I Might Swear a Little.

First, I read about the Pussycat Dolls making a reality show to choose the 7th Doll. I can’t even google for a link to this; when I did it the first time there were so many shows dedicated to keeping me in touch with reality TV I became mired. Just take my word for it. Would I make this shit up? Next to Tyra Banks becoming the poster girl for self-esteem and body image (oh she’s proud, y’all, that’s why she’s in her girdle on the cover of People) it’s the most ridiculous oh I can’t even just stop it can’t you?

Then, I turned on the TV at 1:15 (pm) and it was on channel 3, which is the CBC, which is, apparently, the Land that Quality Forgot; there was a show called Living Vancouver which I have encountered and ignored in the past (it’s only been on for a couple of weeks) because it was banal and offered nothing in the way of relevance but it was just beginning a segment entitled “How to Train Your Husband” and I kept watching even though I knew it would make my blood boil but I didn’t expect that, at the end, after the woman’s husband brought her breakfast in bed, she would say, “Praise him, praise him, praise him like a small child or a dog! Or else, he’ll NEVER DO IT AGAIN!” or that I would react to this like an allergic person reacts to freshly mown grass or peanut butter, namely I puffed up and couldn’t breathe.

When I ventured to the website of the TV show to see if there was a comments section and if so, if I would be able to submit a photograph of myself all puffed up and out of breath to make my point because words weren’t going to cut it this time, no, I don’t think so, I found that not only did the story in question not have a comments section but below the story in question, directly, was a link to a Bed and Breakfast package at a local hotel – oh, you say, so what, well, it’s for your DOG it’s a goddamn bed and breakfast package at a really fucking expensive hotel for your fucking DOG because at least HE brings you a hard boiled egg when you ask for it oh wait NO HE DOESN’T, that’s your HUSBAND

…and then I lost what was left of my mind, which, as you know, was about an iota’s pinky-full anyway so, you know, no great puddle of spilt milk there.

And another thing. If any of you ever sees me write something like yesterday’s entry without a caveat at the end like Knock Wood! or So Far! LOL! could you kindly find some way to kick my ass. Yes, even all y’all who live far from me and wouldn’t know my ass from a Coldplay song. I KNOW the rules. I know the baby never keeps doing the good thing it’s doing once you acknowledge it. And I got cocky. It won’t happen again.

PS: The Wedge is playing as I type this. The Wedge is playing Mad World as done by Michael Andrews. Goddamned gorgeous. And now – Radiohead, No Surprises. The second Radiohead song in 30 minutes. I have almost a visceral reaction to Radiohead sometimes, like if I could claw out my pancreas and chew off my ears I would because it’s so beautiful I can’t stand it. Damn. Thanks, The Wedge. I may not swear at all tomorrow.