I'm not fit to raise Sea Monkeys.

Could I be a crappier parent? I don't think so. Every kid I have is giving me fits. Every single one of them.

The teenagers are totally out of control. Both of them are making crappy life choices right now, and they both keep saying that, because they'll be 18 in a month, they are "practically adults" and should be able to do whatever they want. I am quickly realizing that my time of influence with them has come to an end, and frankly I think my performance has left a lot to be desired. So what do I do? Do I crack the whip and try to keep them in line, or do I just sit back and watch the train wreck? I'm thinking it's too late for me to have any significant positive effect on their behavior or their life skills, and it kills me. I'm sending my babies out into the big, mean world, and I don't have a great deal of confidence that I've given them what it takes to be successful adults.

The little kids... wow. I have one with some issues at school (mild autism spectrum disorder), and I am at a loss as to how to help him. I've tried just about everything I can come up with, thought we had it all figured out, only to find that we're back at square one. The thing that throws me is that he sees any intervention as a punishment and totally fights me. It's a huge power struggle every frickin' day. And my baby has perpetual PMS. She growls at me like a little animal when she doesn't like what I'm saying to her, has even tried to smack me a few times, and now has decided that she is going to gain control of situations by dragging her little feet when we're trying to get out the door and making everyone late.

What the hell????? Okay, maybe I kind of deserve it. I mean, I was a horrible, hard-headed child. My mom used to tell me, "I hope someday you have a kid just like you." Well Mom, you are evidence of the power of prayer, because I don't have just one like me... I have four. Count 'em: FOUR. Just goes to show that most people usually get what's coming to them in spades.

And it doesn't help me any that my husband criticizes my parenting skills on a consistent basis. Not constructive criticism, either. The kind of criticism that makes you feel like crap and doubt yourself. And it's not like he's jumping in there to back me up. I am always the strict parent, the one who doles out and reinforces discipline, and the one who comes off looking like a bitch. The kids try to play us off one another, and he usually ends up telling them they have to deal with me and leave him out of it. Yeah, thanks for the support.

To be perfectly honest, I feel like running away. Just getting in the car and driving, ending up somewhere out west, changing my name and starting over. I am so frustrated and so emotionally exhausted.

Of course, you all know I won't actually run away. However, I think I will be taking another long weekend to go away to regroup and think things through. I want to do it soon, because I am going frickin' nuts. I'm thinking I'll probably go to the same hotel I went to last summer and spend a few days reading, vegging, sleeping, and soaking in the hot tub. Sounds waaaay better to me than fighting with my husband and kids and trying to keep my head above water all the frickin' time.

Hilary Clinton, American Idol?

Wow. Saw this on the news this morning. This has got to be some of the worst singing I've heard in a long time, and remember I sing karaoke every Sunday night with a bunch of drunks.



I mean, come on. If you know that you couldn't carry a tune if it had handles on it, at least turn off your mic. And she even got some of the words wrong. Nice job, Hilary.

My Craptacular Parenting Skills

Here's the story.

Last night I was watching that video of the grape stomping lady face-planting, and I was laughing my frickin' ass off. My seven-year-old daughter was sitting on the couch, so I called her over to watch it.

I've practically got tears rolling down my face, because this video gets funnier every time I watch it. Suddenly I realize that my baby is staring at me with a look of horror on her little face, like I'm the devil or something. She goes, "Mom, that lady really got hurt. It's not very nice to laugh when someone falls and gets hurt." Aw, crap. I mean, I should be glad that my kid is compassionate and has a conscience, but... crap.

Using my faulty reasoning, I figured that I could redeem myself in her eyes by watching it again and not laughing, maybe even showing a little concern. Well, I couldn't do it. I really, really did try, but I just couldn't keep a straight face. I turned to her to apologize for my sick, crass sense of humor, only to find that she was cracking a smile and even giggling a little. Yep, she's one of mine.

I told this story to my best friend, who was kind enough to point out that I just totally corrupted my angelic little baby. Yeah, thanks for that, hon.

Now I feel like the most craptacular mom on the planet. Without thinking, I am raising a new generation of sick individuals who totally get off on the misfortune and pain of others. I am training up a tiny new army of people who have a spidey sense for someone about to fall down, spill something, or otherwise be embarrassed or humiliated. One of my boys actually saw a fat little teacher walking to the car to talk to me when I picked the kids up from school one day and begged me to drive off so he could watch her run after us and possibly slip on the ice. Mmmmm hmmmm. That's my boy. Of course I didn't do it, but I did picture it in my mind and laughed a little.

Here's the awful thing: while I should be 1000% mortified, the wicked, horrible part of me is just a little proud. "And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me, he'd grown up just like me. My boy was just like meeeeee... And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon..." Okay, okay... I'm stopping now.

The Thing and Junk

School last night. Wow. Where do I start?

First of all, it was the last session of this particular class, so I will never have to listen to Diane Chambers again. Whoooooohoooooooo. Man, was she annoying. And weird.

Thing did his heresy presentation last night. I'd been dreading it, because I was sure it would be a rambling mess that would take at least half the class time. Well, he gets up there and hands out a term paper on his chosen heresy. This frickin' paper was eight pages long, front and back. Holy crap, dude. So I start looking at the paper, and it is absolutely perfect. No misspellings, no run-on sentences, lots of great big words, even a little Greek thrown in for good measure. It was so frickin' obvious that he is a gigantic plagiarist. There is no way in hell Thing wrote a single word of that paper. This fact was totally underscored by his presentation. He basically started reading from his paper (after a five minute, rambling, senseless introduction that had nothing to do with anything), and he couldn't even frickin' read it. He's mispronouncing words, stumbling over the sentence structures, and obviously struggling to comprehend what he supposedly researched and wrote. And he had the nerve to go, "Y'all know how I love to learn and research stuff." Hmmmm. Really? Then why doesn't your in-depth research ever result in a finished paper??? Idiot. The funny thing was that he was only on page four of his huge-ass work of plagiarism when the prof goes, "Five minutes left." Yeah, I can't say I was at all surprised that Thing was totally unable to present anything within a fifteen minute time frame. So he starts skipping pages, and I just totally tuned out. At the end, the prof asked if anyone had any questions and Thing looked like he was going to pass out. No one asked him jack because no one could stomach the thought of getting him talking again, but I was really tempted to ask him a very specific question relating to his manifesto just to watch him squirm. I know... evil.

Later on in class we were discussing the role of the Holy Spirit, and Thing starts this long-ass debate with the prof. He was basically saying the same thing as the prof (as usual), but for some reason felt they were not on the same page and totally kept belaboring the point. Totally frustrating. When I get stressed I start to chew my cuticles... lemme tell ya, I've got a few ragged ones from last night. At one point, Thing goes, "The Holy Spirit came into my life and made me stop doing evil," and all I could think was, "Too bad the Holy Spirit can't make you shut the hell up." I would've started kicking him at that point, but couldn't quite reach him. And trust me, I looked under the desk to gauge whether or not I could make contact.

Another funny thing that happened:
We're watching this video sermon about atonement, and the guy on the screen is talking about an Old Testament practice where the high priest would take this goat and confess all the sins of the nation of Israel on the head of the goat, and then a Gentile would take the goat out into the wilderness and let it go. So the sins of the people were on the goat, not on the people. Atonement/salvation.

Here's the funny part: the guy is talking about putting your sins on the goat, and he keeps saying, "They all put their junk on the goat," "The junk of the entire nation was on that goat," "Put your junk on the altar," and a few more comments along that line. I was going, "Holy crap! Stop Saying JUNK!" Of course, horrible person that I am, I was totally thinking of "junk" as... well, you all know what "junk" is. If you don't, you must be living in a cave somewhere on the outskirts of town. I was totally laughing... I mean sitting with my head down so my hair would cover my face so no one would see me laughing, shoulders shaking, everything but the Horshack-like donkey bray that flies out of my mouth when I am laughing hysterically. Of course I go to school with grown-ups, so I was the only immature, perverted dork who found it funny.

About Computer Boy's ass: if I have to look at that thing one more time I'm going to scream. I ask you, how can he be completely oblivious to the fact that he is standing around flashing his bare ass at poor, unsuspecting, innocent classmates??? What have we ever done to deserve such an oogie fate??? That classroom is really cold, too, so there is no frickin' way he cannot feel the breeze on his skin. And he'll walk to the front of the class with the full moon out, turn to face us, and THEN pull his pants up. Yeah, a little too little a little too late, pal. He also sometimes has his naked belly exposed during class, which is particularly hilarious when he leans back in his chair while making a point during a discussion. Now, there is just no excuse for that. One, you have got to feel the cold air on your skin. Two, it's right in front of you, so you can totally see that your shirt is riding up to just below your nipple line. Yet he rarely makes a move to correct the problem right away. And I know that if I dared to look under the table his ass would be hanging out too, which would mean that he was virtually naked from thighs to chest. Can I just say: EW, EW, EEEEEEEWWWWWWWW.

It's like a 10.0 on the rectal scale. (Yeah, I'm never going to be able to let go of that one. So sue me.)

The Grape Lady

Okay, my friend Sherry sent me this video. It is a sa-weet biff. I feel a little bad for laughing as hard as I did, because the lady got totally hurt... but it didn't stop me from laughing until I couldn't breathe. As I've said before, I would hate to come to a place where I stop laughing and start caring.

Check it out:




By the way, I have school tonight. Not looking forward to it. I don't think Diane Chambers is taking any more classes with us after tonight, so that makes me pretty happy. And Michelle pointed out that we only have about 13 weeks left until we graduate, so no more Thing either. My blogs will be much more boring after that, I suppose... but I'm sure I'll quickly find something new to bitch about.

School Sucks

Can I just say that I'm really starting to hate frickin' school???

I spent all frickin' day yesterday writing term papers that were due last night. I can't believe I totally put everything off until the literal last minute. It was awful. Now, I have always been the High Queen of Procrastination, but as of yesterday I've officially been promoted to the Supreme Empress of Procrastination. Where else can I go? I suppose I could make Ultimate Goddess of Procrastination if I keep going in this vein, which is highly possible considering my present level of burnout. I even got to class ten minutes late because I was trying madly to finish my frickin' papers.

Class last night massively sucked.

First of all, The Thing did not get kicked out. Dammit. He was there last night, and he was doing his usual blahblahfricketyblah, with a couple of funny but annoying exceptions.

One of the Scripture readings was from the book of John, and Thing goes, "Yeah, I'm real glad John wrote what he did. I couldn't have done no better myself." Really, Thing? Ya couldn't have done no better? Aw, I'm thinking you're selling yourself short. I mean, you write so well. Your papers generally only have between 70 and 85 mechanical mistakes (and I know because I used to have the dubious honor of proofreading them), you choose a topic, stick to it and explain your position flawlessly, and you have proven yourself to be a matchless theologian, as evidenced by your scintillating additions to class discussions.

In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic.

Occasionally our prof uses Greek terminology in his lectures, which is fine. For some reason last night, however, Thing really felt he had something to prove. Every time the prof would throw out a little Greek, Thing would start going, "Oh, yeah. Mmmmhmmm." Like he recognized the words or something, or like the prof needed confirmation that his Greek was correct. Um.... yeah. Thing? Don't even. We all know you can't speak or understand a damn word of Greek, or probably any other language for that matter. Hell, you can't even speak proper English. Remember the rectal scale? You will never live that one down as long as I am still breathing.

There is a new chick in our class that bugs the crap out of me. Remember that craptacular TV show Cheers? Well, this chick is Diane Chambers. She obviously thinks she is so much better and smarter than the rest of us, and it makes me want to smack her. So I will be referring to her as Diane Chambers.

So Diane felt it was important to let everyone know last night that her PC Bible program has sixteen versions on it, including the original Hebrew. Well la-di-da. She even went so far as to let the prof know that if he needed anyone to read a Scripture verse, she could do it in any version. So he took her up on it, and she goes, "Which version?" He rattled off a few that we usually use, and she goes, "How about the Modern King James?" Well, if she'd taken the class on hermeneutics (Scripture interpretation) with us, she would have known that the Modern King James is generally not considered the most accurate translation. I think the prof was getting exasperated, though, because he goes, "Sure. Whatever." So she reads it. He rereads it a little later in the lecture, in a more accurate translation, to illustrate a point, and she goes, "Well, in the Modern King James it says this, not what you said. Isn't this the correct meaning?" He let her know that it was not the correct meaning, and she has the nerve to go, "Are you sure about that?" Excuse me??? Hey, Diane - do you have a master's degree in biblical studies? Have you even taken a class in interpretation of Scripture before? No? Well then SHUT THE HELL UP. Your head is so far up your ass it would take the frickin' jaws of life to get it out of there.

Then it was presentation time. My friend Michelle went first, and she did very well. She had a lot of good information on the heresy she chose to present, and her power point slides rocked. Diane went later, presenting the same heresy as Michelle. Diane got bitchy and felt she needed to publicly point out the points where she disagreed with Michelle. Whatever. I mean, if you have the kind of relationship with someone where you can point out mistakes without making the other person feel bad, go ahead and do it in private if you feel you need to do it at all. But to do it in front of the whole class, and to do it in such a classless way, especially when the two of them barely know each other, was just plain bitchy and nasty. And she didn't even have the marvelous power point show she'd been bragging she was going to have. She just sat there and read from her notes like some uptight, hoity-toity schoolmarm. Hey, look at me! I'm soooo much smarter than any of you! Please like me! Yeah. Not gonna happen, Diane. I've totally got your number, and I'm pretty sure it's a big, fat zero.

My other friend Sherry, who occasionally comments on Bogurdine, also did her presentation. She also rocked the house. Her power point was amazing, and she obviously studied her frickin' ass off. But then, she always does. Now SHE is smart. Diane could take some serious lessons from her, because there is no one in our class who is smarter than Sherry. Except me. Just kidding.

Also, I was forced to see Computer Boy's ass hanging out yet again. It was funny at first, but now it's just gross. And he still smells like deep-fried ass.

By 7:30 PM I knew I was going to need a drink when I got home, and class goes until 10 PM.

I wasn't going to go to the bar last night because I've been up there way too much lately, and I generally end up drinking too much, but when I got home my husband really wanted to go. So we went.

Remember the bar bitch who's been spreading nasty rumors about me? Well, a couple Sundays ago we had an unpleasant confrontation. She comes up to me and goes, "You know I still love you." Whatever. I told her I'd hate to see what she'd do to me if she hated me, and she asked what I meant. I go, "Don't even. I know what you've been saying about me." She tried to tell me that she'd heard the rumors, but wasn't the one who started them. I go, "Hmmm. Everyone tells me they heard it straight from you." She goes, "Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree on that point." I go, "You and I will never agree on anything. Ever." Then she has the nerve to ask me if we're still friends. I go, "Hell no. You and I are absolutely not friends." My husband and our best friend were watching all this unfold, and they later said they were poised to jump up and pull me off her if need be, because I had my trademark pissed-off face going and they were a little afraid for the bar bitch's safety. I've seen her a couple times since then, and she carefully avoids me while very obviously whispering about me to anyone who will listen. Man, do I hate her.

So anyhow, back to my story about last night. There was a couple up there, and I really like them. It was the guy's birthday, and they were ordering one more drink before they took off for the next leg of their celebration. We were having a nice conversation when Bar Bitch sidles up to them and tells the bartender to put their drinks on her tab. The chick half of the couple took two sips, and then their cab came. So she turns to me, with Bar Bitch sitting right there, and goes, "Donna, do you want my drink?" I said sure. Then they left. I turned to my husband with the hugest grin on my face and said, "Hey, get me. I'm drinking this chick's drink and Robin frickin' paid for it." Oh, it struck me so funny. I was half expecting her to ask the bartender to take it off her tab, but she didn't. I was very tempted to lift my glass to her and tell her thanks, but I didn't really want to address her directly in any way, shape or form. To actually have to talk to her would be about as palatable to me as stepping in fresh dog shit with my bare foot.

So, in summary... Me: hating school, Supreme Empress of Procrastination, but happy that Bar Bitch unintentionally bought me a drink; Thing: dumb as ever and just as annoying; Diane Chambers: pretentious and rude, and possibly not much smarter than Thing; Bar Bitch: nasty, hateful, and out five bucks.

Sa-weet.

Last Night

School totally rocked last night for several reasons.

1. The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up wasn't there. It's unbelievable to me how different the vibe of the class is without his presence. The discussion actually flowed, and even the basic mood was lighter. This is totally wicked, but I'm kinda hoping he was absent because he finally got booted from the program. That would be awesome. Not for him, I'm sure, but for the rest of us who actually WORK.

2. I gave my presentation on a heresy, and it went very well. In fact, the prof used it as an example of how he wants it done. Bonus. It's worth 30% of my grade, so I'm happy to know that I did alright. Plus, it's over and out of the way, which is a huge load off my mind. I hate, hate, frickin' McHate public speaking... it gives me hives. Funny how I can get up in front of a bunch of people and belt out a few songs without a second thought, but if I have to give a speech I feel like puking. Well, anyhow, it's done and I'm glad.

3. At the end of class my friends pointed out the fact that Computer Boy was standing in the front of the room with his back to us and pretty much his entire bare ass hanging out. Oh, it was priceless. When I first walked into class I sat on the opposite side of the room from him. He asked me if I was afraid of him. No, I'm not afraid of him. The fact of the matter was that he smelled really bad, like deep-fried ass, and you all know how I am about smells.

So, yeah... if every remaining class could be like last night I would be a happy girl. Okay, maybe I'd miss ripping on The Thing a little bit... but the benefits of his absence far outweigh the drawbacks.

Okay, so I gotta know...

Now, I need to start this off with a disclaimer. Usually I write my posts stone cold sober. Tonight I am writing with a pretty good buzz on. Homemade Jagbombs rule, but that's beside the point here. This is a first-rate look into the true, uncensored, drunken meanness of my mind. I'll take a look at this post in the light of day tomorrow and decide whether or not it's actually Bogurdine-worthy. If it's still here by midnight tomorrow you can assume I remain generally happy with the content. Either way, this may be a once-in-a-lifetime shot for those of you reading this.

I was watching South Park on the CW, and it was one of my favorite episodes. Cartman puts a picture of Kenny with his ass sticking out the hood of his parka on the side of a milk carton as a missing person, and the family of a missing kid with a genetic disorder that causes them to have buttocks where their faces should be comes around hoping that Cartman has info about their missing buttfaced kid. Every time the couple says the "Sssss" sound it sounds like a fart. It's so hysterically funny that Cartman totally loses his sense of humor and poses this question: "Could something be so totally hilarious that you could never think anything is funny ever again?" This concept has me thinking.

Could this possibly be true? If I see something that strikes me so funny that I fall on the ground laughing, could it actually break my funny bone to the point where nothing in the world could ever top it again?

If I see some old lady totally biff it on the ice and she sliiiiiides on her ass for about 10 feet and then just lays there for a few minutes, totally hurt, until someone stops and asks, "Are you okay," and she says, "NO," would it totally break my funny bone? What if instead of laying there she hops back up, looking around to make sure no one saw her, and gingerly goes on her way? Would that do it? Or what if, when she hops up, I run up to her and laugh hysterically while telling her that I totally saw her go down and she stares at me with that combined look of embarrassment and anger that I imagine a comment like that would bring on, and I proceed to laugh until I hyperventilate and pass out on the sidewalk, conking my head on the way down? Would I never be able to laugh again?

Part of me would really, really like to see this theory put to the test. I dream and fantasize about the day when I see something so hilarious that nothing in the world could possibly compare. On the other hand, I absolutely cannot fathom never laughing at the misfortunes of others again. I would hate to get to the point where I stop laughing and start caring.

Hmmm... caught between a rock and a hard place... just where I like to be.

Which is more important?

A sharp mind or a gorgeous face?

This is a question that was recently asked of me, and here is my final answer: a sharp mind is definitely more important, and in the long run more attractive, than a pretty face. However, a totally hideous visage is an automatic deal breaker no matter how brilliant the mind.

Here's where I'm going with this: while it's true that the first thing that might attract me is a certain physical type, and while I do frequently ogle beautiful men, if the elevator don't quite make it to the observation deck I will quickly lose all interest. A man has to be able to keep me hooked with ideas, stories and conversation. Animal magnetism only goes so far.

Example: I once lusted after this mega-hot guy for months, and he finally asked me out. He took me to a really stupid, pointless movie, and then spent the rest of the date talking about how super cool the crapass movie was. There did not seem to be anything even mildly interesting going through his mind at any given point. It was like that SNL skit with Chris Farley, where he would interview celebrities about their movies and say stuff like, "Remember in Die Hard 3, when you jumped out of that building right before it exploded? ......... That was awesome." When the hot guy asked if I'd like to go out with him again, I said hell no. He bored me silly.

Now, on the other hand, I also could never be romantically involved with a gargoyle. Remember, I am somewhat shallow. I need to be able to look at a man. Even if he has the most brilliant, entertaining mind on the planet, if I find him absolutely physically repulsive I will totally lose interest. I do have a "type" toward which I gravitate, and many people seem surprised to find that my "real life type" is nearly the complete opposite of my "fantasy type." And no, I'm not going to tell you what makes up either type. You figure it out.

Example of my shallow need to maintain physical attraction to someone: Once I was getting set up on a blind date by a friend. I talked on the phone to the blind date for about a month before I finally met him. On the phone he was extremely attractive... smart, funny, sensitive. I liked him. Then he came to pick me up on the night of the Big Date. My God, he looked like one of those shrunken apple-head dolls. Really bald, really wrinkly, really tiny (shorter than me), with teeth that resembled Indian corn. And he was only 32 years old. I knew immediately that I could never see him again.

I suppose it's all a delicate balancing act then, isn't it? A smart, funny guy that has that definite, subjective element of physical attractiveness. Who says you can't have your cake and eat it too?

Dick Enrico can't spell.

You know who I'm talking about. The 2nd Wind Exercise Equipment guy. "Why buy new when slightly used will do?" And who hasn't seen the creepy ads in bar bathrooms with the baby sporting the signature afro and molestache?

There's just something yucky and creepy about this guy. I can't quite put my finger on it. For some reason, I think he looks like he would reek. He also seems like he would be kinky, and not in a fun sexy way. Of course, I have absolutely no evidence or data to back up these feelings, it's just a gut reaction thing.

One thing I do know for sure: he needs to fire whoever edits the text for his TV commercials. When he says, "Lose weight," the text scrolling down the right hand side of the screen says, "Loose weight." Like one merely has to untie a rope or something and set the pounds free. Like dropping sandbags from a hot air balloon or something.

Okay, okay... I know it's petty and nitpicky for me to notice such inconsequential details and get bent out of shape enough about them that I feel the need to post about them. I know that from time to time there are grammatical and spelling errors right here on Bogurdine that I fail to catch. But come on... I'm talking about a TV commercial for this guy's business, and there is a gross misspelling that sits on the screen for a good portion of the time. If, after multiple airings of this commercial this stupid error has gone unnoticed by either Dick or his staff, then they should all be fired or at least have their Christmas bonuses revoked.

Happy Frickin' New Year

2007. Well, well, well.

Is this a huge deal, or is it just another day? I'm leaning toward the "just another day."

New Year's Eve was pretty anticlimactic. We hung out, ate a bunch of snacks and watched crapass TV. When midnight rolled around, the little kids were asleep in bed, the teenagers were out with their friends, and the hubby and I were sitting out in the woodshop smoking, drinking champagne and watching more crapass TV. We watched the ball drop in Times Square, toasted the new year, and then went in the house to wait for the teenagers. Of course, our oldest son totally broke curfew as usual, waltzing in more than an hour late. I was livid. I think I finally fell asleep sometime after 3 AM to the sound of my husband snoring in my ear.

I do not make New Year's resolutions. I think making resolutions is just setting yourself up for disappointment and failure. I hear everyone making these grandiose plans and predictions for 2007, and I just shake my head. I mean, it's nice to plan, dream and scheme, but come on. Be reasonable. Do you really think it's feasible to believe that you will get a promotion, find the love of your life, take a month-long tropical vacation and cure cancer all in one frickin' year? And what will happen to you next New Year's Eve when you think back and realize that you didn't get to do any of that crap?

Maybe I just sound cynical. Well, good. I've actually spent the last couple of months working to cultivate my cynicism. The whole pie-in-the-sky, I-believe-I-can-fly thing just wasn't working out for me.

Here's the closest I will come to making a New Year's resolution: I will try to do what I need to do to be happy with myself and with my place in the world. I will try to be the kind of person other people want to be around. I will try not to make things worse or more difficult than they need to be.

Now, notice I said TRY. So, if on December 31st 2007 I am still generally unhappy with my life, I can still say mission accomplished as long as I made some kind of attempt to correct things over the previous 12 months. Yay me.

So... Happy New Year, and go with the flow.

Does anyone else find this funny???

So, I'm watching TV this morning, trying hard to wake up. (Yeah, I had a good New Year's Eve.) There's this commercial for Weight Watchers... I'm sure you've seen it. It's the one that's all about "after" the weight loss.

Anyhow, the ladies are saying things like, "After I lost 52 lbs," and "After I started exercising," etc. Then there's a shot of this lady holding a huge-ass plate of burgers, and the voice over goes, "After I learned to eat right."

I'm sorry, but since when is eating a whole platter of quarter pounders with cheese eating right???? This strikes me funny every frickin' time I see it. If she were really learning to eat right they'd show her with a crappy little salad and a skinless chicken breast, but instead they let people think that if they just join Weight Watchers they can still scarf down 12 greasy burgers at a sitting and lose a buttload of weight.

Come on, people! Are we really that stupid, that gullible, that we actually think that we don't have to drastically change our eating habits to get the pounds off??? Does Weight Watchers really think that we look at the skinny chick with the giant platter of beef patties and go, "Sweet! I'm joining up!" Yeah. "Here, Weight Watchers! Take all my hard-earned money! I'll come to the meetings, count my points, spend them all eating crap, and then still be crying next New Year's Eve because I didn't learn a damned thing! Where do I sign up?"

Or there's the alternative scenario: the chick eats salads and pieces of white meat the size of a deck of cards and exercises like a fiend for a year, loses the weight, but THEN thinks that now that she's thin she can start eating like a trucker again and no longer has to work out daily. And of course, Weight Watchers has really done nothing substantial to teach her that this is not an option, because they want this poor woman to keep coming back and giving them her money to try to figure out what she's doing wrong.

How do I know this? Lemme tell ya, I did the yo-yo dieting thing for nearly two decades before I finally resorted to surgery to correct my weight problem. I did Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, Weigh-Down Workshop, you name it. They're all the same. They all make you think that watching what you eat is only for a season, only until you get the weight off. No one really wants you to learn a new habit that you can carry over into the rest of your life. They all want you coming back, fatter than ever, begging for help because the weight never stays off. That sucks. Massively. It's all about the money. They don't really give a flying frick what happens to you in the long run.

Having said all that, I will now step off my soap box to tell you that I still laugh my frickin' ass off every time I see that chick on TV, holding her giant platter of burgers and talking about how she's learned to eat right.