|
My Profile
She blinded him with whiteness - 2008-07-25
|
10:15 a.m. - 2008-01-30
Since I haven't mastered the art of reading while I crochet, unlike my pal Dichroic who somehow manages to knit and read simultaneously, I've been parked in front of the tube while I hook. Daytime TV is a whole new world for this chick, I can't remember the last time I watched TV during daylight hours or during prime time for that matter, I'm strictly a late-night L&O re-run or Food channel watcher. (And boy howdy do I miss the original Iron Chef! Flay and Batali can bite me, smug bastards.) Anyhow, this daytime thing is weird and a bit outraging. Forget the supposed wicked influence of fashion magazines, if you really want to feel like crap about yourself just take in a few hours of female-centric daytime TV commercials. Might as well still be in the 'Ring Around The Collar' days when women were somehow responsible for removing the evidence of their man's grubby neck. ('Ring around the collar'? How about you take a shower once in a while, ya big slob?) According to the ads my house should smell like a springtime meadow, my bathroom be sterile enough to perform surgery, I'm a lousy mom unless I'm driving a family room on wheels complete with a wide-screen TV and a Jacuzzi, and most of all I should be mainlining Nutrisystem and Special K to at least try to do something about my humongus ass. The pressure to perform and conform is relentless! "Fatty fatty loser with the stinky house!" But the thing that's really honking me off right now is the goddamn Super Bowl. Excuse me, but when exactly did the Super Bowl become another holiday where women are on the line to produce a food extravaganza? Didn't we just come off Thanksgiving and Christmas? Most of us whomped up not one but TWO huge spreads in less than 6 weeks and now the Frito-Lay and the Cheez-Whiz people are telling us it's our solemn duty as good helpmeets to put out a smorgasbord of snacks so vast, so cholesterol-laden that Homer Simpson would have a heart attack? WTF? Like the state of your neck hygiene, Super Bowl munchies are your job, buddy-roo. And while you're at it, pick up dinner for me and the kids. Fortunately Mick couldn't care less about football. Mick's pal Duggles invited him to a Super Bowl party at a local titty bar and he declined without even running it past me. As he said, "I should watch a game I hate surrounded by drooling drunks and naked skanks? Right." Just another reason I adore this man. (Btw, I know there's plenty of women who enjoy football and are looking forward to the big game. It's just I haven't seen a single ad where the guy is staggering out of the kitchen with a pizza balanced on his head clutching a platter of 3-cheese nachos while the chick is crashed in the recliner with a beer in her hand.) Muncha buncha, ~LA The Daily CN: When Chuck Norris gives you the finger he's telling you how many seconds you have to live.
|
