Lance Bass Ruined My Life

Why Must My Electronic Devices Mock Me?

I’m pretty sure my DVD player is possessed by Meredith Grey (AKA Satan). In fact I think she is possessing every electronic device I own. And that’s not cool.

 

The other day I had one of those blessed things called a day off. I don’t get many of them so when they do come around I like to try to enjoy them. So instead of doing something like leaving the house and actually living, I figured my day would be served better if I spent some much needed quality time with my bed. He misses me when I’m away. And to make it better I decided to partake in one of my favorite pastimes. A Veronica Mars overload.

 

That’s right. I love Veronica Mars. Veronica Mars is my McDreamy. But not in the way that I want to do her, but more in that way I just want to follow her around all the time and stare at her hair. Now Duncan or even Logan (who I actually met in person one time) I would totally do them.

 

So I spent my day watching lots and lots of Veronica Mars. I watched as she gave the town of Neptune a swift kick in the balls and laid down her own patented brand of spunky justice. And then what should happen? After spending hours and hours working my way through the first two seasons, I get to the very last disk and my DVD player just decides no, I don’t get to watch the ending.

 

Now yes, I have seen it before. I know the ending. I am well aware of who blew up the bus, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have spend hours getting emotionally invested all over again and need to see the ending to feel complete. And how dare my DVD player just up and say fucking no.

 

And what really pisses me off is that this is the third DVD player to do this to me. What it fails to understand is that if it weren’t for me, it would be still sitting on the shelf at Target collecting dust. Or have been bought by some family with sixteen kids and be forced to play fucking Veggie Tales DVDs on repeat every day. I don’t think I a little gratitude is too much to ask for, do you?

 

And also, I am totally going through a very traumatic break up with Popeye’s right now. It’s hard. I need the melodic tones of Veronica’s sarcasm to get me through this time. Everyday is a battle and because I didn’t have Veronica as my rock, today I lost that battle.

 

I know, I’m ashamed of myself. I went crawling back to Popeye’s. I thought that maybe it had changed it’s ways, but no. Once again I get in line at the drive through, wait, get to the window, and they tell me that they don’t have what I ordered. Yes, they ran out of Cajun Rice, but couldn’t tell me that when I actually ordered that damn thing. But they did offer me a catfish sandwich to replace it. Again. (What the fuck is with those things? Why are they pushing them so hard? Every time they offer me one to replace what they don’t have. The fact that they have so many fucking catfish sandwiches to offer should tell them that no one wants to buy seafood from Popeye’s.)

 

So fuck you, Meredith Grey. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.

Wasn't This A Crappy Mel Gibson Movie?

You know, it has never been a secret that you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work at the airline companies out here. You don’t even have to be of average intelligence. Stupid works just fine for them. But I always assumed that brain damage was a disqualifying factor for employment. Well, it seems I was wrong about that.

 

This was made abundantly clear to me when I went down to the break room today to raid their vending machines of cheap soda. It’s not that I was trying to eavesdrop (even though I totally was) but I could not help but overhear the conversation taking place down there. (Much to the dismay of my brain cells.)

 

I was only there for a minute but it was enough time to listen to this guy passionately describe his reason for refusing to have health insurance for himself or his family. I did not know this but apparently health insurance is a governmental scam which the president is using to collect as much information on individual Americans as possible. It seems that doctors everywhere are sending the government all the details of our medical histories and they are being stored in some big giant database somewhere. 

 

I didn’t find out what the reason for this governmental database was because I was about to laugh in his face. This would have been really bad for two reasons. Number one, I might have spit on him and that would have been nasty. And number two, being laughed at and a low brain cell count is a very volatile combination. I didn’t really feel like being fed into an airplane engine at that moment. If I had to guess the reason for the government collecting all this information, it would be that they are just trying to find this guy to inform him that he is the overall loser of the genetic lottery.

 

But seriously, conspiracy nuts need to chill the fuck. The world is not looming with all these improbable conspiracies about Martians monitoring out every move just to find better ways to molest us. That’s not to say that there aren’t some conspiracies out there. I firmly believe that a bunch of people got together and created Meredith Grey for the sole purpose of pissing me off. But come on, that could actually happen.

 

Doesn’t it just fill you with comfort knowing that this guy is in charge of a part of an airplane that you might one day be on?

Twitter Is Still My Bitch

I have finally found a use for Twitter. Granted, I am still pretty sure that it is a creation of Satan’s made to suck the souls out of humans, leaving nothing but husks filled with jelly (in much the same way that Heidi and Spencer are) but that does not mean that it cannot be useful to me.

 

Last week I declared Twitter war on Miley Cyrus. Because if anyone needs harsh things said to them in 140 character chunks it is her. That girl needs a reality check and badly. (As you can probably tell, I still haven’t recovered from reading her book. And I use the word “book” very loosely. It’s more like a pile of steaming poo bound in hardcover.)

 

But it seems that Miley doesn’t have the cajones to face me on the verbal battlefield. She is apparently too busy writing tweets about a fucking Jonas Brother. Oh come on, Miley, a Jonas Brother! Have you no shame? At least she won’t be able to have illegal sex with him, like she did with that model whose only wardrobe consisted of underwear. Unless this is all some elaborate plot to get that Jonas Brother (I have seriously know idea which one it is. They’re all the same person, right?) to come out the closet, with Miley playing the fag hag who is trying to set him up with Underwear Boy. Because honestly, Miley seems like the type who could turn a boy gay. Not that any of the Jonas Brothers need that much pushing.

 

But since Miley has decided to not show up for our Twitter battle, I am declaring myself the winner. I don’t actually win anything, but in my mind if I could have anything that I wanted I would get myself a nice cushy writing job on that show of hers just so I could end her reign of terror over the tweens by having Hannah Montana being eaten by a killer whale and then having the whale turned into Hannah Montana brand fish sticks. (They really are the best of both worlds.) In real life, I will just have to settle for knowing that I am victorious over Cyrus. Not much, but my life is sort of empty right now so I’m taking what I can get.

 

So my first venture into Twitter warfare has been a success. Next up, I’m taking on Meredith Grey. I have a few choice words for her. Don’t worry, they will fit on Twitter, most of the words only have four letters. And don’t think the fact that I am about to declare war on a person who isn’t real phases me one little bit.

First Do No Harm....I Make No Promises

So that past couple of weeks I have been sick. Like very sick. I am talking like full on sick. Fever. Sweating. Pain in my side. Like I have been so sick that I thought there might have been an outbreak of the plague that no one bothered to tell me about. (Of course, I blame Meredith Grey. She should know better by now.)

 

So because of this I did the responsible thing and signed up for insurance at work. I was so not happy about that because that is so money that could be going into my pocket. But I needed to go to the doctor and I was not about to pay for all that out of my pocket. If I had only known, I would have just suffered.

 

I hate my doctor with an ungodly passion. He is evil and I feel that he is somehow in cahoots with Meredith Grey to make my life hell.

 

Here’s the thing. I do not enjoy going to the doctor. So when I actually do make myself go, I would appreciate my doctor not looking at me like I am stupid when I am trying to explain where I hurt. I also do not enjoy the doctor leaving the room while I am in the middle of a sentence. What I also do not enjoy is the doctor leaving me sitting in a room for 20 minutes and then sending an evil harpy of a nurse who cannot speak proper English into the room to stab me without telling me why. If I am going to get a needle stuck in me I would at least like to know why this is happening.

 

And I understand that the more tests that the doctor runs the more money he can squeeze out of my insurance, but was it really necessary to do a tuberculosis test. Because it was so fucking likely that I have tuberculosis seeing as I have no symptoms of the disease. I am just asking.

 

What also does not help me is that at the end of our really uncomfortable time together my doctor can’t tell me what’s wrong with me but still thinks that I should quit smoking and stay away from fatty foods. I am so glad that I actually paid another living being for information that I already possessed. Just because I don’t use that information does not mean that I don’t know it.

 

For all of this I hate my doctor. I hate my doctor so much that I hope it comes out that he is somehow implicated in the Octomom scandal.

The DVR is good. The DVR is wise

Friday, September 28, 2007

Oh, Tyra. I have to ask. Where did you get this new batch of girls from? I have to say you have out done yourself with them. They are absolutely hideous and I can't find it in myself to care about them. And I know it can't be just me that is hoping and praying for Bianca's eyes to get stuck that way when she does what of her bitchy eye rolls. And besides, with that hair, she belongs on the new season of Charm School, not America's Next Top Hoochie. She might even be able to pass on The Pussycat Doll's present The Pussycat Doll's in The Search for the Next Pole Jockey.

I have to tell you, Tyra, that I would really like to know exactly what you are smoking. And why aren't you sharing? I have to know what it is that gives you this sense that you are the most important person in the world. Seriously, you are not Oprah yet. I don't know about the rest of the world, but I do not live my life according to the things that I see on ANTM. I just don't. So I have no idea why would think that refusing to let the "models" smoke is changing the world. You are so brave, Tyra. I don't know how you do it. The courage it must take to tell other people what they aren't allowed to do. Be strong, girl. (You know them bitches are just going to be sneaking off to the bathroom and chain smoking an entire pack in seven minutes.)

And Tyra? Since you see yourself as a role model for every living person out there now and since you have decided as a role model to take a stance against smoking so people will quit just because you said so, does that mean that everyone can have their very own panty party on national television because you did and so it must be okay?

And I really hope that the girl with autism totally wins the whole show and then comes back a sticks her foot up all of their asses. That's what they get for making fun of the girl.

On a happier note, I am so glad that Grey's Anatomy is back. It sends chills down my back. And from the looks of it this season is going to be filled with lots and lots of Meredith bashing. Oh it's so nice to have a purpose in life and that purpose is finding ways to blame her for every possible thing in the world. It's all her fault really.

And I totally hate McGeorge now. He is dead to me. But not dead to me in the way where I can never look at him again because he's cute. He just spends entirely too much time around Meredith and that makes him stupid. I so hope Callie takes that long hair of hers and strangles him with it.

I Absolutely Hate To Admit This

Originally posted: Saturday, November 18, 2006

You know how people are always saying you shouldn't bitch about things because you will miss them when they are gone. I've always ignored people who tell me this kind of garbage and never miss them for a second. But now those words have come forth to bite me in the ass. I have bitched and bitched and bitched about something so much, now it is gone and I don't like it so much.

You know I'm talking about Meredith Grey. Now I am not by any means saying that I no longer think Meredith is a gigantic whore. (She really is.) But I've been sitting here for weeks now yelling and screaming about her stupidity and wishing syphilis on her and I have to admit that I am not really happy with end result.

I really can't stand bright and shiny Meredith. It doesn't work for me. Mainly because I don't think she gets the point of being bright and shiny. If you mope around the hospital all day, you are not bright and shiny. (I'm sure the writers did that intentionally or something but I have chose to ignore the "irony" or "idiocy" of the whole thing. My way still lets me hate on Meredith a little bit.)

And I know that this is borderline bitching, but it must me said. Meredith, if in the first five minutes of the episode, you tell McDreamy that you want to take it slow, you need to make sure that you are not sitting in a bubble bath with him. THAT is not taking it slow. Nakedness. Bath tub. Bubbles. That sounds like guaranteed booty right there. You cannot hate on the man for thinking he's going to get some. Though I do have to give you points for your will power. I would not have been able to turn him down. He is too cute. (Just because I liked McVet better, does not mean that I don't appreciate the downright yummyness of McDreamy.)

So, given the choice between the two, I want philandering whore Meredith back. I have absolutely no feelings for this wannabe bright and shiny thing that I watched. And I really don't like that. If I can't actually like you, then I want to fucking hate you. Besides since I took a week off of yelling at you, my voice has healed and it is so ready for some more Meredith bashing.

The Anatomy of An Apology

Originally posted: Friday, November 10, 2006

I cannot believe that I am about to say this.

Meredith Grey, I may have misjudged you. Due to wonderful power of the DVR I have just gotten to watch Thursday night's episode. And I was all ready to hate you even more. It is my new defense against you. Hate you at all costs. It is the only way not to be disappointed in you.

I thought that this week would be no different. But I chose to turn a blind eye to your shameless flirting with McSteamy. (Seriously. Does he have a contest going to see how many women he can sleep with at Seattle Grace.) And then in the end, you were sitting at the bar, talking to McSteamy, and I was ready for it. It was time to disavow all knowledge of you and move on with my life, stalk Veronica Mars or something. But you were so close to being dead to me. This close, Meredith.

At the last minute, you redeemed yourself by making a good decision by starting over with McDreamy. Now granted that may not have been the wisest decision you could have made in the grand scheme of things, but it was the better decision between the two. Yes, granted, McSteamy is hot with his chiseled features and patented McSteamy stare and the fact that he can put stitches in his own face in that way that turns Christina on so, but he is obviously the wrong one. Look at Addison and Callie, do they look any happier for getting on that train. No, I don't think so.

So, Meredith, I applaud you. (Yes, that feels strange to say.)  You have proven that you are not a complete slut. So I have to give you credit.

Please don't let this go to that perfectly conditioned head of yours because you can be dead to me in a heartbeat. This is only your probationary period.