Check out Un mom.
I had to limit my viewing of the Stephen Corbert show. His narcissism is glorious. I kept getting smile-gasms. If he keeps this up, I might fall for him.
In order for me to watch a television program, I need to see real people. I can’t take it when every character in the episode looks like a model. It saddens me.
Speaking of model types. I don’t care for guys that are pretty boys. They don’t send me. Give me a face with character. My gauge is if the guy were to masquerade as a woman, he would be the ugliest woman in the room. That’s my kind of guy. Oh wait, except for Johnny Depp. I always liked him, only because he plays such weird characters. Good looks and being a little askew, hot!
Speaking of characters, I loved the way he played the pirate, Jack Sparrow. I used to tell my son when he was a little boy that I was a pirate once. I would go around saying, “Aaaaargh, matey!” I would tell him stories about the high seas, then look him square in the eye and ask, “Do you beeelieeevvvve me, Beloved?” He decided he didn’t. So throughout his life, whenever I brought up my pirate days, he would sigh, roll his eyes, and tell me how he hated when I did that.
Speaking about rolling his eyes and sighing heavily, he used to do that when I told him I numbered all of his toys. He used to come and ask me, “Mom, do you know where this toy is or that toy?” Why do kids ask us that question? I’ll tell you why, because we truly know where everything is. I was just so amazed that he would think that I would know where he left his Ninja Turtle or the broken piece of tubing that belonged to his space ship. Maybe its because his dad does it everyday too. So one day I started telling him, “Oh yes. I numbered all your toys. Let me see. Um, that toy is number 237. No, No, it’s 239. Toy number 239 is under your bed, near the back on the left side. “ Amazingly most of the time I would be correct because I am a very observant mother and wife. That’s suppose to be my job isn’t it. Keep track of all of their belongings. So after a while, whenever I would respond, “Oh, that’s toy number 1674,” he would sigh and say, “Never mind.”
Speaking of never mind, I never mind when people drive crazy. I just keep an eye out for the zanies and realize that it might be my job to help keep them safe because it keeps me safe too. I see them coming, anxiously driving, or mindless driving, or stupid driving, or aggressively driving or old driving, so I make room. I make accommodations for their driving by slowing down, or speeding up, or cutting off access, or convoy with them until they disappear. No thanks needed.
But thanks are extended to Jim Spyro of Speaking in Caps for setting me straight on the random path.