Not Even Worth Reading

But since you're here....

I sang my Country & Western song to my daughters today.

OLDEST DAUGHTER:"Did you write that?"

ME: "Yup."

OLDEST DAUGHTER: "So...you just decided out of nowhere to write a Hillbilly song?"

ME: "Yeah. Pretty much."

OLDEST DAUGHTER: "You're gay." (even though she secretly liked it-she smiled-and that doesn't happen often).

ME: "Not gay. But do you wanna start a band?"

OLDEST DAUGHTER: "In your dreams mom. Do we have any icecream?"

I LOVE these mother/daughter bonding moments.

Laundry Day

My gals and I spent the afternoon at my friend Joanie's house (Real Name: Joanie).
(EVERYBODY should spend an afternoon at Joanie's house...it's the Fun House, and she's a really good cook!)

Anyway, I was in her bathroom and she asked me to turn her dryer back on because the clothes in it weren't quite done. So I did, and heard the following:

Thump Thump... (sneakers?)
Thump Thump...MEOW!!!
Thump Thump...MEOW!!!

"SHIT!"

Sorry kitty! Let's just pretend it went on the coolest Six Flags ride in the world and only ended up with a mild concussion (not that you can tell with cats anyway..they're not exactly Mensa material to begin with).

But one of my sister's far outdid me once.

She has a strange affection for ferrets (which look like really long rats and were illegal as pets in this state for years due to their sheer grossness-she was forever on some Free the Ferrets Crusade, as if ANYONE gave a shit).

One day Ferret Loving Sister tossed the contents of her laundry basket into her washing machine:

Wash Cycle
Rinse Cycle
Spin Cycle

And then dumped it all into the dryer. Need I say more? There was no happy ending to THAT story, except the fact that the world is minus one ferret.

Let this be a lesson-sort your laundry accordingly, never mixing the dark colors with the family pets.

It's Country And Western Time!

The following is be sung to the tune of some Country & Western song I don't know because I can't stand listening to any of it (just remember to twang):

I live in a cabin way out in the woods
Got a shotgun a bloodhound and lots of canned goods
Sometimes I git thinkin that life ain't so bad
But Lord there's a few things I sure wish I had

CHORUS
Wanna git me a trailer in some fancy park
With clean runnin water and lights when its dark
Got my eye on a gal who I'd treat like a queen
But I just gotta wait until she turns 14

My woman ran off with some slick carny guy
My papa's the drunk in a town real close by
He ain't come to see me in over three years
Cuz he don't like my moonshine and I ain't got no beers

My mama she lives in a big ol state jail
If I had some book learnin then she'd sure git some mail
The cops didn't like the work that she done
But it made the boys happy and she said it was fun

CHORUS
Wanna git me a trailer in some fancy park
With clean runnin water and lights when it's dark
Got my eye on a gal who I'd treat like a queen
But I just gotta wait until she turns 14

Got a lot of spare parts all over my yard
Wanna build me a rig but it's just too dam hard
Sometimes I go fishin and catch me some trout
I wish I could eat em but my teeth all fell out

So I sit on the couch on my porch everyday
Use my slingshot and shotgun to keep critters away
Sometimes I git wonderin what I ain't doin right
Lord Knows I take baths every third Friday night

CHORUS....

Bye!!!! Off to Nashville!!!!!

Birthday Confusion

I have many siblings, two of whom have birthdays within 4 days of eachother. Easy enough to remember, right? One's on October 24th, the other the 28th. I've known these folks pretty much my whole life, but a year does not go by when I don't screw it up and call the wrong sister with my HAPPY BIRTHDAY! wish.

Today was no exception.

ME: (On the phone with Younger Sister): "Happy Birthday???"

YOUNGER SISTER: "Idiot."

ME: (On the phone with Older Sister) "Just got off the phone with Younger Sister and I guess it's YOUR birthday today and not hers!!! Hahahaha! Happy Birthday!!!"

OLDER SISTER: "Idiot."

At least I'm not quite as bad as my father, who once called Younger Sister on AUGUST 28th and said "Hey there honey!! Happy Birthday!!!!" He didn't even have the SEASON right.

Bet she didn't call HIM an idiot.

Proverb Of The Day

"You give a man a fish and he eats for a day."

"You teach a man how to get to any one of the three grocery stores within a mile from his house, and he never has to eat anything with eyeballs again."

Sorry. I get profound like this occasionally.

Mr. No's B-Day Present

I had just turned 40, and visited Nooprah at his place of work.

Excitedly I said to him "LOOK! I'm 40 and I have no gray hairs!!!"

Within seconds, he looked at me with his x-ray vision, spotted a sole lonely very well hidden single strand of gray hair that I didn't know existed, reached over the counter and plucked it out of my head.

And then he said "You're right!"

Does someone have a birthday coming up?????

So THAT'S What They're For!

Another GREAT piece from one of America's top Newszak Stations.

A candidate for the post of State Superintendent of Schools in Oklahoma recently suggested that students always keep their textbooks close by to use as shields in case armed intruders invade their classrooms.

Shit! Why didn't I think of that? And all these years I thought the books were meant to give kids premature back problems from hauling them around all day.

At $70.00-$80.00 a pop, they might as well have SOME positive function.

According to the Superintendent Candidate, the Calculus books weren't great in the testing phase against AK-47's, but might be of some help if pistols were involved. But we're talking Math books here...obviously THEY can't do the job.

However, my big fat History Of The Whole Wide World texts? NOTHING would get through those babies. The bullet would have to start in the Ice Age and make its way to the Modern Post Cold War World before it touched an actual student.

My guess is it would disintegrate from sheer boredom somewhere around The Congress of Vienna. Really DEADLY ammunition might make it to Chapter 27 (Revolutions of 1848) but no further. No way.

Are you hearing this Publishing Industry? Since noone's actually READING your books, this proposal gives you a whole new sales pitch.

Just send out glossy catalogs to every school district in the country (and The Pentagon) and say "Our most recent book, 'The Pageant of World History from Zero to Now' could save your child's life. Oh. And it was written by really smart college professors too."

Inspired.

WHOLE Story Please?

Major news organizations like to tease us.

I read an awesome, and extremely important, piece today about a public urinal in Austria shaped like a woman's mouth. News stories just don't get any better than that!

The report went on to DESCRIBE the urinal (it had "thick red lips and a tongue") but didn't provide a picture. That story REQUIRED a picture. Frankly, if I were the news editor I would've fired everyone on the spot for such a glaring omission.

And they say the public has a right to know the FULL story....hypocrites!

No point traveling to Austria to see the thing because it pissed people off (pun intended)-especially women who don't even USE urinals-and the guy responsible for it had to haul it away to some urinal gravesite or else install it in his own private bathroom.

Now I have to GUESS what it looks like. Thanks a bunch major news organizations for keeping me only half informed!

Stuck In A Ditch

And I thought "Stuckwithacomb" was retarded. (Cute, but retarded.) But I may have outdone him.

My friend Joanie (Real Name: Joanie) has a driveway approximately the length of an airline runway. Only it's not paved. It's all dirt, twisty and turny and flanked by trees (some of which periodically fall), prickly bushes, the occasional animal and other forms of nature. Joanie loves the Great Outdoors, but her driveway is, according to my car anyway, an obstacle course.

I'd like to set the record straight here first... my DRIVING history is pristine. My PARKING history is another story. While my sister, the Holy Holy Motheragawd, can manage to parallel park into a spot that's technically smaller than her car, I couldn't park in an empty football field without ending up looking like I had just downed six shots of Tequila. Let's just say I'm not gifted that way.

So yesterday I was headed out of Joanie's longer than life driveway when I met up with her kids. They asked me to give them a ride to their house, and STUPIDLY I agreed. How can you say no to cute kids? The catch was that I had to drive backwards. No big deal!!!! Unless you're me, of course. The Tsarina of Parking driving backwards in the wilderness? Perhaps I should have sensed a potential problem with this scenario, but an expensive education is sometimes overrated.

"Hop on board kids!!!!" It took Spinado Spinnolini here about three minutes and two feet before I was hopelessly stuck in a ditch. And then it started to rain, just to make the adventure THAT MUCH MORE FUN!!!!!!

One hour, a man wearing army fatigues driving what looked like a Panzar, some chains, a tree, prickly things starting to grow in my car and a lot of money later I was finally free.

The only moral to this story I can think of is "Don't attempt Joanie's driveway backwards." Especially if your parking history is spotty. It'll cost you almost as much as a comb.

Yet ANOTHER Example

Dogs are stupid.

I didn't invent them-I'm just stating a scientific fact. Normally they're only an I.Q. point smarter than cats, which have absolutely no use on the planet whatsoever-unless weaving around people's ankles and staring somehow count for something.

Here's the story: (as reported by CNN because there obviously isn't 24 hours worth of actual NEWS to write about)

A fire starts in a lady's house.
The lady has only one leg, and her artificial one was hanging in the coat closet or something at the time the fire began (Personal Note: If I only had one leg, I'd sure keep the fake one either on or pretty close by. In case of fires and such)
So her specially trained Artificial Leg Dog jumped into action and brought his owner her leg AND a phone so she could dial 911.

Hurray Fido!!! You're a Hero!!! He could've just called it a day, received a key to the city AND his picture in the paper.

But hero dog decided to save the cat in the house too and then died in the fire.

First of all, the cat STARTED the fire in the first place.

And secondly, if this dog was so brilliant he would have KNOWN that dogs don't go out of their way to save cats. He obviously didn't watch enough educational cartoons.

Just like cats don't knock themselves out to save mice (remember Tom & Jerry?)-they kill them and plant their bloody carcasses on your doorstep-or ex-wives don't put themselves in harms way to save their ex-husbands if they happened to be trapped in a burning car on a deserted road miles and miles away from anywhere (Ooops. Sorry!!! Where did THAT come from??? Must've been a random slip-up!!!)

I'm being harsh, you say? Yup. But it's the simple cycle of nature.

I didn't invent it.

My Brilliant Idea

This idea is meant for those of us who work "9 to 5," or some equivalent thereof.
If you work weird hours,then My Brilliant Idea cannot help you. If you work part-time, then go away. And if you don't have to work at all, I hate you.

It occurred to me yesterday that most working folks aren't fond of Sundays. Simple reason: Sunday is ALWAYS followed by Monday. I can't remember a time, even during an epidemic of plague or locusts when Sundays weren't polluted by the inevitablity of a fast approaching Monday.

Frankly, I don't think Sundays should be hated simply because they have to be associated with that weekly bully Monday.

So here's My Brilliant Idea: Instead of weekends being composed of Saturday and Sunday, they should consist of Saturday, Sunday, and Sunday. That way you only have to hate ONE Sunday. And we can just get rid of Tuesday because it doesn't count anyway.

I know. You're thinking "Whoa there Bdown! That's a little radical!" But I'm just thinking outside of the box here, as people in corporate America don't say anymore. If you've got a better suggestion, then my 1-800 line is open.

But keep THIS in mind. Remember that classic 80's song "Manic Monday," by that girl group What's Their Name whose members are probably hanging out with Vanilla Ice right now?

They sang "I wish it were Sunday...my I don't have to run day..." And you want to know why? (Industry Secret)... The songwriter couldn't think of anything to rhyme with SATURDAY. Duh. So he MISSED the whole point!

In reality,those gals hated Sunday. But if you had TWO Sundays to gang up on ONE Monday, wouldn't life be more beautiful?

I might just run for President now, to spread the message of My Brilliant Idea across our great country.

MySpaceshots

Daughter Scooter has a site on "Music MySpace." It's public, anyone can access it, she uses her real name, and her "friends" can comment. ("Friends" meaning kids her age who have a "MySpace" account. Although my girl inexplicably wrote in her profile that she lives in California-should I be concerned about the quality of her education or is she wiser than I think she is?)

Anyway, mom also gets a chance to check out these "friends." Most of them I know-and ALL of them use a language that sort of resembles English written by someone who's had a massive stroke.

Today, however, I noticed a picture and a posting by a "young man" who looks suspiciously like he may have just committed an armed robbery. And I'm going to go out on a limb here and predict that Harvard is not in his future.

His Post, Verbatim:

"WHOA is that u singing!!!??? nd i dont know ur damn last name to be ur other myspace friend nd it pisses me off!!>:-o"

Where do I begin???

First of all Einstein, her last name is RIGHT THERE... and you had to type it into your stupid computer to GET to get to the site in the first place.

Secondly, do you have something against the word "and?" Too much trouble to bother writing those other really long 3 and 4 letter words correctly? And those goofy symbols at the end of your post-do they MEAN something or did your "bling" accidentally hit the keyboard?

Finally, what's with the gangsta wannabe photo? Was that taken to send along with your resume to The Crips Corporation?

I don't know him. I'm pretty sure my daughter doesn't know him. And never will. Never ever. He may NOT be her "other myspace friend" or she'll be double grounded for life.

See What Happens?

For the second time in two weeks, something really bad has happened to someone who wasn't nice to me.

Last week Turkey Killer got arrested, and I had the pleasure of seeing his mugshot on television. He was not nice to me.

This week, one of the most vile and despicable parents I've ever had to deal with was arrested on a very serious charge. He was not nice to me.

Just a coincidence, you say? Doubt it. In fact, the math is pretty simple:

Not Nice To Me=Bad Things Happen.
Nice To Me=I'm not sure yet, but I wouldn't chance it.

I think you get my point here.

Can't wait for NEXT week!

Stuff I HEART

It occurred to me recently that I spend a lot of time here pissing and moaning about things I DON'T like.

So I thought, "Hey Bemisdown, how about shedding a ray of sunlight onto your little slice of cyberspace and take a moment to treasure all that is wonderful and glorious about life and share them with people who don't know you and don't really care what you think!"

Talk about an Inspiration! And I've got SO much to be Thankful for!

1. Sweet, adorable fuzzy little pets. (as long as they're not dogs, cats, mice or rabbits and don't belong to me)

2. Speeds Limits. "Thank-you officer for alerting me to the fact that I was driving 43 MPH in a 30 MPH zone. I DESERVE that ticket, and will pay it promptly with a Good Citizen smile on my face. We're so lucky you're here to Protect and Serve us!"

3. Alarm Clocks: Who needs to continue dreaming about an exotic evening in Venice with George Clooney? It's 5:30 A.M.! Time to get up and start your FAR more romantic and fulfilling day at work!

4. The Mailman: "I appreciate that you go out of your way to deliver bills to my doorstep everyday. May I give you a French Kiss for your efforts?"

5. Holidays: I love them ALL, except Halloween, Christmas (unless I win the stupid gift swap) Thanksgiving and Easter. Beautiful memories are made during these times.

6. Exclamation Points and CAPS: Don't they make you want to jump out of your seat!!!!
I'm SO glad they were invented!!!!!!!!

See? I've turned my frown upside down. (Exclamation Points and Capital Letters included.)

That Was MY kid???

If you've ever spent any amount of time with 14 year old girls (and not in the Creepy Registered Sex Offender sense) you figure out pretty quickly they're not a bunch of Mother Theresa's.

In fact, we should probably call our professional troops home from Iraq and replace them with thousands of American Middle and High School girls. Two weeks, tops, and all of the anti-American elements there would give us ANYTHING we wanted.

Shiite's: "Oh, you wanted OIL? It's right over there. All yours. Can you pick up the girls now?"

Sunnis: "LOVE Democracy!!! In fact, we're all SO psyched for another election!!! Right everyone??? So what time are you coming to get the girls?"

Terrorists: " Please. Take our bombs. And our vests. We insist. We love America!!! OOOPs-it's getting late! Bet the girls need to go home now!!!"

They'd bitch our way to victory.

I own one, and let's just say she's not the "funnest" person I've ever been around. This is the kind of stuff I hear on a pretty regular basis:

"I hate you I love you I hate you I love you......"

"Oh MY GAWD AHHHH MOM!!!"

"Can you pick up Katrina and Melissa and Kelly and drop us off at Kelly's house and then come get us and take us to the mall and don't come near us at the mall and then pick us up and take us to Katrina's and when I call you come and take us to the movies and pick us up at 11:00 and stop off at McDonald's and get me an Oreo Cookie McFlurry and don't say ANYTHING in front of my friends...."

"Oh MY GOD AHHHH MOM!!!! Don't drive through Main Street! I have a huge zit on my face and my hair looks NASTY and if anyone sees me I'm gonna shoot myself!!!"

You get the picture. I keep working on a "deeper" relationship, but it's pretty rough getting through this hormone infested half cooked frontal lobe phase.

But then there are moments....

My daughter performed at a local show the other night. For HOURS beforehand, she bitched about her hair, her outfit, her sister....bitch bitch bitch double whine bitchfest. Again, luckily, I am heavily medicated.

And then she got up on stage and sang. Suddenly Satan's Spawn transformed into this beautiful young girl who's melodic and powerful voice filled the room, capitvating everyone. (The blonde in the limo was in the audience so there's a third party to attest to how amazing she was-you can never trust a mother for these kinds of assessments.)

I kept thinking "Is that MY kid??????? Where did Helen Hormone go???" And of course I cried. Despite heavy medication.

So I guess I'll keep her. And don't accuse me of being overly sentimental-I love her, but I only sort of LIKE her right now. But eventually she'll morph into a normal human being, and by then I'll be tanning by a poolside somewhere on her dime. She owes me.

Speaking of Bears

This story has nothing to do with bears, but nooprah reminded me of a camping tale.

MANY years ago, me, nooprah, and a few other members of our assorted gang went camping. I don't know why-it's not like we were a bunch of nature loving, mountain climbing, dare devil, Eagle Scout bunch of kids or anything. Hanging out was our hobby. But somebody had one of those flashes of brilliance you get when you've been hanging around doing nothing for about five weeks and said "Let's go camping!" Someone else had a car and we found a tent somewhere, so why not?

Anyway, we didn't go to any pussy campground with showers and electrical outlets...we went way into the woods around the White Mountains. To a place where large animals lived. A place where seasoned campers disappeared on a regular basis. I don't think we were very smart.

But we sure were prepared...nooprah brought a suitcase and a pillow, and I brought a whistle.

In the middle of our camping adventure, Barbie (Real Name: Barbie) and I spotted something in the water. We thought it was one of our buddies washing his hair (of COURSE we didn't forget to bring shampoo!), but as we ventured closer we realized it was a dead guy, his body all caught up in the rocks as bits of his broken canoe floated away in the rapids.

So I did what any composed and rational person would do under these types of circumstances-I blew my whistle. It didn't matter that there was NOONE within miles of us except the rest of our camping crew...I blew that whistle anyway, forever, as if somehow it was going to make this poor guy rise from the dead or an entire emergency response team would hear it in the nearest town 30 miles away and say "Listen! Someone's blowing a whistle in the woods! They must've found a dead body! Let's go!!!"

I forgot what happened next, but we eventually managed to contact the authorities. Then we packed up our tent (and nooprah his suitcase) and went home.

Hoagy was not there by the way...I think he couldn't find an appropriate pair of designer hiking boots or something. But boy did WE all learned a lesson on that trip. I'm not really sure what that lesson WAS, but I personally stay in hotels when I go away now.

The Missing A

English teachers throughout the world can finally sleep soundly. And get a life (I'm sorry-I meant 'get lives....' Please don't lower my grade).

The missing "A" has been found.

I'm referring, of course, to the longstanding and pressing mystery surrounding Neil Armstrong's actual quote when he first stepped on the moon.

Some accounts document him as saying "Shit! This place really IS made of cheese. It stinks up here. Is it Brie? Because I'm about to puke, being an American and all"

But far more controversial is the more familiar "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind" quote. The folks at NASA went nuts, because as we all know THAT STATEMENT IS REDUNDANT!!!! I certainly haven't stopped thinking about it.

Anyway, when Astronaut Armstrong arrived home from the alleged moonwalk (which Michael Jackson immediately copied), he had the following conversation with his boss:

NASA Moonwalk Boss: "You screwed up your lines Neil. You were supposed to say "That's one small step for A man, one giant leap for mankind. The phone lines here are clogged with calls from godam English teachers."

Astronaut Armstrong: "I used the "A."

NASA Moonwalk Boss: "No you didn't."

Astronaut Armstrong: "Did too."

NASA Moonwalk Boss: "Didn't."

Astronaut Armstrong: "Did."

And so on.

But years later, technology saved the day. Some computer expert (nerd) using a device that noone has ever heard of and when described makes normal people's eyes glaze over FOUND THE MISSING "A!" Yup. It was right there in the transmission to NASA and it only took someone willing to work 7 days a week since 1969 with a piece of machinary which uses electrical impulses to... Oh, nevermind.

They found the "A."

Now the Guardians of Grammar can go back to harassing waitresses when something is misspelled on their menus.

And Neil Armstrong's NEW famous quote?

"Told ya so."

They Slaughter Turkeys, Don' They?

This is a PUBLIC story, all over the local T.V. stations and newspapers, so I'm allowed to write about it.

The Declaration of Independence, The Constitution, The Articles of Confederation, The Gettysburg Address, The Geneva Conventions, and The Reader's Digest all say so. Along with the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval People.

I had a student last year who, to put it delicately, I didn't admire. He didn't think much of me either, so we pretty much fought WWII, condensed into one academic year, everyday. It was a lot of fun...the teacher equivalent of reinacting the first 20 minutes of "Saving Private Ryan" each morning.

To make matters worse, "Bobby" (absolutely NOT his real name) has one of those mothers who earned her PHD in "My Son Does Nothing Wrong He's Just Misunderstood And It's Everybody Else's Fault And You're Just Out To Get Him And I'm Going To File A Lawsuit." Framed, it must take up an entire wall in her office.

"Bobby wasn't drunk when he slammed his truck into a tree on the way to school....he drank AFTER the accident because he was so stressed." (damn good thing he had the foresight to stash a pint of vodka under his front seat at 7 AM just in case this type of situation arose.)

Mom and I weren't exactly "tight," to say the least. We had "polite" disagreements: SHE: "My son's an angel." ME: "Your son's a Sociopath."

Anyway, "Bobby" graduated, and decided to spend a night this past weekend with a buddy, get all liquored up, break into a turkey farm and bludgeon 20 or so birds to death with a pitchfork, a baseball bat, and a shovel. Just a fun night out with the boys! My colleagues suggested that he was probably screaming my name as he butchered the birds.

After his mugshot was flashed all over T.V., he had a court arraignment where he shuffled in, hiding his head in the "professional perp pose," and heard the charges. Afterwards, someone in the courtroom yelled "I love you "Bobby!"

While some folks suggested it might have been me, I simply couldn't get the time off to support him....wonder who it could have been?

Happy very early Thanksgiving everyone!

For Real?

I recently drove by a small business called "The Electric Shaver Repair Shop."

I've been by it before and did the same "double-take" most slightly sane people must've done a million times before (not sure if I fit into that 'slightly sane'category, but I still had to adjust my eyes to make sure I didn't need to make an appointment with my opthropmoloeyeguygist.) The owners must be marketing geniuses; they've somehow managed to convince customers to FIX their broken electric razors instead of tossing them and going to Wal-Mart and buying a brand new one for, I dunno, 40 bucks? Microsoft should hire these guys. Unless it's just a front for a drug ring operation-THAT I could understand.

But when my friend Joanie told me I needed to go to "The Vacuum Cleaner Hospital" to buy carpet shampoo, I sudddenly developed a new respect for the small business owner.

Maybe I'll start some REAL competition and open a "Throwaway Razor Repair Shop."

Obviously the possibilities for a boss-free life are endless.

Chic Lit Shit

I live in a pretty spacious house that has four apartments. There's me, the grouchy guy below me whom I've managed to win over, the eldery woman Pat who loves me so much that she regularly bakes cookies for me and my kids, and the young couple across from me who have a little girl that I always pay special attention to.

I'm just a darn good neighbor-it's not always easy, since it often requires me to engage in a lot of superficial chit-chat before I can get from my car to my apartment when I have to pee REALLY bad. But it beats having neighbors who hate you.

The other day I noticed my neighbor Cindy from across the hall (remember HER, Nooprah?) outside reading a book. So, being the Good Neighbor, I asked her what she was reading...not that I really cared...and she told me it was a REALLY funny BeachRead escapism book that she was totally enjoying. So I said something stupid like "We all need those kinds of mindless books to get lost in." I thought my neighborly duty was done.

But I'm not THAT lucky. This morning I opened my door and there was The Book...with a post-it note saying "ENJOY!" And it's one of those "Chic Lit" books (new genre created and peddled by the folks in publishing who think all women across the country will empathize with rich women whose husbands' done them wrong by ditching them, after years of enduring facelifts and Botox and tummy tucks, for younger perkier less high maintence wives).

As a Good Neighbor, I now feel obligated to actually READ this book. And I'm trying. But after two chapters of reading about upscale designers I've never heard of, famous plastic surgeons and $2000 pairs of shoes, I wanted to stick my head in my gas oven. And it's not even FUNNY-it's just pathetic.

I'm no literary snob. I think I've been pretty upfront about the fact that I dislike most fiction and believe that every book should start with a dead body. I'm not sure I can bear plodding through this chic lit shit book written by a "Hollywood Insider." I've never even BEEN to California, and if I never end up going there, I'm pretty sure I'll die peacefully regardless.

But I'll do my best-being a Good Neighbor and all. And if I make it through without slitting my wrists, I'm going to insist that all of you read it too.

What are Blog Friends for, afterall.