I worry sometimes that I watch Bring it On far too often. I worry that it makes me a geek. I worry that I may someday call my boss a ‘cheertator’. I worry that when someone inevitably walks into the meat locker that they call our cubicle farm and says ‘Brrr it’s cold in here’ that I may jump up and do an elaborate clapping routine, shouting ‘There must be some Torros in the atmosphere’. Oh Ee Oh Ee Oh’ Ice Ice Ice’ Bring it down!’ and then everyone will look, mouths agape, arms akimbo.
Ok, not really, but I’ve always wanted to work in the ‘akimbo’ word somewhere. I remember that word from many books read in grade school. People were always standing ‘arms akimbo’. They really wanted to drill that word into our vocabulary. I don’t think that whole plot worked, though. I never really hear anyone use that word. Apparently The People’s Akimbo Partnership (PAP) have failed again.
Speaking of weird things in grade school, I’m eating a Slim Fast bar for breakfast because I was too lazy to make some Cream of Rice and kinda sorta want to look like Ann Jillian, or maybe be a ghost named ‘Jennifer’ living in the bedroom of teenage boy. Actually, I’m not sure if anyone is a Slim Fast spokesperson anymore. When they fall off the program, they are abandoned like plump little used Kleenex along with Cindy Williams and Bob Uecker.
So, this Slim Fast bar tastes like that orange sawdust stuff that they used to sprinkle over the urp of little kids in grade school’ but mixed with cocoa.
Perhaps I should just cut out the middleman and score me some of that orange sawdust. My, think of how much ass I would lose THAT way.
I’m just saying.
You may not want to read this next part. It’s a little gross. You might just want to skip down to past the next little segment line thingy.
Are you sure? I’m warning you.
You are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you.
Very well then.
I wonder if I were to walk into a grade school and throw up onto the floor, after a tasty breakfast of orange sawdust stuff’. Would they need to sprinkle it with the orange sawdust?
See. I warned you.
Is it too egotistical of me to desire my very own ‘Behind the Music’? Maybe it could be a ‘Behind the Diary’. But it would have to have that very serious announcer guy and those smarmy musical segues and flashy graphics. You know, that 80’s sounding synthesizer stuff, which can only be expressed in words as ‘Shoo Shuu Shoomp Swhump!&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9- that really didn’t do it justice but work with me here.
And maybe they’d have guests on’ famous guests to comment upon the diary. For instance, Gwyneth Paltrow could talk about how she was really ‘pro-fat people’ and was upset when I took a hard stance on the whole Shallow Hal thing (which, by the way, I haven’t seen, but apparently neither has the rest of the nation). J.Lo and Faith Hill could simper and be upset that I thought they were talentless hacks with fine round butts. Maybe a shot of Carson Daly crying, ‘I don’t understand why she thought I was a tool’. I always liked her.’ Or maybe just have Jimmy Fallon pretending to be Carson Daly. That would be fine. Maybe even better.
And then maybe they’d interview other diarists, like Roadie, Chauffi (who lurks in the bushes outside my window as a hobby), and maybe UncleBob. Perhaps Eloi could share some deep dark secrets and then I would be confronted with them and be forced to react. Maybe they’d interview my sister Mo, who would clarify that she no longer tailgates like a mofo. And then Esteban would call me a freak. And then the very serious announcer guy would sigh and wish he were narrating the very exciting and yet somewhat bitter Journey episode, which was the Best. One. Ever. Because it had Steve Perry on it, talking about his hip replacement.
Damn my perfectly functioning curvy hips. Damn them all to hell.
And now for some random gossip: Buffy is going to cut her hair. You heard it here first. Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you were trying to mentally remove yourself from your family gathering on Christmas day and were watching E! Entertainment and saw the news scroll beneath Jules Asner (who is possibly the love child of Ed Asner and Rhoda’ not certain) that Buffy would be pulling a Felicity and chopping off her slayer locks, as though this were very important news and needed to be scrolled below the bottom of the screen and E! were somehow like CNN with an exclamation point and leg lights and John Tesh were somehow respectable.
I’m thinking about having a contest’ but I have no good prizes to give out. Maybe I could offer up my ass splinter. I still have it. It sits in a urine collection cup (an unused sterile one, sheesh!) in the backseat of the Monte, where it rolls to and fro along with my Moulin Rouge CD, but I’m not sure that anyone would want this piece of Weetabix lore. But if they owned it, I’m almost certain that they’d be contacted by the people at VH-1 when it came time to make my ‘Behind the Diary’ (you know… since it was actually IN the Diarist’s BEHIND!!). So there’s a benefit. Or maybe you could present it to your significant other or maybe just a stranger and say ‘Look at this ass splinter’ and they will give you lovely dove gray pearls. Perhaps it is a magical ass splinter. You just never know.
This is your Weetabix’. After reading too much Margaret Atwood mixed with Douglas Coupland.
