I knew it would be a total shit show no matter who was directing it. I was right. The opening of the 2012 Summer Olympics was Les Miserable meets Mr. Bean meets Dullfest meets embarrassing meets Oh Shit I Fell Asleep. Here are my actual thoughts as they happened or at least until my television peeled itself off of my wall and left my house out of boredom and disgust.
Okay this cliff song is weird. We’re British and we’re awesome. Look how awesome we are. London is awesome. We have the Olympic games because we are better than you. Nanny Nanny Bo Bo. I’ve never seen arrogance so beautifully shot. Do they think none of us have ever seen an Olympic event? They know other people have done this before right? Did they just say Shakespearean sweep? They do know that other countries compete right? Oh look Michael Phelps snuck in. I could get to London quicker than this opening ceremony. Oh hi Mrs. Costas, where’s Bob? What has Bob done to his face. Tom Brokaw looks like he’s afraid of Bob’s face. Oh shit Tom Brokaw just busted out props like a kindergarten project. Meredith Viera looks good. Matt looks like he’s silently signaling Anne Curry saying – fuck you this is how it’s supposed to get done dummy. Wish you weren’t here. Did Matt really just say Telly? Are we three years old now. What year do they think it is? We’re not retarded you know. Uhm I don’t care – stop talking. I never knew it was so – hey wait what’s Ryan Seacrest doing there? When did that happen? Was I having a Coke? Wow our gymnasts are ugly. This footage is actually unbelievable. Is that a pony? Who’s Bradly Wiggins? Isn’t that the name of a childrens t.v. show? OMG wtf is happening – are the making milk? The potato famine is happening. Now the castrato are here. Oh wait, maybe it’s a hobbit film. Danny Boyle is not going to be happy with the amount of shit Meredith is taking through his shit. Why is that horse out there? Oh look , one black kid. Guess they don’t have those in London. Sherlock Holmes in the house. I don’t understand the random soccer footage… or is it rugby? I think Danny Boyle is high as fuck. They should have just put David Beckham in his underwear out there. Why is Kenneth Branagh dressed like Abe Lincoln? What does the tree mean? Is this Dickens? I feel awkward. Wow that blew. Was that a sonnet? Oh there’s the Scottish Sheila E. Dawn of the dead and zombies are coming out of the grass. God I wish I was high right now. Two black people. Is that the group Stomp? Shut up Matt. You have no idea what these volunteers are thinking. Are they resodding London now? Do they want us to know England has good sod? Now Kenneth is playing “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.” Is that a SlumDog set? What does this have to do with the Olympics? Okay that is pretty. Danny Boyle is dead to me. Oh wait that fire thing is cool. Kenneth Branagh is so proud. Why is he so proud? He must be drunk too. Okay we’re fast forwarding again. Quick somebody get me a random shot of that fat chick. Okay the rings are cool. They should have started with that shit. Those floating fireworks rings are awesome. Wow, Kenneth Branagh is so proud. OMG I love Daniel Craig. Cute corgis. Is that the fucking Queen holy shit. What is happening. Did he use a corgi cam? I don’t think I’m supposed to be laughing. I feel awkward again. This is weird. Daniel Craig hates everyone why is he doing this? Isn’t this chopper scenario exactly how Jeff Probst comes in for the final tribal council on Survivor? Is he really going to parachute? This is way better than that other stuff. Why is Matt pretending the Queen really just jumped out of a fucking plane. God that outfit is hideous. I think she borrowed that dress from Honey Boo Boo child. Why are we speaking french. Ohhhhh shit there’s fucking Camila. And now some kids in pajamas. Why are they in pajamas? The Queen looks pissed – really pissed – oh wait I think she may have smiled. Maybe she was dreaming about banana pudding. The future of Health Care. Yippee we have National Health you dumb fucks. We save lives and we don’t let children die. Gosh!!! We’re amazing. I want what Danny Boyle is smoking. JK Rowling is bloody rich. What does this have to do with anything? Oh btw we wrote everything too – we’re awesome. All the worlds best people are British. We’re better than everyone . But we won’t be winning any medals so we’ll take credit for everything else now. Mary Poppins is awesome. Is this the opening for the Special Olympics? Did the Black Adder just wipe snot on something and fart?
After one hour and twenty three minutes we turned it off. Can’t wait for The Emmys.
When half of the room raised their hands to say that English was NOT their first language – I knew I was in trouble. What started as me searching for hot guys while performing my civic duty, has become one very tough lesson in keeping my big mouth shut. I am swimming in a sea or morons and drowning in the jury cess pool. If I ever have to stand trial – I will just say guilty and try to bargain down some lesser time because there is no way any of the people being picked to serve on the jury I’m being paneled for could make a rational decision. I’m shocked they can even get their pants on in the morning. One man is so clearly retarded – and I mean that in the traditional sense – he should be in some sort of supervised situation. He has difficulty grasping the conversation at hand – any hand – and the lawyers talk to him like a child while questioning him. Yesterday the question – “How many children do you have and what do they do?” started with the answer “Wow this is going to take a while” and ended with me making a noose out of my purse straps and hanging myself. Well I would have if I thought it would make it stop. Every single person is trying to get out for some reason or another because like me – they all think they’re better than this. The case involves someone being accused of a DUI. They wouldn’t take the breathalyzer on the scene. I say GUILTY. I don’t need to hear one piece of evidence. I am the evidence. In my world if you have a sip of alcohol then get behind the wheel of a car you are guilty. Sorry but that’s what twelve years of sobriety will get you. I don’t judge you for drinking – I judge you for driving and drinking. Everyone does it. Doesn’t make it right. So, once I make this grand speech I assume I will be thrown right out of this DNA gone wrong research room. It’s taken three days so far to pick a jury for this bullshit case mostly because they have us in the actual courtroom for about two hours total. I thought writers were lazy fucks but these people make us look like massive over achievers. “Well we’ve been working now for fifteen minutes. What do you say we take our afternoon break?” What? Afternoon break? We just got back from an hour and a half lunch which by the way is way too long because who needs that much time to eat at McDonalds the only restaurant in this hell pocket of Los Angeles? That’s enough time to eat and then get a cancer screening for the food I just consumed. Can’t we just get in get out and get this over with? I’m going back for day 3 today. I am already holding my tongue. I’m going to try not to yell at the lawyer and tell the judge to fucking keep it moving. I’m going to stop myself from slapping all of the other jury panelists for the way they conduct themselves and quite frankly the way they dress. Have some fucking respect and take off your fucking flip flops. And most of all I’m going to restrain myself from yelling – hey you fucking douche bag who didn’t take the breathalyzer test – pay the fine take the class and stop clogging our mother fucking judicial system. My friend Eric had the most brilliant idea – let’s take all of the people collecting unemployment and have them serve as jurors. We know they don’t have that much to do except find another job. This could be good networking for them – if they wanted to work for a fucking moron. I myself have lost a week of pay and my head hurts. Thank you California.
The other morning while shopping at “Bed, Bath and Beyond The Realm of Things I Really Need” I was followed by one of those annoying store clerks – you know the kind that may be borderline or full mental patient? This one was definitely out on a day pass from somewhere. First he came to ask me if I needed any help. No, I can read. Then he started discussing the products with me as if I were to believe he had any knowledge other than the knowledge he’d gained standing around reading the boxes like I was. I didn’t suspect that he was in the back boning up on all the catalogues and manuals of all the products while on a break with his foot long subway sandwich. “Oh that’s the Cusineart 4000. Here’s a little secret most people don’t know – the shredder doubles as an ice shaver and a bikini waxer.” Why thank you. Go away. I engaged my nutty little product professor for a few more seconds then rolled my eyes sufficiently enough to send him on to other business – aka – annoying another customer. But moments later he was back. “So, what’s your name?” Heidi, I say. “Heidi Clements?” Wow that’s weird. At first I think – duck and cover!!!!!!! Then I pause for a second and realize what’s really going on here. “Oh, are you a fan of my blog?” I ask sweetly. He looks at me confused and then says – “No, you dropped your coupon back there in bedding. These things are very valuable. We don’t mail them out to everyone. You should hold on to it better.” And there it was – I am the moron.
I have jury duty today which should be about as much fun as a lunch date with that BB&B worker. I’ll spend the day in an uncomfortable chair staring at people and trying to figure out what they do for a living. It’s kind of a fun game but mostly I end up deciding everyone’s an actor or a serial killer. Not much difference. I like serving my city and all but I really don’t want to be put on a case because that would cut into me doing something selfish like working to pay my mortgage or buy a new outfit. The last time I got picked for a case the defendant was Latino so I told the judge I hate anyone who isn’t white and think all ethnicities are criminals. It’s mean but it works. I can’t decide what to wear to court today. It’s a very important decision. Do I dress like someone who can’t think for herself and get immediately thrown out? The video I watched in preparation for my court date said “Don’t wear a shirt that says Guilty” which if I had one I would totally wear. I would also wear one that says Anarchy or Asshole or Shove it Judge or I Hate All Defendants if I could find one of those before my appointed time. Where’s that store? I know that if I were found guilty of some crime like murdering a store clerk I would want smart people on my jury but I don’t think we have any of those here. I guess I’ll just go and sit quietly and pray I’m let go at the end of the day or in time for a nice lunch. Either way – let’s hope no one recognizes me. I’m a famous moron ya know.
The naked guy who was shot after he tried to eat another guys face off was apparently high on bath salts. Oh well then, that explains everything. Except the part about snorting bath salts and the part where he ate someone’s face off and oh yeah the part where he was naked – outside. There is nothing right about this story. Except that he’s dead. He is dead right? We nipped that nutbag in the butt I hope? Who was the first person that found out snorting bath salts gets you high? “I need to take a bath. Or do some lines. Hey, why not combine the two?” This person is not only brave – he (I’m assuming it’s a dude) is a genius. What a cheap, inventive and possibly soothing way to get high. And the flavors of bath salts are endless. A nice cucumber and green tea snort is probably refreshing and relaxing. Is there some kind of euphemism about bath salts now? When you want to get high do you say – gonna go take a bath? God you people are idiots. I’m sure we’ll find out the genius who just shot up a movie theater was high on something. It’s probably written right there on his application for a gun which sailed right through the system. “Likes to snort bath salts and shoot innocent people while trapped in a theater.” What is wrong with everyone except me? Can’t you people do what I do? Shop? Spend money you don’t have and worry about it later? It’s so easy.
I went to a charity event last night and realized two things. 1) I am a selfish fuck. 2) My Gaydar is completely off. These two things don’t necessarily go together but they did last night. The charity is spectacular – they adopt entire classes of inner city kids and give them the tools and the money to get through school and into a college. Their success rate is incredible and the whole idea of it was really uplifting. I didn’t give them a dime. I didn’t even sign up to help. I had one thought – the money I spend on them will be less money to spend on me. Then I thought –fuck – what if they just hand me a kid before I leave? “Here, you’re in charge of this one, good luck.” I ducked out faster than you can say – cheap bitch. I know this will come back to bite me in both my real and karmic asses but – oops. I did meet a really good looking really funny guy and the entire time I was talking to him I was thinking – I wonder how old I look in this light and I wonder if he’s gay. I can no longer tell – about the gay part. Well actually about both parts. Now, straight men get offended if you think they’re gay but I say this is the biggest compliment I can pay you because if I think you’re gay it means you’re way too handsome and way to smart and funny to be straight. Sorry straight guys but you have some fucking work to do. I never did find out. Insert sad face icon here. We need to figure out a system that doesn’t involve pink stars because I hear that one didn’t go over too well. I’m going to take a nice hot bath and think of something to help me figure this one out. I got my pomegranate melon all lined up on the tub edge.
I think it’s time we talked about something extremely serious. A terrible disease almost all women have in common that no woman wants to discuss. This crippling affliction does not know race, or age, or financial status. It only knows marital status. It can also strike a woman with a live in boyfriend. I’m talking about Shopping Bag Hide-itis. The signs that you have this horrible ailment are simple. Here are some clues. After returning from a shopping trip do you leave everything you bought in your car and wait for your significant other not to be home so you can sneak the bags in? Do you take all of your new items out in the car and put them on you so as to appear to be old items before you enter the house? Do you remove all of the tags from your purchases before you bring them home and pretend they are dry cleaning? Do you purchase something for your husband or boyfriend as to mask your own purchases? These are just a few of the signs that you have Shopping Bag Hide-itis. Many women suffer from this and many of them can’t even admit the embarrassing lengths they have gone to – to keep their disease hidden. There is only one cure. I have it. I do not suffer from this for one simple reason. I am single. I win.
How is it possible that I have abstained from alcohol for twelve years but I can’t stay away from ice cream and french fries for twelve days? If I’m out past 7pm and I drive past a supermarket – there is an inner battle in my head over ice cream that is palpable. It might also be audible. I had sweet potato fries yesterday because those are – ya know – diet fries. You practically lose weight when you eat sweet potato fries. Not sure who started this lie but it’s a good one. I can’t wait to find out lemon bars are calorie free. I love people who eat those nutrition bars as if they had any kind of nutrition in them. If it comes in a package or box it is going to make your ass bigger. Sorry. Those things are not a meal in a bar – they are three or four meals in a bar and they are going straight to your thighs. The end. I started running again recently which is basically a permission slip to eat like an idiot. “I ran today – I can have this cupcake. It doesn’t even count. It’s like free calories.” Right. Never mind that I run about a mile and a half which is equivalent to running – nothing. A mile and a half is about one calorie burned. The air I breathe while I’m running has more calories in it than the calories I burn on my heidithon. But I do it because I want to live longer. I want my hips to be the ones I was born with when I turn 103 which is how long I’ve decided I’m going to live. That seems like a nice age. If anyone ever heard the music I listen to while jogging I would probably be arrested. There is more pop in my ipod than the cooler at a 7-11. If there were calories in my mix I’d die from a diabetic sugary overdose. Adam Levine sounds best when you’re breathing so heavy you can’t really hear. He’s so butch. He’s my running coach. He’s also thinner than me. I couldn’t fit into his jeans. This pisses me off. He only dates supermodels. This pisses me off more. Anyone who thinks they’re going to have a real relationship with someone who had to spend zero time on anything other than their looks is an idiot. Here’s the real secret from Victoria. Those chicks are all mind numbingly dull. That’s the nighty night story I tell myself every time I down a tub of Jenni’s Brambleberry Crunch ice cream in bed.
There was only one black chick on Big Brother this season and she was the first to get voted off this week. Really? Isn’t that a little too “on the nose” in the racism department? Shouldn’t hostess extraordinaire Julie Chen have stepped in and told her big brother douche coach – “uhm, don’t kill off the African American first. This isn’t a horror movie.” Maybe CBS knows something I don’t know. Maybe black people don’t watch Big Brother. Maybe the concept of living in a house with a bunch of annoying white people is not something my African American friends care to watch. I have been watching this show since it started here in America because it is without a doubt the worst show on television and I cannot stop watching it. I don’t know where they find so many stupid white people. I would never be on that show because you have to spend a lot of time in a bathing suit and that is something that no one in America needs to see. The Big Brother house is right next to my office on the studio lot and I really wanted to try and break in or lob something over the wall – like a plot line or a bikini cover up. I will spend far too many hours this summer watching this show. I once became friends with Dr. Will. He’s best friends with Mike Boogie. The fact that I just used both of those names in sentences should be enough to have me killed. I am so obsessed with the show that I once went to a taping. It was super exciting because I got to go in early and see Julie without her makeup on and her hair in curlers. At least I think it was Julie Chen. Holy Shit. It could have been any Asian woman. I think she was Asian. Back when I drank I used to hang out at the Big Brother bar. This is a place Mike Boogie and his partner Lonnie bought and all the contestants from the show would hang out there. I was in reality t.v. heaven. These people could not be a bigger bunch of losers and I loved watching them all up close and personal. Maybe that’s why I like reality t.v. so much. Contestants are just like me – ordinary people – only bigger losers because they desperately want to be on television. That’s a bug I do not have. The only thing I want pointed at me is a paycheck – not a camera. So I continue to sit on my couch for three nights a week and tune in a house full of douche nozzles in bathing suits who get excited when it’s time to fight for food and win something called the HOH competition.
Looks like George Orwell was half right. Big Brother isn’t watching – I am. And I’m ashamed.
“I can’t move much in bed, but I burn 500 calories a session –- it’s great exercise just jiggling around.” Potter, who had been consuming 10,000 calories a day, hopes to reach her goal weight of 532 pounds with the help of Alex. The two have sex up to seven times each day.
And puke. I don’t quite know where to start with this one. There are so many hideously disturbing thoughts in just one little paragraph. Ten thousand calories a day? What does that look like? I ate ten thousand calories last year. Maybe. I guess the most upsetting thing in the above quote however is that someone who wishes to reach a GOAL weight of 532 pounds is having sex way more often than me. This woman is not just any woman either – she’s the heaviest woman in the world – 643 pounds of femme fatal if she sits on you. And she’s having sex seven times a day. Which is way more sex than me. Now in order to have sex more often than me you just have to have sex. So it’s not exactly hard to have more sex than me. But still…. That’s a lot of woman having a lot of sex. Who’s banging that seven times a day by the way? I’m sorry but how do you find a vagina in that? That’s one very skilled spelunker. I don’t think sex is worth that much work but I could be wrong. I do believe that if you gave most women the choice – a) have more sex or b) lose weight – they would definitely go with the b. I know very few women who would pick “have more sex” and the ones who do pick “have more sex” are fucking liars. Unless that sex is oral sex being performed to them on a loop – I think most women would give it up permanently if they could eat ten thousand calories a day and not gain weight. And still if you gave women the choice – be eaten or eat – they’d pick eat. If I had a genie that granted me three wishes at least two of them would be to eat whatever I want without gaining weight and the other would be the ability to blink a new pair of shoes onto my feet whenever I felt the need for new shoes – which is on a minute by minute basis.
The truth is, the best diet I know is envisioning people you really hate or people you think are totally gross – having sex. After reading the story about the fat woman doing the horizontal mambo seven times a day – I no longer want a scoop of ice cream shoved between two brownie cookies. Having envisioned what this woman may look like jiggling underneath her lover – I may never eat again.
When pondering the great differences in life between men and women – I present you with just one story that proves men may be retarded. Sorry. But it’s possible. If there was an off switch on your penises I think things would be different but the fact that you can’t shut that thing down can at times be your downfall. Case in point: my friend who’s a NYC emergency room doc told me about a guy who came in to the hospital complaining that he thought he had a terrible STD. She handed him a cup you’ve been handed a thousand times in life – and asked him to go give her a urine sample. He returned with a super cloudy – definitely suspect sample. She took it to the lab. The lab called to tell her – that was semen. And vomit. Even if we could produce semen this would never happen to a girl. We have our own issues but thankfully nothing to do with our sex organs or we’d probably explode. We do have an off switch. We use it almost every time we hear – “Hi honey, I’m home.”
I went to see the movie Savages last night – which I did not think was a very good movie but mostly because I thought it was a ridiculous premise. Oh and it had shite dialogue. I think my fifteen year old Chihuahua Lola wrote it. Here’s the concept: Two men risk their lives taking on the Mexican Drug Cartel to save a girl. Ha! That’s hilarious. No guy would do that. Maybe if you stole their dicks and kidnapped those they’d risk their lives to get them back but not some dumb blonde chick who wears hippie dresses and gives a good blow job. Well maybe if she gave a really good blow job. Don’t get me wrong – I like boys – I just find derailing them from their one track more and more difficult as I become older and more invisible as a possible train stop. Somebody should make a realistic love story about two guys dating the same girl. You know – where they pay her at the end and say goodnight. I once read that Oliver Stones mother gave him blow jobs in the shower when he was a kid. So this kind of explains everything.
I’m glad I live in a country where you can pretty much say and do whatever you want without fear of being dragged off and killed or imprisoned. There is a dog in Belfast Ireland right now who’s been in a cement box for two years because they have a law that doesn’t allow you to own a pit bull and if you do they take it from your home and kill it. It’s part of their Dangerous Dog Act. This dog isn’t a pit bull but he looks like one so they took him away from his family and they are going to kill him tomorrow. I think they should round up the guy from the emergency room who handed a semen sample to my friend. That’s a dangerous dog. Not Lennox.
There was a young girl standing outside the supermarket yesterday with a sign and a can. The sign had a picture of a 6 month old baby on it and it said – “Please help me pay for my baby’s funeral.” My first thought was – that kid better be dead or you’re totally going to hell for taking money from people. She’ll totally see me when she gets there for even having that thought. Maybe it’s the New Yorker in me or the Jew my parents raised but I trust no one. I look at someone like that and think – are you fucking kidding me right now – I need milk. I didn’t give her any money but about half an hour later she was behind me at the checkout stand cashing in the coins people had put in her dead baby can and now I felt awful. I looked at what was on my register runway – mango’s and magazines – and I handed her five dollars. Surely if she had a dead baby I wasn’t going to be the one to hold up a funeral. She thanked me and I thought – you’re a fucking liar. Somebody needs to do something about the homeless people and children begging for money situation in this country – because the guilt I feel as I drive by them is killing me. I saw my friend John the homeless man the other day. He’d gone missing again for a few days and I asked where he was – Vacation. God I hope he was kidding me.
I went on a pub crawl with my friend Chelsea the other night. We hit about five bars – the first one she took me too was awesome – then we hit some bars I used to go to when I drank – and that’s when things got ugly. I haven’t been to these bars since I drank over a decade ago and let me tell you – they haven’t changed a bit – neither has the clientele. Well – they’ve gotten more drunk, fat, and filthy. My friend Melissa describes Chelsea as a girl who goes to sleep in a tulip and has a car that runs on muffins. This is not the kind of girl you take to a shithole. I didn’t. I took her to four. The second bar we went to was almost okay – although some guy grabbed my arm to look at my tattoo. Apparently drunk people with tattoos feel a kinship with other people who have tattoos in bars which is – oh I don’t know – everyone. He was hideous. The third bar we went to had bathroom stalls filled with other peoples poo. The fourth I completely blocked. Then we hit my mother lode – Dresden’s. Marty and Elaine have been singing there (loose use of the word) for over 31 years. They still are. Chelsea was gob smacked. She wanted to know what was on their heads. (wigs) The lighting was a little too bright for what was going on in there and if Marty and Elaine were once any good – they sure weren’t any more. The comedy of Dresden’s isn’t so funny when you’re not drunk. It’s sad. When the bass player sitting in with them started hitting on Chelsea – I had to take the Tulip home. Tomorrow I’m taking her to the supermarket with a sign that says “Please help pay to have my pub crawl erased from Chelsea’s brain.” I’ll let you know how we do..