I already posted today, but I am procrastinating. I have ironing to do.
I KNOW. Fucking ironing. Remember back when I told you I don’t do ironing? It was here. Well, apparently, I was lying because now I do. If your husband works a job that requires a fancy button down shirt and slacks, and you don’t leave the house to do a job, then I guess it’s your job to iron. That is, if you don’t want to spend the $2 per shirt to have it done for you. And the pants. Holy shit the pants. I HATE ironing the pants. I can never get the crease right. His pants are the size of those covers they put over tanks or WMDs to keep the satellites from spotting them. It’s seriously the bane of my existence.
So, I guess I decided to put it off for ohhh… about three months. I actually just made him wear golf shirts and sweaters over the top. I mean, it’s cold. That works. But then he started getting pissy. So I gave in and today I’ll be ironing and watching shows that have been clogging up the DVR. Fine. But now, while I’m procrastinating, I will share some of the random things going on inside my brain. Because then maybe I can get some peace and quiet in there.
I freaking hate watching TV shows with British/English (whatever is more pc or whathaveyou) accents. It bloody annoys me. And then I have the word “bloody” in my mind and I want to add it to all the profanity I’m spewing. So then I am wandering around saying “bloody fucking” this and that all day. I think we’ve talked about this before but I don’t want to think about “bloody fucking” so I want that out of my head. Plus, don’t tell anyone, but like 98.3% of all English men are actually ugly. They just are. They’re hairy and have moles in all the wrong places and look dirty all the time and I just don’t like looking at them. So, please don’t ask me to watch anything that came from the BBC because I just won’t. Also, Hugh Grant. No.
Moving on… Victoria’s Secret “fashion” show. The other night Jimmie and I were watching our evening TV when the commercials for the slut show started. Of course, he decided we must DVR it because “there are some great bands performing!” Uh-huh. Riiiight. Now, I am not a jealous woman. I know those women are seriously gorgeous (and plastic.) I really don’t care if he wants to watch them parade around on stage in ridiculous diamond crusted bras and angel wings that would poke your freaking eye out. I don’t. But… well, puh-lease. I guess I just think the whole show is ridiculous. So, I decide that while he’s at work I’m going to turn it on and watch it. Because I honestly never have before. And as soon as one of those brainless debutantes said “every little girl dreams of being a Victoria’s Secret Model” I threw the remote across the room and turned it off. Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a glorified stripper. My little girl better not ever dream of showing her ass on national tv. I don’t care if JayZ and Beyonce are in the audience. Also, John Mayer was sitting there looking uber pervy and I threw up in my mouth.
So, I think I’ll just delete it. Let me tell you, if I were the one prancing around that stage there’d be a lot more than mah boobs jiggling around. And I just don’t feel like competing with trampstravaganza. So, if you’re reading this babe, the “fashion” show is gone. It was… meh. Okay. Nothing to be impressed over.