Noise Pollution

“Axel,” the girl one bench over is practically screaming into her phone. “Axel. A-X-E-L. I guess she had the baby. I saw it on Facebook. Isn’t that a weird name?! Axel Joseph. I thought it the name was going to be Brian. Or Matt. But Axel? Wow…” she babbles on.
From the girl’s complete shock I can tell she must not watch The Middle, where the oldest kid is, in fact, named Axel. Though if we’re going to get technical I’m pretty sure on the show the name is spelled Axl. And quite frankly, if I’m making snap judgments based on her loud very pubic phone call I’d have to say she’s probably not from around here, probably from the middle, and probably should be watching The Middle. I don’t know if it’s her thick Michigan accent that gives it away, or her next phone call. As she chats I hear “I’m in Teddy Roosevelt Park near the train station.” Hmm, okay, but not quite the way I’d describe it.

It’s Five O’clock Somewhere

As I crack open my beer, Michelob Ultra – the athlete’s choice, I quickly glance at the clock. The digital face reads 4:02 in neon green numbers. It’s not 4:02 in the early hours of the morning, it’s 4:02 in the late hours of the afternoon. I’m unemployed – ahem, on what I worry could be a permanent hiatus – bored, and thirsty.

I've already gone to the gym today (hence choosing the beer for the athletic types), I’ve gone to the grocery store every day this week, and I don’t have any dishes left to do. I’m watching a repeat of House Hunters for the 3rd time (don't buy that ugly house) while waiting for Gilmore Girls to come on in an hour (just get together with Luke already!).

Okay, so it’s only 4:02 and I’m drinking alone in my apartment. But what if I were on a beach in Bermuda this very moment? It’s 5:00pm there. And, hell, it’s 5:00am in Tokyo. I raise my bottle in a toast to the club kids who must be drinking halfway across the world with me.

It’s happy hour no matter what the real time is. I am happy this hour. Because you know what? It’s Five O’clock Somewhere.

Wide Set Vaginas, If You Will

The new company health insurance only covers amputations, so I have been taking expired antibiotics I found under the sink.

Needless to say, I still have an ear and throat infection, therefore, this week has been filled with gratuitous tv watching, while my muscles atrophy.
Things that I have learned:

--Jake's abs will pick Big Bird as his true love.

--Michelle Duggar's vagina needs to go into Witness Protection from Jim Bob.

--I thought I was watching the Flying Tomato on Oprah, but really it was Temple Grandin yelling at a cow.

--The next time Alexis from Orange County prays, Jesus will tell her he's busy washing his hair.

-- All that's missing from Shondaland's desperate 1982 GRID plotline is the ghost of Andy Warhol.

--When a five year old puts on a slutty sailor uniform, it's called "Wow Wear".

At this rate, "The Little Couple" will debut on my DVR in no time.

Expage texts me : Watching Hurt Locker, SO stressful.

I fail to inform him that I just finished watching a BBC documentary titled: "18 Pregnant Schoolgirls".

Instead I text: Change to ice dancing!

ExPage: It's also kinda homoerotic.

Me: The Joy Behar Show is discussing huge vaginas

ExPage: Wide Set Vaginas, If You will

Speaking of wide set vaginas, I make another attempt at watching Temple Grandin, but it's much more entertaining to watch Kell on Hell try to parent for twenty minutes.

Two questions come to mind, though... Why didn't HBO just cast the Flying Tomato and make Temple an autistic snowboarder?

When will Chris Burke get his own movie biopic on Hallmark?

Ice Penises

America gets treated to fourteen days of Bob Costas every two years. With that kind of math, no wonder I forgot to DVR the Opening Ceremonies!
Canadians like regulations. Therefore, I am not expecting as good of a show as Beijing, since they can't get away with paying Chinese people a fistful of fortune cookies for twelve weeks of work.
--We learn that America isn't the only nation that drags out its Indians for big events and forces them to dance around in costume. Canadian Natives also had things like culture and tradition before we told them where to live and made them sell us cheap cigarettes.
-- We learn that people you assume are American, are actually Canadian. Like Donald Sutherland.
--Giant bear pops up. ?
--The only thing that appears to be missing are crying SPCA dogs. I wish they were sitting on Sarah McLachlan's piano.
-- Quebec is the Texas of Canada, meaning, they threaten to secede every three months and generally speaking, are a giant pain in the ass. Therefore, it is only fitting to have a man dressed like a wolf playing the fiddle as their tribute.
--Again, we are reminded that people we thought were American are actually Canadian. Like Joni Mitchell. Singing that song from Love Actually. Where Emma Thompson cries with her gunt.
-- Some skiing thing. Totally didn't know Vancouver was a person.
-- Slam poetry. Are you fucking serious?
--Yes, they are serious, and the guy makes it a point to say Zed. I bet Canadian officials are wishing they smuggled in a thousand Chinese to bang drums for an hour instead of giving this fucking guy health insurance.
-- Bob Costas tells me that eight Canadian legends will be holding the Olympic flag. But where is Jillian from the Bachelorette?
--Donald Sutherland!
--But no Celine Dion. Or Justin Bieber. What kind of legends are these?
-- One minute of silence for luger. Why didn't they have Sarah McLachlan and the SPCA dogs sing "I will remember you" instead?
--Everyone forgets they are sad because Wayne Gretzky shows up. Yay!
-- Something is supposed to happen, because everyone looks awkward.
--Matt Lauer and Bob Costas keep telling us the Canadians have fucked up in some way, but they aren't sure how. But all of this would have been so much better if we got into a time machine and traveled to Beijing in 2008.
--Finally something happens!
--Sean Texts me: Ice Penises
--Me: One ice penis apparently couldn't get it up.
--Sean: It's hard when it's cold
--Me: How Canadian to make everyone equal even though everyone only cares about Wayne Gretzky.
--Wayne gets into the back of a truck. Scott Brown is driving.
-- Sean: Look at these drunk aholes
--Me: When does Johnny Weir get a show @ Don't Tell Mama?