Status: Annoyed

(Insert usual lame excuses here as to why I haven't been around lately. Bonus points if you come up with a more creative and, yet, still plausible excuse as to why I haven't been around lately. No points if you just scowl and make some kind of sarcastic remark about how I haven't been around lately. Negative points if you manage to make it sound, in the process of not making ANY excuses as to why I haven't been around lately, like I have no life and therefore no excuse for not being around lately.) (And now, on to actual content...)

Baseball:
You know, when we were doing well, I thought "Yay! I knew we were going to have a great shot at contending this year!" Then, after April and after it all started going to hell, I thought, "It's okay. We're still in first in the division and nothing matters until after the All Star Break, anyway." Then after the All Star Break, when we were still in first place in the division but we were still tanking, I thought "Well, at least we're still in first in the division.... I guess.... I mean, they'll start recovering soon, right? Look at the April we had! We'll pull it out when it counts!" Then, when the Dodgers acquired Manny Ramirez (or MAN-RAM!, as Mark Grace likes to call him) and we were still tanking, I thought "Oh CRAP!" And then when the Dodgers took over first place, and I realized we weren't going to recover, I thought, "Well, I guess there's next year."

Seriously, though. What happened to my team? Why did they have to make my cry and scream and rend my garments like that? More than that, why did they have to crash in such a spectacular fashion? Seriously, whoever it was that said that Manny Ramirez deserved to be the Dodgers MVP only because they couldn't exactly give it to the Diamondbacks wasn't joking. Unfortunately. *sigh* Here's to next year. May we not suck nearly as badly, or, alternately, may we suck a lot up front so my expectations won't be as high and it won't be such a shock when we end up embarrassing ourselves.

September:
September was kind of the Month of Suck for us, in more ways than just a baseball fan capacity. I was in Urgent Care three times in two and a half weeks. The first time, they gave me antibiotics for a sinus infection, ear infection, and eye drops for conjunctivitis (pink eye, for those of you without children in the house). The second time, they gave me even stronger antibiotics for the tonsillitis. And the third time, they took x-rays for a possible fracture that ended up being either tendonitis or a sprained wrist. Honestly? I could have done without all of that. Having my body fail me in such spectacular fashion was not good for my confidence level. And we won't even discuss what it did for my PTO time at work. I'm crossing my fingers that nobody else in my house gets sick or otherwise requires my work-time attention so I can still take some time off at Christmas. I'm sure there will be many cookies to consume and I take my cookie consumption seriously.

Politics:
Quite frankly, I'm not even sure how to express my utter and complete weariness with regard to the current election coverage and political campaigning. Not only because it's EVERYWHERE but it's so ANGRY. I haven't seen a single conversation about people's political ideals without someone at some point frothing at the mouth and screaming about how the country will go to hell if "that guy" is elected. And the thing is, sometimes that person is me. I need this election to be over soon so my blood pressure can stabilize because honestly? It alarms me a little that the staff at the urgent care know me by name.

A Confession And A Poll

So, I realize I haven't been around much lately. It's a seasonal thing, I think. (Or, alternatively, a laziness thing.) It gets hot here and I don't want to do much of anything. I haven't been in the gym in forever, either, and my ass is tacking on pounds as we speak, if it makes you feel better.

Regardless, I'm here now and I have a confession to make: I'm more concerned with how my Diamondbacks are doing in the division than anything that's going on in the Olympics. It's not that I'm not invested in the Olympics. I mean, who could really avoid getting swept up in the Michael Phelps story? Well, I guess if your soul is black and your heart is a dry, shriveled husk, you have a good shot, but the last I checked, my soul is colorful and gay and my heart is pounding a merry jig, so I'm caught up in the mystique with the rest of the U.S. But still, the channel doesn't get changed to NBC until I know the final score of the D-backs game. This is my value system, people. Isn't it a marvel?

So on to the poll:

I place more importance on Diamondbacks baseball than the Olympic games. This means:

A) I am Un-American, Un-Patriotic, and quite possibly a Terrorist. I also have problems with random capitalization.
B) Baseball is as American as apple pie! Of COURSE I want to follow my team! Besides, the highlights of the Olympics will be all over the internet tomorrow, anyway.
C) When you get all judgey-judgey, God kills a puppy. Live and let live, bitchez!

Leave your vote in the comments.

Apparently, I Have Been Using The Wrong Alphabet

Oscar, Turtle and I were sitting around the dinner table the other night, enjoying a lovely meal together. Well, Oscar and I were enjoying a meal. Turtle was bouncing off the walls. But then, all of a sudden, Turtle stopped bouncing off the walls and looked at me very seriously. "Mommy?" he said. "Do you know what starts with the letter i?" I looked back at Turtle and very curiously said, "No, buddy, what starts with the letter i?" There was a brief pause and then, even more seriously, Turtle looked back at me and said, "Chicken." While relaying this story to his daycare provider the next day, she asked me if I corrected him. My response? "Hell no. I was too busy laughing my ass off."

Under The Heading "Kids Say The Darndest Things..."

Turtle: Mommy, we don't have any more Christmas trees.
Me: No, buddy, we don't. That's because it's not Christmas anymore. We'll get another one next Christmas.
Turtle, exasperated: NO, Mommy. We don't have any more CHRISTMAS TREES.
Me: Right, Christmas trees. We don't have ours anymore. I heard you.
Turtle: No, Mommy. You said Christmas trees. I said we don't have any more CHRISTMAS TREES.
Me: *shooting Oscar a confused look*
Oscar: Rice Krispie Treats, honey.
Me: Ohhhhh. Riiiiiiiiiiight. You're right, buddy. We are out of Rice Krispie treats. You and daddy ate them all.
Turtle: We need to go to the store so we can get more mushrooms so we can make more Christmas trees.
Me: Sure thing, little man. More mushrooms are just what we need.

Go Rockies!

I kind of feel like I need to tip my hat to the Rockies today. I was thinking about doing it yesterday, when I read about their 22-inning marathon against the Padres. 22 innings is a hell of a lot of work, and the fact that they were able to pull off a win makes me feel validated in my assessment of them as the D-backs's toughest competition in the division this year. But today? Today, I especially need to tip my hat to the Rockies, because their opponent in that 22-inning marathon was the Padres. And the Padres were in Phoenix last night, getting their asses spanked all over Chase Field by my D-backs. So I have to feel that the Rockies had a little something to do with our win. Not that we couldn't have finished the Padres off on our own. But when you're playing a team that was on the field until the early hours of the morning for a game they lost, and didn't even get into your town until 4:00 in the morning for your 6:40pm game later that day, you really have to believe that you weren't playing a team at their best. So thanks for the assist, boys. Just don't think that's going to mean we're going easy on you this season.

Dork Check

Well, it's 8:30 on a Thursday night (a Thursday, I might add, that has apparently been mislabeled because just about everyone I talked to today could have sworn it was Friday, myself included,) Turtle is in bed, Oscar is programming code like a madman and I? I am bored as hell. There are a zillion things I could be doing (like cleaning my damn house) but that would require actual motivation, and I'm not currently in possession of any. So, being as I am not yet ready to go to bed myself (but only because I just recently finished dinner and not because of any lack of desire to curl up under the covers), I figured I'd update you on my vacation and thus avoid staring at the wall and attempting to count the little mounds of texture thereupon. My sanity thanks you for being here.

So. Many, many months ago, Snark's Mistress floated a thought past me to get my feedback. See, she had this idea that we should go to Vancouver together. Now, you should understand that our history of wanting to go to Vancouver together dates back at least 14 years. At that time, we were rabid X-Files fans and thought it would be super-cool to take a road trip to Vancouver after high school graduation to see if we could track down any of the filming sites of the show (yes, we were dorks, even then). It never came to pass, but in doing all of our research, we decided that Vancouver looked like a pretty cool place and it would be nice to go there at some point and check it out, even if X-Files had since ceased filming. Fast forward 14 years and guess what? Vancouver ALSO happens to be the city in which Stargate SG-1 is filmed. It's a big sci-fi city. Who knew?

In any case, Snark's Mistress had seen information on a Stargate convention that was being held the first week of April and wanted to know if I was interested in going. Now, I am not the kind of person who thought to herself, "A CONVENTION? Why SURE! I'll start packing my costume NOW!" but neither was I opposed to the idea, particularly since it meant almost a week away from home with my best friend. But then she sweetened the deal by informing me that this PARTICULAR convention featured tours of the ACTUAL Stargate sets and at that point, how could I say no? Especially since she further sweetened the deal by offering to pay for it herself. Free vacation, a chance to hang with the best friend, AND a week away from home in which I could sleep as long as I wanted each morning? Sign me the hell up, bitches!

So on April 2, we woke up ungodly early and rushed to the airport to show off our shiny new passports and stand in a multitude of lines, including the one for customs which took a little bit of the excitement out of finally getting to Vancouver after 14 years. That line was damn long. And the customs official on the other end of it seemed cranky and a little judgmental that we would enter her fine city to go to a [sneer] sci-fi convention [/sneer] but we were bringing our nice shiny tourist dollars to her fine city so she can bite my fine ass.

I won't bore you with too many details about the convention itself (as I hear the collective sighs of relief and the subtle movement of your fingers away from the "page down" keys.) However, I will briefly recap the highlights (in no particular order):

1) My loud (and often unfiltered) mouth may get me in trouble sometimes, but it also has its advantages. For example, during one of the actors' Q&As another woman from the audience told this (rather attractive) actor that he had very pretty eyes, so he thanked her and gave her a hug. But when MY loud (and often unfiltered) mouth blurted out “If I tell you you have a great butt, what does that get me?” I was rewarded by being invited on stage, whereupon this lovely actor presented me his ass for a nice two-handed grab. Now tell me, could I BE more of a class act? I thought not.

By the way, I would like to mention that McMama further cemented my love for her when I called her later that afternoon to share the happy news that my loud (and often unfiltered) mouth got me two hands full of prime actor ass that day and her instant response was "I'm so PROUD of you!!!" That woman is made of win, people.

2) After joking with another actor that his awesomeness might end up signaling the demise of my friendship with Snark's Mistress if we couldn't resolve the argument over who got to be his pretend-girlfriend, Snark's Mistress and I got into a real fight of epic proportions. In our fashion, we recovered somewhat quickly. But the next time I see that actor, I'm going to have to tell him to tone down the awesomeness so we don't have problems like that again.

3) Two OTHER actors were tagged to be in our complimentary pictures, taken in front of the Stargate. Upon being called up to get my picture done, I introduced myself to one, then the other, and then said in my perkiest voice that if one of them wouldn't mind grabbing MY ass, it would really help me achieve a more genuine smile. (I don't know why I was so big on the ass-grabbing on this trip, but apparently, I had ass on the brain. Perchance it had something to do with being on my first non-Oscar vacation in a couple years....) One of them actually obliged and when I received the printed version of my complimentary picture, I was delighted to see that he had a deliciously lecherous look on his face while the other actor had a bemused "Yep, he's grabbing her ass" look on his face. The only downside was that the Stargate itself was out of focus in the shot. Guess it was irritated that IT didn't get to partake in any of the ass grabbing.

4) I was thrilled to learn that as much of a nerdy, over-excited, often inappropriate fangirl as I am, I am not nearly as batshit as some of the attendees of this particular convention. Two women, in particular, had me curling my lip up with distaste every time I saw them because the crazy was so pervasive. They had to be the center of attention at every moment, even if the attention they were getting was negative. It was disturbing and alarming, and at the same time, I'm not ashamed to admit that they made me feel a lot better about the amount of time I spend talking and/or thinking about Stargate. Because as bad as I can be, I will never be THAT bad. So thanks, Obnoxious 1 and Obnoxious 2 (which is, sadly, what Snark's Mistress dubbed them after the umpteenth time they presented themselves at the microphone to share their "special moments" with the actors on stage.) I needed the self-esteem boost.

5) Snark's Mistress and I had a lovely conversation with another attendee about how we seemed to be the most normal people in the room and yet, how difficult it was to talk to the event guests because they were automatically alert for any hint of the crazy. This led to a lively debate about how best to express our appreciation for their work without seeming too overly invested. The result? Well, as much as it sounds like the title of some sort of required reading in a convicted stalker's group therapy meeting, we settled on "We love you, but not in a crazy way." Said with enough self-deprecation, this actually seemed to work.

6) So, remember how I said I'm not the kind of person who would be rushing to pack a costume at the first whiff of a convention? Yeah. Apparently there ARE people who DO. We met a few. And let me assure you, there is nothing like a sci-fi convention costume party to make those people believe it is completely appropriate to pour their 75+ pound overweight bodies into 2-sizes-too-small bikini-like outfits and parade around a room from which you can see no escape. (I'm looking at YOU, Obnoxious 2!!)

All in all, it was a fascinating experience, although not one I'm in a rush to repeat. Especially if I end up having to pay for the next one. (DAMN, those things are expensive!) But I am glad I went and I am particularly glad I had my convention cherry popped. I now know what to expect and how to prepare and what to avoid. And most importantly, I now know how to say to people, actors, producers and directors alike, "I love you, but not in a crazy way." The way I figure it, if I've learned nothing more than that in life, I have a tool that should serve me well for the rest of my days.

Batter Up

Okay, so, I totally wasn't going to do a baseball post this early in the season, even though I'm totally following my boys and totally loving it because they're TOTALLY kicking all kinds of ass right now and I'm totally excited about it even though it's ridiculously early in the season but I don't care because it's totally awesome and it totally makes me do stupid stuff like say "totally" over and over again and ramble in run-on sentences and that gets a little embarrassing, BUT I'm bored and it's something to talk about so here we go.

I was out of town last weekend (which I'll talk about at some point, but not right this second) and got back home late Monday night. After waiting for Oscar to finish up some consulting work (because THIS girl has NEEDS, y'all) it was probably close to 1:00 before I fell asleep, and I have to be up at 5:00 to get ready for work. Needless to say, I was a little tired on Tuesday. So Oscar made an executive decision that we would grab dinner "out." We ended up at a generic bar/grill type establishment (one I'm sure you have in your home town, wherever that is) and sat down, completely prepared to share a meal, talk and catch up on what had been going on in the week of my absence. Well, Oscar was prepared, anyway.

As I sat down, I scanned the room and lo and behold, there was a television over Oscar's shoulder. It caught my eye immediately because it was playing a baseball game. Upon further inspection, I realized it was playing the D-backs baseball game. I focused in like a cat stalking its prey. And then I felt the disgusted glare of my husband settle on me as he realized I wasn't listening to a word he was saying. I couldn't help it. Double-D was pitching his last game before undergoing surgery for his thyroid cancer. We were smacking the Dodgers around. It was a beautiful thing. Or it was, until Oscar smacked me upside the head to get my attention again so I could look at the menu and figure out what I wanted to eat. He was mumbling something about starving before his wife could tear herself away from the tv long enough to somethingsomethingsomething....I'll admit I stopped paying attention once the commercial break was over and the game was underway again.

I had a brief moment of concern that now that baseball season has officially begun again, it would derail the chances of our recovering our relationship after our separation*, but I have since decided that if Oscar is going to learn to love and live with me again, he is going to have to accept that there are certain things that are essential to my happiness. And if one of those things is a rabid fanaticism for D-backs baseball, I don't think that's such a bad thing. After all, it's not like he's a peach to live with 100% of the time. I make sacrifices for him. He can overlook this one thing for me, right? I mean, it's not like I'm asking him to wear batting gloves and a baseball cap every time he puts the moves on me. Although...

...

...

Ahem. Sorry. I needed to take a moment. What was I saying? Oh, right. I'm not THAT bad.


*So, yeah. Oscar and I split up for a few months there. Yet another reason I haven't been posting regularly. I did say I was going to drop those update-y little bombs into otherwise inane conversation, right? Right.

Welcome Back

Um, hi. I have no idea if anyone is still checking in here, though I presume some people still stop by occasionally, as an anonymous commenter left a note a month or so back wondering if I was still alive. And since I asked around and none of the people I know intimately even remembered I had a blog, I figure it must be someone I DON’T know who is gently encouraging me to update you on things. So buckle up, because it’s been an interesting few months.

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….Um, yeah. I’m not quite sure where to start. So let’s start with now, shall we?

So, I have a job. Actually, it’s my second job Post-Toddler. My first job was doing overnight stocking at Target, which was a much better job than I originally thought it would be, but did not pay adequately to support a family of three with a mortgage payment. And since Oscar had lost his job* in October and was having a hard time finding work again, I clearly needed something that paid better.

Thankfully, the universe threw an opportunity in my lap and instead of staring at it and saying “ooh, shiny!” I actually picked it up and ran with it. So I now have a job at a larger corporation that has some relationship to the healthcare industry and am currently embroiled in a very long training process, the bright side of which is that I am actually enjoying myself.

But I digress. In the course of getting everything set up at my shiny new job, I have had to call tech support a number of times to deal with various and assorted computer issues. And when I call tech support, they invariably ask me for my computer’s full name. I didn’t realize at first that my computer HAD a name. I’d just been calling it “the computer,” which must have seemed extraordinarily rude. I mean, imagine if someone you didn’t know just came up to you and said, “Hello, Other Humanoid Life Form.” You wouldn’t feel too good about that, would you? I know I wouldn’t.

Anyway, these people at tech support have been very nice about walking me through the process of figuring out what my computer’s name is each time I call, which is really unnecessary, frankly, because I had the process down after the first time, but whatever makes them feel better and gets me the help I need is fine by me, I suppose. But I digress again. My computer’s name is actually this really long technical description that includes my company’s name as well as a number, which I’m sure is the key identifier of my little technological friend. It’s just that it seems so impersonal. I mean, I’m on my computer all day long, now. I caress the keys and point out things on the monitor. I even rest my legs on the CPU. In short, my computer is more than a computer. It’s practically part of the family.

So when my boss’s boss e-mailed our team and asked for the names of all of our computers today, my response was as follows:

Hi Boss’s Boss,

My computer's name is 123456789.whereIwork.com, though it prefers to be called Bob. Thanks.

-Cymber

If I’m not fired before I complete my training, I will consider it a personal victory.

*Oh, did I not mention that? Yeah, that’s reason #1 that I haven’t been around much lately. Don’t be surprised if my idea of an update means casually dropping bombs like that randomly into conversation. It helps me know you’re paying attention.

How I Spent The Last Two Months Of My Summer Vacation, By Cymber (A Diamondbacks-aholic)

I do not believe when Oscar recited his vows and said the words "for better or worse" that he actually said them with baseball season in mind. I imagine that he assumed that since he was the big baseball fan and he never paid particular attention to any one team, or that team's stats, or any one player, or any one player's stats, that his wife, who to the best of his knowledge didn't know the difference between a curve ball and a slider, would not pay much mind to the drama that makes up the playoff season. How very short-sighted of him.

I may not have been a baseball fan when Oscar and I were dating, but I have always had the seeds of a die-hard sports fanatic within me. They were just waiting for the right opportunity to bloom, and after a decade of watching Oscar play baseball, and after getting a big-league team in my own backyard, and after holding my breath while Luis Gonzalez popped a blooper into shallow center field to score the winning run in Game 7 of the World Series, you could say that Spring had sprung.

Still, my interest in baseball has, until this point, been tempered by the reality of a ball club that has struggled some since that storybook season in 2001. I still followed my team's progress throughout the seasons, and maintained a favorite player. But because we were losing more than we were winning, I wasn't overly invested. In other words, I maintained some perspective.

And then this season happened.

Starting toward the end of August, I noticed that our play had substantially improved from the point of the All Star Break and we were sitting on the top of our division. I started following the games a little more closely and keeping track of how the other teams in our division were playing. By mid-September, I was watching every game they broadcast and was calling the players by the nicknames Mark Grace and Daron Sutton were giving them during their broadcasts. By the end of September, I was completely hooked and was talking like full-on sports analyst for ESPN. And then my team won the division. We were in the post season. And poor Oscar started mourning the loss of his once-sane wife.

I had completed my transformation into "THAT person." The one whose mood hinges on the outcome of a game. The one whose schedule is dictated by whether or not her team is playing that day. The one whose sanity is often called into question because she persists in believing that what she is wearing that day can affect the outcome of the game that night. The one whose dreams start featuring baseball players in starring roles. That one.

When things were going well, as they did in the National League Division Series against the Cubs, my mood was euphoric. When things were not going well, as they did not in the National League Championship Series against the Rockies, my mood was sullen and dejected. The only thing I could tell Oscar last Friday night, after watching my boys lose by walking in a run and then being unable to produce ANYTHING REMOTELY RESEMBLING AN OFFENSE at the bottom of the 11th inning was, "Well, it's probably good for you that they lost, because now I have no expectations other than 'we will be swept' so losing a game will not cause me near the same amount of depression from here on out." He seemed unconvinced.

And yet, that's pretty much how it went. We lost two more, including the series-ending game last night, and while I can't say I was thrilled, I was able to put it behind me much more quickly. At least now, I know the outcome. And I can start looking forward to next season.

If I had any sort of money right now, I'd be putting it down on a season ticket deposit. Instead, I am beginning the slow process of reclaiming my life. When I looked around today, I realized that my house had somehow fallen to ruin in the last couple of months. Summer decorations had yet to be replaced by fall decorations. I can't remember the last time the vacuuming had been done. Dishes were languishing in the sink. Garbage bins were overflowing. It wasn't pretty. I vowed that today would be a new beginning. I could finally put that pesky baseball business behind me and get a fresh start. I have several months before Spring Training. I was going to start today in making good use of them.

It was a good plan. Too bad I ditched it in favor of reading all the post-game analysis and cyber-stalking starting pitcher Doug Davis. Maybe Oscar should rethink those vows, after all.

VH1 Is A Time Sucking Black Hole

Contrary to what Sheryl Crow would have you believe, my mood lately has been less "all I wanna do is have some fun" and more "all I wanna do is sit on my ass and have ice cream, which causes instant weight loss, spoon-fed to me by a hot cabana boy." But that seems to have a few too many syllables, which, now that I think about it, is probably why she just went with "have some fun." Clever girl, that Sheryl.

Sadly, instead of sitting on my ass, eating weight-loss-inducing ice cream fed to me by a hot twenty-something with loose morals, I have instead been keeping rather busy. My brother and sister-in-law borrowed Turtle last week, from Monday to Saturday, which left me an unholy amount of free time on my hands, which, in turn, meant that I had to scramble to figure out what I used to do with myself before I had a rambunctious preschooler to chase around all day. Of course, the answer to that question was, "Hello, moron, you had a JOB!" so I didn't find much inspiration for how to fill my days by looking in that direction.

Instead, I decided I would tackle a project which has been plaguing me for, I don't know, maybe 5 years now. I decided to clean out the garage. Now, I have, in fact, cleaned my garage in the past, but that mostly entailed moving boxes from one section of the garage to another, and what I REALLY wanted to do was go through those boxes and figure out what could be tossed and what needed to be kept. But every time I suggested that to Oscar, he moaned pitifully and then rent his garments and it only went downhill from there because the whole reason we have all of those boxes full of crap we haven't looked at in several years is that every time Oscar needs to uncover his desk from the piles of paper and miscellaneous detritus, he fills boxes and then puts them in the garage because, as he says, "I'll be forced to deal with them if they're out there because they'll be in the way." ................ Uh-huh.

So with several days of freedom in front of me, I thought to myself what a perfect project that would be for the week. It ended up being only sort of perfect. I started out strong, going through 5 boxes in the space of a few hours. I took several boxes of paper out to the recycling bin. I only kept a small pile of (what looked like) important papers for Oscar to file and an even smaller pile for myself to file appropriately. But day two was not so productive. Mostly because I made the mistake of not jumping up and changing the channel the SECOND VH-1 stopped playing music videos and I was done with my breakfast. Instead, I ended up getting sucked into Rock of Love with Bret Michaels.

I had thought that working in the living room with the TV on would be oh-so-wonderful because I would be able to keep one eye on the TV and one eye on the crap I was going through and by the end of day three, I would be able to sit back and marvel at my feat of multi-tasking. (Stop laughing.) Instead, I found myself slack-jawed, watching some lame "reality" show on VH-1, wondering what those crazy bitches were going to do next, and hungering for a new episode.

I was shamed by my complete lack of anything resembling willpower. I could NOT pull away from that show. And not only could I NOT pull away from that show, I found myself getting unreasonably attached to one particular contestant. So now, I find myself talking to Bret Michaels, as though he can hear me yelling at my television, passionately arguing that if he has any sort of heart, if he is in this for anything other than a quick publicity boost and a cheap lay, if he has any reasonable bone in his body, he will ditch these other women as quickly and efficiently as humanly possible (especially Lacey because OMG with the crazy) and ask Jes to "rock his world."

I quake at the thought of what I have become.

I am grateful, at least, that VH-1 only played two episodes that day, and I was able to get back out to the garage and get things cleaned up. It's not perfect in there, but progress was indeed made. And now, of course, Turtle is back home with his endless pleas to play with him. So I am keeping busy with him and my other friends and various and assorted chores. And I'm trying very hard to avoid VH-1 like the plague.

Except on Sundays at 11:00am. Some people root for their favorite football teams. I root for my favorite fame-whoring wannabe-rocker girlfriend nut job!