Review: Mike and Molly

All summer I've been hearing about this great new show on CBS that is finally showing average bodies on tv. It's refreshing, they said. It's novel, they said. It's about time, they said, that network tv was portraying fat people as real people.

I beg to differ.

I watched the first episode and I am not amused. As a fat girl myself, I was put off by the whole thing. To me, it was a half hour of fat jokes stringed together with a weak plot. To me, it was a vehicle to use all those fat jokes writers stack up and can't use in other shows because there's no fat people on those shows.

Mike and Molly sucks. If the producers and CBS want to be soooo original and soooo inclusive of the average American body, perhaps they can have a fat character or two in a show who add something more than a punching bag for bad jokes. Perhaps they can build a show that has fat people in it just because. Perhaps they can have chubbier characters who are experiencing average situations and not taken from a fat person's point of view. Because, you know what? My point of view as a fat person is pretty much the same as everyone else's.

To you I say good day.
xoxoSallyS

Tales from the Tina File

We live above a woman we named Mange Personified. She's trash. Pure. White. Trash. She's got a five year old girl named Raven. She wears jammie pants a lot. She used to date the landlord (hereby known as Rat Tail, since he sports one) who lives right across the hall from her. But they broke up. Since then, they like to fight in the hallway. I'm not certain, but it sounds like she stands in her doorway yelling and he stands in his doorway trying to diffuse her insanity. Mange is also a wealth of tales, some of which I'd like to share with you.

Such as last night...

We were watching tv when we heard yelling. Having heard yelling before, By and I took our positions at the top of the stairs. There, we are completely hidden from Mange and Rat Tail but can hear every trashy word.

Mange was yelling at Rat Tail for lying to her. She ranted at him for not keeping promises and breaking his word and not being truthful. In the middle of her raving, we heard Raven crying and then Mange screeching at her to go read her book. She's a great mother. I can only aspire to be like her.

We could hear Rat Tail talking softly to her, trying, we presume, to calm her down. Mange only got angrier. The eff bombs dropped, her voice got shriller, and then she laid the gem of the night, and the nugget to their fight...

"Why won't you make love to me sober?!?!"

From what we can gather, Rat Tail gets himself liquored up before going over to hit that. He actually used that phrase once to By and I when he broke the devastating news that he and Mange no longer date. He "hits that". Charmed, I'm sure.

Needless to say, Byron and I started laughing so we had to skitter back into our apartment before we got caught. Mange has a vicious temper and would have skinned us alive. From what we can gather, Rat Tail had plans to go to Mange's place for some amour, but got drunk instead. As Byron said, if he had to have sex with that beast, he'd need to be at least drunk, too.

Things got weird after that. We heard banging noises, like someone was being beaten. We think Mange took the boots to Rat Tail, but who knows. After the beating noises, the doors slammed shut and all went silent. I hope they went to their respective hovels, but I suspect Rat Tail went to fulfill his promise.

The phrase "making love" now has squicky connotations, thanks to Mange.

Chapter One-ingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

My Husband is a Brave Man

We went to a comedy club last night. Those who know me know that I have a donkey bray of a laugh. If something tickles my fancy, I let the world know with my big, loud, hearty laugh. So Byron coming to a comedy club last night had the potential to be embarrassing for him.

I sat next to this young girl who fiddled with a gum wrapper all night. She would rub her fingers on it and smooth it out over and over again. She also had a weak laugh. Normally, she would have driven me crazy and I would have been distracted by her ticks. Not this time. I let out one of my donkey brays and she looked at me in horror.

We saw Debra DiGiovanni. She made jokes about big bras, skinny girls, roofies and her love of young boys. I laughed all night. The phrase "rape me where I land" will forever make me giggle.

It was a fun night. And Byron says he wasn't that embarrassed by me. In November, we're off to see David Sedaris. That should be a night of laughs. I cannot wait. I cannot say the same for Byron.

Uproariously Yours,
xoxoSallyS

The Midnight Horror

Last night, By and I were fast asleep when the door buzzed at 2 a.m. Shocked and surprised, we opened the door to our young neighbour, Jazzy, who was crying hysterically. We pulled her into our apartment, thinking she's drunk and there's some silly tizzy next door. How wrong we were.

Jazzy was attacked in her apartment last night.

Jazzy is a little 18 year old girl from small town Alberta. She just moved to the city a couple months ago and from what we can hear at night, has been living it up.

Between sobs, she told me she was attacked and raped. I made her call 911. She and some friends were at a bar last night, and she met an older man. He paid for her friend to go home in a cab, and took Jazzy back to her place. He walked her up to her apartment, where he shoved her inside her apartment and attacked her. The rest of the story gets blurry, and it's none of my business.

She went out that night, she said, "to forget what happened two weeks ago". What happened two weeks ago is the scary part. Again, she went out with friends. She says she had two drinks and doesn't remember anything until the next morning when she woke up bloodied and in pain.

From her account, this little girl was raped twice in two weeks.

Jazzy shook me up last night and even today. What shakes me the most is that she was a victim twice in as many weeks. I think back on my youth and all the dumb things I did and thank god that I was never a victim.

No one's home at Jazzy's house this afternoon. I hope she's safe. We saw her come home this morning in a cab. I hope she's in a safe place, where she can heal. It's a tough lesson to learn, and poor Jazzy learned it the hardest way possible.

xoxoSallyS

Ole! Ole! Ole! Ole!

I love the World Cup. I hardly ever watch sports, let alone get excited by them, but I love the World Cup. It's not the cute guys running up and down the field that makes me enjoy the matches. I have a completely un-sports related reason.

My Nanna.

In 1998, I graduated from Saint Mary's and my Nanna came over for it and stayed with us for quite a few weeks after. Nanna was a sharp woman. Her eyes may have been giving out, her hearing was not that good and her knobby knees gave her trouble. But Nanna knew what was going on. She never missed a beat. She could talk knowledgeably about any topic. Including the World Cup.

That year, we watched a lot of soccer with Nanna. She told us what teams to watch for, who was favoured to win a certain match, what player was a star. We couldn't figure out how she knew all this since she couldn't read the newspaper. But Nanna knew.

Her favourite tea that summer was Lapsang Souchong, a nasty tea that no one liked but her. When a match started, someone would make her a cup of nasty tea and she would sit in her favourite chair and start telling us who was the favourite and which team should win. She was always right.

So this year, when a match starts, I will think of Nanna. I wish I had her insight to the game. I wish she was beside me, telling me who plays for which team and who to look for.

That summer, she also watched a lot of Jerry Springer with us. The show was still new back then, so it was a novelty for everyone. Nanna was a very proper woman. No swearing, no belching, no tooting, no vulgarities. But Nanna loved Springer. Secretly, though. We would watch the show, she with her tea. When the commercials started, Nanna would throw back her head, tutting.

"Can you imagine, Janie!"

"These must be actors, Hilda!"

"They can't be serious, Sally!"

When the commercials ended, she would shush us all and become enraptured with Jerry again. She would laugh at the guests, grab my arm and say "Imagine that, Sally!"

I am imagining, Nanna. I am imagining you beside me, holding my arm, telling me you love me again. I can hear you laugh and sing and hug. I can smell your perfume and your Laspsang Souchong tea. I'm watching the World Cup with you, Nanna.

xoxoSallyS

Book Review - "The Bishop's Man"

It was a frustrating read.

Before Christmas, I bought Linden MacIntyre’s book “The Bishop’s Man”. I just got around to reading it the other week, after all my reserved books from the library came and went. (Loved “Galore”, adored “The Birth House”, sent packing early “A Sea of Poppies”.) I cracked MacIntyre’s book, expecting an astonishing book and one that would leave me thinking for days.

Yeah, I thought about it. I thought it was frustrating to read this book. And not because of the subject – Catholic priests diddling children and the aftermath in small-town Nova Scotia. It was frustrating to read because the book had so many twisting plot lines and it was all left hanging for you until the final 10 pages. The whole time I was reading it, I hoped the next chapter would explain who the frig Father Alphonso is. Or why Father MacAskill doesn’t like his father. Or who the hell is Brendan Bell. All the while, I was left reading about Father MacAskill’s drinking problem.

When I finished the book last night, the final sentence read “Wondering what might be going on”. Indeed, Linden, indeed. I want my 30 bones back. This was a library-loaner, not a library-builder.

Bookishly Yours,

xoxoSallyS

Things a larger woman should not wear - Episode 1

Capes.

Because you will look like this:













I saw a larger woman wear a cape yesterday. Although her hair was lovely and she had really nice shoes that I coveted, the cape took all that loveliness away.

You've been warned.

Fashion-platingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

At last

I won finally. A coffee. It just took 16 coffees to win one.

Highly illogical.

Tim Bitchingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

I'm a sucker

I am 0 for 15 in Roll Up the Rim to Win.

I am pissed.

Caffeinatedly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Byron's Top Ten

Sure, every wife could go on about the wonderful man they married. But I have a blog, and I have proof that my husband is the best. To wit:

10. He lets me call him silly nicknames, such as Mr. Whiskers, and he doesn't get mad.
9. He eats whatever I make without complaining, even nasty chicken ratatouille. He even eats vegetables. A big bowl of spinach with some dressing on top? A snack for Mr. Whiskers.
8. Byron likes to vacuum. I hate to vacuum.
7. He's patient. I can ask him ten times if he likes dark chocolate and he patiently answers yes every single time.
6. He doesn't snore.
5. Byron has his temper under control. I have seen him yell once and that was at his uncle who totally deserved it. Now, if only he can teach me his zen ways...
4. He has a wickedly dry sense of humour. His giggles are worth sticking around for.
3. Byron loves me just as I am. Every inch of me. He doesn't ask for more or demand there be less.
2. Byron is a cuddler. His hugs are better than anything else in this world. His kisses are even better than that.
1. He came to see Jay-Z with me. He hates Jay-Z and rap music.

Can you beat that? Byron is a great husband, a good man and he'll be a great father someday.

I wonder if he likes dark chocolate?

Gushingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Commuters

I should start a series on the weird things I see on my daily commute to work.

Such as....

This morning I saw a girl wearing a skirt, no tights and sandals. It was -7 outside. -7 is balmy for February in Edmonton. I think I've been living on borrowed time for not wearing a hat this week. But sandals? Don't be stupid! At least she wasn't bare on the bottom with a proper winter jacket on top - that's my personal fave. She was wearing a sweater. If you're going to dress inappropriately for the weather, then go whole hog and be inappropriate from head to toe.

Silly girls. I wanted to slap her and send her home.

Motheringly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Stupidity

I watched a girl on the bus this morning apply eye make up. She lined her eyes and applied mascara to her lashes on a bumpy bus that made several stops. It was the stupidest thing I have ever watched on a bus. I was waiting for her to poke herself in the eye. I sort of wish she did, just to teach a lesson.

Then, she bopped her head and mouthed words along to songs on her iPod. She also crossed herself like a Catholic several times. Perhaps she was unhinged.

Her make up, by the way, was far too heavy. Not Ke$ha heavy, but too heavy for a Tuesday morning bus ride.

Etiquettely Yours,
xoxoSallyS

In Praise of HydraSense

Byron and I had nasty colds last week. It was a sea of used kleenex and Fishermen's Friends in the house. At night, we'd get stoned on Nyquil and spend a fitful night trying to sleep.

The I saw an ad for HydraSense. And our world was changed. Well, mine was. Byron's not a convert yet.

It's salt water you jam into your nose and sinuses and it flushes out the gross stuff. I love it! It feels unnatural having water flushed into your nose, but once you blow and all the nastiness comes out, you feel so much better. And you can breathe again.

The taste and sensation of water up my nose reminds me of swimming in the ocean when I was a kid. Happy memories AND a clear nose? What's not to love about HydraSense?

Nasally Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Pony Hat

I saw a man on the street today with a hat on. An ugly orange skull cap. What made the hat weird was the wee little hole in the back, near the nape of his neck. It made room for his ponytail, like the hole at the back of a ball cap but way tinier.

Now THAT is dedication to the man-ponytail.

Ain't nothin' gonna mess his pony up.

I kind of want one. But not in orange.

Covetingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Think things through out loud!

A local radio station is having some douchey Valentine's Day pub crawl. It's with the morning hosts, Pepper and Dylan. The event is called ... wait for it... P&D's VD. *sigh* Did ANYONE at the station think this one out loud? Oh. They probably did and think it's hysterical. Silly moi.

It reminded me of a contest on the noon show at CBC years ago. It was held in the summer. Callers were asked to call in and name the song that was being hummed. That gem was called the "Summer Hummer". When I heard the name, I burst out laughing, and no one at the station knew why. The middle-aged producers were unaware of the true meaning of a hummer.

Think, people, think!

Dismayingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

To Spawn or Not To Spawn

I have been married for more than a year now, and I guess people were giving us some time before we got down to business. No one mentioned babies before now. Well, except for my father-in-law at our reception. After several glasses of my famous Flirtini, he got tipsy, grabbed my arm and with watery eyes told me he wants to be a grampy. Who can say no to that?

We could.

Babies have been on our minds well before the wedding. We knew we wanted some, but weren’t sure when the right time is. And we’re still not. Is anyone? We have goals, such as buying a house and Byron finishing school to think of before we bring a baby on the scene. When is the right time!?!?!

Well, according to family and friends, 2010 is.

It started this fall when some former colleagues and friends found out we were house-hunting. In emails they would tell me to buy a house big enough to fill with “little Stuikes”. Then my aunt gave me a birthday card that wished me luck in “planning” the coming year. I joked with her and asked if she was telling me to have a baby. She giggled and said yes. My sister’s gotten in on the baby-urging, too. And just the other week, some co-workers asked me point blank if we were trying for a family.

Surprisingly, my mother has been silent on the subject. And she’s the one I figured would be most vocal! Everyone else, it seems, has an opinion on when we should have a child and when we should start trying. But my mother, who has an opinion on everything else is silent. Maybe George and Evelyn, and Dave and Nicole’s baby in May is keeping her busy?

For the record… it’s no one’s business. When we’re ready, we’ll tell people.

Does anyone else have people prying into their bedroom antics? Is anyone else getting conception questions? Is this, like a wedding registry, a passage of marriage?

Non-Conceivingly Yours,

xoxoSallyS

Snookin' for Love

My new favourite show is Jersey Shore. It is pure trash, vile, and horrific on so many levels. But I cannot get enough of J-Woww (the extra W for emphasis), Snooki and “The Situation”. Of course, I can't get enough of The Situation. He's basically a Rambo, you know. He said so himself. They are all douchebags and heinous humans, but their exploits are more ridiculous than any sitcom could ever come out with. What they fight about, who they fight, and how they fight is fascinating. The show, by the way, is all about fighting - yelling, pulling, slapping, and a lot of expletives. These kids would sooner fight than eat – and it makes for a great guilty pleasure.

When I watch the show, my mouth is usually agape. I cannot believe people actually live like this! But then I think it’s probably just an act for the cameras. But then I see the Italian flag with an outline of the state of New Jersey on it, and I think that maybe people really do live like this. I feel like an anthropologist, observing a vile tribe of over-tanned and crass sub-humans.

The men are particularly disgusting, in my opinion. They talk about “creepin’”, which I think is the equivalent of “picking up”. They string girls along to come back to their hot tub. In the scenes of them creepin’ in the club, they look like letches and fools. And, sadly, guys I have seen in real life. So maybe the letchiness of these asses is universal in a certain breed of men. What makes them disgusting is the tanning, the preening, the hairdos, the fawning over themselves.

The girls are no better with the tans, hair extensions and fake nails. In one scene, a girl was whining at home after the bar and was taking out her hair while complaining. Long strips of plastic hair were laid out on a dresser like a discarded bracelet. To cheer themselves up, they get their nails done and tan. It’s all so superficial. And delicious to watch.

Snooki is by far my favourite. She’s so tiny and bizarre. She’s crude and trashy and completely unapologetic. Her bumpit hair is tragic. Her backflips in a mini-dress on a dancefloor is revolting. Her punch in the face from a guy is hysterical – only because of her reaction. Snooki balled up on a bathroom floor, screaming “Tell me I have all my teeth” is pure magic. Watching her milk a supposed sore jaw the next day was a delight. Then fighting with “the hippo” less than 24 hours after getting socked in the jaw is side-splitting.

If you are looking to see how low humans can go, without actually being in their putrid presence, catch this show. Warning: it will make your jaw ache. Not from a punch, but from hanging open in horror.

Ya Stumpy Bastid,
xoxoSallyS