The One Where My Parents are Strange (again...or still...)

I think my dad is going to buy a Playstation 3.

Let me explain why I find that so weird.
My dad turns 60 this year. I guess I don't really associate Playstation3 with the AARP crowd.
And on top of that, we NEVER had video game systems in our house when I was growing up. None.

Seriously.

In fact...just to play Super Mario Brothers (which is still the BEST game ever) on the ORIGINAL Nintendo system, we had to go over to my cousins' house...so basically I played video games about 2-3 times per YEAR when I was a kid.

And now...my 59 and 3/4 year-old father is going to buy a Playstation 3.

How is that not strange?

Can't you just picture it: He can have all the other guys over to play after they all retire...

The One With the Snowplow

I am developing a complex.
Perhaps you can help me figure this out:

Why does the snowplow man for my neighborhood always plow my driveway first?

I live in a neighborhood with an association, so everyone pays for plow service - not just me.
I don't live on the end of the street - actually i'm pretty much in the middle - so its not like it makes sense to do my driveway first.

And yet, tonight marks the third time: he plowed my driveway literally a couple HOURS before he did any of the driveways around me.

I don't get it.

But I'm also not complaining.

Follow-Up to 'The One in the Grocery Store'

If you've read much of my blog, you'll know at least one thing about me: I have little tolerance for bad pick-ups from guys. (Ok, you'll know 2 things about me - I'm very odd. I know.)

Anyways, after providing a recap of the Top 5 worst pick-up attempts in my personal experience, I stumbled upon a little group on Facebook that I couldn't resist. So, I would like to announce that i have joined the group : "I Appreciate Christian Pick-up lines."

I don't think there is anything inherently better about a Christian pick-up line. In fact, if someone were to actually try using one on me, they'd probably get the same reaction as anyone else who has tried a lame pick-up: a roll of the eyes, a shake of the head...and I walk away in silence. But, with the creativity of some of these christian pick-up lines...they may at least get a little smirk as I walk away.

So, these were really too good not to share, especially given my more recent experience with some blogworthy pick-ups. So, just for laughs, here are some of my favorites:

"My spiritual gift is my good looks... it lifts peoples spirits"

"Is this the transfiguration?... because you are glowing!"

"Now i know why Solomon had 700 wives... because he never met you."

"How many times do I have to walk around you to make you fall for me?"

"You're totally depraved but I'd still like to go out with you..."

"I'm interested in youth ministry, and not only that... I also play the guitar."

"I consider myself to be fisher of women. This would be referred to as 'casting my net.'"

" Me. You. Song of Songs: the remix."

"Have you died before? because that looks like a resurrection body to me.."

"Do you need prayer? because i am certainly willing to lay hands on you..."

So good.

The One for My Co-Star

I've decided its about time for me to share the spotlight in this comedy called my life. Although, I can't quite decide if getting to share this particular spotlight is a good thing or not...since it most likely means you've had a hilarious (and most likely humiliating) experience that is about to be shared with the online world.

Well, good or bad...here goes.

I have a very dear friend who deserves a share in the credit for this blog...after all, she brought to my attention how ridiculous (and entertaining) my life can be sometimes. She's got so many wonderful qualities, but I think the thing that binds us together the most is the fact that, with all the ridicilous situations she can find herself in, she could easily be my co-star in this comedic adventure. Yes, we've had many good laughs at eachothers' expense. So, as a tribute to my comedy co-star, here is a little taste of how equally ridiculous her life can be sometimes!

My friend just recently had a lot of wonderful things happen: finishing her degree (finally!), getting a new job, etc. And with that fantastic new job comes some fun opportunities to travel.

Well, a few weeks ago, she had to go out East for some training - alone. How exciting: being independent, exploring a new city on your own, taking on new challenges with only yourself to depend on! What a chance to prove what you are made of!

And what a chance for one of those - "Gosh, I hope no one was looking" - moments.

Did you ever see "The Wedding Planner?" It was a cute movie. I'm not much of a Jennifer Lopez fan, but Matthew McConaughey is always adorable. Well, in the movie there is a scene involving Jennifer Lopez having to be rescued from the huge Dumpster rushing at her at top speed - all because of her favorite high-heel shoes.

Apparently, life really does imitate art.

Luckily for my friend, there was no high-speed dumpster. Instead, for her, it was a revolving door. Now, I'm not sure exactly how it all went down, but here's how I picture it:

She's leaving her first round of meetings - looking professional, put together and on top of the world. And then her high-heels find one of those pesky rubber mats, right in mid-rotation of the revolving door.

Then it all goes into slow motion. She looks back: The door is coming right at her...she's trying to wriggle her shoe free...she is frantically trying to decide if she should sacrifice her shoe or take the blow from the oncoming door. Just as the door swings around towards her, the shoe pops free from the grip of the rubber mat - just in time for the door to send her out into the world with a shove in the back. She brushes off her clothes, regains composure, and looks around, hoping no one was around to witness her epic shoe battle. And then off she goes, into the crowded streets...

Brings new meaning to the phrase "Don't let the door hit you on your way out," doesn't it?

Well, here's to you dear friend: Congratulations on the job, and here's hoping that we'll be able to share many more stories like these for a long time to come!

The One for Christmas

I think next year I'm going to ask Santa for a new computer.

Mine's not that old - only 4 years. In computer years thats only middle-aged.
Its a pretty basic model, but I didn't need most of the bells and whistles.

But what I'm really getting sick of is the fact that the only way to turn on the monitor is it hit it...hard. The stupid on/off button is broken.

Sometimes I have to hit it 3 or 4 times to get it to turn on. But what really irks me is the fact that if I'm, say, writing a new post and my cat jumps on the monitor...it turns off.

i have a brand new home, an almost new car, some beautiful new furniture, a really nice digital SLR camera - and plenty of other high-tech, new goodies...

and the most ghetto computer monitor ever.
Santa better bring me a new computer.

Then again...I'm not sure I'm willing to wait for Santa.

(Merry Christmas!)

The One in the Grocery Store

I always thought bad pick-up lines only happened to people who spend their weekends at the local bar hot-spot looking to meet someone (or anyone). Not being one to do that, I have always thought myself safe from the irritating male habit of pathetic pick-ups.

How very naive I was.

So, today I had to run out to get a couple things before the stores all closed for the holiday. Now, mind you, I stopped at Meijer on my way home from taking some pictures at the lake. And conditions at the lake included 40-60mph wind gusts, air temperature of 19degrees and wind chill of 0degrees, 12ft. waves, and occasional sand/snow squalls. So you can bet that by the time I got to Meijer, I was caked in sand, wind-blown and frostbitten. I also hadn't showered yet, and had absolutely no make-up on. I'm pretty sure I hadn't even combed my hair in the morning, not that it would have mattered after my adventures out at the lake. In other words...I looked sexy as hell.

Now, when i go to the grocery store, I'm usually in my own little world. So I was quite startled when a young man, probably just a couple years older than me tapped me on the shoulder. He handed me a folded piece of paper and said,
"I think you dropped this, darling." and walked away.

I opened up the paper and found the following:
"Call me if U R single. ###-####"

Wow. He must either really like the 'sand-covered & frumpy' type, or he's pretty desperate. I'm guessing the latter, and with the stellar pick-up techniques he uses, I'm not too surprised.

But this incident got me thinking: Despite generally avoiding the local bar scene, I've had to suffer through some pathetic pick-up attempts. Why should I keep these ridiculous incidents to myself? So for your reading enjoyment, here are the top 5:

5. While waiting to meet a friend at a local restaurant: "Would you mind if I hit on you while you wait?" Here's a hint: asking permission to hit on someone does not make it any classier.

4. In the grocery store: "Excuse me. I was looking in your cart and you must really know your way around a kitchen. How'd you like to come over sometime and cook something with me?" Oh, sorry...I have a boyfriend. His name? Uh...

3. In the mall, buying a new UofM sweatshirt: "So, is your boyfriend a UofM fan?" No, this is for me. "Well...I went to State, but maybe if you give me your number I could be convinced to cheer for Maize & Blue." Sorry, dude. Michigan doesn't need a fan like you.

2. While laying on the grass, reading at a local park in the summer: "Excuse me. I hope you don't mind me saying, but you have no idea how much I'd like to grab your ass right now." Wow...what a polite way to say something so very offensive.

And the Number One is...
At a bar (yes...I admit I go occasionally): Spills drink on my arm. "I could lick that off for you if you want." Eww. I think I'd rather sit here with half of your beer on my arm than be coated in your saliva. Someone pass me a napkin and a barf-bag.

And to all those that did not make it into the top five, do not be dismayed. Though your pathetic pick-up line was not quite of the same caliber as those listed here, don't worry: you are just as much a discredit to your gender as the men who produced the lines above. But do me a favor: save your lines for the bar-scene, and let me shop for groceries in peace.

The One Where Amy Feels Reflective

So, I just re-read my last post.

I'm shaking my head in disbelief.
I can't believe how ridiculous my life is sometimes...

Now I need to go to STAPLES and pick up 20 newly-laminated reindeer art projects.

Even more ridiculous.

The One When Amy Dates a Girl.

Have you ever seen "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days?"


Good movie. Never saw it in the theater or on DVD, but its a Saturday afternoon on cable classic in my mind.

In case you haven't seen it, the premise is this: A female magazine reporter plans to intentionally lose a guy in ten days by making all the stereotypical relationship mistakes women are known for. You could probably guess what some of these 'girly' mistakes are:

-jumping into 'relationship' mode too soon.
-smothering a mate with constant emails/phone calls.
-talking, talking, talking about self, feelings, relationship, etc.
-neediness
-failing to see the signs that "he's just not that into you."

Well, if these erroneous moves in dating are specific to the female gender...I might have just dated a girl.

It all started with the emails. In the very first email he sent me, he wrote, "I wondered if you'd be open to communicating more to see if it might develop into something more serious." Something more serious? After one email? Whoa...lets slow down a little.

And then the emails just kept coming. They were long...they were frequent...and they were all about him. Hobbies, career, interests, childhood memories, reactions to parents' divorce, weekend plans, weekday plans, favorite foods, favorite color (yes...favorite color...) - and almost everything else that I wasn't really interested in and didn't ask about. And my responses? Brief, impersonal and at least a week delayed each time. You'd think he'd get the message.

But no...apparently he read "I have no interest in hearing more about your boat" as "I'm playing hard to get." And he sent more emails...and then came the bombshell: an invitation to coffee. oh....yay. Now I get to listen to him talk about himself in person. yippee.

I ended up going. I was trying to keep an open mind. Despite the relationship neediness that rang loud & clear in each email - and the fact that talking about himself was clearly his favorite pastime - I decided to give him a chance. maybe he would be less irritating in person. Or maybe I am a glutton for punishment.

Here's how the first real date went: He talked about himself (a lot) and what he looks for in a relationship. I sat quietly and looked bored. (and if you know me, you'll know that sitting quietly is not in my nature. but if you can't get a word in edgewise...) At least he was nice to look at. How very superficial of me, i know.

And then...more emails. And more emails. After one date, I felt like I had given him a chance. I wasn't interested. I didn't respond to half of the emails. When I did, it was usually 2 weeks after he emailed me. And it was usually me trying to avoid another date. You would think that he'd realize I had no interest. He apparently had no clue.

For months I was smothered by emails...several per week, even though I only responded to about one-of-five. The only positive thing I can say is that at least they weren't creepy.

Oh, wait. I spoke too soon.

The final email came after I made a grievous error in judgement: i went out to dinner with him again. Pardon me while I beat my head against the wall a few times...

Ok. So, he closes the date by telling me that he is a serious relationship-kind-of-guy. basically, he wants a wife. you know - typical 2nd date kind of talk, right? yikes.

And then comes the email. RIGHT after the date. Yup...thats right...he emailed me as soon as he got home. And fortunately for your reading pleasure, I am terrible about deleting old emails...so here it is (with a little creative commentary from yours truly):

"Hello again Amy, So I guess I am not one to beat around the bush and wait three days to e-mail you... (no, really?)
I really enjoyed getting to know you a bit better. There were so many things i liked about you: [Insert BLAH BLAH BLAH here...though i can't say i disagree with the flattery] I guess I have been in a few relationships, been on a fair number of dates and like to think I make pretty good judgments about people I date, and you really seem to have it together in so many ways. On top of that I like the fact that we can laugh together. (does you laughing at your own jokes really count as laughing together?) What I'm trying to say, I guess, is that even though we've only been out a couple of times, I really think we are perfect together. (ok...this is starting to get a little weird)
So I know you may not be through your busy spell (my favorite excuse...), and I'm not offended that it takes you a long time to respond (this would have been SO much easier for me if you had been offended...) But I am skeptical sometimes on whether or not you have time for a serious relationship with me. (wow...i didn't know we were in a relationship. does 2 dates separated by several months count as a serious relationship?) I suppose, though, that when bitten by love, you'll rearrange your schedule. (speechless. did he really mention love? i'm completely speechless.)
So, when things settle down and you find yourself less busy, feel free to give me a call."

Ok. We've officially crossed the line into creepy.
This is officially done.

So, what was our criteria for being a girl in the dating world again?

Neediness? Check.
Talking, talking, and talking some more - about yourself? Check.
Smothering a mate with emails/phone calls? Check.
Jumping into relationship mode too soon? BIG Check.
Failing to see that she's "just not that into you?" Double Check.

Yup...its official. I just dated a girl.
Her name was Greg.

The One When Amy Shouldn't Have Turned Her Back for 2 Seconds

Do you ever get funny looks in the grocery store?

Is it ever because you have 3 or 4 child-sized finger-paint handprints on your shirt and pants...?


I do.

The One With Amy's Cats

There would be many supporting roles in My Life: The Comedy Series. Two of those roles would certainly go to my cats, Castor and Pollux. And, yes, I know my cats have odd names. But that's not the point.


There are any number of comedic stories I could tell about my cats - as any cat owner would know. But there is one story that stands out from the rest. It is much more than your average cat hijinx. This story is the King of all cat capers. You may even say when you've finished reading, that its 'Throne-Worthy.'


First of all, a little background is necessary. I have 2 cats. Duh. They happen to be litter mates, though you'd never guess by looking at them. I have one beautiful, sleek, graceful grey tabby. Elegant, affectionate, intelligent. The epitome of what a cat should be.


And then, there is Pollux.


Pollux could most accurately be described as...hmmm...how do I put this delicately? He's a tad, well...fat. More than a tad really. In fact, his nickname is Pumpkin. And its not so much meant in the affectionate "you're such a sweet little Pumpkin" kind of way as it is meant to describe what he resembles physically. In fact, the word sweet really wouldn't describe his disposition at all. He's more of a bully. Think Garfield: orange, round and generally mean.

His mean disposition made it no surprise, then, that one day as I was getting a little Sunday afternoon nap on the couch, I was awakened by yowling and hissing and general cat angst. Once again, Pollux the Cruel was picking on his little brother. Pollux used his mass to push Castor around, pin him to the floor and reestablish his roll as Dictator of all things Feline.

But this time, things went a little differently. Castor, being much smaller and more agile, managed to wriggle free and went running down the hall. Pollux - not being one for mercy - went chasing after at top speed. Seconds after they both round the corner-

CRASH - CLATTER - SPLASH!!!!

This cannot be good.

I run down the hall, fully expecting to see Castor's little body crushed under Pollux's massive frame. But what I see after rounding the corner can only be described as God's justice in the animal kingdom:

Pollux - head hanging low, an expression of shock and utter humiliation:
IN THE TOILET.

Yes, in his rapid pursuit of his little punching bag, Pollux made a grievous error in judgement. As he lept on to the toilet on the heels of Castor, his weight - which he so often used to his advantage - caused the entire toilet seat to break off and catapult into the shower, leaving Pollux to soak in his much-deserved throne.

Justice was done.
And it was well worth the cost of the replacement toilet seat and kitty shampoo.

The One With a Dream-Sequence

So, every sitcom does an episode with a dream sequence at some point, right?

Mine would be more of a nightmare sequence. Hmm. I don't even know if I should share this. Its really THAT frightening.

So, what kind of nightmare wakes you up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat? A burglar in your home? A serial killer on the loose hunting you down? Falling down an elevator shaft from the 125th floor?

How about drywall imperfections in your house?

Yes...believe it folks. A couple of nights ago, I woke up in the middle of the night in a full state of panic about drywall imperfections. Little nail-pops
and uneven spots on an otherwise blemish-free wall completely freaked me out. And even more scary? My home warranty is up! OOoooOOOooo.

At 2am...breathing rapidly and feeling a little shakey, I walked around my house, turned all the lights on and checked the walls.

Phew...just a dream.

The One Where Amy Meets the Snow

It snowed last night. A lot.

You want to know how I know this?

Because my rear end met the snow this morning out on my driveway.
And it was very cold, as I was wearing a skirt.

How about that for an opening sequence.
Graceful, eh?

The One With Another Student

Student: (pointing at Ms. E) "Dat my bitch."

Me: "What? Say it again"

Student: "Dat my bitch."

Me: (Am I really hearing this?) "Try to say it one more time."

Student: "Dat my bitch."
Translation: Time for Speech.

Why, yes...it certainly is.

The One Where Amy Changes Her Name to Chandler

There comes a point when you can no longer deny that your life would make a good reality sitcom.

And that point comes when you realize that you just did the exact same thing as a popular sitcom character. Unintentionally.

Were you a big "Friends" fan? If so, you'll remember this episode.

So, Chandler goes out on a date. He knows within moments that he does NOT want to EVER go out with this girl again. They end the date. He says goodbye. And then, without thinking, he says "I'll call you."

You can instantly see it on his face. "Oh, crap. Why did I say that!?"

And then, he has to call her. Its the right thing to do. He'll go out with her again...just one more time. He'll act uninterested. And he'll just say goodbye. He won't make the same mistake this time. So he goes out with her again. Everything according to plan. He ends the date. He says goodbye.

"I'll give you a call."

Crap. Again.

A whole episode of this. Chandler can't stop himself from saying it. Each date is torture. But each time, because he feels like its the nice thing to say, he can't prevent the words "I'll call you." from spewing out of his mouth. And it makes him miserable.

I feel his pain.

I was the unfortunate victim of a set-up earlier this year. A coworker gives my email to her friend - who asked for it after a conversation with me that lasted just ong enough for a polite: "This is Amy" and "Nice to meet you." That was about it. So naturally, my coworker assumed there was chemistry. Yeah, right.

I get an email. I politely respond. I get another email. Rinse and repeat.

This continues for several weeks, during which I decide that this individual is most likely not a serial killer -or worse- an Ohio State fan. My coworker sings his praises. And, afterall, he was good-looking too. So I agree to meet him for coffee.

Enter Chandler.

It takes under 5 minutes for me to decide I have absolutely no desire to spend any additional time with this individual. But I'm polite. I listen to him go on, and on -and on- about all the things that make me even less interested. Sure, he's a nice person. There's nothing glaringly wrong with him. But I have no interest. After an hour of torture: Goodbye.

"We shoud hang out again sometime!"

Shit. Did I really just say that? Oh shit, what am I doing!!???

I hope and pray that he was as uninterested as I was.
I get an email the next day: 'When do you want to get together again?' Crap. I reply that I'm pretty busy & not sure when I'll get time. I hope he gets the hint. I get another email: 'I can work around your schedule - just pick a time.'

I'm trapped. I don't want to blow him off - I want to be polite. And more importantly, I want to avoid the torture of having to spend another second with him.

I pick a day with my fingers crossed. He can't make it - he'll be out of town for ten days. Hallelujah! 10 glorious days during which he can forget all about me!

Ten days pass...I get another email. I can't avoid it. I pick a date...he can make it. Crap.

The day arrives...the date is at 6pm. I look at the clock. 4:38pm. How can i get out of this? I open my email...'I'm sick. I'll have to cancel.' It wasn't a complete lie. I was feeling pretty nauseous by then.

This goes on for months. I can't make myself send an email without adding "We'll have to try again" or "Too bad it didn't work...maybe next time." Why must I always end it with the proverbial 'I'll call you?'

Three months from our first coffee, I find myself going to dinner with him. I have to end this once and for all. I have to be uninterested. I have to act miserable...which shouldn't be to hard - since this will be complete and utter torture. But I was raised too well. I carry on nice conversation. I'm polite. I listen attentively. I fail to take the advice of a friend to wear a banana clip and a baggy sweatshirt. The dinner is over. Here is my moment. I CAN DO THIS! I CAN WALK AWAY!

"It was fun...we should hang out again soon."



Just call me Chandler.

The One Where Amy is humiliated by French Toast.

So, I'm driving home from work today, and I'm super-excited because I have this brilliant idea for dinner: French Toast.

I haven't had french toast in ages because I never have eggs in the house. But the other day I had to buy eggs for something I was baking to take to school. And at lunch today, it hits me:

I have bread.
I have milk.
I have eggs.
I have a pan.
I can make french toast.

So all afternoon, I've been looking forward to this french toast. I literally think about it the whole ride home -

"Oh, it'll be so good with a little powdered sugar..."
"Mmm, I love eating it when its right out of the pan and warm and the powdered sugar kind of melts..."
"Oh it always smells so good..."

I get home, I find a bowl, I turn the pan on to warm it up, and I get out the eggs and bread. All is going well. Fench toast goodness, here I come. So, I crack the egg on the side of the bowl.

Then I spend the next five minutes picking egg shell pieces out of the egg mixture. This should have been the first sign that this was not going to go well.

But I surge ahead. I beat the eggs and add a splash of milk. I dip the bread slices in and toss the first one in the pan.

Oh, shit.

I only put egg on one side. I quickly get it out of the pan, dip the other side in the egg mixture and put it back in the pan.

And then I re-dip the other slices of bread, since they, also, were only coated on one side.

All is well again. I flip the first piece.

What the heck?
Why does it look so weird?

I let the other side cook a little longer, and then take it out of the pan. Hmmm. The other side looks weird too. Maybe the pan wasn't hot enough yet.

I wait a few minutes and then cook the rest of the pieces. They all look weird.

Then I taste the first piece. And then I spit it out.
And then I taste the next piece. And then I spit that out too.

And then I throw it all away.

And eat cold bran flakes for dinner.

As of this moment, I still have no idea what went wrong. Its french toast, for goodness sakes.

The One where Amy Laughs at Her Students.

If my life were made into a reality tv comedy, I'm sure most of the epsiodes would be based in my career. I teach Early Childhood Special Education.

That means 2 1/2 - to - 6 year olds.

Most of whom you cannot understand.

And many of whom cannot understand you.

Let the fun begin.

So today one of my beloved munchkins rolls off the bus, beaming as usual.
Today, he is so proud. He is a 'big boy.' He is wearing his brother Jimmy's clothes.

Me: "Oh, very cool. You are growing big like your brother!"

Student: pets the sleeves of his sweatshirt, grinning ear to ear.

Me: "Is it soft?" (I never miss the chance for vocabulary development. Soft vs. rough, big vs. little. I ask a lot of stupid questions.)

Student: lifts shirt to his nose and takes a big whiff.
"Yup. It's soft."

Ouch.
We're gonna need a little more practice with 'soft.'
I wouldn't expect anything else.

And...I love it.

"The Hills: The Comedy Version"

I admit it. I don't like reality tv.

But I watch it.

A lot of it.

I turn on the tv, hit the 'guide' button on my digital cable and within moments have scanned everything that is showing on available channels. Nothing. Again.

It's Saturday afternoon. All I wanted to do was sit down on my couch and be entertained. Afterall, I've spent the week entertaining and educating. Now its my turn.

But Nothing is on. No Mike Rowe and his Dirty Jobs. No hijinx from Michael and the Dunder Mifflin staff. No journey to Karma-land with Earl. Not even a good movie from the early nineties.

Sure, I could watch any one of three episodes of Law and Order, but I'm not in the mood.

So what do I find myself doing? Catching up on a marathon of Flavor of Love: Season 2. Yikes. The worst part is that I don't just watch one episode. I watch three. Three hours watching Flavor Flav try to find true love from a collection of - by my account - mentally unbalanced, barely clothed women. All under the watchful eye of a camera crew and sound techs. And the millions of people who are as enthralled (and disturbed) as I am.

But I've had enough of Flav and his hoochies. Is that how you spell hoochies? What has this show done to my vocabulary? Before any more damage is done, I head downstairs and hop onto my elliptical machine. While I spin away, I turn on the tv and start flipping channels. Oh, good. Top Chef. More reality tv. I'm hooked. I sweat away on the elliptical, all the while sucked into the kitchen catfights, the tragically overdone roast duck in a truffle sauce, the glorious and elegant sushimi...you get the idea. Hooked again. I am addicted to reality tv.

I can no longer deny that I watch reality tv. At least I know I am not alone. But I will proudly proclaim that I have never stooped that low. No, I have never watched Laguna Beach. I have never given in to the temptation of The Hills. These shows do not appeal to me. The are based upon what I have spent my whole life trying to avoid. Gossip. Petty cat fights. Spoiled brats. Drama. DRAMA. And that I know just from the commercials. I won't watch these shows. They will only make me angry.

And yet...I can't deny the connection to my own life. No, I won't be breaking off my friendship with my best friend because she batted her eyelashes at this boy that I've never talked to but think is 'hot'. I won't be building up a small army of followers by spreading rumors about my best-friend turned mortal enemy. I won't be driving a $30,000+ car that daddy and step-mommy used to buy my love on my 16th birthday.

But my life would make an entertaining reality show.

It wouldn't have much drama. I can't imagine any catfights. There would be no flashy parties or BMWs.

There would be pleanty to laugh at. Mainly me.
Yes, my life could be a reality show.
It would certainly be a comedy.

And since I couldn't convince anyone to follow me around with a camera, a blog will have to suffice, for now.