows she is digesting these days. How I forgot those two, I do not know............

Monday, January 05, 2009

Know Better, Do Better

If there is one thing I have learned about the wife in the three weeks since her hysterectomy, it's that she is a TV reality show junkie. Every time I take a peek to make sure she's doing okay, I see she is watching yet another reality show. Tonight, it's been "Rock of Love--the Bus Tour" and "Double Shot at Love."

When I ask what she is watching, she says, "A trainwreck!"

You already know she loves the Little People and she's all about that Jon & Kate with their eight. But, "Double Shot at Love?" Ouch! Won't that stunt her healing???

Speaking of healing, she is healing quite nicely; in fact, I still cannot get over at how awesome that incision of hers really is. The biggest problem she has right now is that her belly itches. Dry skin, healing skin, stretching skin, shaved skin equal itchy. I handed her a tube of hydrocortisone cream and wished her luck.

Thankfully, the wife is able to do little things around the house now. Hear that sound? That's my soft little weeping of thanks. I am so not cut out to do this stuff. Give me a computer, a cell phone and some chocolate and I'm all good.

The other day the wife was marveling aloud about how wonderful our friends and family are and how she never realized many things in life before this surgery. For instance, she had never thought about what it might mean to have a hysterectomy and limiting this is for people and how having helpful friends would be incredibly amazing. She announced that now she knows better, so she will do better. She will "do" something for friends who need help, who have had surgery, who might be needing a little shoulder to lean, who might need a bowl of soup or a load of wash washed. "Know better, do better!" she exclaims repeatedly.

Of course, such does NOT apply to TV reality shows. She knows better but she has no intention of doing better when it comes to Celebrity Rehab or Keeping Up with the Kardashians. All aboard the Rock of Love bus! (The Blue bus, not the Pink bus, of course.)

I have to go now, I hear the wife laughing as there is a girl fight on TV and I'm afraid she'll burst an internal stitch...