If sass could be musically expressed, it would be this song–”Let Me Think About It” by Ida Corr vs. Fedde Le Grand. Which is why it is currently on iTunes repeat until the end of time.
Sorry for the scantily clad ladies in the video. Curmudgeons may have to close their eyes.
And the reprise:
Gotta love Hungarian Idol… Or Bulgarian Idol… whatever. 
Lately, I’ve been coming to grips with my geekiness. Having a blog, freaking out about missing Google Reader subscriptions while on vacation and bringing up Facebook at parties should be indication enough. Still, somehow I thought I was mostly normal. Apparently scoring high on the geek-o-meter may not be a bad thing. Matt thought I was a nerd before we started dating and now we’re getting married. And it seems like the mainstream embraces us too — from movies to Mariah:
This video may be old news to most of you, but I’ve been putting off watching it until today.
I want to be this girl’s best friend. Gene Shalit better watch his back because this 3 year old is gunning for his job.
Something has to be said about my mental state when I’ve been deja-dreaming of the next workday’s tasks for three nights in a row. In these dreams I recall yelling the police’s non-emergency phone number over and over again. Perhaps because IRL, nobody calls me back. Another dream was that I was lost driving around and yelling “press conference!” all over town. This did in fact happen this morning. Then there was the dream where yells were directed at me after the printing of two words. Oi. Lots of dream yelling can’t be good.
Anyway, if that paragraph didn’t fill you in, life’s been a bit more rough than usual with vacations and intern trainings and oil fill-ups and, oh, have I mentioned how nobody calls me back?
When I was getting my minutely Perez update (I’d hook myself up by IV if I could), a part of me felt for Paula Abdul as he slammed her for needing assistants. If this week taught me one thing, it’s that I could use some professional assistance. If my diet alone isn’t proof, then how about the fact that my renewed library books are overdue. Again. You think I would have learned last time. I would return them, but, I bought special Post-It flags to highlight the pages and that would mean facing the mean library lady and forking over cash (not coins, but cash!) to renew. Also, I don’t know if I could find all the books in the time I have before leaving work. And dare I mention that it was my mom who finally returned everything last time? Borrowing from the library isn’t worth it for lazy busy, working professionals.
Maybe Paula’s got it right.
Okay, maybe not about the jerk thing. Or about the gobbling of meds. But definitely excusable, nay, it’s imperative that she have hired help.
So I hear farthings are worth about a quarter … of a penny. Any takers?
Matt, Christine and I just finished watching Music and Lyrics, and this was the appropriate response:
Quite possibly the funniest video ever. Perhaps Will Ferrell’s finest moment behind the camera.
The Landlord:
(Read on …)
There’s nothing like ANTM to make a stressful day better. That and some rockin’ tacos. What’s in store for this episode? Cat fights? Jael being normal? Well if there’s one thing we can count on, it’s an action packed hour of models. Oh and Tyra’s pirate do-rag… Here we go!
8:04
Yay, Natasha episode! She’s a mom? Oh dear…
She’s a feline mail order bride. That explains a lot.
8:06
Looking your worst may be the best thing that ever happened to you. Like last week’s crime scene? How could they look worse?
Too bad Melrose didn’t get the “how not to dress” lesson…
8:09
Renee has lost her goodwill vibes and is bashing the plus sized contestant.
“Will there ever be a plus-sized model on the cover of Vogue?” I think the question, Renee, is will this ever be on the cover of Vogue?
Ponder that a while, hunny.
8:17
Why would Dionne be picking out clothes when she almost got the boot for it last week?
8:18
I LOVE NATASHA! I’m going to use that excuse here and at work. “No, mister boss, it’s okay, when you make up a name, you can spell it any way you want.”
8:21
Aw poor Natasha. No respect.
And Stuart? He’s speaking in complete, articulate sentences. Total mail order bride.
8:26
This photo shoot was totally Miss Jay’s idea, wasn’t it? And it’s definitely not as cool as last cycle’s celebrity couple’s shoot.
8:28
Oh man. Renee does look better as a man. People shoould listen to me more.
And Jael? Totally Sonny and Cher.
8:30
And Sarah? I totally bought a mocha from him yesterday.
8:31
Dionne needs to speak up about the clothes thing. Seriously. It would up the ratings times five.
8:32
I told you from the beginning Natasha is the best part of this show. All the girls were confused as to why she was preparing and finding out more about her character.
8:34
WHY isn’t Mr. Jay on the panel. He’s the voice of reason. I guess he’s like Tim Gunn. The show favorite who’s stuck playing counselor to blase contestants.
The Break Breakdown
Why is Tyra dishing out a lesson on how to dress. Point that retired model finger right back around, missy. Scroll down here to see some of Tyra’s finale get ups.
8:42
Tyra’s pirate do-rag is gone! A headband, sure. Maybe the bangs are finally covering up last week’s bad weave. A lesson she needs to learn, case 1 and case 2.
8:43
Nigel said what we were all thinking about Jaslene: “You look like a good looking guy.”
Which one’s the tranny?
8:49
Just give the prize to Natasha now so we can just spend the rest of the episodes watching her?
8:52
I’m tired of these girls looking like boys. You don’t see that crap in Vogue.
8:54
I don’t know who the guest judge either, but she was definitely right on in the “next” comment for Jael. Hula hoop on home soon, please.
8:55
Will it be down to the plus-sized models? I thought post-retirement Tyra would keep them until the end.
8:57
Finally Diana goes home. Sorry dear, this competition is not for you. And everyone knew that from the beginning. Amazing though, how this show can suck the life out of vivacious people.
9:00
Well Matt just walked into the room with warm, ooey gooey chocolate chip cookies. I’m amazed that I’m still sitting here after typing that. It’s been fun ANTMers, and until next week, I leave you with this:
I figured it out. Well, perhaps MIMS did first, but he really educated me. For so long I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m so hot. It’s been really bugging me lately. But finally the answer came from a song on radio repeat, which has only now gotten through my thick skull.
This is why I’m hot.
This is why I’m hot.
This is why, this is why, this is why I’m hot. (repeat times five billion).
I’m hot ’cause I’m fly. You ain’t ’cause you not.
This is why, this is why, this is why I’m hot.
Oooooh! Being fly is why I’m hot and ’cause you ain’t ’cause you not! Thank you, MIMS for figuring this out for me.
And for Napoleon.
And for someone’s grandpa.
This is Cody, a.k.a. Wiggly Butt. He’s almost a year old, but he’s still acts like a confused puppy. He’s finally getting the hang of potty training, but still slips up now and then. Prone to loneliness, he will chase you down if you leave the room and whimper when you’re playing tag too well. And he doesn’t run as much as he does this hopping/galloping thing. But he’s not entirely a goof. He doesn’t tear up papers anymore (since Matt caught him in the act and scared him), and he doesn’t bite or chew up stuff (well, except for that one corner of the new couch).
We’re still working on his Frisbee skills. With the combination of the border collie/Australian shepherd breed and our the love of the plastic disc, Cody has no choice but to be the best Frisbee dog ever. We know we need to get him those doggy Frisbees, but he just improves by leaps and gallops with the regular 175 grams of hard plastic. While the skills may be sub par thus far, he loves the Frisbee. He really loves chasing after it, chewing it (which is fine, since it’s a Wham-O), growling at it and keeping it away from Matt and me.
But then there’s still the whole coordination thing he needs to work out:
But in the month he’s been in Matt’s family, I can’t imagine life without him. I love my little doofy.
