First of all thank me. Thank me for having the foresight to start a blog that is completely dedicated to Madonna otherwise, poor poor unsuspecting, "I like Madonna's old stuff" readers like yourselves (except you my dear Joey and *madonna*...psst go to my Madonna blog right now, I got her Sun Silk commercial on there with her new single playing in the background *giddy squeals and mini-jumping*)...would be inundated with Madonna ramblings, musings, gushings, daydreams and pointless Madonna picture posting because I'm getting the diarrhea cramps as I anxiously wait for her new album to come out. (April 29th is like, totally a billion years away as far as I'm concerned)
Anyways where was I now? OH yes, Thank me. Go on.
Now, on to more important things like taking my two cents and finding places to shove them.
*Have you read/seen Into The Wild? The guy that sheds all his material possessions to go and live off the fatta the land? Admirable right? Nah. He ends up starving to death in Alaska because he accidentally ate a poisonous plant or something. The movie and book make him out to be somewhat of this romantic, foolhardy, hero-ish type character but they failed to highlight the fact that he was incredibly......how do I put this subtly.....
or in Latin Terms: ESTUPIDO HEADUPONESASSIAN
Um, before ripping off your Burberry tie and shedding your Prada shoes to dance with mother nature, how 'bout a little research? Because had you done that, you probably would have known better than to bring a bag of rice (mmm, so filling with no nutrients, just like bringing a bag of Styrofoam!) and a pussy ass .22 rifle to ALASKA, home of the bears that will eat you and then play hacky sack with your kidney for fun.
Or hell, maybe a trip to Wal-Mart to get some decent camping gear. OR if you really want to experience "survival" how about being a single mom with a minimum wage job? I think I would have lasted through that story better without rolling my eyes a billion times.
* My obsessions with the pertness of my boobs has reached maximum neurotic slash deranged. A quick recap: I wear a bra when I'm awake and cradle them at night to keep them up. I even do the French trick of showering them in super cold water to "tighten" the skin around my precious cans.
It works if my mind believes it works. Don't you watch Looney Tunes? Notice how the characters can walk in mid-air UNTIL they look down? I'm applying the same logic here....
ANYWAYS....I woke up early this past Saturday, munchkin and viking hubby were still asleep and so I figured I'd watch some of the shows I've DVR'ed. I sat down and noticed, oh, no bra. go get your bra. But the lazy ass in me was like, okay you're just watching a t.v., you don't want to go all the way up stairs to get your bra? Just shut up and watch the show.
I sat there and tried to watch my show trying to ignore the defcon five alarm that was screaming in my head: SUPPORT!!! BRA!! we NEED A BRA STAT! Oh god, your boobie skin is stretching as you sit here!! Do you not feel your boobies struggling to maintain?? Damn you woman! Do not ignore us!! And then flashes of that woman in New Guinea with saggy boobies that I saw in the National Geographic when I was like five, was pulled out from the archives and flashed in my front of my mind's eye.
I lasted a total of 10 minutes before I went upstairs to get that bra.
* Dear God up above, tell me why is it that my gag reflex is triggered by the mere sight of him? I should be happy for my friend I know. He treats her well I know. Sure he's not my cup of tea but as long as he treats my friend right, then I should be happy about this right? Then why? Why the dry heaves? Why does the barf button go off in his presence?? Somethings not quite right I'm afraid.....I just hope its nothing major.
* The Crimson Wave crashed onto the shore heavily for only a day and a half and then left without a trace! What the?? Wait...no, no...I'm not questioning it, I'm merely celebrating it.
I thought I'd share the good news with you fine people. You keep eating that lunch and try not to think about it.
* conversations with the munchkin:
munchkin: momma how old am I?
me: you're four.
munchkin: I not four.
me: okay, how old are you then?
munchkin ponders for a moment.....
me: (being a pushy mother, not giving her child a moment to think), so how old are you?
me: 26? you're 26 really?
me: hmmm, I guess we're going to have to buy you a car then.
munchkin: yes, I need a car.
me: Okay, what model?
munchkin: A Barbie one.
me: Like a Chevy Malibu?
munchkin: No, like the one on t.v. with blonde hair. (then she looks at me like I'm the most disgusting thing she's ever seen) You know who Barbie is!
She's right. I think she is 26.