Oh, boo hoo, I don't have a job. Oh, boo hoo, I don't have any money. Oh boo hoo, there's a zit on my nose that took a month to go away and then, a week later, IT CAME BACK! What the what! Oh boo hoo, I'm alone and I have no one to clean my gutters and my gutters really need cleaning. (That is not a euphemism for sex; my gutters need to be cleaned. Someone bring me a ladder, please.)
And George Clooney is taking Stacy Keibler's enormous forehead to the Academy Awards on Sunday.
Ugh. Shut up, you big baby.
I want to crawl out of my skin and escape from my brain.
To fight this case of "Woe is me," I have written out a list entitled "SHIT AMY SHOULD DO OTHER THAN SIT ON HER FAT ASS AND CRY."
NO. 1: Write Friday's Random Thoughts.
The rest of the list involves a lot of "get off your ass and exercise" and "get off your ass and clean the house" and some of this: "Get off your ass and put on something other than yoga pants!"
Yesterday, I managed to do two of the things on my list. I walked five miles. I did the grocery shopping. Yea, me! OK, yes, I wore yoga pants all day. Whatever. I do what I want.
Let's move on.
I think I need this poster. In fact, I know I need this poster.
Stupid, Horny Bitch
After I wrote a post the other day about the TV character that annoys me the most, I started thinking about another animated character that I hated with every fiber of my being. That dumb unicorn from The Last Unicorn.
Somehow, despite hating the title character with the same red-hot passion with which I hate Rick Santorum, I still saw that movie about a million times during childhood. I have no explanation for this.
Does anyone else remember that movie? Did you hate that stupid unicorn/woman, too? I've decided it's because she was so, say it with me now, WHINY. I blame Mia Farrow. She was the voice of the unicorn.
I also blame the music of America.
Talking to Kate in the Car
This week, Kate has been staying after school for cheerleader clinics. Wednesday, after I picked her up, we stopped at Target to buy black shorts and a white T-shirt for her to wear for tryouts. Yesterday, we bought a black ribbon for her hair. The tryouts are this afternoon.
On the way home Wednesday, somewhere between the Hwy 31 exit and the Alford Ave exit on I-65, Kate said, "Sometimes I have weird thoughts. I was just thinking what if Dad wasn't really dead and he just left because he was tired of us and wanted to go somewhere else?"
"Well, wouldn't that be sad, too?" I said. "If he left for a reason like that?"
"No," Kate said. "Because then he could come back. I'd be so mad at him. No, that's not true. The first thing I would do is hug him."
Today, she'll be so nervous about the cheers and the jumps and whether or not she will make the team. I hope she does.
I can't stand the thought of her being disappointed.
I can't stand thinking about how she imagines her dad showing up alive and well, that she pictures herself hugging him, that she can't really do it. Her entire life will be filled with these imaginings.
I know there are people who like to talk about how kids with married parents turn out better and kids with fill-in-the-blank-stuff-that-conforms-to-religious-political-viewpoints turn out better, but lately I've been thinking this: How impressive is it to be happy and well-adjusted when your life is perfect and easy and laid out for you on a damn platter?
You know what's impressive? A kid who cheers and laughs and actively pursues happiness on a daily basis. A kid who says, "My dad is awesome!" despite not having everything perfect and easy and laid out for her on a damn platter.
In other words, my kid is better and stronger and more amazing in about a million ways than children born into so-called perfect families. I wonder if I could fit that on a bumper sticker.
"Am I the only one who doesn't find Ryan Gosling attractive?" Or this variation: "Am I the only one who doesn't understand the appeal of Ryan Gosling?"
No, you are not alone. (You're sort of nuts, but whatever.)
Everyone likes different things. For instance, I like George Clooney and the rest of you should just back the f*ck off and like other stuff.
Whatever your feelings about Ryan Gosling, you should know that you are one of about 20 people who will post that "Am I the only one..." comment under every single story Jezebel.com ever posts about Ryan Gosling. Find something else to say or shut the hell up and click on another story.
This also goes for people who post comments on design blogs just to say, "That's not really my style." No one cares.
The Help Makes Me Want to Vomit
[Spoiler alert: If you haven't read or seen The Help and, somehow, you don't know what happens, then you have been living in a cave and you also are not aware that Bruce Willis was dead the whole time. But I digress. Anyway, you might want to skip this.]
A lot of people can't get past the idea that The Help is just another movie about how whitey saves black folks. That's not really what I got out of the movie or the book. The black women did all the risk-taking. The white woman helped get the story told, sure, but I never once thought the hero of the movie was Skeeter. There is no doubt, from the very first minute, that Aibileen (Viola Davis) is the hero.
This was my tweet from March 30 of last year:
Also, there's a lot of criticism of the "happy ending" but at the end Aibileen loses her job. What do you think she's going to do exactly? Run right out and get another job in shitty Jackson, MS where Hilly Holbrook, biggest racist of all time, is telling everyone she's a thief? Doesn't seem all that rosy an ending to me. It's certainly not a fairy tale ending.
For me, the ending showcases Aibileen's continued strength in the face of the unknown.
But the ending isn't my problem here either.
I can't get past the idea that the movie's central surprise is so absolutely, gag-inducingly disgusting.
And I don't believe for one second that someone would do what Minny (Octavia Spencer) does.
Think about it. You'd have to, well, poop, fish it out of the toilet, carry it into the kitchen in which you cook all your regular meals, make sure you did not eat corn within the last 24 hours - and, if so, well, you're going to have to do some searching around in your own pile of poop to remove the kernels since everyone knows there's no corn in chocolate pie - and then you have to put your shit into a pie tin.
Are you gagging yet? I seriously just made myself gag writing that paragraph.
I don't care how much you hate someone, how much of a horrible, vile, racist that person might be, are you really going to cook with your own shit to get revenge?
This was the major way I wanted the film to be different from the book. Couldn't they have just had Minnie make stupid Hilly believe she was eating shit without it actually being true?
It's just so gross. I need to go throw up.
However, I still want Octavia Spencer to win the Academy Award.
Oh, Please, They're Totally Divorced By Now
The other day, Jennifer Aniston was asked by the Hollywood Reporter about the possibility of a Friends movie. Ugh, really? Does that sound like a recipe for shit pie or what?
Jennifer answered correctly when she said:
"I can't imagine how you would do it, unless you did it years from now. Then it would be: 'Who are these guys? What are we watching?' I can't imagine what that would be. It's not normal. Friends is in your living room; Friends is not in a movie theater. It doesn't make sense to me. I think it would be going against its authentic self."
But she got this part, about where Ross and Rachel would be now, totally wrong:
"They're absolutely, 100 percent together. They have more kids! He's probably still working, and hopefully they're still hanging out somewhere. It would be really upsetting if they weren't; it would bum me out."
No, sorry, Jen. Ross and Rachel are divorced. Hell, they might not have even made it to the altar. Rachel was a bitch. And Ross didn't even really like the things that made Rachel, well, Rachel.
The Rachel haircut was in fashion longer than that marriage would have lasted.
(Also, "he's probably still working"? What? Most people have to work, Jen. They don't retire at 45.)
Am I the only one who sees that these people did not need to be together?! She was mean to him. He was annoyingly jealous. She did not know the difference between "your" and "you're," for God's sake! She should have gone to Paris in the finale. That's what the movie could be about. Rachel in Paris. Still being a bitch.
Speaking of Bad Couples
I hate this guy.
The Glad Game
A few weeks ago, my brother and I (in different cities) both watched Pollyanna. Afterward, we picked apart the plot (yes, we are awesome) and then we discussed the excellent wardrobe.
I was thinking about Pollyanna's glad game.
Another way to fight self-pity is to be glad about things. So I'm about to get all Pollyanna on you now.
I'm glad that our friend Chris Talley so generously gave us his iPad last weekend. He'd emailed me a few days earlier and said, "Do you want a free iPad? This is not an Internet scam. I'm looking for some non-asshats to give it to and you and your kids qualify."
Kate was so surprised when she saw it. She'd asked for one for Christmas but it just wasn't feasible.
Then, last night, Chris took Jacob to see Wicked. Kate and I saw it last Saturday (the tickets were her Christmas present). It was an incredible experience. Chris and his wife Heather saw it on the night it opened in Birmingham. Last weekend, Chris sent me another message and said he wanted to see Wicked again before it left town. Would Jacob want to go?
"Really? I'd love to!" Jacob said when I told him.
I'm glad both kids got to see this spectacular musical and they both loved it.
I'm glad we have really good friends who do amazing things for us.
I'm glad we're not asshats.