Tag Archives: TV

To You From Failing Hands

I’ve talked about grace before.

How much I aspire to the state.

How difficult it’s been to achieve, in the past.

In recent years, I’ve thought I was doing better, learning to accept good things, good people.

But every now and again: a hiccup.

 

A little background:  My PVR is dying.  (It’s dead, I just can’t admit it.)  The cable box would stop in the middle of a show, shut itself off.  Recorded episodes of Parks & Rec would turn into one prolonged stutter, until we gave up, utterly resigned and deflated.

I like TV.  So clearly, this was an issue.

My boyfriend started scouting out new PVRs on the internet.  And then announced he had been looking for them at Best Buy.

And I lost my shit.

 

I am horrified by what I did next, but I did it.  I got uber-scary-calm.  And talked to him like he was a not especially bright 3-year-old.  “I do not have the money to replace it right now.  You know that.  And no, you cannot buy one for me.  Because I cannot accept that.  And I am extremely unhappy with you for putting me in this position.”

He looked like I had just kicked him in the junk.

And I immediately felt an overwhelming wave of guilt.

I suck at money.  I suck at managing it (My own, that is.  Other people’s?  I’m awesome at.  But not mine.) And I am especially terrible at talking about it.  I’ve always reserved it as my “no-go” zone.  Something I will never be good at or comfortable with, so don’t make me go there kind of thing.

But that kicked-in-the-junk look made me reevaluate it.

This amazing man, who loves me and my kids, and is just a generally all around good guy who would help nearly anybody out at any time if it was within his ability to do so, (and who just happens to spend an awful lot of time here and was just as frustrated by the fuckery being perpetrated on us by the failing PVR as I was) was trying to help.

And I was putting my own shit up as a defense mechanism.  Any “reason” I threw in the face of his gesture was a lame attempt to preserve some bullshit sense of dignity? independence? who the hell knows.

I apologized.  Freely.  Whole-heartedly.

He went to the store.

Came home with a PVR.

I thanked him.

He unpacked it, started the installation process.

The kids saw him doing this.

The Boy Child: “How much did that cost?????”

The Girl Child: “You just went out and GOT it? How much did you pay?”

 

 

I am passing on my bullshit.  Neither child could just say “Hey, that’s a really nice thing to do, and it’s cool that TV is going to work better.”  Nope.  I’ve raised kids who automatically worry about the ramifications of a nice gesture.

 

I’m sorry, little dudes.  I will try to set a decent example from here on out.  Promise.

I’ll Take Early Hungarian Cabinet Making For $1000, Alex

 

Oh, how I love “Jeopardy”!

 

I love playing along, I love yelling at people to “bet the farm!’ during Double Jeopardy.

 

I even love the theme song, and I may have some inappropriate feelings about Alex Trebek.  (WITH the moustache, thank you.)

 

 

 

There’s just one problem.

 

The “Let’s get to know the contestants!” portion of the program.

 

The contestants give the producers a story about themselves.  Alex gives them a lead-in:  “So, Ted, we hear you like to read phone books.”  And then the contestant tells a 30 second story.

 

Tonight’s three offerings: 

1)  I gave aloe vera to a sunburned (Z-list) TV actor. 

2) I give my grad school friends rides in my car.

3)  The reception tent fell apart at my wedding.

 

Come ON.  This ain’t the Teen Tournament.  You’ve lived a whole life, for the love of Pete, has NOTHING interesting happened to you?

 

So I’m putting it out there.  If you were on Jeopardy, what would your 30 second story be?  (Keeping in mind it would have to get past the censors, so nothing involving two girls and a cup, pervs.)

 

Leave your answer in the comments, or make it a post for your own blog.  But I’m sure we can do better.

Dear George Newbern,

To me, you’ll always be the near-perfect Bryan MacKenzie, fiancee from “Father of the Bride” – Steve Martin version. 

You were charming, cute, enlightened (you were going to let Annie keep her maiden name – so very progressive for 1991), an all around nice guy.  Oh sure, there was that moment of dumb-fuckery, when you bought her a toaster as an anniversary gift, and the wedding almost got cancelled, but then it didn’t.  At the end of the day, you were a delightful guy, a road-map, if you will, for those of us who thought we might one day go on to marry men.

 

Didn’t see much of you after that.

 

But then, this week, I can’t get you out of my living room.

 

It’s been 17 years, and you don’t really look all that different.

On Monday, you were on “Criminal Minds”, playing a pedophile who teams up with his neighbor (and turns him into his lover) to kidnap young girls.

 

Tonight, you were on “CSI: NY”, playing a court officer, who murders his son’s wrestling coach.

 

What the hell?

 

Why are you  so determined to take my pleasant, adolescent memories of you and replace them with ickiness?  Why, George Newbern?  What did I do to you?

 

Reply at your earliest convenience,

 

Ginny

“Computer says naaaayyyoooo…”

The 2 year old says “No.”

 

A lot.

 

And she pronounces it in kind of a peculiar way.

 

I’m pretty sure I watched this, when she was in utero.

 

 

Whoops.

Honestly, I’m Not a Great Big Bitch (Well, At Least Not in This Case)

 

If you read a lot of blogs, I’m sure you’ve seen this floating around:

 

It’s called the Arte Y Pico Award.

 

“This award was created to be given to bloggers who inspire others with their creativity, and for contributing to the blogging world in whatever medium.”

 

Twice, in the last few weeks, someone thought I was worthy of it.

 

Max at Celluloid Blonde nominated me. Then, Gigi at Above the Clouds It’s Sunny sent it my way.

 

I am humbled and grateful and pleased. Mostly pleased.

 

You’re supposed to pass it on to others you feel are worthy.  But first, you’re supposed to link back to a page explaining the who, what, when , where, why of the award. 

 

And therein lies the problem.

 

Every time I open the page from which the award originates, my computer freaks right the hell out. It thinks it is under attack. It’s all, “The Portuguese are coming! The Portuguese are coming!”. Walls fly up, emergency scans are completed.

 

So it’s not that I don’t appreciate the award. I do. I’m just not passing it on, because my computer is intolerant of the Portuguese. (Damn racist laptop! I’m putting it in the same sensitivity training rehab Michael Richards and Isaiah Washington went to. Expensive, but worth it.)

 

Thanks again, ladies!

 

P.S. My title reminded me of one of the all-time greatest songs from a cartoon (the “Gem” theme song notwithstanding – now there was a broad who was truly outrageous. Not like that poseur Strawberry Shortcake). Enjoy.