I get into these bad habits where I find a phrase that I enjoy, and then I proceed to beat it like a dumb whore until everyone around me contemplates surgically removing my tongue for the betterment of humanity. My phrase du jour has been "The Isle of Crete!" or "Crete Forever!" (borrowed from some old codger on the World Series of Poker who bellowed this when he won a Texas Hold' Em Championship). This exclamation has served me for all things good happening in my life. But as to be expected, not all things happening in my life are good, and so I was left without Crete. In it's place, for all things mildly distasteful or irksome, has emerged the ubiquitous "That's an outrage!" Of course, they aren't quite an outrage, per se, but that hasn't stopped me from riding it home, day and night. And it's felt damn good when faced with the following botherations.
See, my whole family, consisting of Matt and Sade, have taken ill, and forced me into being Responsible. Took Sadie to the vet last week and she has some inflammed pancreas shimmy whereby I have to tackle her every twelve hours and shove pills down her throat. Poor things gets no biscuits for a week. And then on Saturday, my beloved comes from the shower and proclaims, "I don't feel well, like I might pass oooooout," at which point, he does, and gracefully smashes his face on the footboard to our bed, narrowly missing breaking his perfect nose, and giving me a scare the likes of which I haven't had since halloween 3. Finally, today, he agreed to go to the doctor after sleeping the weekend away and calling in sick for the last two days. Turns out, boy got himself Mono. MONO! Who gets Mono in this day and age? It's like Polio or something. I thought it was a made-up disease for lazy people. But the Kissing Disease? If I've told him once, I've told him twice, "Sleep around, ya know, but pick your partners carefully!" Dammit all. And now he'll be home in bed, suffering like a soldier of Frahnce, for two weeks and I get to be his maidservant with no lovin' as my reward--per doctors orders (he suggested I sleep in a seperate bed).
Hello, vibrator, whatcha knowin'?
I come to watch your powers growin'.
Ain'tcha got no time for me?
Doo it doo doo, feelin' groovy.
Ba da da da da da da, feelin' groovy.
So, yeah, that is definitely Creteless.
On a smaller scale, an outrage, if not to me, then certainly to my neighbors, is the state of my yard. It's the embarassment of the neighborhood, and with good reason. My green-thumb-bastid-neighbors have fargin' putting green lawns and the flowers are just so, and it's all so coiffed and neat. But my yard looks like it's the town cat-piss arena and I've let the weeds grow long just to be able to have some green out there to take pride in. I've tried, people, I assure you that I have. But at this stage in the game, when it's the lawn-equivalent of a teenage-boy with acne, what's a city girl to do? I surrender, much to the dismay of Lady Grace Lane.
You know what really is outrageous? The Ho-lympics. Coupla weeks ahead of time, I get myself all jazzed up for the hooo-wheeee of worldwide swimming and guy-nastics and the like. But then the judges have to go and ruin it all for me. It's not like I'm Miss Patriotic 2004, and I'm griping that these united states are lacking. I could care less if Joe America and Susie States get a gold or not. It's the abuse and blatant mischief of the judges that makes me see forty shades of red. I grow restive when I see the presposteratii, like Brazil gives a 9.5 and the Austrian judge gives a 6? Nahhhh. Das booooooolshit. Give me equality or give me jihad.
And you know what else is chappin' my nethers lately? Mooovies, and the cattle that drive them. I saw one movie this summer, that horrendous one that was the King Arthur shimmy where Guinevere is a badass? Well, yeah, what was I supposed to expect, right? But the beef is that Every. Goddamn. Movie. this summer is a remake of something else. Is it a lack of creativity or an abundance of laziness that has caused this phenomenon? And if you're gonna remake a movie? Make it better than the original, not fucking worse.
Last but certainly not least, political commercials make me want to become a communist.
I'm Slummy Jelly and I've approved this message. Outrage, indeed.