You’re killing me, Orlando.
This is from Orlando Weekly’s “Best of Orlando 2010” which is determined by reader votes.
Other gems include: Starbucks Coffee - Multiple locations for 2nd best coffee house and Chili’s Grill & Bar - Multiple locations for 2nd best happy hour.
I have friends on Facebook (and I’m sure you probably do, too) who have gotten pregnant and acted like they were the first people in human history to ever be pregnant and boy oh boy, will people on the internet find my totally uncreative way of recounting pregnancy fascinating. I really don’t mind…
YES! A thousand times, YES. And it only gets worse once the baby actually arrives. My dream Facebook status update (which is going up the next time I get shitfaced) goes a little something like this: Hey Mommies, before you go typing ANYTHING related to your spawn into your status update, be sure to realize that more than likely NOT A SINGLE PERSON on your FB page, besides your own mom, actually gives a shit. Also, you’re not fun anymore and stop talking about how your asshole ripped during child birth.
I’ve been lucky in the sense that not many of my friends have gone baby-crazy on Facebook, but the stuff I’ve read on STFUParents is enough to make me want to tie all fallopian tubes within a 20-mile radius into double knots.
The 2000’s: century of the over-sharing and under-inhibited.
My wife loves reality shows, like Real Housewives of New Jersey or whatever it is. I cannot be in the room. It drives me insane. I had this realization one day. Ok, you’re watching people that are not actors in phony situations created by people that are not writers. And the non-actors are second guessing how they think you would like to see them behave were the situation genuine, which it isn’t. And you are passively observing this. You’re technically not even alive at this point. You are watching an amateur production of nothing. If you add one more layer to it, the fabric of reality will tear.
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Dana Gould on The Green Room with Paul Provenza (via sharingtime)
YES! This is exactly how I feel about reality TV.
My wife loves reality shows, like Real Housewives of New Jersey or whatever it is. I cannot be in the room. It drives me insane. I had this realization one day. Ok, you’re watching people that are not actors in phony situations created by people that are not writers. And the non-actors are second guessing how they think you would like to see them behave were the situation genuine, which it isn’t. And you are passively observing this. You’re technically not even alive at this point. You are watching an amateur production of nothing. If you add one more layer to it, the fabric of reality will tear.
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Dana Gould on The Green Room with Paul Provenza (via sharingtime)
YES! This is exactly how I feel about reality TV.
Man, Lizzy Caplan just does not have good luck with TV shows.
Starz, you need to get your head out of your ass. What, do you think all you need to run with the big dogs of premium original programming is that blood-and-wang-fest Spartacus: Blood and Sand?
It took me a while to take you seriously. I never really put you in the same bucket as HBO and Showtime until you started airing Party Down and Gravity. Now that you’ve canceled them, you’re going back in the trash bin with Cinemax.
RR You serious?
Come OOONN!
At the risk of tipping my super shitty hand, I’m posting these to show you how hard Words With Friends is screwing me over.
Maybe you guys should employ James Cameron to help you out by inventing a new camera.
He’s only got about seven projects in development; I’m sure he’d be happy to lend a hand.
Seriously, though: I can watch aliens prance—and fly—around a fictional planet, but I can’t see Bill go down on Sookie? Eff this “future” we live in.
It would have been faster to hand deliver this.” Big laughs, I am the comedian of the seventh level of Hell. Thank you ladies, and gentlemen, don’t forget to tip your succubus.
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Does Rage Burn Calories? « It’s Blog.
Lookit, I may or may not have Googled the phrase “does anger burn calories.”
It would have been faster to hand deliver this.” Big laughs, I am the comedian of the seventh level of Hell. Thank you ladies, and gentlemen, don’t forget to tip your succubus.
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Does Rage Burn Calories? « It’s Blog.
Lookit, I may or may not have Googled the phrase “does anger burn calories.”
“I think I might take a long walk. Then watch Forrest Gump on TV. I haven’t seen that since I was about ten. Didn’t like it back then, because I don’t think I understood it. Have to give it another chance.”
“I am really glad that they are splitting the Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows film into two parts because I would cry so hard if the only thing I had to look forward to now was one movie.”
“my background is black. everything is black and white and grey.
now, i’m a firstborn, girl of familiarity and routine. i hate surprises.
to say that this upsets me is an understatement.
WHERE IS THE BLUE, GODDAMMIT?
i wonder if this is happening to anyone else..”
“SERIOUSLY PEOPLE, IFRAMES ARE LIKE 2000 AND LATE. FUUU, IT’S NOT PRETTY, THEY’RE NOT PRETTY, NOT EVEN COOL.”
While I do agree with that last one, I don’t think I would ever quote Fergie or invoke the caps lock key to make the point.
Also, as stated in our class attire and in the Recital Packet, underwear cannot be worn under tights. Tights serve the purpose of underwear so please do not wear any under your costume. This extra layer causes visible bunching and you will be asked to remove it in one of the school’s bathrooms.
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Dress Rehearsal Reminders from my dance studio
Funny story: One time, during one of my dance classes, a woman came in with her young daughter to inquire about the classes offered by the studio. She was given an info packet which she read while standing in the lobby. When she came to the part about class attire she was shocked—SHOCKED—that the studio would require her daughter to not wear underwear. One of the assistants tried to explain to her that tights take the place of underwear, but she was not buying it.
It saddens me to think that some girl was deprived the opportunity to experience the joy that is dance just because her mom is an uninformed, ignorant prude.
Also, as stated in our class attire and in the Recital Packet, underwear cannot be worn under tights. Tights serve the purpose of underwear so please do not wear any under your costume. This extra layer causes visible bunching and you will be asked to remove it in one of the school’s bathrooms.
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Dress Rehearsal Reminders from my dance studio
Funny story: One time, during one of my dance classes, a woman came in with her young daughter to inquire about the classes offered by the studio. She was given an info packet which she read while standing in the lobby. When she came to the part about class attire she was shocked—SHOCKED—that the studio would require her daughter to not wear underwear. One of the assistants tried to explain to her that tights take the place of underwear, but she was not buying it.
It saddens me to think that some girl was deprived the opportunity to experience the joy that is dance just because her mom is an uninformed, ignorant prude.
Hatred for tomatoes: JUSTIFIED
“Oh, and can I get that with no tomatoes?”
I feel like a child whenever I order something at a restaurant and ask them to leave off the tomatoes. I have nothing against the flavor—I love tomato sauce and even sun-dried tomatoes—I just hate the texture.
And the seeds… THE SEEDS!!! They’re like little bits of evil swimming around in a pool of vile goo. At least, that’s what I’d assumed since I’d never actually eaten a tomato. Until yesterday; a day that will live in infamy.
My friends Ryan & Chelsea hosted a House Warming/Memorial Day/Bob’s Birthday BBQ at their new house and the usual group of people were in attendance. There was one random guy, but Bob vouched for him and he’d brought some homemade pasta salad with him. Instant winner in my book.
I made myself a plate with a skirt steak sandwich, some of Laine’s famous baked mac ‘n cheese, and new guy’s pasta salad as triple carbs is the only way to roll on a 3-day weekend. Everything was delicious and I was very much enjoying my meal. I stabbed something that looked convincingly like a misshapen peperoncini (see above) with my fork and popped it in my mouth and then I made a face that I’m not proud of. It’s that face you make when you think you’ve taken a sip of your un-sweet iced tea, but it’s actually your friends Diet Coke. Times a million.
A lesser woman would’ve spit it out into a napkin. I swallowed, shuddered, and moved on to the mac ‘n cheese.
Some stealthy recon on Ryan’s part revealed the offending food item to be a pear tomato. It should be illegal for tomatoes to disguise themselves as other, non-offensive fruits and/or vegetables. I mean, look at this asshole:
Green grape tomato?! Talk about wolf in sheep’s clothing.
