What Can’t Ya Stand Wednesday–The Bachelor

You guys are welcome. For the past four weeks, I have watched and taken extensive notes on ABC’s The Bachelor. An excruciating process, but I do it for your enjoyment. I am selfless that way. If you are a fan of the show, I promise very few spoilers, but I must warn you that I will be tearing The Bachelor a new one, so read with caution if your feelings are easily hurt. That being said, oh my golly this show is the worst. The basic premise, for those of you who pretend not to watch but secretly do, goes thusly: A single fella (aka “The Bachelor”) meets 20+ single women who, for the duration of the show, live together in a mansion. He goes on “dates” with these women, sometimes with 8 or 9 ladies at a time, sometimes “one-on-one”, eliminating girls along the way until he is left with two and decides between them which he wants to marry. This season features “the first Latin Bachelor” Juan Pablo. He hopes to find a wife for himself and a stepmother for his daughter Camilla. Juan Pablo is very handsome and seems to be a good father to Camilla, but as we know, reality TV can make us believe anything.

I have been on a reality dating show, so I know how it works. Of course, if The Bachelor is Oprah, then the show I was on is Jerry Springer, but they’re all the same behind the scenes. I know, as I’m sure you all do, that the producers manipulate situations and feed the contestants “suggestions” for what to say and do. When I was kicked off my show and my reaction was “Thank you very much, where’s my check and please show me to my limo,” the producer flat out told me “We’re gonna need you to be angrier in your exit interview.” Oh, okay. I can totally be angry about getting turned down by a guy with whom I have spent a collective 25 minutes. I have more intimate relationships with servers at Buffalo Wild Wings than this guy, and I was the last girl to go. The producers do not want the contestants talking to “the guy” off camera and it is probably the same on The Bachelor meaning, when the girls say “I am really falling in love with him,” they are “falling in love” with a guy who can measure his relationship with her in hours. Call me old fashioned, but I believe that you cannot fall in love with someone until you have dated through no less than two types of weather. What if you “fall in love” with a guy during the winter, but then in the summer he starts wearing flip flops as shoes?? THEN YOU ARE STUCK! Better to be safe than sorry.

Flip Flops are not shoes

Flip Flops are not shoes, guy

The first episode of The Bachelor is always uncomfortable. The women try too hard to make a good first impression, usually with a gimmick, which the producers encourage. One or two contestants always drink too much and act foolish, which the producers also encourage. On the show I did, they offered us wine, champagne, liquor, first thing in the morning. “Thanks, but I generally try to wait until after 9 o’clock in the morning to get hammered.” The first episode of The Bachelor is also when we learn the ladies’ occupations. It is amazing what some of these girls can make a living doing. My favorites this season are Lucy the “Free Spirit”, Kelly the “Dog Lover”, and Amy the “News Reporter”. Amy’s gimmick was, instead of getting to know Juan Pablo like a regular human person, she interviewed him, fake microphone and all, like he was the sole witness to a horrifying train wreck…which, metaphorically, he was.

The second episode of The Bachelor is when they start having all the dates and several girls can already totally see themselves marrying the guy. Juan Pablo’s first one-on-one date was with a girl named Clare. They went to an artificial winter wonderland in the middle of LA where she told him, in a hot tub of course, that her father had passed recently and basically no man could ever live up to him. Excellent first-date move. Then they slow danced in their bathing suits, in the snow, to a live performance by Josh Krajcik(?) who Clare acted like she was a big fan of, but I seriously doubt it because I don’t think anyone has ever heard of this guy and anyway, who is that live performance comfortable for? I mean, with only two people in the audience, do you listen attentively? Sing along? I’m sure this Josh guy was happy that they were dancing instead of awkwardly staring up at him, but he probably was hoping they’d put some clothes on. And I know Clare’s dad, who she said in a voiceover was “watching us right now” was also saying, “Put on some pants, Clare!”

On the second one-on-one date of the episode, Juan Pablo took Kat on a private jet to a surprise location. Kat speculates they could be going to Miami or New York, but wherever it is, she could get used to this. Do not get used to it, Kat. It is doubtful that “former soccer player” Juan Pablo can afford a private jet without ABC’s help since no occupation without “former” as a precursor has been mentioned. On the plane, Juan Pablo appears, “surprise”, in a track suit and tells Kat they are going to Salt Lake City (seriously?) to run a 5K and Kat thinks this is an awesome idea. If it’s me, this is when I ask to pull the jet over and drop me off. I would rather get serial murdered on a date than run even ONE mile. Seriously, spread the word, I have no interest in going on a date that involves any kind of exercise. Even if it is that race where you run two miles and get a box of doughnuts at the end. Do not let them fool you! Krispy Kreme has a drive thru and you do not even have to run anywhere.


The other dates have consisted of girls not wanting to do the planned activity, but acquiescing after Juan Pablo tells them “Trust me.” Andi the prosecutor did not want to get naked for a photo shoot, but Juan Pablo told her “trust me” so she stripped down. Seriously, I want to get arrested in her jurisdiction. “No, it is totally cool that I stole all the cheese from this grocery store.” “I don’t know. Seems to me I should press charges…” “Andi, trust me.” “Oh, okay. You’re free to go.” Another girl didn’t want to go bungee jumping, but once she realized how sincere Juan Pablo was in giving her a choice as to whether or not she’d like to jump, she knew that she could trust him. Honey, if that rope breaks, all the trust in the world is not gonna keep your body from becoming one with the sidewalk below. I mean, is that seriously not the stupidest thing you have ever heard in your entire life?? “I’m scared to bungee jump.” “Trust me.” “OH OKAY! I’ll trust YOU that when I jump off this bridge, YOU will ensure that the rope will not break and I’ll come out of this alive. WHAT AN AMAZING GUY!” I’m sorry to yell, but the stupidity on both their parts makes me SO ANGRY.


On this week’s episode, Juan Pablo (re: ABC) takes the girls to Seoul, South Korea, but Clare is not sure if she can go because “I don’t even have a kimono!” I got out my Google to discover that a traditional South Korean garment is a hanbok, not a kimono, but you can probably just wear regular people clothes, Clare, like the majority of all the South Koreans. In South Korea, they have some group dates and maybe a couple of one-on-one dates, I cannot remember, but what I do remember is that the ladies are getting competitive. They all keep calling Juan Pablo their “soul mate”, which is different than their usual moniker for him, “future husband”. I like to imagine they are calling him their “Seoul mate”, but that is probably too clever a pun for any of those girls. Anyway, on the group date, Andi speculates that “Some girls are starting to think about kissing Juan Pablo.” Listen, Andi, if you think girls are just thinking about kissing Juan Pablo, you have not met Sharlene. Sharlene is an opera singer whose personality, it seems, has gotten Botox and who has exchanged more kisses than words with Juan Pablo. On the other hand is single mom Renee who has all but forced her face upon Juan Pablo’s, but he is having none of it. She makes one last attempt by asking, “How would Camilla feel about seeing me kiss her dad?” THAT is your game?? Eww! I have better game than that and my go to is “So you gonna kiss me tonight or is it cool if I eat this garlic bread?” Juan Pablo says in a voiceover, “I would like to kiss Renee but at the same time I’m not thinking about me I’m thinking about Camilla. I wanna make sure that she has a good example of a dad. I’ve kissed 6 girls already and I don’t want my daughter to be seeing her dad kiss 20 girls so I’m gonna take a step back and try to not kiss anybody tonight.” Yeah, because kissing seven girls in one night really is when it starts to get skanky. It doesn’t stop him from kissing another girl 2 minutes later and that is where I take issue with this Juan Pablo character. Listen, buddy, if you want to kiss some girls but not others, just admit it. But do not use your daughter as an excuse because that is just wrong and we’re all calling bull crap anyway.

And enough with the bathing suits! Wear actual clothing every now and then!

And enough with the bathing suits! Wear actual clothing every now and then!

The main reason I can’t stand The Bachelor goes back to these people not knowing each other. These girls make out with a guy who still has mouth residue from 6 other girls on his face and they claim to love him even though I believe it to be statistically impossible that all 20 girls would fall in love with the same guy. I find it far more believable that at least half the girls would say, “Eh. He doesn’t really do it for me.” But they ALL think he is SO funny and smart (he isn’t). I spend the majority of the TWO HOUR show yelling at the TV, “You don’t know him! Stop kissing! Ew! Don’t lead so much with your tongue on national television! I can hear it…grody!!” Sure, lasting relationships have come out of the show, but to me the whole system is flawed. It grosses me out that all these girls are putting everything on the line for this ONE guy and all he’s giving back is, at best, half of himself because until the proposal, there will always be another girl or 20. And it isn’t real life. It isn’t day to day. For the couples who have “made it”, I bet there was a HUGE adjustment period when they got back to real life. Anyone could fall in love when they don’t have to go to work or pay bills or buy toilet paper. It is easy to impress a girl when all you have to do is pop round to the next mansion over and ABC gives you a helicopter for the date and pays Darius “Hootie” Rucker to provide background music for your candlelit dinner, but how’s it gonna be when you have to drive from West LA to the Valley to pick me up and I order filet mignon at the dinner YOU are paying for and we have to listen to Hootie and the Blowfish on the radio like some kind of Philistines in your broke down car because you have no money after you quit your job to appear on The Bachelor? I have broken up with guys over less.

Tell me more about the Bobby guy who you think is so cool. Does he have a job?

Tell me more about this Bobby guy who you think is so cool. Does he have a job?

I know it is “reality” TV which we all know is actually the furthest thing from reality and I should just accept it (or not) for what it is. If the absurdity of The Bachelor—and it IS absurd—makes me so angry, I shouldn’t watch it anymore. It is a free country. I have that choice. So that’s settled. I am not watching The Bachelor anymore. No, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I’ll watch it. But I’m not gonna like it.

Bonus Fun Fact: In the first hour of this week’s episode, the girls said “like” 80 times. As in “I’m, like, questioning if I should, like, stay, because I, like, don’t know if that’s, like, best for, like, my son.” –Cassandra


What Can’t Ya Stand Wednesday–Christmas Carols

I love Christmas. I’m not one for picking favorites because as soon as I do, I think of something else that I love too, but Christmas is probably my favorite holiday. So is Thanksgiving. And the Fourth of July, of course. Part of loving Christmas includes loving Christmas Carols. O Holy Night is my favorite. And Christmas Waltz. However, sometimes when I think too hard about certain Christmas songs, they are not okay with me. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way”? Let me tell ya, if I went on a sleigh ride of any considerable length, I would not be having fun if I had to listen to bells jingling the whole way. And if there’s only one horse pulling that sleigh, you know it is gonna take more than a couple of minutes to get where you’re going. “All I want for Christmas is you”? I guarantee if you walked up into Mariah Carey’s house on Christmas Day and said, “Mimi, darling! I’m your present!” she would demand you leave immediately. Probably not so much for arriving without a legitimate present and more for trespassing. Unless you know Mariah Carey. Maybe you do. I don’t know all the people you know.

"I can't wait to get to Mariah's house...will you shut those jingle bells UP?! I can't even hear myself THINK!"

“I can’t wait to get to Mariah’s house…will you shut those jingle bells UP?! I can’t even hear myself THINK!”

How about, Elvis, “when those blue snowflakes start falling,” you should run because snowflakes are not supposed to be blue and that is probably acid snow. It is in my favorite song, but I don’t like it when “friends are calling ‘yoo-hoo!'” Don’t yell “yoo-hoo” at me, Shawn. You know my name is Cherie! We’ve been neighbors for 15 years!!! As a child, I was never okay with “Jump in bed and cover up your head because Santa Claus comes tonight” unless it was sung on Christmas Eve. Otherwise, I’m like, “He DOESN’T come TONIGHT and shame on you for getting my hopes up!” I was also always baffled by the kid who thought hilarity would ensue if his Dad caught his Mom kissing another man, even if it was Santa Claus. Adultery is not funny, you stupid kid. He is probably the same stupid kid who let his grandma WALK home at night and when she got run over by a reindeer, all he and his grandpa could say was, “Now we know.” Even though I like the song, the one that goes, “Simply having a wonderful Christmas time” seems a little braggy. I mean, there are kids in the world buying Christmas shoes for their Mom who will probably not make it to the new year. I am all for reminding people to be generous and thankful, especially during the holiday season, but can we maybe be a little less depressing about it? I had no idea where that Christmas Shoes song was going the first time I heard it and by the end, I was a wreck. Nothing says “Christmas” like lying in the fetal position on the floor, sobbing. Which brings me to the Christmas song that I cannot help but love even though there is absolutely nothing okay about it: Baby, It’s Cold Outside.

Traditionally sung at Christmas, even though it is really more of a generic winter song, Baby, It’s Cold Outside gives off an overall and overwhelming “rapey” vibe. It follows the story of a young man and young woman who have apparently been on a date and are now back at the man’s house. Maybe she just went in to use the bathroom? Maybe she came in for one last drink. What is clear from the song is that she did NOT come in for hanky panky, but it seems the guy will use every trick in the book to convince her she should pank that hank. Let’s look at the subtext, shall we?

Her: I really can’t stay.
Him: Baby, it’s cold outside…
Her: I’ve got to go away.
Him: Baby, it’s cold outside…
Her: Yes, you used that excuse already and I said that I have got to go. Thank you for the date. This evening has been so very nice.
Him: I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice.
Her: I have gloves in my car. My mother and father will be waiting for me and WILL call the cops if I do not come home soon.
Him: Beautiful, what’s your hurry? I built a fire. Beautiful, please don’t hurry.
Her: Look, guy, you can keep calling me “Beautiful”, but that is not gonna get you anywhere with me. If I have half a drink more with you, will you let me leave?
Him: Put some records on while I pour
Her: The neighbors are gonna think I’m a whor…did you put a roofie in this drink??
Him: Oh yeah, your eyes are looking glassy now…
Her: I ought to say “No, no, no sir!”
Him: Mind if I move in closer?
Her: For the record, I WILL say that I tried.
Him: What’s the sense in hurting my pride?
Her: Seriously? You think I am gonna get frisky with you to save your ego?? In case I was not clear earlier, the answer is no.
Him: Gosh, your lips look delicious.
Her: I told my sister your first and last names and she will be suspicious. Also, my brother’s a cop, so…
Him: Waves upon a tropical shore.
Her: I will not go to a second location with you! You’ll have to kill me first!

She goes on to tell him that if she stays, the whole town, including her sour ol’ maiden aunt will talk about what a hussy she is and could she borrow a coat, but he apparently does not care about her reputation and glosses over the request for the coat, in fact, uses a scare tactic to convince her to stay. What kind of a person denies another’s request for a coat and then tells them they’ll get pneumonia and die if they go outside? Not okay, guy. Not okay.



I’m not sure what it is about Christmas that causes potential romantic partners to act inappropriately, but in the song Last Christmas, we meet a young lady whose love was not reciprocated last year so this year she hides from her former almost-love at a party, even though he does not remember her. Listen, if you gave your heart last Christmas to someone who does not recognize you a year later, you gave your heart away too easily. And DO NOT give your heart to someone special THIS year just to keep from crying! After being rejected last year, you need time to rebound and become happy with yourself before you jump head first into something new with someone you barely know. It sounds like you fall in love too fast anyway. Really take some time with your next relationship and only give your heart when it is mutual and the time is right. It does not have to be at Christmas. Valentine’s Day and Election Day are both very romantic holidays. Having said all of that, let me reiterate, I love Christmas songs and carols. I want to be clear, lest anyone think I am a miser. I am not sure what it says about me considering how I interpret the song, but Baby, It’s Cold Outside is my favorite. The only Christmas songs I cannot like are The Twelve Days of Christmas and Grown Up Christmas List. I’m sorry if you love those songs, but I think they are just the worst. Regardless of your feelings on any Christmas tune, I hope you Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas and a Happy New Year! See you in 2014!


What Can’t Ya Stand Wednesday—When Sophia Coppola Bumps Into Your Purse

Picture it: West Hollywood, 2012: A beautiful young lady with an oversized ponytail is standing beside the accessories table at a fancy boutique on Melrose Ave. Blown up paparazzi shots of Katy Perry and one of those Kardashian people leaving the store with bags upon bags of overpriced t-shirts that say stupid things like “Model/Actress” or “Spoiled” (uh…no doyee) decorate the walls. The aforementioned beautiful young lady with the oversized ponytail (It is my story and I’ll be beautiful if I want to!) picks up a neon-pink plastic beaded necklace, the type of which she always thought would be fun to wear, but she cannot bring herself to pay $14 for one at Target. She flips over the price tag. $58. Oh that’s reasonable. Not! She puts it down, thinking to herself, “Even were I a Bazillionaire, I would never pay $58 for plastic beads. It’s the principle of it,” even though she knows she would. Or she’d at least pay the $14 at Target for them. The reason she is at the store is not as important as the confidentiality agreement she signed, so let’s just accept the fact that she is there and it does not matter why. As the young lady stood still, wondering what she could write that would be important enough to fill the blank pages of a $70 journal she held, she was startled out of her daydream by a firm bump to her purse. Usually she would be the first to apologize in a situation such as this because, even after a childhood filled with ballet classes, her balance is quite terrible and she cannot always keep her “tall personage” out of the way of others. But in this instance, the young lady was standing completely still and anyone could see that there was no way this was her fault, so she looked up from the blank journal expecting to hear an apology already on its way. Instead, as she lifted her head, she was met with the steely gaze of the offender. A gaze that says, “Is it you who is attached to the purse that got in my way? How dare you and it.” And without a word between them, the offender turned and walked away. That beautiful young lady with the oversized ponytail was me. And the person who bumped into my purse was director, Academy Award winning screenwriter, and Hollywood royalty, Sophia Coppola.

Now, to be fair, Sophia Coppola was probably in her own dream world at the time and may not have really realized that she even bumped into me. Maybe her look back at me was not meant to say, “How dare you,” but perhaps, “I should write a story about a girl with an oversized ponytail,” or something to that effect. But if I give her the benefit of the doubt, I have no reason to complain, so we’re going with the former. In the moment, I thought, “Oh, I’m sorry my STATIONARY purse was in the exact path from which you apparently could not POSSIBLY deviate, Sophia Coppola!” But then I was like, “Well, she is Sophia Coppola. She’s kind of brilliant and she’s won an Oscar and stuff, so I guess it’s fine if she bumps into my purse and does not say ‘Excuse me’.” So THEN I was like, “Who else is it fine if they bump into my purse and do not say ‘Excuse me’?” George Clooney? Duh. Meryl Streep? Of course. Ron Howard? Bump away, Opie! Any of the Friends? Probably. What if it’s Ross, though? Eh, now we’re getting into a gray area. Kevin James? Absolutely not. I will never forgive him for Paul Blart: Mall Cop and I would never forgive him bumping into my purse.

You APOLOGIZE, Kevin James! You apologize RIGHT NOW for bumping into my purse and for Grown Ups 1 and 2!

You APOLOGIZE, Kevin James! You apologize RIGHT NOW for bumping into my purse and for Grown Ups 1 and 2!

Look, if I’m being honest, I would let pretty much anyone bump into my purse without repercussion because I talk real big and bad, but I’ve got no guts. Speaking of Guts, it would be fine if Mike O’Malley bumped into my purse. I’m just saying, it would be nice if everyone could be polite enough to say “Sorry” or “Excuse me” if they bump into my purse, even if they were a Friend who was not Ross and they think they are too good to say “Sorry” to common folk like me. (Courtney Cox and Lisa Kudrow have both smiled at me. Just a little something extra for you, Reader.) Of course, in Sophia Coppola’s case, if she was dreaming up another radical movie like Eternal Sunshine, and my stupid purse broke her concentration, then I am really really sorry and that look she gave me was completely warranted. But if she was just walking around thinking about puppies or Spaghetti-Ohs or whatever, then shame on her for not only not saying “Excuse me” but also for making me ever consider that her bumping into my purse might be my fault. So the convoluted lesson today is this: Even if you are a celebrity, it is still nice to apologize if you bump into someone’s purse because they may hold you in such high regard that it does not matter to them, but on the other hand, you may be that person’s Kevin James and they could get mad at you. Also, if you see Sophia Coppola coming at you, do not assume she will see your purse and not bump into it. Maybe mine was an isolated incident, but is it really worth taking that chance? Definitely something to consider.

What CAN Ya Stand Wednesday–Thanksgiving

In honor of Thanksgiving tomorrow, I will refrain from complaining about all the things (which is gonna be really hard because there are a lot of things this time of year) and tell you guys what I CAN stand, which is Thanksgiving itself. Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays, not because of its macabre beginnings, but because of the whole “family and thankfulness” angle. Evans family tradition involved three girls in jammies watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade while Mom worked on dinner and Dad brought the tree up from the basement. As soon as the giant box reached the top of the stairs, we girls tore into it to find the list of whose year it was to put on the tree topper. The list was instituted after more than one year filled with tearful arguments of “You did it last year!” “Nuh-uh!” followed by all three girls on a ladder, none of us happy, placing the paper mache angel on top of the tree together. The list was not without its controversy. “Are you sure it is your turn?” “That’s what the list says.” “Well, I haven’t done it in, like, FIVE years so how do I know you didn’t change the list?” “IT’S IN DAD’S HANDWRITING! RESPECT THE LIST!” Shoot. Now I’m tearing up. Until that moment, we all got along famously. We felt like little project managers, dividing the plastic tree limbs by the different colors painted on the metal tips, “Is this one brown or red?” “Oh, that’s red, the reds go in the pile over there.” We may as well have been overseeing the construction of a 100-story skyscraper. Every year, as we got taller, we could reach one more row of branches than last year, but even Dad had to stand on a ladder to get the top row in place. The consolation prize for one sister who was not on tree topper duty that year was getting to put the last piece of the tree in place. The piece looked like a miniature Christmas tree itself, which was always amusing to me, and it fit down through the center of the top branches into the pole supporting the giant plastic, but beautiful, tree. We spent the rest of the afternoon putting out all the other decorations—the Rudolph doorknob cover that made it impossible to actually turn the knob, the girl in the green velvet dress who held a “candle” and I think used to play music, our stockings—after we decided whose was whose. “Dad’s is red and white stripes, Mom’s is red and green stripes.” Then our Grannie and Johnny would arrive and we’d sit down to the extravagant meal Mom had prepared. Giant turkey, sweet potato casserole with marshmallows, bread rolls, and THE BEST dressing in all the land. Others have claimed the best dressing, but none has ever compared to my Mom’s. She makes the cornbread from scratch and then, I guess just prays over it? Because it tastes heavenly. Stove Top? You can keep your Stove Top. The night concluded with the family gathered around the tree. The adults putting hooks on ornaments while the girls hung each one where it belonged, the last consolation prize—getting to hang the first ornament. And, of course the night ended with one Evans girl climbing the ladder with the angel, or later it would be the Father Christmas, tree topper and everyone sitting back and admiring our work. I think I can say without bias that the Evans family Christmas tree is the most beautiful Christmas tree I have ever seen.


These days, Thanksgiving does not look exactly the same. As we got older, we did not care as much about putting up the tree. Now we “let” my niece and nephew hang most of the ornaments and we three sisters hang only our favorites, as they have special spots and no one else knows exactly where they go. We have added husbands and children (Not my own! Geez, give me a break!) to our already crowded dining room table. Our traditional spots at the table have changed to accommodate everyone. My nephew wants to sit by “Jillllian” and my niece wants to sit by me. This year, like the past two years, I will be across the country from my family on my favorite holiday. The hardest part is knowing that I won’t be part of my niece and nephew’s Thanksgiving memories. But, I am thankful for my sweet niece and nephew and that I am fortunate enough to spend several weeks with them around Christmas. I am thankful for my whole family for their unending support and encouragement. I am thankful for friends both near and far. I am thankful that Mom’s Christmas dinner menu is the same as the Thanksgiving dinner menu, so even though I must wait a month, I will get to eat dressing this year. I am thankful for a roof over my head, food in my belly, and cute clothes on my back. I am thankful for peace and love and joy and hope—which sounds corny and cliché, but those things are such great blessings and I should do better to celebrate them everyday. So I do not get to spend Thanksgiving with my family this year, but how fortunate I am that, God willing, I will spend the better part of December with them. And how very blessed I am in countless other ways. Ok, I am full on crying now and embarrassing myself in front of everyone. What, you thought I was only grumpy all the time? I am not made of stone! I have a heart! I cry at OnStar commercials!! Happy Thanksgiving, y’all. And Happy Thanksgiving, Evanses. I’ll see you soon. Until then, when you place the little girl ornament made of burlap on the tree, make sure you hang her purse and umbrella beside her. Also, she goes on the right side of the tree near the bottom…you know what, don’t worry about it, just put her wherever. I’ll fix it when I get home.

Gobble Gobble! Happy Thanksgiving!

Gobble Gobble! Happy Thanksgiving!

What Can’t Ya Stand Wednesday–Their Use Of “There” When They’re Wanting To Say “They Are”

I have been putting off this WCYSW because I do not want to seem like a total blow hard and, let’s be honest, the people to whom this article applies will not understand that it is directed toward them (probably because they cannot read). But, y’all, it is time to be talking about grammar. I have seen it preached over and over by you good people of Facebook and every time I think, “Yes! You’re right! They’re all idiots!” But then I think, “IS it that they’re all idiots or do ‘they’ just don’t care?” Either way, shame on them.

In today’s digital age, typos are a part of life (See that? They are “a part”, inclusive. Not “apart”, exclusive.) Almost every week, I have to go back and edit typos in my article after already publishing it for everyone (re: my Mom) to read. A few weeks ago I accidentally wrote Shallow Hall instead of Shallow Hal. Shallow Hall?? What is Shallow Hall?? It certainly is not a hilarious movie starring Tony Robbins, Jack Black, Jason Alexander, and Gwyneth Paltrow in a fat suit. That mistake is an example of a typo. I am aware that it is meant to be Shallow Hal, but I accidentally typed Shallow Hall. It perhaps makes me unobservant, but not ignorant. A few weeks before that, I wrote something about lightning bugs, but spelled it “lightening bugs”. I know the difference between “lightning” and “lightening”, but at the time, I did not think about that difference. I typed “lightening” and the red squiggly line did not tell me I was wrong, so I thought I had done it right. I did not do it right and that is an example of my ignorance.


I have heard it argued that grammar does not matter. That in this day and age when we are all typing on all sorts of devices all the live long day, it does not really matter if I tell you “then” when I mean “than” because you will know what I meant and I have a lot of other people to type to and I cannot take the time to do it correctly. But I say that mentality is not okay! I say in this day and age when we are all typing on all sorts of devices all the live long day, it is more important than ever that we use the correct words. Again, typos and &@$# autocorrect happens to the best of us, but text with someone for 5 minutes or look at 3 Facebook status updates, and you can tell if this person just has fat thumbs and cannot always hit the right letters on their phone (like me), or if they are straight up ignorant. I know it seems harsh to label someone as ignorant for confusing “accept” with “except”, but my extreme reaction is for the sake of comedy…sort of. I see status updates from people who went to the same, very expensive high school that I went to, saying things like, “I’m to wired to sleep rite now.” or “If you don’t like reading this than unfriend me.” I would, but then I would have no fodder for my blog. I do not think that a private school education is inherently better than a public school education, but it makes me sick to my stomach to think about the money those parents wasted sending their child to private school when they should have left them to their own devices and used the money for a European vacation for two. I mean, I do not remember everything Mr. Sanderson taught us in 10th grade English. Clearly, I have problems with commas and modifiers, but I DO know that it is a “comma”, not a “coma” and that the “effects” of English class did not “affect” every student in the same way, and that Jerry Garcia is the greatest musician of all time. Oh, Mr. Sanderson was a little bit of a hippie. I understand that in this fast paced society, it is easy to let an incorrect use of “there” or “their” slip by, but the people with whom I wish to be friends do not need an inordinate amount of time to figure out the correct usage. It is second nature to them. For my fellow Waiting for Guffman fans, “You know exactly what you’re doing, and then you forget about it.” It’s a zen thing. It’s like, you know, “how many babies fit in the tire” thing.

So, for those of you who just don’t know what is correct and what is not, I do not know what to tell you. Maybe audit a 10th grade English class? Sure the cool kids will make fun of you for wearing a sweater for which, “like, 10 chickens had to die just so she could look so stupid,” but then your brother David Arquette will enroll at the school and tell everyone you are rad and you’ll be crowned prom queen (even though “You SO do not deserve to be PROM QUEEN!”) and you’ll marry dreamy Mr. Coulson and he’ll rock your world. Excuse me, but I believe that any adult going back to high school will have the exact same experience as Drew Barrymore in the 1999 classic Never Been Kissed. If you DO know what is right, but you do not think grammar is important, you are wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. I make exceptions for some things, such as this blog. I try to write to you, dear reader (my Mom), the way I would speak to you (Mom), if we were having a conversation with our voices. Sometimes that means starting sentences with conjunctions (see above), or using sentence fragments (see above), or ending sentences with prepositions (see above). Because sometimes structuring a sentence with “to whom” or “for which” makes one sound like Shakespeare or Harry Potter and I would never compare myself to the great bard or wizard. But if I had told you about the way I “right” instead of the way I “write”, I would expect you to think a little less of me. As we become less reliant on talking to each others’ faces and more reliant on typing to each others’ mobile devices, it becomes increasingly important to be able to properly represent ourselves via written word. That is, if you care about getting a job, or a…pen pal(?)…or most importantly, a DATE. The main reason I have chosen not to date approximately 95% of the guys who have asked is because of an ignorant text. The most common text I get—from GROWN MEN—is “Your beautiful” and I’m like, “My beautiful what? I have a lot of beautiful things, such as my teeth or shoulders or shoes, but if you are talking about my knees or my hair, I know you’re fooling and I do not appreciate you patronizing me, so which is it?” I mean, I’m just supposed to assume he means “You’re beautiful”? I am not that vain. Or maybe I did not date you because you told me you were a writer but then repeatedly asked, via text, to take me to “diner”. I’m sorry, but until you can show me that you know you take someone to A diner FOR dinner, and that I deserve to be taken someplace fancier than a diner on a first date, we’re gonna have to remain casual acquaintances. The worst of all was a guy who told the world, via Facebook, that he could not wait for Sunday when he could “route” for his favorite football team. Obviously the problem there is that I cannot date an NFL fan. SATURDAY is the Biblical day for football. Again, I sound judgmental and harsh, but what if I married and had kids with one of these men? How could I love a kid that told me, “Mommy, I love you more then anything!”?? I mean, I’d love it because I’m a good person, but why put that burden on myself?

"Yeah, yeah. Tell me all about it at a nicer restaurant."

“Yeah, yeah. Tell me all about it at a nicer restaurant.”

All of that being said, I won’t really write you off as a friend or possible romantic companion based on poor grammar. I mean, it will be my first inclination, but I’m gonna try really hard not to. Can we all just agree to do better on both fronts? In the meantime, here is a little guide to get you started: If you are sending me a text with the word “your” in it, take a second to ask yourself if you could replace “your” with “U R”, then if the answer is “yes”, DO NOT send “your” OR “U R”, simply change it to “you’re” or “you are”. I enjoy a person who can communicate without contractions. If you want to tell me “Congratulations”, but you think it is spelled “Congradulations”, maybe just tell me “Congrats!” instead. I will thank you for it. And never ever drink too much alcohol. If you do, then you will be drunker than a skunk. Why do skunks gotta be such alcoholics? Hey, skunks, every now and then it is okay for you to just have seltzer water. If you were not already picturing a drunk skunk falling off his barstool while ordering another martini, here you go. YOU’RE welcome.


Mostalgic Monday: Lisa Frank, the Movement


Lisa Frank is not the name of a woman, it is the name of a movement, a culture, a way of living. It is a theory, a concept, a belief in something greater than yourself. It is the belief that all girls are entitled to dolphins covered with rainbows, jewel-encrusted frogs, and unicorns in acid-trip colors hugging each other. It is the ideology that no notebook is complete until it literally hurts your eyes to look at from so much color saturation. It is the hope that no school supply, no matter how insignificant, will be left un-bedazzled. It is the knowledge that your eraser cap, and that of your granddaughter’s, and her granddaughter’s after her, will not be some boring little nub–it will be a diamond covered with butterflies in a rainbow of colors. It is the dream of a better tomorrow. -Chelsea Fagan

For those of us women (and select men) who grew up in the 1990s, Lisa Frank needs no introduction. Her brightly-colored notebooks, stickers and stationery were pretty much a staple of any elementary or middle school backpack and/or folder device of some sort. You know the ones: kittens peaking over the brim of a splatter-paint high-top sneaker which floats inexplicably in a night sky replete with neon dolphins leaping over baffling neon rainbows.  Or maybe your style was more purple penguins hugging on a psychedelic unicorn with a kaleidoscope mane?   I personally went with the cutesy multi-neon-colored sea lion surrounded by fellow multi-neon-colored fishy friends.  (see pic below)  Whatever your preference, Lisa Frank was definitely a movement.  Apparently there is something today called Miley Cyrus: The Movement, but bitch please, you can’t hold a candle up to Lisa Frank, unless that candle was neon pink and donned with dolphins, then we’ll see.  Lisa Frank had such a profound part of my childhood and moreover my elementary memories.  At my school, Sunrise Elementary in Widefield, Colorado (what up Widefiield shout out!) Trapper Keepers were not really allowed.  They did not adequately fit in our desks so therefore they were “banished” from school.  HOWEVER I did indeed have a Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper and I remember we got around this rule by being allowed to keep our Trapper Keepers on TOP of our desk instead of inside it.  Wow, that was an easy battle.  Pogs were also banned from our school because they were a means of gambling.  We did it anyway.  And a good portion of mine were in fact of the LF variety.  Lisa Frank Slammers? Uh no, those were primarily 8-balls and Poison something or other, but you better believe I had LF pogs.

I found the exact Trapper Keeper that I had for sale on ebay, for $99.95.  Uhhhhhh what?  Seriously?  dedannnnnnnnngggggg…….


I LOVED this Trapper Keeper, and damn be to me for getting rid of it.  Look how cute that seal is.   ‘Tis a fairly tame LF if you ask me.

The real Lisa Frank, yes she is a real person, looks like this.


My question is when is the biopic starring Kristen Wiig as neon- artist- celebrity-and -real-life-person, Lisa Frank, going to be made?  Amirite people?  I mean COME ON!  I love that turtleneck.

Seeing Lisa Frank just takes me back to a time where my only care in the world was if my brother was going to demolish my room today or tomorrow?  Or if I should wear 2 or 3 different colored socks that matched my over sized t-shirt with leggings.  One thing is for sure Lisa Frank is forever emblazoned in my memory and the happy warm feelings that go with it will probably never subside.  I wonder what kids have nowadays that brings such joy and color to the world?  I wanna live in that world.  Forever.

         30962316157704407qeeIvOyec    ac56509ae2f405abc237125565a165bf  Lisa Frank is Real    imgres


The above BA quote comes from Chelsea Fagan.  Check out her original blog post here which has some really, really great points that any 90s kids/now adults will love.


In case you need a refresher of Mostaligic Mondays, please see footnote below*. Rightly so since I’ve been such a degenerate in posting this year. To that, dear reader (yes singular) I do apologize.

*Mostaligic: (definition) the removal of “N” and replacement of said removal with an “M” to achieve alliteration and therefore obvious pleasure.

PS: http://www.lisafrank.com/  It’s the site that girls love!


What Can’t Ya Stand Wednesday–Before 10AM

I am not a morning person. Never have been, gonna go out on a limb here and say, never will be. If I have to wake up before 9AM, the world is a cruel and unjust place. I do not like to speak words or even see another human face until after 10AM and 2 cups of coffee. And why should I have to? Who decided a workday should start so early? The King? Oprah? Last I checked, those two weren’t in charge anymore. A typical work schedule begins at 8 or 9AM, but today, I had to be at work at 6 o’clock in the morning! I was up a full 2 hours before there was light in the sky! That is not okay! I am a human being I should not be fumbling with a curling iron and mascara wand before the sun even comes up like a savage animal.

Did you not see I was only on my first cup of coffee?

Did you not see I was only on my first cup of coffee?

These feelings about early mornings are not my fault. They are in my genes. I thrive after 9PM, so it is only fitting that my “morning” is the middle of the afternoon. I was not born until 1:23PM and even then I came out crying “Just 5 more minutes!” Man, “Just 5 more minutes” should be the theme song to my childhood. If my Mom had a nickel for every time we exchanged, “Mom, just fiiiive more minutes.” “Okay, FIVE minutes, but then you HAVE to get up for school,” she’d have enough money to make it worth having to deal with me every morning for 12 years. I could usually get away with 2 “five more minutes”s and 1 “I don’t feel good”s before Mom had enough and threatened to leave the house without me. For some reason, this always worked even though I did not want to go where she was going and without me, she really did not have to go anywhere at all right then. I cannot believe I am only just now realizing this. I feel duped. I should have risked getting popped in the mouth and said, “Go ahead and leave without me, but you’re gonna look pretty foolish dropping of NO ONE at school!” Man, was I a chump. Well played, Mom.

My Mom drove a covered wagon when I was a kid?

My Mom drove a covered wagon when I was a kid?

College, when I had to set an alarm and wake up on my own for, I’m not embarrassed to say, the first time in my life, was, very literally, a rude awakening. Waking up to the blaring ERRRRNNNNTTTT ERRRRNNNNTTTT ERRRRNNNNTTTT of an alarm clock instead of my Mom gently (at first) singing “Good morning, Glory!” felt like the worst thing that could happen to a person. It is then that I started the “Just 5 more minutes” relationship with the snooze button. What a terrible invention, the snooze button! “Yes, please! I would LOVE to relive the absolute WORST part of my day over and over again every 5 minutes for the next half hour!” And it is not like I spend those 5 minutes actually sleeping. I use them to compromise with myself about what is absolutely  necessary to get out the door. “I can snooze for 5 more minutes, but I won’t have time to wash my hair.” “Okay, if I skip a shower completely, I get 5 more minutes.” “Five more minutes—I won’t wash my face and I’ll pop some gum instead of brushing my teeth.” “If I don’t go to class at all, I get a whole hour and a half. Who needs history anyway? Mayflower, Thanksgiving, Revolution, Nixon breaks open the water gate in the Berlin Wall allowing Reagan to knock it down. I got it, so give me another snooze.” Of course, these days, we have the ten minute snooze which is probably the worst thing to happen to America since Chris Daughtry went, “American Idol? What’s that?” A ten minute snooze allows just enough time to fall back to sleep for about 30 seconds before ERRRRNNNNTTTT ERRRRNNNNTTTT. I go through 2 or 3 of those every morning before making the deal, “If you get up now, you can take a nap later.”

*historical picture used with permission from the Smithsonian

*historical picture used with permission from the Smithsonian

The bottom line is, nothing good goes on before 10AM anyway, and in fact, quite the opposite. Hoda and Kathie Lee happens before 10AM in some time zones. Most heart attacks happen before 10AM. The largest portion of morning breath kicks around before 10AM. And, look, if you go in your jammies, you can get up at 10AM and still make it to Hardee’s for a biscuit—and their biscuits really are the best. I mean, the best thing anyone can say about the morning is “The early bird gets the worm.” Really?? That’s supposed to get me out of bed? Worms?? So we’re all agreed, there’s no reason to be awake before 10AM unless it is 5 o’clock in the morning and you are just rolling in from a fun night out. Good meeting, everyone. We got some solid work done here today and we did not have to get up at the crack of dawn to do it. Way to go! Meeting adjourned. Now get out there and seize the middle of the afternoon!