Shedding a light on the situation...

I've been (involuntarily) following the Star Jones saga in the media.

She's trying to blame Barbara Walters and the network for her sudden unemployment. But really, you gotta go way back to trace the real culprit.

Here's how it works...

Peter Jennings smokes heavily for a thousand years.

He goes to the doctor's office and learns he's got lung cancer.

Peter Jennings retires from ABC.

The rest of the Evening News triangle - Tom Brokaw and Dan Rather - decide it's their time to retire as well.

CBS decides it's time to shake things up a bit, and seeks out a female lead anchor.

Katie Couric grabs the job, and leaves a spot open on the Today Show.

Meredith Vieira decides she's had enough of the nattering hens at The View and grabs the hot NBC spot.

ABC decides they need to shake things up a bit on the View, and offers their new opening to Rosie O'Donnell.

Rosie's lost a lot of money since leaving her #1 talk show, so she accepts.

Star and Rosie hate each other. Rosie will eat Star for breakfast.

ABC tells Star shortly after Rosie accepts, that her contract won't be renewed come September.

Star fails to find another glamorous job, so she plays the victim on-air this past Tuesday by announcing her involuntary departure from the show.

ABC says "that was a stupid thing to do", and tells her not to come back on Wednesday.

And that brings us to today. This entire chain of events - and one of the biggest TV network shuffles - can be traced back to....

Peter Jenning's first cigarette.

The end.

You'd be quiet too...

Day 3 of Pain Week, and things have progressed to the antibiotic stage.

That means I'm popping pills for the next 10 days, and then I get to bump someone off the dentist's schedule and get the root canal. I guess I'm more important now that I'm infected.

The good news? Well, I did get good news today... Are you sitting down? I'm getting free Poptarts!!

Did you hear me? FREE POPTARTS!!! Woooooo-hoooooo!!!

That's right. I know you're jealous. See, what happened was I bought a box of Poptarts that advertised "6 + 2 = 8.... now 8 poptarts in a box!". Only there weren't 8 Poptarts at all. There were 6.

Now I'm not one to complain... But we are talking about Poptarts here. So I did what any other Poptart lover would do: I called Kellogg's.

They were sooooooo nice to me, and they didn't even sound like they wanted to laugh at all. They're sending me coupons for free Poptarts. Yay! It was incredibly easy.

In fact, so easy that when I got off the phone, I started going through my cupboards and freezer, thinking "hmmmm.... who else can I call....".

But then I thought of the free Poptarts, and I realized that despite my throbbing miserable jaw, life is pretty good... in a Poptarty sort of way.

I'd rather swallow worms

I spent yesterday in denial. Sure, I experienced fireball shooting pain every time I forgot to NOT chew using my right side... but maybe it would just go away on its own.

I'm now into my 36th hour of excruciating, please-roll-over-me-with-a-steam-roller type of pain, thanks to what I suspect may be a cracked filling.

It happens to involve a tooth that has been marked for "inevitable root canal" for the past 5 years. Somehow, every year during my check-up, I get away with another grace period, and my dentist says I'm still good to go.

But now, I think it's time for my marked tooth to get whacked.

I'm going in this afternoon to get an X-ray and hear the verdict. Whatever they end up doing, I hope it at least involves ending this pain. And a free toothbrush. I'd better be getting a free toothbrush.

A little greenside snack

Isn't it funny when you're moving along the fairway, having a pretty good golf game, and then you come upon the 14th green, which is the most remote green on the course, because it's tucked away in the woods, pretty much at the summit of the wee mountain you're on, and you're trying to putt, but this sound is coming from the edge of the woods, so you stop trying to putt because you want to see the pretty deer, but it's not making the usual deer sounds, so you step off the green to get a closer look, because you're curious like that, and you don't want to miss seeing something beautiful in the woods on the edge of the 14th green, and you listen carefully to what might sound like a woodpecker, and as you get closer you say out loud "Jesus, that's the biggest woodpecker I've ever seen!", because you think you're looking at the fuzzy head of a woodpecker, and then you cock your head to the side and say "wait a minute, that's not a woodpecker; that's not even a bird. In fact, it's kinda big. And black", and then it hits you...

You're standing a few feet away from a fucking bear.

So then you stop breathing for a second, and you start walking reeeeeeeally fast towards the golf cart, and you signal your partner to get his ass inside the cart RIGHT NOW, and then you drive off while the colour slowly returns to your cheeks.

(sigh)... so the lesson learned today is: A bear stripping bark off a tree sounds an awful lot like a very big woodpecker in slow motion.

No love from this muskrat

I took a stroll through some wetlands yesterday and saw some pretty interesting things, including this little dude:

I was surprised at how calmly he let me approach him. He'd nibble on his piece of grass, pausing only to eye me sideways every time I moved a little closer.

I was also surprised to realize a few moments later that not only was he not afraid of me, he was merely tolerating me.

Maybe he's used to the occasional idiot human wandering around his habitat, stopping in awe of him chewing a blade of grass. In fact, I think he's annoyed by it.

By the time I took this picture, his patience had run out. He literally threw down his tasty blade in disgust and let his arms hang to the side, and then sighed. I think he may even have rolled his eyes at me. And I can't say for sure, but I think I saw him put his scrawny little paws on his hips in irritated admonition.

He glanced one more time my way, as if to say "Are you happy now?", and then stomped back into the water and swam away, muttering something under his breath (I think it might have been "...goddamn tourists...").

A little embarrassed by my humanness, I drove home... humming "Muskrat Love" all the way.

Crisis? What crisis?

I just came across this headline on msncbc.com:


Iraq declares state of emergency in Baghdad


Did they just notice the....? Haven't they been, um....?

But...

I...

See... there's this war, see....

When I was a kid....

I LOVED my Barrel of Monkeys game! Oh, how I played with those monkeys. Couldn't get enough of them.

Now that I'm all grown up, I don't care to play Barrel of Paperclips. Really, I don't.

Goddamn pain in the ass. I'm using staples on everything from now on.

Striking a balance

I see roller derbies are making a comeback. I remember those... I'd watch them on TV on Saturday mornings in the 70's. They were silly then, and I'm sure they're even whackier now. I'm also sure I won't be watching.

But I am hoping that this means roller skates will make a comeback. I was brilliant on roller skates; I practically wore them during every waking hour when I was 13. I gave them away when I was 16, because they were no longer "cool".

Then, a few years later, they were made obsolete by rollerblades. I gave those a shot, and after falling on my ass too many times, I decided they weren't for me.

Mind you, I grew up in Canada, and around here, you learn to ice skate before you learn the alphabet. So standing or skating on rollerblades were not the problem. It was stopping. Dear god, the STOPPING!!! Now that was a problem. A very painful one, at times. I'd resort to throwing myself onto the side in order to stop... landing on grass, parked cars, against trees, small children. This just wasn't working.

So I quit skating. I've wanted to go back to roller skating. They just make more sense... 4 solid wheels: two in front, two in back. If it works for cars, then it works for me. But I haven't seen a pair of roller skates in a store in about 15 years.

But now, thanks to a few bimbos on skates beating the shit out of each other in bikinis, I may be able to skate again! Maybe even in a bikini!!

Okay... probably not in a bikini...

I'm not your real mom

I have most of my family and friends on some form of speed dial. Its's very rare that I actually have to dial their numbers.

On occasion, when manually dialing my mom's full number, I've messed up one digit. The same digit each time. The prefix is 843, and I sometimes dial 834 instead.

This has happened a few times, resulting in a woman answering the phone and sounding EXACTLY like my mom. After hearing "hello?", I respond with "hey... it's me..." and immediately begin yapping.

I have carried out entire conversations with this woman. It's only when I get a weird answer from her that I suddenly realize this is not my mom, and quickly verify her identity. She always seems to already have realized that I had the wrong number, and yet patiently waited for me to figure it out.

Wtf???

I'm a little embarrassed about some of the things I have revealed to her. Does that make her my other mommy? Should I have called her on Mothers' Day??

I feel like such a bad daughter.

Careful what you wish for

It was 37 degrees yesterday, and 100% humidity. Yep. And may I clarify... I'm in Canada.

For those of you (Americans) who have yet to join the world in using the metric system, that translates to 99 degrees Farenheit. It also translates to "Fucking Hot & Sticky".

There was talk of possible rain in the afternoon. I SO wanted it to rain to break the humidity. I wished for clouds and rain and a breeze.

All of these eventually came at 3pm, but in the form of a kick-ass, in-your-face, grab-your-loved-ones-and-take-cover storm. Thunder, lightning, trees uprooted, wires knocked down.... it was pretty intense.

Of course, this was followed by a city-wide power outage. It lasted 9 excruciatingly hot hours.

We ate sandwiches for dinner. We perspired. We played cards by candlelight for hours. We perspired. We ate all the frozen yogurt in the freezer, in order to "save" it from melting. We perspired.

We dismantled R2D2 in order to be able to open the bedroom window and get some air while we non-slept in the bedroom sauna.

All I asked for was a little rain and a breeze. Sheesh already.

Dear Mr. Webster: A new word for your big book

I adore Main Man. Really, I do.

That's why it's so easy to forgive his frequent misuse of a couple of words. In fact, it's downright cute. Especially when used in public.

The expressions in question are "major coup", "haiku", and "hullabaloo". I know... the mere fact that all of these involve the "ooo" sound increase the level of cuteness by about a thousand times.

Here's the thing: He has confused "haiku" to mean a "high coup", which he fully intends to use in a sentence where one might use "major coup".

For example: "Boy, if we were to snare him as a client, it'd be a haiku!"

Damn that's cute. But wait... here are some quickie definitions to further illustrate the cuteness:

MAJOR COUP: Stems from "coup d'etat", which means a very sudden change of government, always by force. In French, it literally means "a blow to the government". There is no such thing as a variation that includes "high coup". Main Man made that up in his mind.

HAIKU: A Japanese form of poetry; very short, very consise; three lines only... the first has 5 syllables, the second has 7, and the third has 5. It has nothing to do with snaring clients.

HULLABALOO: An uproar; clamour. I like this word, and I use it a lot.

Mind you, Main Man is frighteningly intelligent... sharp as a tack and very well-read. Why he has chosen to confuse these three terms, I don't know. But to continue...

For some reason, he is unable to retain the word "hullabaloo" in his mind. It always comes out as "helluvabaloo". (Are you giggling? It's okay... I am too.)

Wait... there's more. He has taken to sometimes using "helluvabaloo" instead of "haiku", which of course he means to use as "major coup". Somehow, though... it seems to fit.

Let's re-examine our earlier example: "Boy, if we were to snare him as a client, it'd be a helluvabaloo!"

See? It actually works! Because snaring a big client from a rival would indeed be a "major coup", and it would also indeed lead to temporary "uproar and clamour". It's perfect!

So I present you with a new word, courtesy of Main Man: helluvabaloo.

Use it wisely.

You're annoying/irritating/bugging me...

Yeah, you. You with the slashes.

You who prefers to be lazy/inert/passive about choosing/selecting/adopting a single term/word/phrase to say what you want to say/express/communicate.

When did this become a popular/mainstream/accepted form of writing? It's vocabulary dithering, that's what it is.

Yeah, that's right. You've got VD. Please don't pass it on to me.

I'd like to see you write a classified ad, jerk. Per word, sweetheart. Per word.

Amber alert

I don't mean to jump on the bandwagon about this, but I can't help it:

Where the hell is baby Suri?

Is there something wrong with her health? Did the mail-order baby not arrive as scheduled? So many possibilities...

While I'm relieved to have Tom Cruise out of my face, I'm feeling a little ripped off.

They can sting, you know

Look. Here's how it goes. Nothing... but NOTHING... can get me to move faster than an angry bee in my immediate vicinity.

You see, that's why my arms and legs were flailing about.

And that's why I may have been spinning around wildly. And perhaps changing directions erratically as I raced across the fairway screaming like a schoolgirl.

(sigh)... the other day, I established myself at the club as the chick who ate bugs. With a little PR, I might have had a chance to salvage my rep.

But now, as poised and fetching as I try to look on the course, I will also be the crazy chick who breaks into cartoon-like spastic fits on the fairway for no apparent reason.

It's just that I don't like bees.

Note to the producers of Last Comic Standing

Dear Sirs, Ma'ams...

I watched your shitty show last night. No, wait... that's not right. It wasn't shitty until the end part of the show. Let me start again...


Dear Sirs, Ma'ams...

Are you on crack?? Wtf's wrong with you??! Are you not familiar with things that are funny? You're either complete fucking idiots or ----- No, wait... this is a little harsh. Sorry. Let me try again...


Dear Sirs, Ma'ams...

I watched Last Comic Standing yesterday evening. I laughed my ass off at a couple of funny contestants. There were also other contestants who made me yawn during the 3 minutes they were on stage. Yes... actually yawn. And then you went and selected not only the unfunny ones, but the most unfunny ones to move forward in the competition. I will not be watching the rest of the season, because you suck, and your show sucks.

Yours truly,

Berry

Damn you Disney!!!!!

I finally watched Meerkat Manor on Animal Planet last night. As a result, my sheltered world has come crashing down.

The show follows a meerkat (mafia) family in a reality show format. It is the product of 10 years of research by an English university. These kats are mean. Sure, they're cute. I mean, well... see for yourself:






Awwwwwww.....

But this show is no Walt Disney production. It's more like Dallas meets the Sopranos meets the Crips. I was expecting to be overwhelmed by cuteness, and instead, I got a taste of life in the African badlands as directed by Oliver Stone in a bad mood.

Like every other North American kid with a TV, I learned this about the animal kingdom:

1. They are all cute and fuzzy.
2. They can all be befriended by a human and become their best pal.
3. Apparently, they too follow the 10 commandments.
4. They have the exact same feelings as humans.
5. They will only be mean to things like snakes and Sleeslaks in order to protect a human.
6. When they die, violins play in the background, and they go to animal heaven.
7. They too get married and have one single partner with whom they share bowls of spaghetti.

I saw none of this last night. Instead, I saw mothers fighting with their teeny tiny starving young to steal their food (out of necessity, of course); a mother beating the crap out of her adult daughter and banishing her from the group... leaving her to fend for herself and to live a lonely, ostracized existence; a rival neighbouring meerkat family attacking just for the hell of it; and several examples of potential meerkat porn.

I went to bed feeling completely disillusioned. (sigh) I have been ruined by Disney.

Dream a little dream (*cough*hack*)

I quit smoking three years ago. Since then, I'm not able to be around cigarette smoke. It makes me want to puke. It also makes me want to slap a smoker up'side the head and yell "Wake UP, you idiot!!".

But anyway...

I find that my subconscience hasn't quite caught up with things. I am still smoking... in my dreams.

Every now and then, I catch myself lighting up in a dream, and I'll be startled and say "Oh! I forgot I don't smoke anymore!" But then I'll actually pause and remind myself that I'm only dreaming, so it's okay.

And I continue puffing away.

In my dream, I feel like I'm getting away with something. Like this is where I go to sneak a smoke without ever getting caught, and without ever feeling guilty. Sort of like my own little Vegas.

Last night, I smoked during my entire dream. Non-stop. And this morning, I actually felt like I had a smoker's hangover. For those of you who have never smoked before, a nicotine hangover feels a lot like an alcohol hangover, only with the added sensation of a sumo wrestler sitting on your chest. If you accidentally take a deep breath, you will cough until noon. It happens when someone who might normally smoke a pack a day ends up smoking, say... 14 packs at a party.

Anyway, I can't explain the smoker's hangover this morning, but given the results, I'm now terrified of dreaming about participating in a fire-engine chili eating contest.

I'm SO watching this tonight!!

And here we thought reality TV had run out of originality...

I'm about to get hooked on what may be either the most absurd or the most brilliant show of the summer season.

Life is short... unless you're me!

Holy crap! According to this life expectancy calculator, I will live to be 90!!!

NINETY!!!!

I could look at this two ways:

1. I MUST get my ass in gear today and start saving some serious money to pay for all the old-people things I'm going to need. (Like food and dentures and arts & crafts stuff.)

or

2. Woo-hoo! I can walk into traffic! I no longer need to look out for fish bones! I can stare a rabid pitbull down anytime I want! Because I'm gonna live 'til 90!!!!

I'm thinking option #2 is WAY more appealing. I can always buy lottery tickets to cover #1.

How much to get you to shut up?

Okay. First, some background: I spend most of my work day yapping on the phone. I'm generally a happy person; upbeat; quick to laugh... even frequent full-out belly laughs (who doesn't like to laugh?).

But I'm always talking. Or listening to someone else talk. Talk talk talk talk talk.

When I'm away from work for a moment, I like to stop talking. And I love when other people around me stop talking as well.

Sometimes, I need to do girly things... like get my hair styled, or get a massage, or get my legs waxed. And while I understand that some women live to chat, I simply don't.

It's during these appointments away from my yappity work that I like to enjoy silence. I get pampered, and I pay others to do this for me. It's just that there seems to be this unwritten rule about women gathering in these types of circumstances and, you know... nattering. Chit-chatting. Talking. Talk talk talk talk TAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I try to be as friendly as I possibly can when I explain to the people styling or massaging or waxing that this is my "me" time, and I'd prefer to get lost in my own thoughts. Because when I leave their place and return to my office, the endless talking resumes.

No, I don't really want to discuss my vacation plans. No, I'm afraid I don't really care about your vacation plans. Seriously, you need to stop talking now. It's nothing personal. I just would very much like for you to shut the fuck up so that I can savour a few moments of silence.

I can't possibly be the only one out there who doesn't like small talk when there's perfectly good silence to be had. Silence is not rude, people! It's GOLDEN!! It's fabulous! It's so bloody rare.

Anyway, here I am chatting. And one of you might be trying to wax a leg or two. I'll shut up, then..... sssshhhhhhh....

If you think you're hot stuff...

... think again.

I found an old picture of me standing in the living room of a former home. I look like an idiot. I cannot BELIEVE I wore those clothes! And wtf is up with that hair??!!

And then there's the whole background issue. What the hell was I thinking (drinking) when I painted those walls? And I cannot, today, look at those curtains without gagging. Seriously... a floral pattern love seat? Oh no I didn't!!

It's like a whole other me, living in a totally different world; a world without an ounce of taste or style or savoir-anything.

And the picture is dated 2002.

I wonder,... will "Berry: 2006" appear to be this uncool in 2010? I need paint...

You know you're getting old when...

... June rolls around and you have some spending money in your pocket because there's no-one left in your circle scheduled to get married or have a baby.

I am a nerd

This is just between you and me. If you tell ANYONE, I will kick your ass!

Okay... here it is....






I watched the National Spelling Bee on ABC last night, and I was riveted. I sat on the edge of my seat, I tell you! I was rooting for the Canadian gal who came in 2nd after an intense, 19-word championship showdown between her and the NJ gal who finally won it all.

No, no... you don't understand. I held my breath. I nervously tapped my feet. I had clenched fists and all! And there's more...

I could spell a lot of those words!!!

On a bright note, I did sleep in an air-conditioned room last night, thanks to my new friend, R2-D2 (see post below). So at the very least... I am a cool nerd.