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Folks, Sydney has slipped to #2. Go vote! Go on, I’ll wait here. And don’t forget, you can vote once a day!
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I have a confession. On Sunday nights at 8:00 Central Time, when
Sex and the City comes on, if no one else is in the room, I do a little dance to the theme song. And if no one else is in the room I do it again at the end of the show while I’m waiting to see what next week’s show will be about.
It’s kind of like a samba.
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And like
Nance, I really like
The Sopranos theme song. Fred always fast forwards through it, though, because he’s a bastard.
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Speaking of Sunday night’s episode of
Sex and the City (Sex AND the City, folks, not Sex IN the City), I have things to say.
*I am simultaneously drawn to and repelled by Evan Handler. And I’ve seen WAY too much of his ass. I never wanted to see his ass, but he showed it so often that it’s burned into my memory and that’s not something I really want to have to think about.
*Tatum O’Neal looks unfortunately EXACTLY like her father, poor thing. Between her and John McEnroe, their kids don’t have a chance in hell of growing up good-looking.
*I know I’ve said it before, but to pay $485 for shoes is just insanity. I could never pay that much for strappy little heels, not ever. Of course, let me loose in a book store, and I could easily spend twice that. I guess it all depends on what interests you, eh?
*I could relate to Miranda saying “I don’t like any kids who aren’t mine.” I’ve always said that I wasn’t interested in any kids that weren’t related to me. Of course, once I started thinking about it, I realized that I love reading when journalers tell stories about their kids, and that if I’m in a restaurant and a kid takes an interest in me, I’ll do the peekabo thing ’til the cows come home, so I guess I like other peoples’ kids more than I realized. Although when I was sitting in the waiting room with the spud last week waiting for her to have her thyroid ultrasounded, I could have done without the 1 year-old who toddled over and started going through my purse. (Yes her mother was horrified when she realized what was happening, and yes I smiled and said “That’s okay!” when she apologized profusely.)
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And speaking of television, we watched
The Restaurant the other night, and the whole thing where the three cooks (chefs? Kitchen staff? What was their fucking job, anyway?) pretended that one of them had been in the hospital and the three of them didn’t show up for work left a bit of a bad taste in my mouth.
Now, I KNOW that those three were wrong for doing what they did, and I would think that it would have been enough for Rocco to know that they were going to come across as childish idiots when the show aired. But, no. First he had them separately tell their story, and when they thought they were home free and going to leave on good terms, he felt the need to confront them and let them know that he knew no one had ever been admitted to the hospital.
To me, that was childish. Why not let them leave and then see that they weren’t fooling anyone when the show aired?
Did I mention that DAMN I love that show, fake reenactments and all?
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We rented and watched
Chicago last night. I liked it, and I really liked Catherine Z-J. I thought that Renee Zellweiger’s voice was going to get on my nerves, but I adjusted quickly enough.
And now I have a new song to sing to Miz Poo. “All that Poo!”, of course.
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A couple of pictures from Maine:
We saw this bumper sticker in Portland when we were shopping, and it cracked me up. If you can’t read it, it says “For a small town, this one sure has a lot of assholes.”
This is the building that housed (houses?) the first apartment I ever had. 16 years ago, that was. You can’t even see the tiny-ass windows to the apartment that was mine, because it was on the top floor. It was a crappy, crappy apartment, with a hole in the kitchen floor that let me see into the apartment below (which belonged to a guy in the Navy, who was hardly ever home). Rumor was that the city had been trying to condemn the building for years and years. The water pressure sucked so badly that it took half an hour to fill up the bathtub. I only lived there for about 3 months before I fled back home where the water pressure was decent.
The landbitch and her husband lived in the building. Her name was Alexis something, and she was a money-grubbing bitch who held back $100 from my security deposit because she “suspected” a friend of mine had messed with her husband’s bike, which was tied to the sign in front of the building.
This building is located on Main Street in Brunswick, a fairly busy road, and the dumbass leaves his bike tied to a sign, and he’s surprised that someone messes with it? Yeah. Let’s blame it on the 19 year-old in the building!
She was a lawyer, by the way, and I hope she’s lost every single case since 1987. 220 Maine Street, Brunswick, Maine, in case you were wondering.
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Such a happy, happy boy.
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