I Loathe Myself!


“Yes, it’s love! Well, not really.”

The instrument has not been invented that can measure how much shame I feel. 

I am truly not worthy.  I am a moron.  I am a complete idiot.  I feel awful.   

And I’m not being hard enough on myself, either.  That’s how bad this is. 

You see, what I have done is unforgivable, certainly within the pantheon of television program royalty. 

What was my onerous transgression? 

I watched the final episode of The Bachelor with my wife by my side on Monday night.   

Oh, how far the mighty have fallen!

I have lost the moral high ground which Downtown Freaking Abbey has always afforded me.  Gone are the regular Sunday night meetings in my living room with The Finer Things Club, featuring watercress sandwiches and demitasse tea cups. 

Lady Mary’s alluring rebuff to her now-deceased and beloved Matthew, “Careful.  You’ll make me untidy,” has been replaced by Catherine’s response to Sean, “I don’t see why there would be any waiting period. I want to be his wife.”


And in the spirit of full disclosure here, I became sleepy during the finale and actually turned in for the night before Sean made his selection.  There might have been a small measure of redemption for me had I just left it at that.  But since my Spouse DVRs any television program with either “bachelor” or “real housewives” in the title, I knew the balance of the unseen episode was lurking somewhere on that server.

Yep.  The next day I watched the last 30 minutes I missed. 

“Absolutely pathetic,” you say? 

I agree.

To make matters worse, I found a certain element of “creepy” permeated much of the program.  To my observation, Sean’s father seemed more than a little suspect in terms of his interaction with the two female finalists.  He was, in fact, a bit too welcoming and weird with them. 

He may have said, “You would be a wonderful addition to our family, if Sean chooses  you.”

What I heard was, “If my son stiffs you, I am probably available.  I know I’m already married to Sean’s mother, but don’t worry about that.”

I don’t know.  Maybe these folks would fit into Downtown Freaking Abbey after all, but some of the main characters would have to die, so I am not sure if that’s really an option.

Do people actually think any of this is real?  Is the drama sincere?  I mean, come on, Repo Wars seems more authentic.

You might wonder, why did I lower myself so?  Quite frankly, there was no much else on, and I was somewhat fatigued.  Perhaps my brains was a bit frazzled.  Maybe I wanted to bond with my wife and try to understand her fascination with this type of crap thing. 

I suppose there really isn’t a very good explanation.  Sometimes sh stuff happens. 

I guess the main point here is that everyone stumbles once in a while.  And I do believe there is a Road to Redemption.  I do not know, however, how many episodes of Masterpiece Theater cancel out one The Bachelor.  I’m still calculating, but I’m thinking the answer is “many.”

In the meantime, I have begun the Twelve-Step Recovery Process.  I have already completed Step One, which is admitting I have a problem.  I’m currently fighting through some of the other stages, but I have found that kitten photos and blurred pictures of the Amish somewhat diminish the bad taste of The Bachelor

But not entirely. 

I have to come to terms with what I’ve done and am determined to move on from here.  I must re-center with Zen-me and focus on the Way Ahead. 

And figure out the remote control programming features to filter/block future episodes of The Bachelor

After all, that is the safest route, but it will also necessitate incurring the wrath of the adult females in the house. 

That’s a small price to pay for true love, I figure.

- Dad

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I Guess I’m Supposed to Write About Valentine’s Day

It’s that time of year again. No, not another colonoscopy. No, not another endoscopy. NO, NOT FOR AN ENEMA. Is your digestive system okay? Like, seriously. That’s a lot of procedures. Eat some more fiber or something.

Anyway, it’s Valentine’s Day! I guess I’m supposed to write a hilarious blog post or a cynical, sarcastic one about this day dedicated to love, but the problem is, I don’t have an opinion about Valentine’s Day. I like cats and act like a crazy cat lady on all days, so this day doesn’t particularly resonate with me.

I was literally banging my head against the wall screaming, “WHY AM I NOT FUNNY?!!!!!!!” when I was attempting to brainstorm a blog post about Valentine’s Day. Perhaps because of a concussion, I had a realization. The problem is, you see, that everything funny that could be written about Valentine’s day has been written. And everything saccharine and cutesy about Valentine’s Day has also been written. So… what’s left? I’m left. I’M LEFT. No, I’m write. I mean, right.

If for some reason you are a weirdo who gets sad on Valentine’s Day, I have come to bring you good cheer. Here are cute animals having a worse Valentine’s Day than you:




- Daughter


I Love the Way You Lie

I don’t know if you guys know, but I’m a girl. Sometimes, this leads to professions of love from random strangers in bar-like environments. I never, ever know what to say when people compliment me so I usually have this weird face full of confusion when it happens instead of being gracious and saying, “Oh, why thank you!” It’s not as if I think I’m ugly, but rather, that I know that the compliments are usually coming from a place of drunkeness and beer-goggle-induced idealism.

Note: this does not mean you should stop complimenting me though.

If you really want to impress me, speak in lolcat language while giving me a hyperbolic compliment.

How I expect to be treated in bars.

- Daughter

7 Hot Tips for Singles (to Stay Single)

Approved facial expressions for social spaces at the top. Prohibited facial expressions on the bottom.

You know what’s annoying? Dating. Just don’t even do it, guys. People have flaws which turn otherwise nice people into awful creatures bent on your destruction. Avoid the mess entirely and commit to being permanently single (aka perma-single), which I consider to be the new “married with kids”. Here are some tips that have personally helped me retain my life of solitude; a status I proudly check on any and all government and medical forms.

1)      When out at a bar or other social space, do not make eye contact with anyone. Ever. Stare at your drink. If you feel awkward just staring at it, you can start talking to it.

2)      Accidentally make eye contact with somebody? Do not smile. Grimace and imitate medieval-style gargoyles in both facial expression and posture.

3)      When somebody attempts to converse with you, do your best impression of Kristen Stewart. Hint: just assume the position and sound of a dying whale.

4)      If people are forcing you into conversation, use the information they provide to explore and then exploit their weaknesses. Cried during a Disney movie? Shame them. Never been out of the country? Shame them. Dislike cats? Shame them. Slowly tear a person down until he or she starts sobbing and then say, “You’re just like your father,” and walk away.

Um, how can you not like cats? This is my cat. His name is Rambo.

5)      Avoid laughing at all costs – laughter is code for: “You are a beautiful specimen of the human species and I would like to possibly converse with you when I’m sober and in unflattering, bright light.”

6)      Ideally, fall asleep. For narcoleptics, this will come naturally, but others who are not skilled in the arts of sudden sleep while in loud, crowded environments should practice on public transportation first.

A really unflattering photo of me “sleeping”.

And then, presto, you’re single. Congratulations! There’s other fish in the sea but they’re all ugly anyway. Finding Nemo? No, Finding No One.

- Daughter

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