I should be dead, but I’m not

Warning: This blog has references to poop.

Today I went to the doctor for a checkup and my blood pressure was 86/55. It has been nearly that low the last four times it has been taken. To make sure I am not officially dead, she asked me a number of questions.

One of them was “Do you experience any black or maroon stools?”

Um.

My response was that, no, I have never seen anything that is the colors of my high school in the toilet, but I will keep an eye out.

If I start seeing things there in blue and red, the colors of my college, I will take pictures.

Doc’s suggestion was to drink a lot more water and prepare to live forever – but possibly prepare to faint at any time should I not eat immediately upon being hungry.

Perhaps someday, through concentration, I will be able to raise and lower my blood pressure at will. Just like Dwight Schrute and his cholesterol…

A side note…”Two Cathedrals” is perhaps the greatest hour of television ever made.

That is all.

I’d like to buy the world a Coke and then make it explode…

As I was driving home yesterday, a soda can in the back of the Element exploded. It sounded like a gunshot or a tire blowing out, and it scared the living shit out of me. It also disrupted my ability to concentrate on E! True Hollywood Story: Blossom.

It also sprayed Coca-cola all over the inside of my car and the back of my head.

It was the perfect end to a terrible day. I consider it to be a manifestation of all ny recent negative energy – so much energy that I can make soda cans explode.

Why was there a random can of Coke in the back of my car? It was left there from the episode known as “worst Redskins experience ever a.k.a my husband should not drink with college students.”

Also, I am just going to type “Anderson Cooper” in every blog entry from now on, because it increases traffic tenfold. Go buy his book. He doesn’t have enough blue shirts.

At least she’s reading it for the articles

In an attempt to cheer myself up today, I present my dog reading Maxim.

An Open Letter to Anderson Cooper

Dear Anderson Cooper,

I love you for many reasons, some not appropriate to list here in public. Now I love you even more because you watch “My Super Sweet 16″ and admit it to the nation. Thank you, Entertainment Weekly. Thank you, Anderson Cooper. You made my week, and possibly my life, so much better.

I watch it too, but in secret, with the remote in hand, ready to change the channel if someone should walk into the room.

Not anymore.

You have inspired me to hold my head up high and not ever be ashamed of any of crap the I watch on television, not even My Super Sweet 16. I feel like I balance it out because I watch your show. It’s sort of like eating a box of donuts and then running a mile. I have reality show bulima, and you may just have saved me.

I will have to find something else to be ashamed of, but that’s easily doable: it’s what they taught us how to do in Catholic school. Perhaps it should be the fact that my biggest and most inappropriate celebrity crush is on a newscaster who once hosted “The Mole.”*

*In the interest of full disclosure of crap I watch, I loved “The Mole.” Even when Ahmad Rashad hosted. But not as much.

With kindest regards,
Kristin

P.S You can come over and watch “My Super Sweet 16″ with any time. We can wear blue Prada shirts and eat popcorn together. I promise not to bring up hurricanes or Jack Cafferty, and I will not turn to The Weather Channel even one time. Also, your sexual orientation is not something about which I give a shit.

P.P.S. The book rocks.

Jesus is born

I told you god was a woman.

Referrals

Someone got to this blog by searching for “Anderson Cooper Richard Quest are they dating?”

Hee.

CNN most likely has a policy against their employees fraternizing, but the fact that someone out there wants very badly to unite my favorite news anchors makes me happy.

They could have a best-dressed man on CNN walk-off.

File this under "things I thought I would never live to hear"

What made this trip worthwhile was hearing my 80+ year old grandmother shout out “boob” as a “body part that starts with the letter B” during our game this evening

A close second place was my mom and her best friend simultaneously shouting out “G-string” for “article of clothing that starts with G.” It’s no wonder my dad hid out and watched TV.

Also, my other grandma, who is my mom’s mother-in-law, encouraged my mom to have an affair with Paul McCartney.

Now you see where my perverted mind originates. Some families hand down china, or jewelry, but not this one.

Things I have thus far accomplished on my sojourn to my homeland

In no particular order:

1. Ate my grandmother’s delicious golumpki.

2. Slept until 11, didn’t get in shower till three.

3. Watched two episodes of Judging Amy with my sister.

4. Finished Kitchen Confidential, started Acts of Faith.

5. Ate Victor Emmanuel’s pizza and salad.

6. Flat-ironed my hair for no reason.

7. Used my mom’s insanely amazing Barnes and Noble discount to purchase Freakonomics.

8. Pissed off my husband by calling him from Best Buy and telling him he gets no presents since he chose to go golfing this weekend. Also seriously considered buying season two of Full House on DVD, but thankfully did not bring my wallet along.

9. Made what was apparently a terrible suggestion of a grammar reference book as a graduation gift. I got one and loved it.

10. Stubbed toe on old dresser. Also, almost fell down stairs.

11. Had great conversation with old friend via email about the poor dating choices we made in high school.

12. Took a power walk while really missing my pooch.

13. Wandered around my parents’ house, amazed at the renovations.

14. Wrote too many blog entries, because I am happily bored and truly loving spending two days in the throes of inertia. I plan to go home with a quiet mind.

Plans for tomorrow are possible trip to find a good bagel, dinner with the mommoms, and lots of heated card games. Also, more hair flat-ironing.

Jesus Jolie-Pitt

I swear to you I thought I was reading The Onion.

Edited to add: Jesus’ birth was not “highly anticipated”. Didn’t you read The DaVinci Code? No one really knew he was coming, hence the whole being born next to cow poop in a stable. Certainly, Mary didn’t have to ask for privacy from the hordes of B.C paparazzi thronging to Bethlehem in anticipation. The three wise men did not work for US magazine. The shepherds did not accidentally drive their sheep through a stable wall and have a collision in order to get a great picture of the Son of God.

CNN, I am ashamed of the quotes you pick to use as your subheader, although I guess the fault really lies with Darryn Lyons, the moron they are quoting.

Suddenly, the reason hard-core Christianity appeals to so many people in the South have become blatantly clear…at its base is a dude who was born next to farm animals in a dirty stable because his parents showed up too late to get a room. It can’t get any more white trash.*

*And thus ends the week of saying things that will offend religious groups. Hopefully, those of you reading this understand the nature of satire and sarcasm.

There she is, Miss Non-Talented America

The other weekend over Vietnamese food, somehow a friend and I got onto to the topic of how skewed the Miss America talent competition is towards those with performing talents. Our husbands were not nearly as interested in the conversation, but that is because they were busy drinking Belgian beer.

But it’s a true fact that without the ability to sing or play the timpani, you are not going to wear that sparkly crown. When did the last Miss America get up on stage and winthe talent competition by food and wine pairing (friend) or sentence diagramming (me)? The answer is never. The Miss America pageant practices such blatant discrimination agains the non-performing-arts talented that it makes me want to make signs and write letters to my congressman.

Regardless, I am adding a new talent to my repertoire – the ability to tell the difference between 73, 72, 71, and 70 degrees on the thermostat. As my husband will gladly tell you, I like it freezing cold in the house and when someone (him) moves the temperature to a more normal, temperate 72-75, I can tell within minutes.

Yes, I know it is a waste of energy, but before you go all Al Gore on me, realize this: I try to limit gas consumption, recycle paper products, support alternative energy resources, and am in the process of becoming carbon neutral. However, I like to live in a meat locker, and that is my choice. I choose me, Kelly Taylor-style.

I also like to air-condition the outside, so take that, Dad.

Judge all you want, but I am taking my sweatshirt-and-blanket-wearing in the middle of summer self straight to the crown. You can try and stop me, but you’re probably frozen into a block of ice from sitting on my sofa.