Ok, three things.
Thing the first:
I sent Esteban out in search of a disposable heating pad thingy I saw advertised. Heat really seems to be the arch nemesis of the uterine cramp, thus I like to go to war with it, but our heating pad sucks for various reasons. First off, there’s a cord and you’re basically stuck sitting there with the thing pressed up against your gut all evening. Secondly, the cats like to lay on it and absorb it’s residule heat, thus it always looks like a damn Tribble. Also, it shuts itself off after forty-five minutes, and it takes about forty minutes for the heat to start to work, so just when you start to relax, it goes cold on you. I could make a sexual euphamism there, but I just don’t have the energy.
I also demanded some Cheddarwurst. Esteban has this gracious ability to become my willing servant during my grumpy time, thus he willingly went to the grocery store and then to Mallwart to procure the elusive disposable heating pads. They were $6.58 for a pack of two. After balking at the price, he picked up two packs. He is a smart man who knows me scarily well. Besides, it’s not like it’s more costly than his little nicotine habit or anything.
He told me last night that I have a delightfully reactionary personality when I’m all hormonal, like a tenacious lobster. I don’t know what he’s talking about, honestly. He said that while laughing histerically when I called him a big loser. He’s lucky he was smiling or I would have kicked his damn dish-avoiding ass.
Just give me my cheese-filled sausage, beyotch.
In case you haven’t guessed, this week the news on the “Losing Part of My Bulbous Ass” front has not been good. The Ass, after retreating for the past month, has had a newfound resilience and has begun to take prisoners. We suspect that it is being aided by other parts of the body. We don’t want to name names but our spies intercepted a missive from an anonymous source allegating that strains of Sir Mixx Alot’s “Baby’s Got Back” were heard coming from the vicinity of the uterus.
So, anyway, disposable heating pad thingy is a good thing. The cramps are subdued. I’m wearing one right now under my pants. So I have very hot pants. I’d shake my groove thing with my hot pants but it would be just be tempting fate.
Thing the Second:
I am totally The Frontier House‘s bitch.
In case you’re not sure what I’m talking about, it’s a miniseries on PBS. It’s like you took Little House On The Prairie and smushed it together with The Real World. Except that most of the women are Mrs. Olesen and all the teenage girls are Nellie and the Michael Landon role is played by a newlywed hottie named Nate who is my Frontier Boyfriend. It’s the true story (Teruuu Storayyyy!) of eleven strangers, picked to live in Montana, and have their lives taped for PBS.”
On last night’s episode, the kids made one boy stick his hand up a chicken’s bum. I haven’t laughed like that since Ozzy’s dog Lola chuffed and chuffed and then URRP! on the imported Italian slate patio. And that’s paid for by support of viewers like you and brought to you by the letter Q and the number 12.
You just gotta know that Bunim/Murray are kicking themselves over this Frontier House thing. They’re probably pulling late night meetings this week. “Ok, look, we’ll take Genesis and Amaya and Puck and give them two oxen and a couple of sheep. We’ll tell Puck that he can’t make the sweet loving to the livestock.” “Good idea! And Flora too! Oooh, and that girl with the really long fingernails who didn’t like to get her hair wet! Yeah!”
Of course, PBS is screwing the whole thing up and only made six episodes. The people were there for 5 months and they only got six episodes out of it, whereas the Real World/Road Rules Challenge happened over two weeks and they got an entire season of 26 episodes or something out of it. Apparently, however, these Frontier people are all too tired to make the rope bed rockin’, so maybe that cut on some of their intended footage. They just fight. Oh, and one has an honest to goodness moonshine still. That one reminds me of my friend Phil. Not to mention the fact that I could totally see Phil with a still. And not just because it rhymes. He’s all bohemian and alternative and completely driven by his convictions. Therefore, if he drinks the liquor, he would see no problem in making the liquor.
Thus, the last two episodes are tonight, but I’m certain that PBS will rerun the thing. I’m surprised they didn’t do this during Pledge Month. Maybe give you some of Pappy Clunes’s moonshine at the $250 level instead of that stupid “I’m a Granola Cruncher” coffee mug.
Thing the Third:
Dishes still haven’t been touched.
I didn’t make him cookies last night, either. That will show him!
Oh, and Another Thing:
Spike on Buffy last night?
Grrrrrrowl!
