And so far, I have been amused. Well, occupied at the least. I've spent at least 15 minutes in the setup process, and that's 15 minutes that I didn't spend staring at my empty coffee mug or compulsively checking email or news sites.
Oh excuse me, I just did some work. Apparently a men's room door does not shut somewhere and somehow that is my problem. I love how every time a toilet backs up or a nest of wasps appears or the air conditioning stops working, those are also my problems.
Part of my problem today, for sure, is that I didn't get enough sleep, in large part due to the fact that my husband (who no longer snores due to losing some weight) now apparently talks in his sleep. At least if it made any sense I could be amused but it's just nonsense mumbling. Maybe the problem was the pizza, which is probably the most unhealthy thing we've eaten in three weeks due to having been on the Southbeach, which is a slightly torturous and yet effective diet. Today we're back on the wagon, in particular because I've just ordered my Halloween costume (another 15 minutes wasted at work -- success!!) and if I don't de-carb my meals from now until the 31st I will be scaring people for whole new reasons. The costume is a secret, as is Hubs'. It's the first time in 10 years that we've had a couple's theme for Halloween. We hated each other for most of the first 9, so...
Why do fat people insist on having their backs tattooed? Right above the butt crack? One must ask. Were they, at one time, not fat? Somehow, I doubt it. I am thinking they thought that was a good place for a tattoo of, like, a fairy or a flower or a bird or an insect because it makes them dangerous or something? Maybe it makes them adventurous. It is unexpected, for sure.
A good friend who greatly assists me in not losing my mind at work by emailing me throughout the day has informed me that she also wants one of these tattoos. Above the butt crack area. I momentarily considered self-editing the above ramblings but have decided instead to say: It's OK if she does it. She is going to be my one exception. I personally would not do this due to stretch mark action I have in that particlar area, but I do not believe we share this problem.
I saw "School for Scoundrels" this weekend. Word to the wise: Skip it. It ain't worth $10. Hubs and I unwisely read the reviews AFTER seeing the movie (couldn't believe we hadn't heard something negative about it after witnessing its terribleness) and it's true: Critics hated it as well. I have two words for the writer(s): PLOT DEVELOPMENT. It was like a really, really lame version of Anger Management. I felt robbed. John Heder is good in it, but only as good as an actor can be when he has shit to work with. Billy Bob is irritating. Netflix gave it an average rating of C-. The Boston Globe says it represents a waste of a perfectly good title (so true!) and the Chicago Tribune said it rolled over and played dead. Hubs and I agreed that we kept expecting it to get funny and then as it was ending we realized, "Nope, it's just gonna end like this, isn't it?..." Oh here's a good comment from the New York Post: A lesson in how not to make a movie. hahahahahaha! Rolling Stone is smoking crack: Uproarious and unexpectedly biting. Both lies. The audience was so not in an uproar. And I was never like, ooh that was unexpectedly biting. The San Francisco Chronicle (always super-harsh) is more accurate: "It would require a near-lethal injection of nitrous oxide to induce laughter." Lastly, USA Today says the movie might possibly shave IQ points off the viewers, LOL!!!
All right, I'm tiring of being bitchy. Nice to meet the void that is Blogger.