A moment of silence, please

The other night, Beau and I went on a weeknight date, which is kind of rare these days. As we drove to dinner, I nattered on aimlessly like I usually do.

But then I came to a serious topic.

Me: I can't believe they're bringing Charlie's Angels back to TV.

Beau: WHAT???

M: Yeah, it's going to be on ABC this fall.

B: Who's in it??

M: I don't know. Probably three attractive females. OOOH! I think they've got the Old Spice guy playing Bosley, though!

B: (shaking his head, eyes downcast) It's not going to be the same. It's just not going to be the same.

M: Oh well, it wasn't great television then; it won't be great television now. No biggie.

B: You don't understand. It won't be Jiggle TV!  It won't be like it was.

And with that declaration, he looked so sad. Like a deflated balloon caught on a chain-link fence.

So let's take a minute, folks. To mourn the loss of Jiggle Television.

Rest in peace, Jiggles.

Summer party equation

The more cleavage you show at a party directly correlates to how interesting and funny men think you are at said party.

I am small for admitting this

But I'll admit it anyway.

Here's the eternal sartorial conundrum for women (well, women who eat) in the summertime. The clothes are skimpier/lighter/tighter, which tends to highlight what some might consider flaws. We're all quite used to sucking it in all season long.

So I've delighted in noticing something lately: Muffin Tops on Men. I don't delight because it's attractive, but it's nice to see "flaws" on some summertime finger-pointers.

Let's spread the pain around, shall we?

New Happy Salad

On Sunday, my folks and I took my grandparents to their favorite Chinese restaurant (New Happy Restaurant) for lunch. It's a nice little place, populated mainly by elderly customers. The food is good and inexpensive. And the folks there know my grandparents well.

The first thing that makes me chuckle is the seating arrangement. There are paper placemats on every table--but they're under glass (a big money-saver, I suppose), so it really makes no difference where you sit.

Except to Grandma, who makes everybody maneuver around the table until everyone is sitting EXACTLY in front of a paper placemat. :)

Then, before we ordered, the waiter set down a tiny little plate and said This is a sample of our New Happy Salad. If you would like to order one for yourself, just let me know. This does not sound funny until you see the New Happy Salad, which looks neither new nor happy.

Sad. Not too New.

However, I have no true gripes about the meal, because I'm about to be RICH!!!

Try to contain your jealousy. Stay New and Happy, my friends!

It's a question of responsibility

All great beer brands have responsibility logos. I'm all for it; drinking responsibly is very important.

I have one question.

In this Leinenkugel's responsibility logo, what, exactly, is in the bear's left hand?

Honey. I'm telling myself it's honey.

Pet favortism

Right out of the gate, let me explain that *I know* I'm crazy for thinking and acting this way (and for admitting it on the internets).

I have two pets, both of whom make my life better in so many ways.

But when I praise one, I'm secretly worried the other will hear and feel like I'm playing favorites. So when I talk to them (oh yes, I do that too. And don't you even start to tell me you don't talk to your own pets), I get really specific.

Examples:

Oh, Lola, you're my favorite... fat tabby in this whole house!

Miss Daisy, you're the prettiest... furry blue-eyed girl around.

Yes, I'm nuts. But you never know what they understand (ok, yes, we know what they understand, but I like to protect little furry feelings anyway).

One man's case for Scotchgard

I was sick last Wednesday, which meant I was basically sacked out on the couch all day.

Close scrutiny of the threadbare cushions made me realize that I need a new couch in a big way.

That, in turn, made me think of the day I bought the couch I have now. I was at Sofa Mart with my mom, and the salesman would not leave us alone. He was one of those smarmy salesmen too (complete with finger guns and winks). When I applied for a line of credit, he came back and said We have a problem. I just checked your credit... And it's so good, I should be selling you leather!! (Finger guns, wink, chuckle chuckle.)

I picked out a red couch with big, colorful flowers on it (which sounds awful, but I love it still).

He tried to sell me some sort of Scotchgard package. Here was his major selling point:

With this extra protection, you'll be able to get wine and bodily fluids out of this fabric with ease. 

(Finger guns, wink, wink.)


Wine and bodily fluids? WTF does this guy think goes on at my house? And my mother was RIGHT THERE.

Gross.

Please wish me luck on my next couch-buying endeavor.

Rock and roll all night... and part of every day*

Beau has a new roommate. Nice enough guy. Peculiar eye for decor, though.

Y'see, he's not a KISS fan. He's a KISS fanatic.

If you ever walk through a store and see, oh I don't know, a life-sized bust of Gene Simmons in full makeup and you wonder Who the hell would spend good money on this shit? 

He's the guy.

He's Gene Simmons' wet dream of a consumer.

He smokes. And he lights up using a KISS lighter. When the lighter is out of juice, he sets it aside as a keepsake.

After he'd moved in, I took a look around and found some new decorative touches at Beau's house (luckily, Beau's a good sport).

Here are some highlights.

The Bust. Those are vipers around his neck, BTW.

HUGE framed poster.

Somethin' to cuddle.

Lava lamp (there are two of these).

Action figures (so special they deserve their own case!).

My personal favorite. A glittery, light-up snow globe. It changes colors, too.

And good news for you ladies out there... he's SINGLE!

*Yes, I know those aren't the lyrics.

If I have to wear one, you have to wear one

Come on, guy. I don't care how hot it is. Put on a damn shirt.

Because I gripe about winter wardrobe phenomena, I might as well run with my summer gripe.

Men who go shirtless in public when there's no pool within 50 yards.

I have to wear a shirt all summer long. And, because I'm not That Girl, I wear a bra under there too. I think you can suffer through the sweltering heat a cotton T-shirt might generate.

As much as you might think we do, we actually don't want to see your hairy man boobs, back hair, and beer belly.

And, yes, I'll admit that there are some examples out there that aren't nearly as offensive. But it's a matter of class and principle. Gentlemen, have some class. Wear shirts.

Save the show for folks who want to see it.

Please.

Haiku of the day

Sweaty little gnat
Tells me how to do my job
I'm gonna squash him