Now That Just Makes Me Mad

Yet further evidence (as if we needed some) that I'm not ready to be a mother...

I read an article in The Weekly Trash Supply (also known as either People or Us Weekly magazines) that discussed a new trend growing in popularity among celebrity mothers: staying in shape while pregnant. From doing everything from extra exercise (Pilates, yoga, aerobics) to eating all organic diets, cutting out all carbohydrates and processed foods, and in some cases, even junk food bans, these stars are aiming to maintain a healthy weight and shape while the carry their little future mind-reading fetuses to term.

Ok, now this just pisses me off. Because if you can't eat like a horse and have an excuse to get fat in a scenario where no one will ask you questions, then what's the point of being pregnant? (Side note: and don't you DARE say, "bringing a new life into the world." Don't you dare.) If I were to ever get pregnant, you can bet your sweet ass I'd have me a tub of cherry vanilla ice cream and a bucket of boiled peanuts and I'd be sitting on my couch tearing through that crap like Richard Simmons tears through the sequin section at the fabric store.

And cut my carbs? Now for this you've just got to be kidding me. Kids love spaghetti! And since you are eating and the baby is eating YOU (well, not exactly, but that's kind of how I think of it...little leech), then ergo, the baby is eating the spaghetti. See! Carbs are good for you AND the kid! The logical thought process, then, would be that if you cut out carbs, you are actually depriving your child of a basic physical and emotional need (Side note: YES! Pasta is a basic physical and emotional need everyone has!) and could soon be prosecuted for negligence. And we wouldn't want that now, would we?

So what do you think...if you have kids or even just hypothetically: would you cut out junk food from your diet while pregnant?

Serious Saturday: Made in the U.S.A.

I've eaten boiled peanuts. I've watched some fireworks. I've splashed around in the pool, and I've watched the trailer for a upcoming movie I might want to go see.

Today, around the nation, people have come together to share in a day of fun to celebrate our country. Today, I'm sure there have been a lot of frisbees tossed, a lot of hotdogs consumed. And for every family who has grilled a hamburger, there's probably an animal rights activist who had a veggie burger tonight. At some homes, there were probably people talking about being happy that the Democrats are in the White House now, while next door there are folks lamenting that the Republicans aren't in charge.

But that's just what we're celebrating.

I've hugged friends today, laughed with family today. I've walked my dogs, and I've told stories. I've taken pictures. I've checked my e-mail.

Today, as I sit here at my computer listening to some ongoing fireworks popping outside my window, I'm thinking about how I can talk to who I want to, I can choose my own path of work. I can choose to go to any church I want to go to tomorrow morning...or I can choose not to go at all. I know tomorrow I will go to a rehearsal for a show I'm in (Chicago) where I will shake my butt toward the audience all in the name of comedy in a musical, when in some countries, women would be shot dead in the streets for wearing the costume I'm donning for the show.

I've painted my toe nails bright hot pink. I've had a glass of Hawaiian punch, and I've watched Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

I've remembered what it costs for me to do all these things, and I've thanked God for the lives that are being given even as I write this blog to keep it that way.

What have you done today?

Like an Athiest Named Jesus

Names are funny things. I mean, I've always been a person who gives an extreme amount of significance to names, hence the whole thing I've talked about previously, such as how I name inanimate objects and think of words to call certain feelings/concepts I have, because I always feel there should be a name for them. But there are also names that are just plain and out funny. Here are a few:

*I read today an article about a plastic surgeon who performs gender reassignment surgeries whose name is Dr. Alter. Wait...back that up and read it again. Doctor ALTER. Now that's just wrong.

*Honest to Pete, my old orthodontist's first name was Toof.

*I know I've already pointed out the irony that Madonna dates a guy named Jesus, but that one is too good to not bring up twice (or thirty-three times).

*In college, I knew a guy named Hunter who was a vegetarian.

Heard any ironic names lately?

Too Darn Hot

During the past week, four celebrity legends have passed away. The US handed control of Baghdad back over to the Iraqi people. And yet, in middle Georgia, it seems like there's only one thing you hear coming out of people...

"Sure is hot, isn't it?"

It's upwards of a hundred degrees with a humidity factor higher than Dennis Rodman before his intervention on Celebrity Apprentice. Yes, it's hot. But, can we NOT find anything better to discuss than the very obvious fact that it's hot as hell outside? In fact, I think it might be worse than hell: because it's hot AND there are mosquitoes.

However, one of my all time favorite comments from the grocery store clerk, your waiter at Outback, the guy you pass as you walk into Walmart: "So, is it hot enough for ya?" *Stares perpetrator straight in the face.* "No, actually, I think I'd like it to be a bit hotter so that my flesh could sear on the outside a bit like a steak on the grill and turn not just red, but black and charred. But thank you for asking."

Now that I think about it, that would be a good experiment in the GA heat; perhaps I should marinate myself in a savory blend of herbs and wine sauce and cook for an hour on outdoor temperature just to see if I'd be tasty. Oh, I bet I would.

So, in tradition of the folks in the South, I ask you: how's the weather?

Star Struck: Uh...Awkward!

Where have all the comments gone? Dododo dododo dododo dododo. (Side note: If you didn't get that song reference, then I apologize in advance for my lame attempt at thinking I can write out lyrics and they'll come across like...um...something." On to the post!

Madonna has recently been entangled in a fight to adopt a child, Mercy James, from Malawi, where she previously adopted son, David. Now, I'm shady on exactly why BOTH times Madonna has adopted a child from this country, there seems to have been a question about whether or not the said child was available for adoption. And now, in BOTH cases, Madonna has won custody of said child. A lower Malawian court blocked her adoption of Mercy, but then a higher court overturned the ruling, saying the lower court had not taken into account Madonna's aid to the country by starting a charity, Raising Malawi, to help orphans.

Ok, so let me get this straight...if you start a charity in a country, that means you can just start plucking out kids? And if so, does this apply to other things besides children (Side note: because gaining children is of no interest to me)? Like, say I start a charity to benefit meerkats in the Callahari...??? Or, say I start a charity to, erm, "help" Matt Damon with his f***ing....??? Can I just go in and...??? I guess what we've learned from this is that if you have oddly (and oldly) muscular, fishnet-covered thighs and you date Jesus (and share a name with his mother), then you can do whatever the HELL you want!

Okay, moving on.

Also, this week in moron, I bring to you another of our old favorites, Kendra, Hugh Hefner's former third girlfriend who is now getting married to NBA star Hank Baskett. Well, this week, upon meeting Hank's parents--and her future in-laws-- for the first time, she presented them with...you guessed it...an autographed copy of Playboy magazine with her on the cover. Somebody cue the awkward turtle...it's time for his run across the stage!

So, this week, it's your call, Blog Club...who would you rather stab with a spork: baby-stealing Madonna or Famous-For-My-Boobs Kendra?

A More Different S

Tonight, I am excited to add to the Cyllabary, an ongoing series that is your handy guide to the words and concepts that are "Colbyisms" as are, alas, part of my world (that you are pretending to be interested in if only to make me able to pretend I’m a F-list celebrity). Today, we will discern the differences between the all important "Rock," "Rock my face," and "Love."

First, there's Rock. Usually, "rock," a bastardization of the phrase, "that rocks," is said in a sarcastic situation and, loosely translated, means "my, that is annoying/inconvenient/ridiculous." Example: I needed to have my paycheck cashed today, and the bank closes at five. I got here at five after five. Rock.

Next, we have "rock my face," or in some cases, even "that rocks my face off." This is sometimes said sarcastically (see above), but is more often than not is said genuinely to express how much an occurrence is pleasing to me. Example: A friend knows how much I like pear jelly belly beans, so picks up a bag for me. That rocks my face off.

Lastly, we have my comment I make of "Love." Love is rarely if ever said sarcastically. Love is always said to communicate appreciation/approval of a moment or a story someone tells me. Example: Friend: Guess what?
Me: What?
Friend: I saw where the Monkey's status on facebook said he could barely walk
because his ass still hurts so badly from where you pushed him down a flight of
stairs yesterday.
Me: Haha. Love.

And those are the Cyllabary additions for the day. In conclusion, I'd like to post an all-time favorite video that totally rocks my face. Love.

Is the Term Blowhole Allowed?

Happy Father's Day, Blog Club! Today, I've been thinking about sea mammals. And no, I have no idea how sea mammals and Father's Day tie together (Side note: must not make comment about Dad hitched up to a porpoise. Must not.). But nevertheless, the more I think about these mammals with blowholes (Haha! "Blowholes"!), the more I think that Shamu (Side note: also known as the ba-jillion orcas that "are" Shamu), should get mad props for the life he leads.

I mean, not only does he have five hundred twenty-five million and six other whales named after him, but he also has to perform in front of a bunch of I-Like-To-Tap-On-The-Glass Morons. And don't even get me started on the use of his image for commercial sales. Do you think his little Shamu children ever see a dime of that exploitation? I don't think so! But because I've been thinking about Shamu, as always, that has brought me back to a place of thinking about what I would be like if I was Shamu.

Well, first of all, if I was Shamu, I would make sure to beat the ever-loving shit out of the other Shamus in my tank. After all, all is fair in love and which whale gets to perform. I'm tired as hell of having to sit back every other day and watch another Shamu steal my thunder. I'm not going to take it anymore, and if any of you Shamus don't like it you can just stick it in your blowhole!

Also, if I was Shamu, it would really get on my nerves if I ever saw anyone reading Moby Dick. So if you read it near me, be prepared to get drenched, you freakin' traitor. And the same goes for liking Flipper or Willy or any of the other so-called "names" in the biz. There can only be one star marine mammal, and it is Me with a capital M. For Mu. ShaMu.

What would you be like if you were Shamu?