The Miniature Olympics

Are all of you watching the Olympics?  I am. I love them.  I have watched them all my life. And I always think that if sports like handball or synchronized diving were televised regularly I would watch them.  Probably not though.  But I like to pretend to be that generous of spirit when saying things publicly.

Something has struck me with these latest games.  I'm sure it's not a new development but it's something I never really noticed before.  Olympians are massive.  Not necessarily very wide, though some are.  I mean they are effing tall.  That is to be expected when dealing with the best of the best of sports as in most athletics extra height gives you an advantage.

If anyone wants my sunglasses I'll list them on Ebay for you.

And this, my dear friends, is discrimination (you know I only write when I'm peeved about something so don't act all surprised).  It's plainly discrimination.  As plain as the 'petite' written on all my pants.

Before you go and say 'oh well, suck it up.  These athletes are the best and tough titties if you're not the best because you're not 84 feet tall.'

Oh, you would be sooo wrong by saying that to me.  Not to mention a little bitchy.  Check yourself before you I smack you.

We have other olympics tournaments.  We have the Paralympics which is for athletes with physical disabilities.  We have the Special Olympics for athletes with intellectual disabilities (that description is from their website before you scoff- I know if it's intellectual disabilities why isn't Paris Hilton the all time champion?  Got me.).

Why then can't those of us who are short get our own Olympics?  I can't compete against those amazon volleyball players or runners.  I certainly don't have a chance in swimming when their bodies are practically twice the length of my own.  It's elitist I tell you.  It's heightest.  

In fact, I would go so far as to say that the IOC hates short people.  If not, why would they exclude us in this way?  Make no mistake, they are excluding short people.  If they were trying to include us they'd add sports like 'who can touch their toes the fastest' or 'who has the smallest shoe size.'  Yeah, I know those aren't real sports at this time.  But you're missing the point.  The point is that the IOC is a hate filled organization.  And that hate is spelled 'tall motherfuckers.'  

They don't even let short people work at the Olympics.  We could never hang the flags from the ceiling during the medal ceremony, for example.  We also can't reach up to put the medals around the tall athletes.  And when was the last time you saw a cauldron that wasn't hundreds of feet in the air?  The IOC is playing a constant game of monkey in the middle.  And who's the monkey?  The short people.  They are calling us monkey.  That's totally racist too now that I think about it.

To sum up:  

Being tall helps you in sports.
I'm not tall.
That is why, the ONLY reason why I am not an Olympian.
The IOC hates short people.
I demand they have a Miniature Olympics for all of us short arses.  Not the midgets though.  They can have their own.  Cause midget Olympics would be fucking awesome!  

Let's revisit an old friend.

This is my best selling item.  I sell shit loads.  See what I did there? I said 'shit'.  And guess what?  I'm still a professional.  Oh yes.  Somebody stop me.

Because I said so.

The creation of this cozy was inspired by all the douches out there who say if you do 'xyz' you're not a professional.  Of course xyz is the substitute for any number of things their small little minds have conceived to denigrate your behavior.

Here are some examples:

1) If you swear you're not a professional: I think I prove that wrong time and again.  I thank you. 

2) If you are humorous you're not a professional:  Somebody tell that to all the presidents whose entire administrations have been jokes.  

3) If you don't act like I do you're not a professional: Sorry but I don't think an asshat matches my outfit.

To sum up, professionals come in all sizes and colors.  I think we can all agree.  Well those of us who aren't morons would.  Sure we may not all act exactly the same but that's a good thing. Because a world full of most individuals I meet would be like the Matrix sequels.  A complete and utter disappointing letdown covered in pleather and arrogance. 

That's a bit shit 8

It's not fall yet.  

Kiss my ass summer.

Cooking dinner when you're tired. - Maybe if I don't bother they'll eat each other and I can cross cooking off my chore list.

Knowing that I'm too old to ever be an Olympian.

Is random flatulence an event yet?

The tale of the 4th chair

Does anyone still have one of these?  The lonely fourth chair?  You know the one I mean.  The one that gets pushed up against the wall so no one could even sit in if they wanted to?

Who invented this?  Probably the same person who never picked me for the kickball team in gym class.  How did he pitch this idea?

"You see sir- we'll sell a table with four chairs.  But then, we'll make the table big enough that in order to allow a single person room enough to cook they'll have to shove the table up against the wall.  So they'll be paying for four chairs when they'll only ever use three!  If they need a fourth they'll just grab the little stool from under the telephone. Stupid bastards! (evil laugh, evil laugh, evil laugh)" - Why buy one when you can have two for twice the price?

"Ingenious" said the money grubbing furniture manufacturer.

When you consider it, there are a lot of things that are like this fourth chair that never get used.  The pan at the bottom of your stack of pans.  The stop sign in a deserted industrial development.  The diaphragm in the Duggar's medicine cabinet.  

And I feel sorry for these items.  Looking all lonely and getting dusty.   But they're sort of the lucky ones, right? They stay young while everything around them ages.  That chair is pristine.  No backside has ever dented it.  No marinara has ever dripped on it.  When Grandma dies and you move the table away from the wall during the estate sale, the chair is a perfect example of 1960s design and function.  And then you can sell it for shit loads on Ebay.

What's the moral of the story?  When you're feeling desperate enough to sell your ass for money, remember the tale of the 4th chair.   It's a better investment to keep your ass to yourself.  

And the Chickfila stuff brought this to life - If I disagree with you it doesn't mean I hate you. I hate you regardless. 

I think I have found my new calling. Short, pointless, ecards. If you think about it, it was an obvious next step from painstakingly embroidering short, pointless stuff.

I made some ecards today.

It may become a new addiction.  Eeek! - I didn't know they added 'hateful bitch' to the Olympics until I saw your gold medal. - If this ruler measured failure it would be just your size. - Maybe I would see your pointif I weren't already blindedby your inadequacy.

I'm sure there will be more to come as they're so damn fun!

Sometimes you just need to stop talking to your husband

Why? Because sometimes your husband deserves it. I won't go into some laundry list of what crimes against wife humanity my spouse has committed. We all know what they might be. Lying, cheating, stealing, changing the channel during Real Housewives... all are on equal cold shoulder footing to me. 

The result is still the same. Just. Stop. Talking. I know, this may not seem like a punishment. Men go around claiming we all talk too much anyway. Isn't this rewarding them? Nope. It's not. Why? Well there are two reasons. One, they're sort of stupid and don't realize they should perhaps enjoy this. And two, because it usually means dinner will be delayed or perhaps not even magically appear. 

You see, to our husbands we are like fat and hairy versions of the tooth fairy. We don't collect teeth. We take more valuable things than that, like their youth and dignity. But in return we give them clean clothes, cooked food and half the chromosomes to satisfy their god given desire to spread their otherwise utterly useless seed. We are the tooth fairies for adult men. Sometimes we even wear cute little dresses and nearly smother them with the pillow while we're looking for something. 

And sometimes the tooth fairy needs to shut the fuck up. Cause a tooth fairy that just stands there staring without saying a word is the stuff that nightmares are made of. Next time you'll watch Real Housewives. Oh yes. Next time you'll even like it bitch.

So I watch a lot of horror films

I work from home.  I'm one of those lucky ones.  Not quite as lucky as those ones who are software surgeons or brain engineers.  Cause they work from home and earn a lot of money.  I'm one of those, 'I'd rather work from home and be poor than suffer under the tyranny of a frail bald douchebag as my boss.'   Not that I'm poor.  I'm no slumdog millionaire.  I'm more like a Japanese Yen thousandaire.  But you know I won't be regularly shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue anytime soon.  Not even at Off Saks Fifth Avenue.  Maybe the dumpster behind it if anything.  Seriously, no thanks Off Saks.  If I'm going to spend $100 on a pair of sunglasses I want my ass kissed a bit in the regular Saks.  I don't want to spend that kind of cash for outlet mall, sucking on her slushie, spotty teenager cashier service.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, I work from home.  And I have the added luxury of being able to look at my gorgeous iMac (if my computer were a supermodel it would be Christie Brinkley- looked hot in the 80s and still looks hot in the 10s) while I work.  So I watch a lot of Netflix.  I'm the one who is screwing up the bandwidth in my whole fucking neighborhood.  My stream is busier than a pregnant woman who just drank a gallon of water.  

And I don't know why but I love horror films.  I used to be the type of person that couldn't watch a horror film even in the middle of the day by myself.  Just one eery chord of music and I'd be freaked out for the rest of the day.  I'd start dousing the house in holy water and muttering, 'the power of Christ compels you' while checking every corner.  These days though I'm not that scared.  Yes, they make me tense, or they do if they're good.  But the fear is gone.  

Cause hockey is fucking dangerous.

Why is that?  I don't know.  But what I do know is a bad horror film is better than almost any other bad film.  Because a bad horror film can be funny.  Or at least a spectacle.  But a bad film of some other genre is just bad- boring, dull, devoid of anything good to even look at.  In the horror films you at least get a bit of blood and guts, or maybe some topless coeds.  

Some of my favorites lately?

Grave Encounters
Friday the 13th (all the way up to number 5 or 6)

There are many more I could list.  But suffice to say if you haven't seen a good horror film lately you are missing out.  If nothing else it makes the real scares in life seem not so bad.  Really if you had the choice between say missing a mortgage payment or getting chased through the woods at night you'd probably choose the former.  Or what if the choice were between having dinner with your Dad and his wife or being trapped in the basement of an abandoned mental institution?  Well... I guess on that one I'd choose the institution.  Being transported into some other dimension for an infinity of torture is far easier than eating with that slut around.

Midnight in Paris

Have you seen this film?  You might not like it.  I'm a huge Woody Allen fan.  I'm such a fan I can, all these years later, forgive him for falling in love with Mia's daughter.  After all, they've been together for ages now. Either it really was a true meeting of the minds or he will stay married forever to prove a point.  Or Soon Yi has some serious dirt on Woody that requires he be her husband (he doesn't really need glasses or isn't Jewish? egads?!?)  Regardless, I'm a fangirl when it comes to Mr. Allen and his films.

And Midnight in Paris is lovely for many reasons.  Even if you forget the cute plot, the funny lines, or the gorgeous Michael Sheen, you still have the best character in the film- the city of Paris.

I'm Italian American.  I know people romanticize Italy all the time.  And Italy deserves it.  The life, the love, the passion, the food... oh the food... it's worth of a daydream or two.  But I guess because the grass is always greener I don't imagine myself walking arm and arm with my husband in Rome.  I'm too familiar with it I suppose.  I dream of Paris.  I have never been.  I have visited Europe many times but usually to visit family and since I don't have any Frenchies in my blood line I am woefully devoid of free places to stay in Paris.  I kid, I kid.

Anywho, my regular fantasies of moving to Paris and eating a baguette for breakfast each day are immortalized in my latest piece.  Don't worry, my funny hasn't left me (shut it if you think I never had it).  It's just that the dog days of summer aren't that humorous.  They leave me not wanting a joke, but a stroll on a tree lined street with a lovely view... maybe like this one?

Mid life crisis for women

I'm rapidly approaching a mid life crisis.  However, having my son at 18, I feel as though I had one early since being a parent at a young age made my life feel like it's been on permanent fast forward.  Now back to our regularly scheduled programming, I am presumably on the verge of my natural age one.  

There are so many givens for men who are having a mid life crisis.  A hot young mistress.  A shiny red sports car.  Maybe self tanner and/or hair products.

But let's dissect whether these will work for me, aka a woman.

1) hot young mistress?  No thanks.  I think the crux of a mid life crisis for women is realizing you are no longer capable of being the hot young mistress unless it's to a 90 year old man (can you imagine what an even more wrinkley scrotum must look like?)  And because I love my husband more than life itself, I'm certainly not going to take on some twenty something himbo as my, err, mistress?  Can men be mistresses?  I am hardly going to call some 20 year old douche bag with a flat stomach and bulging pecks a master.  More like moron who looks good in jeans.

2) sports car?  Meh.  I could really go for a little Fiat to drive around in.  I would wear a scarf on my head, and big black sunglasses, and pretend I were living in Rome or Paris.  But that fantasy would be ripped to shreds once I get stuck behind some big, yellow, American school bus.  You can't be continental and sexy in your little Fiat when fat school kids are making faces at you.  Nope, it's hard to be cultured when you're praying that there's e. coli all over that bus window they're licking.

3) self tanner?  I'm incredibly fair.  Self tanner makes me look like I went for a swim in sunny delight.  Hair products I could probably do for a little while but probably the humid southern summers would make that futile quite quickly.

So what is a mid life crisis for women?  What do we do?  I haven't an idea.  But maybe some things I'll test run.

1) Picking what I want on the pizza we order.  Oh yeah, take that!  There are four in my family.  No one loves what I do for pizza.  Black.  olives.  Yummy.  Now I have even more divergent tastes than that- white clam pizza anyone?  Egads!  Yummy!  I don't ask them to eat slimy fish bits though.  Just olives.  And all my gorgeous family members recoil as if I've suggested they eat fetus butter on their Ritz.  So we order two pizzas, both of which are fine with me, but not what I crave.  Well, I'm approaching mid life and I'm going to have some goddamned black olives.

2) Put some streaks of a crazy color in my hair.  Yeah, this is probably akin to the self tanner.  But you know what?  I have been wearing my hair 'normally' for all of my freaking life.  I went to Catholic school and got in trouble for having LIPSTICK on!  "Oh my God?!?  What would Jesus do?  Not wear lipstick.  What do you think Jesus was a tranny???  Get out of here you harlot!"  Okay, that's probably paraphrasing what my Vice Principal told me but still.  I'm going to say, screw it.  I didn't have blue hair in my ones, my teens, my twenties... goddammit I'm going to have it now.  And bonus, when I go to those teacher conferences it'll give the "educators" reason to treat me like a mentally challenged person instead of just doing it for kicks since I'm not an "eh-jew-cay-torrrrr" said with a stench of arrogance so thick I could smear it on a bagel and call it lox.

3) And last (what you say- only 3?  Well mid life is giving me a reason to be lazy- I'm old, I'm tired, I'm on the way out.  So 3 is commitment enough) I think I'll quit worrying.  Yeah, I know this sounds deep and shit.  But I'm really a quite complex person masquerading as a swearing simpleton.  The simple fact is, I've made it this far.  There are tons of people who don't.  They die in horrible, tragic ways long before they get to lament how their dreams didn't materialize.  I'm sure all those kids dying in Africa aren't crying about how they're not Mary Lou Retton or Madonna.  That's just me. They probably wish they were Bono. 

Maple peanut butter smoothie. Yum!

I've been trying to force myself to eat steel cut oats.  I'm not sure if I'm totally on board yet.  But I made a big batch so I feel compelled to eat them each morning this week.

Today I did a smoothie so I could have something portable for breakfast.  It has actually turned out quite yummy as far as somewhat healthy things go.

1/2 cup cooked steel cut oats
1 heaping tbsp of almond butter
2 tsp of real maple syrup
1 ripe banana
1/4 C almond milk or more depending on how stiff your oats are (that's what she said)

Note, since my oats were made ahead they were cold, as was the almond milk.  If none of your ingredients are cold you may want to add some ice.  Or make the smoothie and stick it in the fridge for an hour! 

Blend well together until you can sip it through a straw and enjoy!

I make my shit, yo

So there is a kerfuffle (that I won't discuss greatly) about just how 'handmade' certain items described and being sold as such are in reality.  It's almost as contentious an argument as 'what is art' but with a lot more integrity at stake.

And a movement is building to show the hands of artists and artisans so people know that we aren't just fronting bitches.

I didn't take a photo of my hands for a bit as one, my manicure would make Gollum cringe and two, well, I'm lazy.

But I finally got around to doing it today and thought I would share it with you.

Note the ring on my hand is made by another true handmade artisan who can be found here: The Sly Fox.

No, I don't spin my own yarn.  Nope I don't dye it.  I didn't invent intestines either, but I make all my own shit and doubt anyone would argue with me on that point.

We all know what the real definition of handmade is, and we all know how or why that boundary might be stretched.

But sometimes the boundary is pushed right off a fucking cliff.  And everyone knows when things fall off a cliff, they're usually destroyed in a big, fiery explosion. 

So I entered this contest

which I have a snowball's chance in hell of winning.  Alas I never like to just roll over.  I will do what little (very little) I can to give it the old college try.

Long story short it's something that Walmart is offering where you vote for a product and the entries with the most votes get the chance to sell their wares on  I know, I know.  Walmart's evil.  It's taking over the world.  It exploits people.  But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing to get a good product in there.  As I recall an organic food activist saying after his products were placed on Walmart shelves, to paraphrase, "People think I'm getting in bed with the devil. But Walmart's so big it is where real change can happen."

Now my stuff's not organic.  It's not good for you.  In fact if you eat it, it would be very bad for you.  But I think it's cool that Walmart is empowering small businesses and entrepreneurs.  Sure they'll probably rip the hearts right out of the winner's bodies.  But if I win, I'll make sure to film that bit and put it on youtube so my family can become internet millionaires (or whatever you become when you get a lot of hits on youtube).

So here's the link to vote:

You can vote once a day.  So vote early, and vote often.  There's really nothing better to vote for.  American Idol is so five years ago and the presidential race is full of people as ethically suspect as Walmart.  Sure, I may be ethically suspect too.  But the difference between them and me?  I admit it.  So a vote for Knotwork is a vote for an honest sell out.

I thank you for your time.

Oh, and here's my video submission for the contest:

Being Offensive

No, this isn't a post about running the ball in the NFL.  It's about what we say and/or don't say and how people react to it.

I posted something on my Facebook fan page about Whitney Houston's death the other day.  Some people thought it cruel and "too soon".  I understand that sentiment.  I do not agree with it obviously otherwise I wouldn't have posted it.  I don't set out to be rude.  I am just myself, which apparently lowers the tone and upsets the tranquility of those around me.

And to that I say?  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry I disturbed your little bubble of peace.  Honestly.

But you know what?  I'm disturbed.  No, not like that.  They did all the tests and they came back mostly normal.  But I'm disturbed that people get offended by the wrong things, in my, say it together, never humble opinion.

Some folks got offended that I made a crack about Whitney's crack usage.  I think that's the wrong thing to get offended about.  What am I offended about?

I'm offended that someone given everything (from what we know)- a good family, great talent, wealth, opportunity, beauty, physical health, etc, etc, etc- someone given so much more than literally millions, if not billions of other people on the planet would ever or could ever hope to get- squandered those blessings.

Do people make mistakes?  Of course.  I've made tons.  I have a few in my past that would make you puke your guts out.  Whitney made mistakes I guess.  Note the sentence there- "Whitney" made mistakes.  She made poor choices.  I am sorry for her family that she did so, as I'm sure all of her poor choices hurt them very much.

But I do not respect someone who was given everything and essentially held it up in front of the billions of people who would give anything for a crumb of her blessings, and threw it down, stomped on it and let it drain into the gutter.

I find that more offensive than any quip about her life or death. 

I know that people may find this cruel and judgmental.  Fair enough. Some may say, 'She had her demons. Addiction is a disease' etc, etc.  Again, fair enough. We all have demons.  We all have problems.  Most without the resources or ability to help themselves like Whitney had.  Hell I'm sure there are people in many parts of the world who would trade a year of life to have their last day partying at the Beverly fucking Hilton. 

I will save the tiny bits of my black heart that can empathize for those who do help themselves and who have everything working against them, rather than the other way around.

Hollywood is officially in the shitter

I know I've complained about this before.  Many times in fact. Usually it had to do with a stupid remake (Footloose and Dirty Dancing the most wretched examples).  But Hollywood is well and truly in the shitter.  I really can't criticize it enough.  It is like the black shit that sticks to gum on the bottom of your shoe.  

Have you seen the promos for the new Snow White film?  I had already heard of this some time ago and wondered how Kristen Stewart could possibly play anything other than a depressed waif (in real life as well as films).  And yet there I read that she was to play Snow White.  Fine. Whatever.

Have you seen who is to play the evil queen?  Charlize Theron.  Um, what?  In what universe is Kristen Stewart more attractive than Charlize Theron?  Other than the Twilightverse of course.  In every photo you see of Charlize she looks like a goddess.  She literally looked like one at the Golden Globes- a Greek goddess.  If you took all the beautiful women in the world and rolled them into one uber babe it would surely be Charlize.

Conversely if you took all the crack whores in the world, rolled them into a ball, gave them nice skin and a black mini-dress, you'd have Kristen Stewart.

I'm not a Kristen Stewart hater.  I like the Twilight books.  I think she ruined the films of course.  But it wasn't that hard to ruin them.  It was like pouring sour milk on a bowl of vomit flavored cornflakes.  Even without her, the films still would've made me ill.

Yet again Hollywood you have given me a film I will not bother seeing until it's on Netflix Instant five years from now.  Yes, me, Diane.  The girl who used to go to the cinema every single weekend and actually enjoy it- you even alienated me.  

So go take your depressed Snow White and stick it up your arse.  If you need help Kristen can show you how to cope with something stuck up your backside.

Nobody has balls anymore

On Saturday night I was out with all my jet set friends- painting the town red.  We were gulping champagne and doing lines of coke off high paid escort's backsides.  It was so fricking exciting.

And by that I mean I was sat on my broken couch, snuggled up in my hooded sweatshirt watching the South Carolina primary returns.  I was surprised.  Were you?  

Here's where I admit that I have no idea who I will vote for.  Why?  Cause they all suck. I mean that.  Obama sucks.  Romney sucks.  Newt sucks.  Ron Paul really sucks.  Santorum, yeah, no.  I think the old adage 'you've made your bed, now lie in it' thing has never been more true than now.  We have made this shitty system that gives us only power hungry or deer in headlights or "i'm just making a point with my candidacy" candidates.  And every four years we have to vote for one of the morons.  

So Newt wins.  He wins pretty big.  And I think to myself, why?  He is obviously a shitty husband.  Does that make him a shitty man?  I suppose everyone's opinion will differ on that.  But it wasn't all that many years ago where a man's marital shenanigans would've immediately ended his chances.  I guess during the Clinton years we were finally all brainwashed/convinced that a man's sex life may speak of his character, but we don't care about your fucking character anyway.  Just make us rich!  Screw decency!

Anywho, as I pondered more about why Newt may have won- I mean really who would think that in this day and age the quintessential looking president dude (Mitt) would lose big to the love child of Capt. Paul Watson and Bilbo Baggins (Newt obviously- Ron Paul is Gollum)?  And I've decided it's because Newt has balls.

Now you could argue that his balls are black and/or evil.  But he's still got them.  Who else today has balls? Um, I'll take "Nobody in the fucking public domain" for $200 Alex.  

Every single politician, rock star, actor, golden globes presenter- they've all lost their balls.  I don't know if they were downsized in this crappy economy or if they've been outsourced to China.  But my friends, the balls are gone.  Newt though?  His balls are back.  Or maybe he never lost them.  Not sure.  But I think lots of people just want a President with balls again.  Or at the very least they want someone with balls to debate Obama so we get a real discussion going instead of just a 'how hard are you going to screw us oh dear leader?'

What do we need when dealing with Iran?  Balls.
What's the only way we can fix the economy?  Balls.
What's David Beckham's nickname? Golden balls.

I'm tired of Presidents who are too scared to say shit.  I'm tired of them taking polls of the electorate before they give us their opinion.  I'm tired of them bending over for either the latest Speaker of the House or the latest dictator in some desert to tell them how shitty our country is.  

We need President Balls.  Or President Scrotum.  Or President Hoonies (as my son used to call his- no idea why).

Who is that guy?  Is it Newt? I think South Carolina believes so.  

Women and children first

Unless you're that woman.

Yesterday morning I watched the tragedy unfold about that cruise ship in- where was it?  Off Italy or something? Yeah, clearly I don't have all the details.  Why?  Because the channel I was watching spent all its time letting a passenger talk, rather than giving actual details about the story.  Normally you'd think, "oh a passenger- firsthand account- couldn't get better than that, could you?"

Yes my friends, you could.  Now I'm not trying to downplay the tragedy.  It's not every day people with enough cash to take a European cruise are confronted with life and death right after a seven course meal (chicken or fish?  I had the lasagna).  Rich people tragedy at sea is so much more perilous (see Titanic).  Because all that cash is heavy and makes them sink waaay faster.

So yes I can understand why they were fearful.  But let me say if this passenger's sequined evening gown had trapped her on the ocean floor, there probably would've been a few people on the planet who would've thanked Poseidon for their good fortune.  "There were no signs in English!  There were no staff who spoke English!  We didn't have a life boat drill!  And when we got onto land no one was there to help us! Wah, wah, wah!"

1) You're taking a cruise outside of the United States.  Even in the United States we don't have everything in English.  Going outside our country to anywhere other than, I don't know, the UK, probably means NOTHING WILL BE IN MOTHERFUCKING ENGLISH! I bet you found the fucking way to the buffet though, right?  

2) The staff can change your sheets and clean the puke off your toilet without needing to speak English.  So the fact that you're on a European cruise and the staff not speaking your Connecticut dialect shouldn't be that shocking.  Did your butler book the cruise for you, and you thought that the staff would all be Brad Pitt clones?  

3) Life boat drill?  Put on your life jacket and get to the deck.  Why do we need the deckhands to feel us up (aka 'showing you how to tighten your jacket) to know how to survive a sinking? 

4) I don't know about you, but if I'm on a cruise ship that sinks, and I am lucky enough to get to land without being a dead body, I won't give a flying fuck that the cruise line hasn't set up huts with space heaters and pots of english breakfast.  I will probably just be grasping the sharp rocks and rejoicing in each stab of pain from the jagged edges knowing that the absence of pain is death and I will get to live another day to crap, metaphorically or maybe even literally (since I survived I should treat each day as my last) on all the people I come into contact with who wear name tags.  

This passenger then went on to say how the staff on Royal Caribbean and Carnival were sooo much better. Oh really, when was the last time your ship sank on Royal Caribbean?  Did they have a conga line to the life boats?  Had they set up a volleyball net on the island you were marooned on, and have an emergency supply of pina coladas?  What's that?  When you crashed on American Airlines the flight attendants were soooo unhelpful.  They were just screaming and crying and asking God for forgiveness?  You should write the corporate office!

So in summary- cruise ship sinking bad.  Some people surviving? also bad.  Having enough money to fly to Italy for a cruise and survive the sinking?  Very, very good.  Shut the hell up.

Happy fricking New Year!

Have you missed me?  No?  Shut the hell up then.  You shouldn't say not nice things to me.  I'm emotionally fragile.  

Yeah, I am out of my holiday season stupor.  You lot have no idea how hard I have been working.  Basically it was as hard as a hooker during shore leave.  Only with slightly less dignity.  

My new year's goal for this blog is to have a weekly blog post.  I had tried doing daily.  But that just ended in tears and disappointment.  And if I'm honest, mediocrity.  I think a weekly post with all my cutting edge insights is just what the doctor ordered.  And that I lose 15 lbs.  

So here's to a great start to 2012.  I'm off to buy a bunch of stuff on credit and blame the Mayans if I actually end up having to pay it off.