Start watching Friday Night Lights or I will come to your house and murder you in your sleep

Seriously. I am not a football fan by any means, and I really didn’t want to like this show. Especially since there is enough real football on in my house during the weekend to warrant not adding in fictional games on a television show.

But this show kicks all sorts of ass in ways I can’t explain. I have yet to go a week without crying, feeling like I am suddenly back in high school, and getting nervously sick to my stomach while waiting for the outcome of a pre-written fictional football game played by actors. (If I had this kind of passion for the Redskins, I think my husband would finally conceed to my constant pleading, and I would be the proud owner of a second dog. )

I hear the ratings aren’t too great, and that NBC is quick to pull the trigger on poorly performing shows. So I beg of you, start watching, especially if you are a nielsen family. PLEASE.

Need more proof on how awesome this show is? If I had to choose one show to save between it and Studio 60, I would choose Friday Night Lights. This is a statement coming from a woman who offered to convert to SCIENTOLOGY if God would save The West Wing.

What scares you?

Since the cool thing to do for Halloween seems to be listing on your blog the thing you are most scared of, I thought I would be cool for once and participate. I encourage you to do the same. While I have many neuroses and concerns, such as global warming, neo-conservatives, Aveda going out of business and large insects, there is one thing that freaks me out to the core of my soul.

Deep breath. Here goes….

I have an incredibly debilitating and irrational fear of all puppets and or dollsthat are supposed to resemble real people, especially ventriloquist dummies. I am convinced they are going to come to life and kill me in my sleep. I’m not joking. This is no exaggeration.

The other day, a ventriloquist dummy was on some talk show we had tivoed, and my husband said, “DON’T LOOK. DON’T LOOK AT THE TV!! Don’t worry, I’ll make it go away” and I had to hide under a blanket untill he fast forwarded. He then told me that ” this was a really abnormal fear and perhaps you are indeed insane”, and I had to explain that being abnormal and impossible is what makes a fear irrational. And then he said “so you can’t just get past it?” To which I replied, “hell no, irrational fears are not something you can just ‘get past.’” (All the while during this discussion, my disembodied voice is coming from beneath an afghan. BECAUSE I WAS STILL TOO SCARED TO COME OUT. I am a grown-ass woman but I have to hide from puppets.)

Oh, and I am also terrified that we are all going to die a long death of starvation due to the Supervolcano underneath Yellowstone that will one day erupt and fill the sky with enough ash to block out the sun and halt all agricultural processes. But you didn’t hear it from me.

Hey Husband,

Just as I predicted, one Krispy Kreme donut + one Abita Purple Haze = Jesus.

Dear Cell Phone,

You suck. You keep breaking and not working or charging. I sent you out to be replaced and now you have stopped working again. Your screen is fogging up as if I dropped you in water, but I did not. You turn on halfway, but then freeze and shut off. What is your deal?

You are cute and fashionable, but no longer serve any real functional purpose that I can determine.

Thus, I dub thee the Nicole Ritchie of cell phones.

I will switch you with my unattractive but durable old cell phone until I determine whether or not to replace you with a newer, attractive, reliable model.

The great news is now I get to take another trip to the Verizon store, where I will stand around for several weeks while employees WHOSE JOB IT IS TO SERVE CUSTOMERS will avoid eye contact, act busy as they shuffle papers, pretend to talk on the phone, and move at the blazing speed of a Galapagos turtle on quaaludes when I finally get one of them to realize I am there and ask them for help. I plan on doing all this before consuming breakfast or coffee or my anti-psychotic meds just so I can be in the right frame of mind to raise some hell.

I am not really on antipsychotic meds. Yet.

Love,
Kristin

Conclusive evidence that my husband loves the dog more than me

His response when I explain the need to buy expensive Aveda hair products for myself – “You don’t need them. What’s wrong with Pantene?” (Harsh detergents and too many chemicals that break my hair, overloaded silicone that makes my hair fall out and animal testing for starters)

His response when I told him that I got an email from Kiehl’s advertising ridiculous and unneeded products for dogs that in fact cost MORE than my shampoo and how insanely unnecessary that is – “Oh come on, why not, what’s wrong with that?”

Whatever. She wins. I can’t really argue with cuteness such as this:

Today’s signs that I may indeed lack a soul

1. When, from afar, I saw a person walk smack into a plate glass window and fall backwards from the impact, I laughed really hard.
2. I answered “Capital Ale House” when asked where I go to church.
3. I parked in the “mothers with babies” spot in the lot at Ukrops. In my defense, I have broken bones at this time, but I admit to parking there all the time. I think it’s a bullshit parking space.
4. I did not stop for pedestrians in the same parking lot

Dear Husband,

I just wanted to let you know that while you were taking advantage of your season tickets, I was a good patient today, used my crutches, took my medication, stayed off my foot, and went to Target but used the cart you drive around rather than walking. It was hard and I almost ran over a kid. Whatever. Natural selection.

I’m sorry about the Redskins. They’re dumb and they should not suck so much.

We missed you today. Cbear’s not the greatest nurse. Other than allowing me to pet her all day, she totally did not do any laundry or dishes, and she did not bring me anything other than her rawhide. But I guess if you think about it, that’s really all she has to give.

On the upside, I had a pickle and cheese sandwich for lunch. It was delicious.

Love you,
Me

They all needed some sun today

Below is a picture of our dog, our fish, and our aloe plant taking in some sunshine today at the front door of the house.

The fish and plant need sun to grow. The dog needs to regulate the goings on in the neighborhood. I love my life.

Cracklin’ Rose, you’re a store bought fish.

It’s completely normal to sing Neil Diamond songs to your betta fish while you feed her, right? Right?

Her name is Rosie, after all. And she’s got the way to make me happy…

I swear to you, my husband does not beat me.

I walk into things a lot.
I am incredibly klutzy.
I lack depth perception and peripheral vision.
I drop things all the time
I have a great love of cute shoes, none of which have steel toes.
I also have disproportionately large feet.

All of these things make me totally hot.

They also mean I wind up injured more than anyone past the age of ten should. I am a grown-ass woman, but you’d think I ride my big wheel and fall off of it constantly. My doctor today told me that I should just wear a helmet, steel toed boots, and a suit made of bubble wrap. I told her she needed to improve her bedside manner. She didn’t charge me for a x-ray. I then said she can make fun of me any time she wants.

Why was I at the doctor? Well, this morning, I was assembling a big-ass bookshelf, which is not in my job description,but I wanted to prove that I didn’t need some big strong man to help me. And then dropped one of the fifty pound MDF sides of the bookshelf directly on to my right big toe and second toe.

In the terrible five seconds that it took for my brain to register what had happened, my only thought was “This is going to hurt like a biatch in about five seconds.” Thankfully, I have broken six other toes previously, so I knew what was coming and used those five seconds to bolt to the bathroom, shut the door, and prepare to shout obscenities at the top of my lungs. I came close to passing out and vomiting. I am prone to exaggeration, but I swear to you, I am not. Broken toes hurt more than they should.

This is similiar to the time that I dropped a table-top ironing board on my left foot, breaking three toes and cracking two joint bones. I did a smart thing that morning and went to work and taught all day andTHEN went to the doctor. I wound up in a boot and on crutches for a month.

Between the injured feet, amusement park injury scars on my hand from a childhood incident, broken toes, messed up knee from falling down and the dog pulling me around on walks, multiple eye infections requiring patches, infected finger from the bite of an evil pomeranian which turned into an infected hand requiring a sling, just to name a few, my husband is afraid that people are going to think he beats me. I told him that at least I have not yet George-Foreman-Grilled my foot. Yet.

That is all.