The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite

Hey, do you want to hear the stupidest thing in the world? My kid, she is finally sleeping better on a somewhat regular basis. In her own room. Away from my body.

And I am UPSET about it. UPSET. Like she’s OFF AND LEAVING ME. God, it’s like I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. She can’t sleep away from me? Misery and the very real possibility of becoming institutionalized. She finally sleeps away from me? I’m practically in TEARS because she doesn’t seem to need me anymore. Jesus H, you guys. Parenthood is one gig that you literally cannot win, no matter what happens, and yes, I pretty much want to punch myself in the face for all of this, YES. PUNCH PUNCH.

This looks like a kid ready to head off to college FOR SURE.

Ahem. Moving on!

**** RIDICULOUS TELEVISION CONVERSATION BELOW. GO BELOW ASTERISKS IF YOU ARE SICK OF EFFING TRUE BLOOD AND HBO IN GENERAL, ALTHOUGH THERE IS SOME TWOP SNARKING, TOO****

I know I mention it like, um, every day, but I have serious concerns as to how I’m going to go on with my life once True Blood is over. SERIOUS CONCERNS. No, really. I have spent a bit too much time pondering the season and following stupid people like BonTempsGossip on Twitter, and becoming INTENSELY IRRITATED with TWoP recapper Jacob, who has decided that instead of keeping with the light, snarky spirit of Television Without Pity, he’d rather use the time to ponder life, the universe and whether God exists in broad, sweeping, painfully esoteric terms that have nothing to do with how amusingly irritating it is when Bill screams, “SOOKEH!” for the frillionth time. I mean, there’s COMEDY GOLD in there, and all Jacob cares about is talking about his personal journey while reading Donna Tartt’s The Secret History and waxing philosophical about God in whatever form. Yes, yes, there are Dionysian links to both, but GOD SHUT UP SHUT UP.

Television Without Pity has truly sucked the big one since the Bravo acquisition, and I can’t help but once again long for the days of AB and Evany with more than a wistful sigh. They were FUNNY and IRREVERENT, where as Jacob is … reverent.

Think I’m kidding? No no. An actual paragraph from what should be a hilarious send-up of Maryann and her stupid Dionysus-loving (albeit great) ass, but was instead a … oh Christ, just read it and try not to poke your eyes out with the nearest pointy object:

… Ekstasis comes from the word for displacement, ek (out) + histanai (to stand): To rise up. To come out of stasis. From the word for stand we get “stet,” like to leave things the way they are, and “status quo,” and basically everything that defines us. To step out of that, for even one second, is also to touch all of it at once: That’s God. There is not a better definition for divinity. Every religion that ever existed is about this attempt to get out of our shitty mud and touch something eternal …

And then he … talks about Camille Paglia and how she affected him, which, if that isn’t the world’s biggest buzzkill, I don’t know what is.

Hey, Jacob? Get over yourself. This is not the Personal Journey of True Blood According to Jacob And His Feelings On God, The Universe and Everything In It, Which Weirdly Includes Camille Paglia, The Greatest Turnoff of All Turnoffs. I’ll stick with KDiddy, who has RETAINED HER SENSE OF HUMOR. Thanks.

And you know what else? Hung. It sucks. SUUUUCKS. Man, HBO, you really blew it with that one. Great concept, piss-poor execution. I mean, how is it that tired, rote ENTOURAGE is more fun than a comedic send-up of a reluctant male prostitute? How is it that I find myself caring more about Eric Murphy’s love life than whether Ray Whatsisface gets a new client? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE, HBO?

****END TELEVISION TORTURE****

Onto random bullets!

– I stopped refrigerating my butter at my father’s behest, and let me tell you, it’s BLISS. First of all, you use less when you’re not trying to desperately mash it into a wafer-thin English muffin, tearing the bread to bits in the process. Good butter freezes HARD, yo, and I found myself slicing it with a CHEESE KNIFE to get it to go on my muffins, which meant I was eating GIANT SLABS OF BUTTER every morning. This, as you can imagine, is not very good for the old Weight Watchers. I couldn’t even figure out how to explain how much butter I was eating, and you know, butter is not meant to be eaten sliced, like cheese. It just isn’t.

Plus! It doesn’t go bad, it remains soft and the best part? All these SALTY BITS end up on the outside of it, and it’s DELICIOUS.

– I’ve been nursing a dangerous pickled beet habit to the tune of $16 a week. A WEEK. For God’s sake, that’s what I used to spend on CIGARETTES when I smoked. You know, back before taxes hiked them up to $30K per pack. But still. $16 a week. Both days of the farmer’s market — Wednesdays and Saturdays — I’m plunking Sam in the Ergo and heading down to the Happy Valley farm booth, hands shaking, in desperate need of my fix. It’s DISGUSTING and EXPENSIVE and hey, does anyone have a pickled beet recipe I can snag?

– I saw an acquaintance who just had a baby at the pediatrician’s office the other day and … oh wow, you guys. She looked DEAD. And TIRED. And ALL BANGED UP. And while I know without a doubt that I looked PRECISELY like that for at least the first two months after Sam’s birth, I have to ask: is it the same with the second kid, or are you a *leeetle* more together because you know all the sleep dep eventually ends, and that at one time, in the not so distant future, you will sleep again, or at least learn to FUNCTION on so little sleep? Or — and I don’t know if I want to know the answer if this is the case — IS IT WORSE?

Happy Wednesday!

72 comments August 25th, 2009