First and most importantly: Do you remember my pony/unicorn named Apocalypse/Mildred/Starbrite?
(No, I can’t officially settle on a name until I’m forced to make a decision. I need the pressure. I do this at restaurants too and it makes Rocco crazy. I narrow it down to three or so options then commence fretting. I have to be the very last one to order. Then, based on the selections of my dining companions and under the scowling eye of our impatient waiter, I can finally pick my entree.
It’s the same scene every time we go out to eat. God forbid we head to a diner. Have you seen the size of those menus? How is a girl to chose? Let’s imagine it, shall we? I’d probably manage to narrow down my choices to a cobb salad, strawberry pancakes, or chicken souvlaki. Then the waiter would come up and be all, “Are you ready to order?” I’d be all, “I’m not sure. What would you recommend?” Then he’d be all, “Are you in the mood for something in particular?” And I’d be all, “Well I’ve narrowed it down to the cobb salad, strawberry pancakes, or chicken souvlaki.” He’d be all, “That’s quite a range of dishes. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to at least limit yourself to a particular type of item? For example, maybe you would like to limit yourself to breakfast foods or Greek foods?” And then I’d look at him mean and be all, “The world is my oyster. I cannot be contained by a genre. I laugh in the face of convention.” He’d get flustered and be all, “Maybe I should give you a little more time to look over the menu.”
So, if we follow this analogy out to its obvious conclusion, I won’t be able to pick a name for my hoofed-best-friend-to-be until its time to eat him/her. That’s just sick. Maybe I’m not yet ready for a pony/unicorn named Apocalypse/Mildred/Starbrite.
This post isn’t going at all like I planned. Perhaps I should have had a plan. Wait, what are YOU writing about today? Maybe I’ll just wait until you guys write your posts and then I’ll decide what mine is going to be about. I’m torn between writing about my pony/unicorn named Apocalypse/Mildred/Starbrite, the Olympic Opening Ceremonies, or maybe sticky pen tops.
Also?! Look at me with the five paragraph long parenthetical aside! That’s got to be some sort of record, right? Well I’m pretty sure it’s a record for me. Don’t you wish I’d get some sleep already so I’d start making at least a little bit of sense again? Funny, me too.
*walks away to explore loud noises in hallway while wearing pajamas and with hair like a cockatoo*
In other news, it turns out that all the loud noises in my hallway are the result of an appliance delivery for my upstairs neighbors. It’s not a hot tub. I asked. Hence, I totally snatched back the congrats-on-your-new-hot-tub bottle of wine I extended while asking, “Hey, did you guys get a hot tub?” Nope, they bought a stove. I have a stove, too. It’s not really that exciting. Obviously they made the wrong call while standing there in PC Richards and trying to decide what new appliance to purchase.
You can just imagine how well appliance shopping would go for me. I’d probably narrow it down to a hot tub, a wine fridge, and a shop vac. Then the sales guy would come up and be all, “What can I help you with this evening?” I’d be all, “I’m not sure. What would you recommend?” Then he’d be all, “Are you in the mood for something in particular?” And I’d be all, “Well I’ve narrowed it down to the hot tub, the wine fridge, and the shop vac.” He’d be all, “That’s quite a range of appliances. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to at least limit yourself to a particular type of item? For example, maybe you would like to limit yourself to kitchen appliances or things that involve the propulsion of air?” And then I’d look at him mean and be all, “The world is my oyster. I cannot be contained by a single genre. I laugh in the face of convention.” He’d get flustered and be all, “Maybe I should give you a little more time to browse the showroom.”
Also, just a little FYI – people look at you funny if you show up at their door around noon bearing a bottle of wine while wearing your pink flowery pajamas and cockatoo hair, peering around the dolly and delivery people, trying to figure out what nifty new thing has just arrived in your building. Even in New Jersey.)
I think I found another person madly in love with ponies/unicorns named Apocalypse/Mildred/Starbrite. Although technically, the maker of this game didn’t name his unicorn. Maybe that’s because the unicorn is a robot – a robot that dances, prances, grants wishes, becomes a star, and bursts into flames! Did I mention that it does all those things while Erasure plays in the background?!?! I know! Could you just shoot rainbows out your ass in excitement? Me, too! Then again, that could just be the Indian we ate last night.
Anyway, play this game. I triple dog dare you not to giggle. Also, you may become consumed by the urge to braid something. NOW who wishes they had a pony/unicorn named Apocalypse/Mildred/Starbrite?
As far as the other topics I had intended to write about today…
Olympic Opening Ceremonies
If I had to pick one musician that could rival the heinousness that is Rod Stewart, it would be Bryan Adams. That song was horrid…HORRID…and should never EVER happen again. I was worried Nickelback would make an appearance, but that was far, far worse. That’s a negative one hundred points, Canada.
Visually, I could have watched those whales and trees and wheat fields all damn night. My mind was blown. I’m awarding Canada seventy points. (Yes, I’m Dumbledore – work with me here.) Also? When I think of Canadians, I instantly think plaid wearing, punk rocking, fiddle playing, tap dancing loggers. So you guys TOTALLY nailed that one – another ten points to Canada. Slam poetry? Twenty points to you Canada. You almost made me forget about the Bryan Adams incident.
But Canada? You ended things on a weird note for me. For starters, my first lesbian crush was on K.D. Lang. (She was cute once, I promise. Plus she loves Tony Bennet almost as much as I do!) So I was thrilled to see her barefoot booty singing her heart out on the giant wedding cake in the middle of the stadium. That’s twenty more points, Canada! I also LOVE the Cohen penned, Hallelujah. Jeff Buckley’s version is still my favorite (though Justin is giving him a run for the money), but I’ve yet to meet a version I didn’t like. K.D. rocked it. Her performance was stunning and moving and everything I expect from that song. (For the record, the answer is no. His recording Hallelujah would not change my feelings about Rod.)
But Canada? You don’t think that song is a little weird for the Olympics? Have you listened to the lyrics, Canada? In my mind, your song choice was almost as weird as when those girls in middle school would call up the disc jockeys during the dedication show on Friday night and send out Jody Watley’s “Friends” to their BFFs to celebrate their undying friendship. Ok it wasn’t THAT far of a stretch but it was still weird. WEIRD. I’ve got to knock off another ten points, Canada. Call me next time. I’ll help you out, free of charge, ’cause I love me some Olympics.
Lastly, you need to stop watching Superman, Canada. I’m really sad you had your technical difficulties with the indoor cauldron, but one more growing ice stick would have just made that thing look even more like a kitchen appliance in the Fortress of Solitude (now THAT place really needed a hot tub). You also gave me heart palpitations when it looked like the outdoor cauldron wouldn’t light. Stop scaring me, Canada – minus ten points.
So you broke even, Canada. I know that sounds harsh, but after the whole Bryan Adams fiasco, that’s a pretty solid turnaround. Good for you.
Sticky Pen Tops
I don’t like them. They’re annoying. The end.