Crackahass Crackah

Initially, I had planned on sharing this on MySpace only but (surprise surprise!) MySpace won't allow me to post the player so I decided to share it here.

This is an interesting voice mail I received about a week ago, and it disturbed me for a few different reasons.

The first one being that this person called from an unavailable number, because I definitely would have called the racist shit back.

Second, I had just finished reading Your Blues Ain't Like Mine and was already feeling white and guilty.

Third, and most importantly, my son has a girlfriend, and has announced this to many. A sweet chocolate chip with the softest eyes and longest dark eyelashes, for whom he has promised to buy a pink teddy bear. And I found myself wondering if her family disapproved of him giving her his digits (my digits, my cell number) and could this be a sister of his girlfriend? A disapproving sister? I did realize just how racist this was for the thought to even occur to me, or rather cynical, but hey I'm honest, and it did pop into my head.

However, any negative thoughts I had over the voice mail were quickly pushed aside by my child. After I finished recording the voice mail into the mic hooked to my computer, my son meandered over and began to pretend he was making announcements over his school's PA system with my mic. Unbeknownst to him, I recorded one of these announcements.

It had been raining for the entire week, and lightning was close by, yet there I sat clicking away on my computer. This was his warning. Takes a minute to load and blow your eardrum out.

How could I possibly stay pissy about a stupid voice mail when my son is so cute? And, no, my kid didn't hear the voice mail.

Happy Tuesday.
Housewives tonight!

Two Titties Down

I promised myself I'd start blogging again, and more than once a week. This is rambling, long, and shitty but hey it's a blog.

I went into it with a bad attitude, I suppose. However, per recommendations from others I tried my best to be open-minded and enjoy this chick flick, especially since I had always loved the series. The first hour made it quite difficult for me, nearly falling asleep and all.

I blamed the wine, gave myself a quick slap and pushed into the second hour of the film, determined to get "it." That "it" everyone was talking about.

"IT is such a great movie, Julie!"
"IT made me cry, totally."
"IT is hilarious."

I'm going to have to turn my back on my sisterhood and tell you all IT sucked.

The first hour they show cheesy clips with Carrie and Big that are not very believable, doing their best to convince you of how happy they are. It comes across as contrived and boring. You can practically outline the tension between them, there is such a lack of chemistry there it's painful. And what is with Big showing off a spray-on tan and shaved chest? Yuck.

Big is John, by the way, and it sounds so, so, so wrong to hear Carrie call out in the corridor of a million dollar New York penthouse "John?"

How about "Asshole"?

The focal point of the film was a couple who within the first fifteen minutes together on screen made my stomach turn. The series was witty and funny, their relationship was much of the same. It came across as believable. How did this get lost in the transition from series to film? Carrie's relationship with Big should have been temporal at best. It was good for laughs in a series but terrible for the big screen.

Meanwhile, Miranda's husband Steve is flashing his ass, as he bounces off in a huff after a fight over the two of them *gasp* never having sex. What was the point of flashing us his hairy ass? Did they actually believe they were giving the female viewers a delight? When cracks are so dark with ass hair they look like they are stuffed with shit they should NOT be flashed on the big screen. 'Nuff said.

Then...as if his pale ass didn't get my attention...

BAM!

The movie completely turns in one scene where Steve confesses to cheating on Miranda. I was in the bathroom peeing and listening when this happened, and bolted up with panties still around my ankles to rush in and make sure what exactly I heard him confess. Yep, he cheated. Oh no! Will Miranda, a firm partner who now dresses like a hooker by the way, forgive him?

Now we're back in L.A. and there is Smith, who seems to have aged ten maybe even fifteen years. At least his ongoing, on the rocks, relationship with Samantha (who moved to LA to be with him and just happens to fly into New York, ohhhh, every two days to conveniently meet the rest of the girls along with YinYang for breakfast) is a bit more believable.
Though she does cook for Smith one night.

When I read back over this I saw that word as cock too. And let me tell you, it was odd to see Samantha doing anything with her hands that didn't involve a penis. They end up breaking up. Who didn't see that one coming?

Finally, we have Charlotte. Perfect Charlotte who *gasp again* turns out to be pregnant! I didn't see that one coming either, did you?! Nooooooo.

I am not sure what Charlotte does with her life now, other than jog and meet Carrie and Miranda (and, of course, Samantha because remember she conveniently flies in for every dick and pussy conversation) at their local spot to have breakfast. And she brings YingYang. I call her YinYang (her adopted Asian daughter) ONLY because I know her name ended in 'ing but I cannot remember her name because they barely used it in the movie. Once. Twice? Maybe I missed it?

Anyway, yes, Charlotte brings her five-year-old (?), six-year-old to brunch with her girlfriends. Yinyang colors as they discuss their sex lives. Ahhh yes. That's appropriate.

I envision all the poor husbands and boyfriends who had to suffer through two hours and twenty minutes of this movie, and I laugh. As much as we have to tolerate action flicks (Yippee kayay, motherfucker!) this chick flick took the cake on length and content, and I think many a man out there has now paid his dues.

If I could, I'd give this movie two titties down.

Then again, I should have known when the opening scene was Carrie saying, "Women come to New York for the two L's: Labels and Love."
Give me a fucking break.

TWO.TITTIES.DOWN.
Two very big, disappointed titties down.

If you have a hubby or boyfriend who did end up sitting through the entire movie with you, well, hang on to them. They really, really love you.