Things I Think About While Watching the News

The truth is, I rarely watch the news. It's usually a big downer, with one little story about puppies at the end so that you don't dream about murders and taxes the entire night. One of the thoughts I frequently have when I do watch the news is, Do I really need to know this? Followed by another frequent thought, Do I have any chocolate stashed in the kitchen?

Ryan is a bit of a news junkie. He reads a few papers online every day and usually catches a news cast too. I depend on him to let me know if we are getting in a war, getting out of a war, recovering from a recession, or voted one of the 100 best small towns to live in. He, on the other hand, depends on me to keep him apprised of any exciting developments on The Real Housewives of New York City. Although, in full disclosure, he hasn't asked for any updates in the last three years. But still, it's a system.

I go through phases with the news, believing at times that it's my civic duty to know What's Going On. And then other times, I believe that watching Nick @ Nite with my boys is my familial duty, and a way to be part of What's Going On, at least in their lives. What can I say? I'm a flibbertygibbet.

My friend Susan and I love to use the phrase, "I heard on NPR..." as often as possible, because that phrase automatically elevates your perceived IQ in most social circles. In fact, we've found that in 86% of cases, you can follow that phrase with any information, fact or fiction, and most people will believe you. Seriously, I heard that on NPR!

But back to the news and my thoughts during the news.

One of the things I think about is the wardrobe of the newscasters. Do they have a wardrobe budget? Did they have a wardrobe class in journalism school? Do they get a discount on bulk purchases of solid colored pantsuits? How many times, in the beginning of their careers, did they head out on the set thinking they looked pretty snazzy, only to see actual footage showing them as a hot mess? Because that phenomenon I just described? Happens to me several times per week.

I also wonder the effects from creating a culture in which we demand to receive information about the world's atrocities from such beautiful people. Will we eventually be conditioned to expect bad news from  all attractive people? Or just attractive people in pantsuits?

I heard on NPR that we will.

You Guys Are Too Predictable

I guess I threw you a softball on that last Choose Your Own Blog Post. (You're all a bunch of ageists, too, it seems. I guess you'll never know my secrets of Senior Citizens.)

Alright, time to vote again. Don't be so predictable this time!

Stuff I Think About While I'm Watching the News

or

My Thai Chicken Curry Recipe

Thanks for being patient with my Blogger's Alzheimer's Disease.

Who are you, again? What am I doing here?

Things I Would Say at My High School Reunion

First of all, my attendance at my high school reunion would be preceded by at least one of the following scenarios:

• Being kidnapped, hog-tied, and driven there at gunpoint
• Being tied to the leg of a team of wild horses who drug me there
• Being abducted by aliens, frozen cryogenically, and left to thaw on the buffet table there

And secondly, my willingness to say anything at all would have to be preceded by a heavy dose of truth serum, injected intravenously, leaving a bitter metallic aftertaste in my mouth. Fifteen minutes after the injection, standing disheveled atop the poorly catered buffet table, I would have no physical capacity to do anything but look out over the crowd of my aging classmates and acknowledge a few of them as they stand and stare and wonder who I am. I would say:

"I didn't recognize you without your hair."

"I didn't recognize you without your flat chest."

"I didn't recognize you drunk."

"I didn't recognize you sober."

"Was it sad when you realize that you peaked in high school?"

"I saw you on the news. And not in the good way."

"Have you been visited in the night by three spirits yet or are we still waiting for that?"

"I always wanted to tell you that your sewing projects were terrible."

"Congratulations on your early prison release and those seven illegitimate children."

"They let you into medical school? Was it an online medical school?"

"If only you had applied the same ruthless ambition to your career as you did to ruin my life, you might have actually become somebody."

I would say those things because the first phase of truth serum is the revelation of petty truths. You know, all the little accurate jabs we keep locked behind clenched teeth. I don't condone spouting out petty truths. It isn't helpful or attractive. Stay away from truth serum, that's what I say. Especially in a crowd.

The next phase of truth serum reveals itself with sad truths. They are pathetic in nature. This is what they would sound like coming out of my pathetic mouth:

"I am jealous of people who loved high school."

"I feel robbed of a normal high school experience."

"I am constantly surprised when people refer to their 'dear high school friends'. It seems like such an oxymoron to me."

"What did I ever do to you?"

"High School Musical makes me feel bad about myself."

Helpful Hint: If you're going to take a forced dose of IV truth serum in front of your high school reunion, be sure and arrange some violin music to play in the background. 

Don't be nervous about what would happen next. The third and final phase of truth serum would not be as humiliating for me or my audience. The third phase is the actual truth, born of perspective, time and maturity. The actual truth is cleansing. It would climb out of my throat, stretch its arms in the light of day, marvel at its freedom and say:

"None of this matters anymore, actually. Even though I just said a bunch of petty things, I don't hate any of you or wish you ill will. When it comes right down to it, I actually wish you well. I hope, if you were one of the people who was cruel to me, that you have changed. For the sake of the people in your life, I hope you are a better person now. The world needs better people. I have decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. I can accept that you were young, without comprehension, believing that your actions were harmless. It's the plague of youth, I guess. And I can accept that I may have viewed some of you unfairly, interpreting your standing by as cowardly. Perhaps you truly didn't know.

"But maybe in the years since then, you've lived a little more and seen more of life's darker hallways. Maybe you've learned about disappointment and sorrow. Maybe you lost a job, a dream, a someone. Maybe one day you found a lump. Maybe one day you found God. Maybe you watched a lot of Dr. Phil."

"I don't know, and--I mean this in the nicest possible way--I don't care. Not at all. I have a good life. I have health and family and love. I make excellent chocolate chip cookies and chicken curry that's as warm and comforting as a mother's hug. I have a collection of red shoes. I like who I am. I wish you the same."

At this point, the kidnappers/wild horses/aliens would release me to return back to my life. I would climb off the table and slowly make my way to the double doors dimly lit by an exit sign. Before disappearing forever, I would use up the last of the truth juice flowing in my veins, turn around and simply say:

"But that doesn't mean I want to be your friend on facebook."

Time for Plan B

I have blogger's Alzheimer's disease.

It's in the early stages.

I'm pretty sure that I have a blog.

I'm pretty sure that I used to blog.

But I can't for the life of me remember how to blog.

So far, I have tried a few home remedies:

Eating tacos

Online shopping

Laundry

Non-stop work

The home remedies are not working.

Time for Plan B.

(Drumroll, please.)

Choose Your Own Blog Post returns!

(You choose the topic, I write the post.)

Fun with Senior Citizens

or

Things I Would Say at My High School Reunion

Voting commences now in the comments section. 

Majority rules, because this is America.

Choose-Your-Own-Blog-Post Returns!

Remember that movie, How Stella Got Her Groove Back? Well, it's been running in my head ever since I lost my groove and I keep thinking about how much anguish Stella and I share. Actually, I've never seen the movie; I only know the title. So, it's the title that's been running in my head.

But the point is that I, like Stella, lost my (blogging) groove and need it back. Or else I will perish in the depths of uninteresting-ness. (And what a terrible place that is! Everybody sits around in beige sweaters, reading small appliance user manuals and eating fat free popcorn with no butter.)

Anyhoodle, I was channeling Stella this morning and came up with an idea that I hope will work. I am bringing back one of my favorite games here at the WBWG--Choose Your Own Blog Post! In case you missed it before, here's how it works: I will give you two blog post titles and you vote on the one you prefer and I will write the one with the most votes the next day. Good idea? It was Stella's, actually. She's got her groove back, as you recall, so she's practically bursting with good ideas.

Here are the choices for tomorrow's post:

Ten Items in My Closet That I Never Should Have Bought

or

My Parents Left Me at a Gas Station in Las Vegas

Practice democracy and vote now. Me and my long-lost groove thank you for it. So does groovy Stella.