My Low Key Sunday

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I will turn 51 next month and that reality has never  felt more apparent than it did today.  I have (as the kids say) partied quite a bit–both Friday and Saturday nights.  I m now very tired and itching in places in didn’t know I could itch.   And I don’t know if that is a direct result of being too old to hang with the younger friends I have or not.   And it’s not like thaey’re that much younger than me.   I figure that all relationships with people are fine and appropriate as long as the year the year they were born,  I was a maiden (unsullied by man)  and physiologically incapable of giving birth to them.  

I can justify anything.

So today, I took it easy, slept when I could and watched a lot bad TV.  I rarely watch network television, but I still know it’s got lousy programming.  I think my refusal to watch is something of an unwitting protest on my part.   Not that the overpaid honchos at NBC, CBS, ABC and what the hell, FOX, care whether I watch or not.  But they’re sure as hell not encouraging me or others with a more discrimminating viewing palate. 

So, I watch cable networks.   Mostly, the Discovery Channel (when I was unemployed, I became  a huge fan of  of Cash Cab) and you’ll find my TV parked on the National Geographic Channel, too.     I love the Biography Channel and A&E has the occasional show that will entice me to watch and tonight, it did.

I’m talking about KISS bassist, “Gene Simmons’ Family Jewels”.  It’s ridiculously contrived and not that compelling in terms of plot, but I think his son Nick, is smart and funny and I find that I watch to see if it’s possible that longtime girlfriend and Baby Mama, Shannon Tweed’s heavily Botoxed face capable of showing any emotion in that particular episode.   Nothing above her mouth moves.   It can’t.   It’s all paralyzed by deadly toxins fostered in a lab after some fried chicken spoiled and created bacteria.     She’s looks good for being almost four years older than me, but that’s the story of my life.  

I ate some bad chili once.   All I got was diarrhea.  

I also watched some of Kirstie Alleys’ Big Life, which I’m sure is the brain child birthed by her even bigger mouth.   Irritating woman.  I loved the element and dynamic she brought to “Cheers”.  I used to like her.  Now, I like her best when her incessant eating kept her from her incessant talking.   And that voluminous tub of goo is trying to tell everyone she’s weighs 224???  

In dog pounds, maybe. 

That’s part of the reason why I don’t like reality shows in general.    Everything is rehearsed and coached and predetermined.  It’s not real; not nutural.  Where’s the spontaneity?   

I used to LOVE “Ghosthunters” on the SyFy Network, but the monotony of that show is starting to bother me.  It’s the same old thing every week.   While founding Ghosthunters, Jason and Grant are a bit more scientific and rational (certainly more so than that reactionary queen, Zac Bagans from The Travel Channel’s “Ghost Adventures”)  than other paranormal types, they seem to be devoid of any decent proof of anything.    As for the other ghost shows?  Well, any time a so-called “paranormal researcher” claims an orb is representative of spirit energy, I get furious.    The photo above as been classified as containing ghost orbs. 

Oh really?

Then, these spirits are real slobs who don’t never clean because that’s dust.   Plain old nasty dust particles reflecting the flash of the camera.  Yet, you’ve got these idiots actually claiming they’re ghosts.

Here’s another photo that includes what some firmly believe, are ghosts.  

It’s a photo taken in an attic….a dirty, dusty attack that hardly ever sees the light of day, much less a little Endust and a mop.  Yet these “researchers” go into these attics and are surprised by photographic evidence of a dirty, dusty room?

Please.

If you took  a photo of my living room and looked at the proof, it would make you think that I’m growing  dandelions and milk weed in there.

I’m not a very good housekeeper, you see.   

Still, I do dispose of organic waste where applicable, and I do laundry regularly. 

But I wouldn’t walk on my floor barefoot if you had an open wound on your foot.

But I AM thinking of inviting Shannon Tweed to my house to rub that unmoving face of hers on my kitchen floor.   She could get JUST as many toxins as she could at her Plastic Surgeon’s office and I’m sure Gene Simmons would appreciate saving a buck or two.

And now, you may opine your ass off...

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