I was sick this past weekend. Not like missing dying body parts sick. More like lying on the couch whimpering and shivering then moaning and sweating sick. Although, I won’t lie, I did go on like I was dying. While I was laying on the couch, whimpering and moaning, my 'medicine' was to watch every Hallmark movie they put in the Thanksgiving weekend lineup. Every. Single. One.
At one point, during the saga, Husband came in, watched for a bit then grabbed the remote, paused it and said. "Here's my prediction, that guy (pointing to current love interest) is a jerk and she's gonna figure it out and end up with that guy.” (Pointing to the girl’s best friend.)
I looked at him through the haze of fever, shook my head in disbelief and sniveled out a wimpy, "Duh."
I mean, why else would I watch them? They have a beginning, middle and happy ending every time. Sure, it's a predictable happy ending. But where else in this life do we get that? Where else do we know that the jerk is a jerk from moment one and that the hero is the hero? That every bad thing that happens to our heroine will be resolved at the end, usually with her falling in love with a Prince or a surprise million dollars suddenly being found with her name on it.
In Hallmark land, no one will ever be shot and killed or raped or abused. Sure, sometimes they may have been in the past but that’s only alluded to and it’s never anything like a Lifetime movie filled with dark shadows and menacing glances. No, Hallmark land is full of light and shiny happy smiles and sometimes with elves who come to right the wrongs. Love is found in a moment under mistletoe or while he's pretending to be your fake boyfriend/fiancé or when the grumpy rich business man or King or handyman who used to be a stockbroker but is now secretly living the lower to middle class lifestyle, when he bumps into the poor, just fired, raised her sisters kids/own siblings after her parents died a tragic death.
In Hallmark land, best friends and sisters are always available for witty comments and sage advice or for putting your dating profile up on a dating website without your approval. Yet you don't get upset and stop speaking to her or disown her no matter how much it's a trust violation. You just say her name on a sigh and then go on dates with whatever tall dark and handsome dude she’s found for you. And if that sister ran off with your boyfriend years ago, then your resentment and hurt is resolved by the good-looking, well meaning hunk of man that you’ve opened your shuttered heart to.
Mothers are bossy in Hallmark land and never listen to your feelings or wants and needs until the cute guy you've hired to be your fiancé for Thanksgiving/Christmas/your sisters wedding tells her off, then she's all tears and feelings and you forget all the angst and forgive her and instantly forget her lifetime of meddling and that she was plotting against you with your old boyfriend.
My name is ej, and I am addicted to the Hallmark Channel and all the Christmas movies, Thanksgiving movies, Valentines movies, Arbor Day movies… whatever dreck they can put out. I will watch. I get drawn in to the stupidest sappiest ones and cannot walk away, not matter how absurd the plot. I watch the bad ones. I watch the good ones.
I’ve become an expert at picking out the Canadians; even before they speak, and the actors making their first, and often painful to watch, foray into the genre. I applaud the TV stars on their way up and root for the “I used to be someone.” ones on their way down. I have been come a wiz at spotting the Canadian landmarks that are supposed to substitute for New York or Chicago or Los Angeles. The fake snow blankets and fake cold and the fake chemistry amuse me. I know how each story is going to end; when the drama will intensify, when the stakes will be raised and how each and every story will be resolved. And I know that when the happily ever after comes, I will be moderately satisfied yet I cannot stop watching. I cannot stop watching, no matter what Husband says or calls me or how he judges or where he hides the remote when I’m dying on the couch, I will watch. I am ej and I am an addict.
But who can judge my habit when the world is full of evil and there doesn’t seem to be a glimmer of hope that Bruce Willis or Jason Bourne or Jack Reacher (from the books, not Tom not right for the part Cruise) will be stepping in to punch the baddies in the nose and save the world. I mean, we are stupid people steps away from Donald Trump as our president. Donald Trump who will start a war with every country and put everyone who doesn’t look like him on lists or in camps or to death...
QUICK, get me a Hallmark movie right now! I need a predictable sappy happily ever after or I will never leave the house again.
My uncle is a bird guy. As in, sits in cold wet/hot dry places waiting for the elusive Whatyamacallit to come out of the bushes so he can get a photograph, bird guy. He’s currently in Australia for the month doing what he loves best – the aforementioned sitting in cold wet/hot dry places waiting for the elusive Whatyamacallit to come out of the bushes so he can get a photograph. Most of the time, he just sends an email with photos as communication but this time we got this:
Interesting encounter today along the access road to Hypipamee Crater (for you non-Australians, that’s at the southern end of the Atherton Tablelands, west of Cairns, Queensland). I was by myself, squinting at some small thing in the woods, looked up, and saw this guy strolling down the road towards me. Having heard of a male in the area with some chicks (= aggressive) I was a bit concerned but saw no chicks and decided I wasn’t about to be stompled/eviscerated. The bird walked casually along the road edge while I took photos. I REALLY hoped (Aunt) would follow me so she could see it, and she did, and took some shots of her own. It got a bit tense when the bird seemed to take a strong interest in our blue shirts (color of some favorite fruits, supposedly) and kept walking RIGHT up to us in a determined manner, holding eye contact the whole time. I hid (sort of) behind my tripod and (Aunt) got behind a car. Didn’t seem aggressive, just very focused, but we were intimidated. Finally it strolled off into the woods. You know you’re close when your 100-400 zoom is too long at the 100 mm end — for some of these I used a 24-105 mm lens.
This is a typical Uncle email. I’m from a family of dry sarcastic smart asses. Notice that Uncle says he was “a bit concerned…” about the bird. And that the bird was “…walking causally along the road edge while I took photos.” And, that things got “a bit tense when the bird seemed to take a strong interest in our blue shirts…”
Yeah, can you say understatement? I mean I’m imagining this little angry bird coming at him, something comical like a duck or a goose. Not this massive guy!
HOLY CRAP that sucker is big! Right?!?
I now get his very unassuming statement, “…but we were intimidated.” Yeah, I’m totally intimidated and I’m nowhere near that massively big bird. A bird, by the way, who looks nothing like the fluffy wonder that was my childhood crush, Big Bird.
I mean, look at this dude's head!
Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Any questions of what my family Thanksgivings were like should be answered with this post.
OR, if you don’t get the weird from this post, try this one (The Thanksgiving Threesome Story...) OR (Thanksgiving and THE SEX SHOP...) OR (THANKSGIVING WRAP UP...)
It may be mortifying, I may constantly blushing but my family is never ever boring.
Last year, Husband and I looked out our window, saw this and thought, "People SUCK!" I mean, who takes a bag of trash and scatters it all over a hillside?
So I grumped down the hill to the electric lines thruway with an empty bag to pick up the trash and found that - in this case - people weren't sucking, Mother Nature was just being AWESOME!
I mean, who else can take freezing temperatures and a wicked bird blowing wind and make these?
And today, she did it again. Making cotton candy out of air? Mother Nature for the win!
I realize it's not productive and that the world won't change if we all spend our time like this but, man, if I could spend my day like this - heck, my life like this - I would. Cause mean people really suck.
And I'm talking to you, Donald Trump and all you mean fake Christians who pray and preach one thing and practice another.
Also, this picture can be printed and colored. Which is the in thing for grown-ups to do right now. So, because everyone is acting like a spoilt child and needs a spanking, I thought it might be appropriate for some quiet time.
Not for Donald, though. He's going to be in the time-out corner for a long, long time. Bad, sexist, racist asshat. BAD!
Yesterday a friend of mine did a terribly brave and frightening thing and stripped all the dye out of her hair, going back to her natural color. She’s been coloring her hair for more than twenty years so this was a big deal because her natural color was now grey. And grey, no matter how pretty, has all sorts of baggage that comes with it, good and bad.
This was not a decision she made lightly. No, this has been years of dialog, months of discussions, many lists of pros and cons, pictures and articles of people who have made the choice, tons of research into the best products to use… because, hair is a big deal. It doesn’t mater if you’re black or white, male or female, hair can and often does define you. How many of us have had a good day on a bad hair day? Even my mother, who has always said she didn’t care about her hair, was traumatized when she lost it due to chemo. Because hair is a big fucking deal!
So my friend spends yesterday getting her hair stripped and with each layer, she gets more and more unsure of the end result. It’s hard to feel confident as you’re sitting in a chair watching the hairdresser concoct potions of purple goo to slather on your head. But after hours of uncertainty, and several layers of goo and washing and cutting and blow drying she’s done and it’s great. She looks fantastic. She feels fantastic. She can’t stop smiling. She puts a picture up on Facebook of her new look – no text, just a picture - and people compliment and flatter and gush.
Except for this one shit of a woman, who I’m going to call Shit of a Woman, because that is what she is. This Shit of a Woman. puts up this comment. “I’m sorry, I don’t care for it. However you are beautiful. I’m just being honest.”
Yeah, no. You’re just being an asshole.
Didn’t anyone ever tell you, if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all? Or did you forget that behind the safety of your screen? My friend didn’t ask for you comments. Sure, she put a picture up and sure that is opening her up to comments but she didn’t say to you, “Hey, Shit of a Woman. What do you think?” She didn’t say, “I really want you to be honest and tell me how you feel.” She didn’t say, “Read through all the concerns I’ve had about this change, wait for the picture and then tell me you’re sorry and say the meanest thing you can.” You don’t “care for it”? Well, then, don’t “like” it and don’t say anything at all!
Shit of a Woman is not a friend. Shit is not even a nice human being. Shit of a Woman deserves a punch in the nose.
Now I’m not saying Shit of a Woman had to lie. Real friends don’t lie. They cushion their truths so they don’t make you bleed but a real friend will not lie. Shit of a Woman is not a real friend. She didn’t have to give her asshole opinion at all. And she sure didn’t have to put it out there for all to see. She could have told her husband or her kids or friends she didn’t care for it. She could have written it in her diary. Heck, she actually could have told my friend to her face IF my friend had asked her for an honest opinion but to put it out there in a comments section, well, that makes you a SHIT!
Husband worked with a white dude years ago that had a massive drinking problem. And one day, sober or not, we’re unsure, he went into the HR department and told the Indian HR guy what he thought of him. But, he prefaced every single inappropriate and very racist thought with the caveat “Off the record here…”
“Off the record” and “I’m just being honest” are not magic capes that excuse good manners. They’re just the swords of the mean. And you, Shit of a Woman, are just plain mean.
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me