Weekend Accomplishments
At any given moment, I have a Fantasy Karaoke Song in the back of my mind. That’s the song I wish I could sing at a karaoke bar but so far haven’t worked up the guts to sing. On Friday night, I sang my Fantasy Karaoke Song and kicked ass at it. That song was “Toxic” by Miss Britney Spears. I also sang “Sweet Child O’ Mine” and that Nora What’s-Her-Name’s “Don’t Know Why” and did well with those, too, so I was pretty happy when the night was over.
This guy at my work, Eric F., says that karaoke is for people who don’t get enough attention. That may be true. I really like to sing, though, and I can’t sing very loudly in the shower because the ceiling isn’t very soundproof at my apartment complex.
Now my new Fantasy Karaoke Song is Missy Elliot’s “Work It”.
Also this weekend, I ended a three-week-long search for a suitable container for my necklaces. You know how, when we Generation X chicks were fourteen, we all had the wooden jewelry boxes that looked like armoires, with glass doors that featured dogwood flowers or butterflies or whatever? And those jewelry boxes had hooks on which to hang your necklaces so they wouldn’t get tangled?
Well, I don’t have my jewelry armoire anymore, and I didn’t want to go to Wal-Mart and look for another one, because those things are ugly. But I couldn’t find another jewelry box that would hold my necklaces in anything other than a tangled wad. But then, magically, as I was leaving Michael’s craft store with an armload of purchases for my kids, I found the perfect container on clearance for five dollars. So, as you can imagine, that rocked my world.
I Miss My Bratty Kids
It’s almost time for them to come home from their long exile at their dad’s house, and I can’t wait. Lately I think about them all day as I do stuff without them. “I’d better wait for the kids before I go to Old Navy so I can get Dallas those pants he likes,” I’ll say to myself, or “I bet Rory would like this pork dumpling.” Or, “I can just see the look on Josh’s face if he were to hear me talking to myself like this.”
I mean, granted, all that sentimentality will slowly drain out of me on the ride home from Austin, after three hours of hearing “Quit touching me!” and “Scoot over, fatty!” from the back seat. But still. It’ll be good to have them home.
Effed-Up People on the ‘Net
You’ve probably already read Wendy’s evisceration of Richard Roeper and the other Chicago-based idiots who are offended by Dove’s latest ad campaign featuring women with “real curves.” (I.e., women who wear size 8 or 10.)
And now there are discussions all over the Web about whether or not the women are fat and whether or not Richard R. is gay. But most people are missing the point, which Wendy made so eloquently and which I will reiterate. Why are newspapers paying men to tell us what they want to jerk off to? Why do they think I care what size women Richard Roeper and the others want to see? Save it for your LiveJournal, Richard. Or, better yet, just buy that kind of porn and shut the fuck up.
The woman who wrote the psycho rant about losing the Harry Potter costume contest has taken it down, I see. Basically, some chick freaked out because she busted butt to make a costume with which to win the latest Harry Potter book at her local bookstore. Then, they gave the prize to a baby in a cape. The woman said, “I didn’t stab her in the eye with my wand. I WANTED to. I talked about doing so VERY FUCKING LOUDLY. I was going to eviscerate her mother with the cover of my brand-new copy.” (Quote from Bookslut.) Then, the rest of her entry and its comments quickly devolved into “I hate children! All breeders should die!” talk.
On the one hand, I totally know how she feels. Not that I ever bother to try to win costume contests. But, for several years running, my children have shown up to their school Halloween carnival wearing extremely awesome costumes. Invariably, however, the costume contest prizes go to kids wearing stupid, suck-ass costumes. Usually, many of the winners are related to the school secretary or the PTA, for some strange reason.
And, yes, it’s annoying, but I just tell my kids that that’s the way stupid local costume contests are. I’ve known that ever since I sewed Josh that jester costume for the Clothworld contest, when he was one year old, only to be beaten out by a newborn in a clown wig.
Somehow, this Harry Potter fan woman never learned that lesson until now. The shock of the lesson is such that she blames all children and all people who create them. Most likely, her parents kept her in a closet and beat her with coat hangers, and, upon escaping them, she thought adult life would be fair. But she was wrong, and all her jealousy of children whose parents love them won’t make life become fair, unfortunately. It won’t make costume contest judges have better taste, either, whether they’re breeders or not.
Here are more tales of HP fan psychosis from Fandom Wank.
