True Blood

I’m finding True Blood to be a bit to much like porn for me these days.

It’s like there should be a “wacka wacka bow bow” sound track every single time Anna Paquin is on screen because you just know that within minutes, you’ll be seeing her boobs and Alexander Skarsgard’s naked bottom. Not that there’s anything wrong with Alex’s rear view. But really. I don’t need to see it that much. I’m pretty much immune to it now. Besides, I liked him better when he was mean and bad ass. 

Sexy Vampire

Then he cut his hair and they turned him into a claymation Hardy Boy/Ambercrombie model with pointy teeth. Not hot. 

The nice dad on a network TV sitcom.

And while no one should have to endure relationships with cruel, selfish members of the un-dead, hearing Eric say the words "make love" is about as sexy as an after school special. Actually, no one should use the words "make love" unless they are Air Supply and they want to Make Love out of Nothing At All. 

Nah. Not even then, really.

True Blood is a popular show with teenagers, which I wonder might be inappropriate. Parents need to be aware of such things.I suggest a rating system based on nipples. For example Little House on The Prairie would have a One Nipple Rating. True Blood would be 4.5 on the Nipple Scale. Five nipple ratings are reserved for porn and Californication.

And why do all the guys on that show have sex like they are dolphins doing yoga? The rather bizarre MTV sexy move is, well, not realistic, is it, and if a man tried that move on me I’d think he was dorky and laugh. And no one is turned on when I laugh ( because I laugh like a business man after 6 caesars).

But I suppose nothing on that show is that realistic. I mean, everyone is pretty much something other than human. You’ve got your Fairies, your vampires, your werewolves, your were-panthers, your mediums, your witches, your shape shifters. Why can’t we make it a little more believable, and thereby more interesting, and have someone turn into something just slightly odd, instead of freakishly creepy. How about someone who can turn themselves into a bottle of laundry soap? Who is going to attack an innocent container of Tide, I ask you? Seems logical. You’re being pursued by something horrifying, you stop, turn into laundry detergent, and horrific beast trundles past, none the wiser.

And, say,  who’d want to hurt a Were-hedgehog? 

Why no Were-bananas?

 Were-Laz-y-Boys? I wish some people would turn into reclining chairs. Maybe I should get my own show.

I suppose it’s just sexier to be an illiterate panther or a vampire.

A vampire who talks funny.

Super sexy. Um, I guess.

I feel somewhat insulted by the inundation of sex in shows like True Blood. Not because I am a prude or because it’s not sexy to watch beautiful people getting busy. I feel like the makers of these shows are telling me that I’m too stupid and shallow to want anything more. Maybe they’re right. I keep tuning in, like the other millions of HBO watchers. But I can’t be the only one who says “Really?” when every third scene involves someone gettin’ nekkid. A little flash of something once in awhile feels like your seeing something unexpected, naughty, something you just got a glimpse of because you were at the right place at the right time. With True Blood, it’s pretty much a sure thing that you’re going to see jiggly boobs and rutting butts. For me, it’s the difference between the unanticipated, super hot encounter with the stranger on an airplane versus paying for it. And as HBO is a cable show, people are paying.

There are fun things about the show, for sure. Everyone has their favourite characters. I’m probably not being too original when I say my favourite is Pam.

  She looks  amazing in pvc catsuits. She is also bitchy, vain and slightly bored by most things.  Almost like a real person. So far I haven’t had to see her nipples, and I like it that way. Haven’t seen Jessica’s nipples either, but it won’t be long, I’m sure, before they have her splayed out full out raunch (thank you, LGM, for that awesome phrase). Maybe she’ll just say “no, I won’t show my nipples, there are enough nipples on this show”. Or maybe she has crazy nipples that she is ashamed of and HBO got grossed out by. No one should be ashamed of their nipples. And even if they have perfect nipples, it doesn’t mean they have to sell them to HBO.

Baby

Brian and I really are on the same page in so many ways. Our relationship is successful because we want the same things on our life’s trajectory. We both hate going out, we both like snacking and we both prefer communicating via email than the phone. We’ve maybe spoken 50 sentences to each other over the phone in our entire relationship. Most of that involved questions about groceries. More significantly, however,  neither of us wanted to have children.

We are both in our 40’s but pretty much have the emotional maturity of a couple of 15 year olds, and would resent having to give over all of our time and significant portions of our income to something small, wriggly, demanding and relentlessly loud. They are squeely, rash covered feces machines and there are no guarantees that your baby isn’t going to grow up to be a skateboard riding, Emo, bad postured douche bag.  Our commitment to not raising a family is strong.

This is why I find myself absolutely gob-smacked that I have a baby. I’m not even slightly maternal, my friends will vouch for me on this.  I’m not even sure how it happened, although you can all assume that it happened in the usual way of these things.

I didn’t think I was going to have a baby and then suddenly there I am. It’s funny how you can go along and not even know what is about to happen to you:

Yes. We have a new baby. His name is Sam and he’s a black Labrador Retriever. You’ll be reading a lot about him in the coming months if you’re here with any regularity. Oh my God, did you think we’d had a human baby? Gross. I could never ever handle  human baby. So much work and pressure and responsibility. And you can’t just stick them in their crate for 4 hours if you have to go out to the store or whatever. Well, my mom did, but she had a doctor’s note that it was ok. In retrospect, it was for the best, really.

Anyway.

Gracie is seriously pissed.

So far Sam is a great little puppy.

He gets the puppy crazies a couple times a day, which involves him running in circles in whatever room he is in and then running face first into walls, tables, what-have-you. He hardly notices - I swear he’s made of rubber or something. He doesn’t sleep through the night yet, so Brian and I are getting up at 2 and then at 5 or so to let him do his stuff. It’s a pain, but house training Sam is my priority. 

I am the world’s best poop cheerleader.

   Sam is, unlike our other pets, normal. He plays with toys.

He is friendly to people and other dogs.

He poops in one place, unlike Gracie.

However, I no longer get anything done in a day as I spend all of my time refereeing between Sam and Gracie, cleaning up accidents, keeping him from chewing shoes, furniture, the cat, drywall, my ankles. It’s a full time job, dammit.

Gracie is having none of it. The cat is intrigued, but cautious. Sam is just happy and hungry and loves everybody and everything and I’d be lying if I told you he crapped rainbows, because he really, really does not. But he’s pretty awesome.

I hope I don’t ruin the new dog. Brian is in charge of training because I am the exact opposite of a dog whisperer. I try to reason with creatures that will eat things covered in ants. 

Wish me luck.

I Got Nothing.

OK, I’ve ordered my new computer but it’s not going to get here for another week! Seriously, a week. What, are they just planting the seeds at the computer farm now? How long does it take to grow and ripen a computer these days?  I had to order it  online because Brian insisted that I get some weird anti-glare screen thing and basically, I just do what he says when it comes to technology and he does what I say when it comes to following social norms. We all have roles.

And so I wait.

In the meantime, no drawings. I’ve tried using the same program (Paintbrush) on Brian’s computer but it just doesn’t work.  It’s a real problem.

And the drawings distract the reader from the fact that I really have nothing of use to say. So I’m left with just random crap that is floating around in my head. Sorry, everyone. I’m scraping the bottom of my funny barrel and coming up with an empty spoon.

I appreciate the fact that people visit here, even the ones who get here by accident. So far my blog has had 14,000 page views. Of those, 3,000 are of the stupid Ted Nugent piece. I don’t even count them because people are obviously looking for awesome facts on “The Nuge” and aren’t going to read any further when they see that they’ve arrived at a blog that focuses mostly on domestic tasks and my digestive processes. Maybe I should write more on the dingbattery of the American right-wing. Nah. Fish in a comedy barrel, really.

To lure people to my site (and I do think of it as luring), I  need to up the ante. Like weaponry and computers, humour has got to be more and more splashy and over the top and multi-layered in order to get people’s attention. Gone are the days when it was funny to simply hit a man in the face with a pie. Now one must hit a politician in the face with a pie made with the apples from the farm that he agreed could be turned into a mega-quarry. I suppose that’s more like justice than humour, but you get my drift. I can’t just make a joke about, say, my bum. It has to include references to art, literature and politics in order to be humouristically relevant. And I’m just not that smart. Hence the drawings.

And no, there will be no drawings of my bum. At least not today. But you never know….

The next day….

Ok, so Brian figured out how to make my drawing thingie work on his computer. He is so smart. I love him so much. I love him almost enough to NOT show you this. Almost, but not quite:

Here are some pictures to make up for the last 5 paragraphs:

Woman with world’s biggest boob. 

She's sad because she could have been a sex symbol, but instead, she's just a freak. Kinda like Lindsay Lohan.

What Brian’s farts would look like if I were on acid.

My bum.

Thank you for making it this far into today’s blog. As soon as I get my computer, I’ll get my notes back and can write about something that will totally, totally fascinate you. I know there is something in the pipeline about my feet, one about various tv shows and one about something or other that bugs me.