Tuesday Television Tirade

Okay.  It's December 6.  People might have tinsel and reindeers shooting out of their asses already (to replace the usual rainbows and unicorns? 'Tis the season, after all.) but I don't.  I did, however, get out the majority of the Christmas decorations this afternoon and got things organized to wrap gifts.  I say the majority of the decorations because I can't find the rest.  They're somewhere.  That's what happens when The Hubs "rearranges" the garage. I had all the stuff out to wrap, but then Captain Awesome decided that 45 minutes was acceptable for a nap.  (He was wrong.)

December 6 is a little early, in my honest opinion (don't hate, I love Christmas, when it's Christmas, not September.), for Christmas specials.  TV doesn't think so.  And because The Preteen heard that Justin Bieber (OOOOOOOOOOOOOHJUSTINBIEBERISGONNABEONNNNNNNNNNNWEGOTTAWATCHITHEISSOOOOOOOOOOOOTALENTED!) was going to be on, and because The Hubs never turns down a moment to make fun of her for liking ol' JB (she claims not to, but she's a horrible liar - the minute he walked on stage, she sat up straighter and GLOWED), we watched.  And I fell in LUV with Michael Buble.  He is cute, he can sing, he sings about booze -what's not to love?  Except he had stupid Kellie Pickler on.  I'll forgive him.  Because he's ADORABLE.

I'm 30 minutes into The Biggest Loser Homecoming, and I don't think I've stopped crying yet.  I hate this show, yet I watch it pretty religiously, because my GOD, I want to see that change in myself.  The pounds and the numbers aren't the most important thing, but to love who I am and to be as healthy as I can be for the rest of my days - that's what it's about.  Oh, who am I kidding.  Of course the pounds and the numbers are incredibly important to me.  And I'm rambling.  This show makes me bipolar.  I find myself really cheering these folks on, yet being insanely jealous of their progress.  Of course, if I was at the ranch with all these amazing healthy foods at my disposal, and Bob and Dolvett working my ass off (I am not a fan of Anna.  Maybe its the whole dating Enrique "The Mole" Iglesias thing.  Ew.) I'd have that success, too.  Anyone want to come over and yell at me while I'm on the treadmill and force feed me vegetables?

Anyway, now that I'm the only one awake in the house, I should go get stuff done, but I really need to pee.  And I can probably come up with 8,000 other things to get started and not finish.  Like this bottle of wine sitting here.  FINISH WHAT YOU START, KELLY!  Let's start with the wine, shall we?

I was my biggest pet peeve today.

Rumor has it in March, we're getting a Publix (which I can't help but call PUBIX in my mind) grocery store. Do you know what this MEANS?!?!?  NO MORE WALMART!  (Sorry Kroger, but you suck donkey balls.  Except when you have 10 for 10.  That's cool.  But your 10/10 stuff blows ass.  Someone had to say it.)

I'm sitting here with a cup of tea (green, if you please - Tazo Zen - is there any other kind?!) snuggling with Sampson (who insists on farting in his sleep, disgusting, but not as bad as it could be since my nose is plugged beyond belief), and thinking about the day.  Which pretty much sucked as much as Kroger does.  I'll not go into details, because it was a combination of things that resulted in a shitball day, but we ended up making a FAMILY trip to Walmart.  And not just any Walmart.  THE ghettoy of the ghetto Walmarts in town.  Why?  Because The Hubs was along "and the lines would be too long".  Oy.  Anyway.

Well, Captain Awesome was wearing his pissy pants, and The Preteen forgot her ears, and taking The Hubs to anywhere that has an electronics area is just stupid if you want to get in and out relatively quickly.  Add on the fact that I've been out of my "take one and the chance of a anxiety attack goes down a little" pills for a couple of days (because my doctor's office scheduling staff are EVIL and hate me) - this trip was doomed by the time we realized we weren't going to find a parking spot within 1/4 mile of the store.

I was one of THOSE people today, you guys.  I yelled at my kids in public.  I did.  I did it willingly and without shame (well, until now).  I might have even said fuck.  Twice.  In the Walmart Subway.  And I was still the least offensive person in there.  So I cried about it, hugged my kids 1000 bajillion infinity times since then, and cleaned up a massive pile of dog poop in repentance.  And I bought swiss cake rolls (why are they swiss?) for The Preteen's lunch tomorrow and Spaghettio's with sliced franks for Captain Awesome (nothing like some fat and MSG for my kids as a reward.  Shut up already.)

Can someone say something to make me feel better?  Please?  Because if you don't, I might be forced to eat a pint of ice cream that I may have bought and hid from everyone.  (It's Phish Food.  That shit is like currency around here.  And it's MINE.)

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow...?

Ooooh, tomorrow's gonna be crazy. CRAZY. I start my doctorate. My DOCTORATE, y'all. It still sounds weird. Probably because part of me still feels like I just moved out to the local community college and I should go home and do my laundry every weekend. It's online, so like the commercial says, "get on your pjs, and get to class!" Barf. I might be in my pjs, but it will be during naptime and and after the kids are in bed. In fact, I should be an overachiever and read ahead; the syllabus is posted, after all, but I think I'm going to bed. This weekend has sucked hairy donkey balls, and we all know how pleasant those are.

Actually, before I go to bed, I'm going to have one last sinful snack. Probably loaded with chocolate and trans fat. I get to start my shots tomorrow! I really thought I was going to have to wait, but I'm not. My mom, bless her, is making me start. She's putting the money in our joint account to use if by chance President Obama doesn't sign off on the budget next week. We'll be paid on Friday, but it's the paycheck on the first that's in question now. Cross your fingers and your toes, because I like to pay my bills and feed my family. And Rox Box sure likes treats. I don't even want to talk about that whole debacle last week because it still infuriates me. Whoa, topic jump much? ANYWAY... tomorrow, 3 pm, I'm getting poked with a needle that will make my body consume my own fat. GENIUS. It also means that I need to take a "before" picture. I might barf right after, but I'm going to do it. I'm also going to stand on that thing, that is in my bathroom, what do you call it? I avoid it at all costs. Oh yeah, the scale. *dun dun dunnnnnnn*

Tomorrow is a scary day for me. On so many levels. School I'll be able to handle. Not being the self-deprecating fat girl? What will I do with my time?

ps... I just saw Tim Tebow in a Jockey commercial, and while I didn't mind seeing him half naked, I'm not real sure why they felt they needed to have him talk.