Tag Archives: television

And Now the ‘Ghost Busters’ Theme Song is in My Head

I am a total pansy when it comes to scary movies, but for some reason I really like to watch “Ghost Hunters.” I also like to watch “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” and any reality show ending in “-zillas” so take that for what it’s worth.

Anyway, last week I got the urge to watch some ghost stories, which sucks because Netflix only has “Ghost Hunters International” available for streaming, and I’ve already watched them all on account of GHOSTS IN EUROPE.

So Frawnch

Source   Sadly, none of them looked like this.

When I want to watch regular Ghost Hunters I have to add the DVDs to my queue and wait like two days for them to come in the mail like a goddamn peasant. The disc finally came last Friday, and when I popped it into the DVD player it worked for about 10 minutes and then started skipping. And here is the weird thing: This happens every time I try to watch a Ghost Hunters DVD. EVERY TIME. And it’s only Ghost Hunters that this happens with. Ergo, my DVD player is totally haunted. At this point all I can do is hope the spirit was killed because he uncovered an embezzlement plot and will lead me to a bank account filled with $4 million.


Source  Fact: I have watched “Ghost” too many times.

(Just in case I was overreacting with the whole “my DVD player is haunted” theory, I contacted Netflix and told them the disc was damaged so they would send me a new one. I popped it in last night and it skipped so bad it wouldn’t even start playing. I put in an “Alias” disc right after and it played fine. QED.)

Why I’m a Little Dumber Than I Was Yesterday

Dave bought us a flat screen TV and Roku for the bedroom with his tax return last month, and it is simultaneously the best and worst thing that has ever happened. Our evening routine has always involved watching a little TV before bed, but back when we just had a regular old TV we were forced to watch DVDs of things we already owned. But now, a virtual Bacchanalia of shitty reality TV has opened up before us and we are powerless before it.

Last night, for example, we got sucked into Marriage Boot Camp: Bridezillas, which basically involves 10 human turds living in a mansion and “working on their marriages” on national TV. Oh, and they are all former stars of Bridezillas.


Just kidding, you should totally be judging me right now.

We’ve only seen the first episode, and already I hope the series finale ends with the ground opening up and and swallowing these morons. (I’m looking at YOU, San Adreas fault.) And yet I totally want to keep watching. I can’t decide who I like the least, but here are the frontrunners after the first episode:


These living examples of why half of U.S. marriages end in divorce almost left the show because they were assigned the smallest room in the mansion. He would, and I quote, “rather be homeless” than sleep in a measly 16×16 luxury suite in a Los Angeles mansion. Here, I’m pretty sure he’s counting the number of times he’s had the syph.


Their faces say more than any caption ever could.

I hate these people almost as much as I hate myself for wanting to watch them on TV.

In other news, Dave turns 30 today, so I wanted to take a moment to publicly wish him happy birthday. And remind him that I’ll still be in my 20s for four more months.


Really Lazy Sunday

After feeling super lazy and sluggish last week (I blame the rain, and also the very essence of my being), I woke up on Sunday full of energy and ready to Get! Shit! Done!


It was like this, except without the Flowbie haircut.

After going grocery shopping and getting some work done, I made the mistake of turning on Breaking Bad and then proceeded to watch 13 EPISODES. So let’s see … that’s one, two, three, four, NINE hours of TV in one day. I could almost feel my muscles atrophy as I sat there, yet I COULD NOT STOP WATCHING.

Note: If you have not seen Breaking Bad and plan to watch it, you should skip the next paragraph.

Prior to yesterday, I had only seen the first season. I was bragging to Dave about how I  successfully avoided spoilers last year when everyone was talking about the finale, and then he was all, “But you know that he dies, right?”

On a happier note, I ordered this sweater from LOFT during their Presidents’ Day sale, and it is awesome (and also currently 40% off!):


That is the cat’s stuffed dog on the floor behind me, not a dead rat.

I also ordered this dress, but thanks to my dumb short waist it will need some alterations before I post a picture.

How was your weekend?

Thoughts I’ve Had While Watching the Olympics

– If you can do it while wearing a three piece suit, it’s not a sport (I’m looking at you, ICE DANCING).

– Speaking of ice dancing, stop trying to make “twizzle” happen. It’s not going to happen. (My friend Sarah and I made up an ice dancing drinking game: Dial 9-1-1- and proceed to take a shot every time you hear the word “twizzle.” See if you’re still alive by the time the medics show up.)

– I miss Johnny Weir. Frankly, Jason Brown is the only male skater who has really brought the fab in the costume department so far. In future events, there better be fewer black pantsuits and more Leprechaun Pirate Bullfighters:

– ET airs before primetime Olympics coverage, and I’ve suffered through the end of it several times now. Groundbreaking information I’ve learned so far:  Alec Baldwin’s 18-year-old daughter likes Instagram, one of the Backstreet Boys is getting married, and why Shakira named her new album “Shakira” (spoiler alert: IT’S BECAUSE HER NAME IS SHAKIRA). I have never wanted a DVR more than I do right now.

– Bode Miller is still hot.

I had planned to do some (drunk) live-blogging of the Olympics over the weekend, but obviously that didn’t happen so I’m shooting for this weekend instead. You better hope your pinkeye has cleared up by Saturday, Bob.

My Holiday Plans (With a Side of Nutcracker WTFery)

I haven’t used much vacation time this year, so I’m taking the next four days off of work and heading down to my parents’ house for Christmas. I’m pretty excited to spend the next few days eating, watching Christmas movies, eating some more, baking, and eating the stuff we bake. My suitcase is filled with stretchy pants and Tums.

The only thing harshing my holiday buzz right now is the fact that I won’t be spending Christmas with Dave (he doesn’t get to take much time off around the holidays … newspaper life, I do not miss you). He’s staying here and spending his one day off with his family. On the other hand, when I told him that our extended family of about 16 people all come over with their gifts on Christmas morning and open them one at a time his head looked like it was going to explode, so I’m guessing he’s relieved to have dodged that bullet this year.

Speaking of heads exploding, Netflix recently added “The Nutcracker” to the holiday favorites section on “watch it now.” I loved that movie as a kid, so on Sunday morning I was like you know what Netflix, I WILL watch it now, and then I regretted it because it turns out The Nutcracker is CRAZY. The funny thing is that I don’t remember thinking the plot was weird or confusing when I was 10, but when I watched it yesterday I had SO MANY QUESTIONS. Like, what is the deal with all the rats? Why is this considered a holiday favorite? Why does Uncle Drosselmeyer look like he belongs on the Megan’s Law site?

I’m guessing this was under the “holiday” category because it starts out at a Christmas party? Maybe? I don’t know, I was distracted by the fact that the parents at the party seemed to be intent on teaching their kids that it’s cool to interact with guys who look like this as long as they promise to give you toys:


If you think these toys are neat, you should see the ones in the back of my van!

So here’s what I’m sure of: Clara gets a dollhouse and her little bitch brother Fritz gets a rat puppet, and then also this nutcracker ornament falls out of the tree and Clara grabs it, and then Fritz breaks it (told you he was a little bitch), so Uncle Drosselmeyer bandages him up and the party is over. After that, shit gets weird. Clara comes back out to the ballroom to check on the nutcracker, and the rat puppet turns into this:

Rat King

More ballets should feature killer rodents. How much more awesome would “Swan Lake” be if it featured swan-on-rat fight scenes? YOU’RE WELCOME, ABT.

And just when you think ALL IS LOST, the nutcracker comes to life and kills it before disappearing into the dead rat’s clothing and morphing into a prince with seriously questionable facial hair:

Nutcracker Prince

Curses! Foiled again!

And Clara is all:

12.23.13 Clara

Just kidding. She totally digs his Snidely Whipstache and they fake-sail around the world dancing together blah blah some more cool dancing blah blah they are crowned king and queen and then you realize IT WAS ALL A DREAM. And at first you’re all “whew, at least the giant rat king wasn’t real” but then you realize that Uncle Drosselmeyer happened before she fell asleep so it’s still kind of creepy. The end.

I didn’t really mean for that to morph into the worst movie review ever. I think it’s time that I step away from the computer and toward some sugar cookies. Merry Christmas Eve Eve!

A dip into the archives

I’m busy prepping for a big event at work, so I didn’t get anything written yesterday. HOWEVER, in honor of Jonathan Taylor Thomas returning to television (!), I’m going to share a post I wrote a while back about my obsession with JTT as a middle schooler. Nobody read my blog back when I posted it, so you probably haven’t seen it before anyway:

I had a squirrel named Numb Nuts

Yesterday one of my Google Reader friends (Hi, Jennie!) shared a Happy Birthday Jonathan Taylor Thomas video because if you can believe it, little Randy from Home Improvement is 30. If he’s 30, I’ve got to be like 80, which probably explains why I always want to yell at the damn kids outside who make all kinds of racket when I’m trying to take my afternoon nap.

You will have to watch the JTT video here because WordPress wants me to give them $59 to post videos on my blog and I feel like using that money for something so frivolous would be very irresponsible of me, especially since I’m starting to navigate the murky waters of retirement savings. So far my retirement plan involves going to a casino tonight and making sizeable investments in slot machines. Way better than having to actually learn what the hell a Roth IRA is. I had to craft some sort of plan though, because Chase (my bank) keeps sending me emails being all, “You’re 27 and have no retirement account! Do you want to be a burden on your children later in life?” And then I’m like, “QUIT PRESSURING ME TO HAVE KIDS, CHASE. GOD!” and my boyfriend goes, “WHO THE HELL IS CHASE?”

Thanks for ruining my life, MONEY.

Speaking of fail-proof plans, let me tell you about the time my friend Betsy and I plotted for like three weeks to get JTT to visit us in podunk Northern California where, upon seeing our scrunch socks and rainbow-colored braces, he would undoubtedly decide he was in love with us, give up driving around Hollywood in his solid gold Ferrari and move to a place where curtains are made of Confederate flags and duct tape. We never really worked out what would happen when he had to decide which of us to date and marry, but I feel pretty confident that since Betsy was my best friend and all, and I was a nice church-going girl, I would have felt pretty bad about having to cut that bitch.

On second thought, maybe he WOULD have fit right into small town life. I hope his former stylist had to pay for making him look like the love child of Yosemite Sam and Jenna Elfman.

Stage One of our plan was to read every JTT interview we could get our hands on, taking notes about his likes and dislikes and then storing the lists in a binder with a picture of him on the front and OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE I AM WRITING THIS ON THE INTERNETS. Stage 2 was to write him a letter including all the information we amassed in Stage One. This letter was perfect. We casually mentioned that we loved the Boston Celtics and tofu; wouldn’t it be weird if he did, too???!!? Through these subtle hints, he would realize that we were totally soul mates (and possibly crouched outside his bedroom window sniffing a lock of his hair). Just to seal the deal, we told him in the letter that we don’t like to brag about it, but we both work for Seventeen magazine as models. We learned in Stage One that JTT loves Salinger and uses his spare time to study, so obviously a man of his intelligence would need proof. So we cut a page out of Seventeen, wrote our names above the two hottest models, and mailed it along with the letter.

Actual JTT quote about discovering his teen idol status: “I was in St. Patrick’s Cathedral actually. My Mom was showing me how to light the candle and all that, and this person comes up and is like, ‘Can you sign this, please?’ I was like, ‘Okay, let’s get out of here, because I don’t want a big old lightning bolt to come down on me, thank you very much!'” Oh, JTT. How did you never get into stand-up.

After receiving our letter, he immediately departed the “Man of the House” set and drove up to meet the 12-year-old Seventeen models of his dreams.

Just kidding. But he did send us two signed pictures of him sitting on a step stool wearing white cargo jeans. WHITE CARGO JEANS. If a big old lightning bolt was going to come down on you, JTT, that would have been the moment for it. Anyway, we of course paraded the pictures around our school and when too many people had touched mine and the ink started to smudge I put it inside a plastic sleeve and made people form a line to look at it while I held it safely in my clutches. DO YOU SEE WHAT A FUN GIRL YOU MISSED OUT ON, JTT?

JTT seeing what he missed out on.

I held out hope for some time that he would call me, but it turns out that JTT was merely the first in a long line of men who would be intimidated by the fact that I had collected their personal information in a binder with their face on it.

I gave you my heart, JTT, and you gave me white cargo jeans.

No Englishman would dream of dying in someone else’s house

Me: I have nothing to blog about.

Dave: You could write about the fabric headboard we made this weekend. Or your guacamole recipe that you keep saying you want to post. Or how you just discovered Downton Abbey. Or-


The fact is, I could tell you about how I’m now one of those insufferable people you’re friends with on Facebook who is all OMG I ❤ DOWNTON ABBEY!!1!1! every five seconds, and how I cry during almost every episode, and how Dave insists on saying Master Bates instead of Mr Bates, but in my super tired state I can’t really think of much to say beyond that. Except that Dame Maggie Smith is The Shit and I want to be her when I grow up.

Especially if it means I get to kiss Ron Weasley:


I’m only about halfway through the first season, so I’m trying really hard to avoid finding out what the big twist was at the end of the last episode that has everybody freaking out. My Google Reader is spiraling out of control because of all the posts labeled DOWNTON ABBEY SPOILER ALERT that I can’t mark  as read because I’ll want to read them once I’m caught up, but at the same time I want to mark them as read because I feel twitchy and anxious when I have lots of unread content in my reader. PROBLEMS. I HAVE THEM.

Obviously the most responsible course of action is to call in sick for the rest of the week so I can get caught up.

What about you … do you watch Downton Abbey? Are you as jealous as I am of Dame Smith getting to expecto Rupert’s patronum in that photo up there?