How Do You Know? Trust Me, I KNOW.

So, in what can only be described as a loss of 121 minutes of my life, Feyoncé and I watched the unusually-stabby-rage-y-feeling inducing crap film called "How Do You Know" last night.

It had all of the components a few of the components  a component  some of the components to make a decent film:

• Paul Rudd
• Reese Witherspoon
• Owen Wilson

I love Reese! I love Paul! I am happy that Owen is doing much better, after his suicide attempt a few years back.

I know that you will want those 121 minutes of your life back.

But it WAS.JUST.AWFUL.  For the first 40 minutes, I kept telling Feyoncé that the line/idea/segment/part of the movie was unnecessary, ridiculous, pointless, not-at-all believable, painful to watch, or out-of-line and/or slightly demeaning in some ways to the strong character Reese plays.

My personal opinion? About the first 100 minutes of the movie were what you normally see in the "deleted scenes" special edition section of a DVD, because it was irrelevant and boring.

The last 20 minutes were bearable. Owen had a few pretty funny one liners. That was it.

*sigh*

It brought out rage close to Michael Bublé levels.

And we all know THAT can't be good for me. Or Feyoncé. Or you, dear friends.

Quick summary of all that is StephanieC:

• I have been feeling very shitty emotionally and physically the past few days.  
• I have been searching for literally hours and hours and hours and hours trying to find a honeymoon that fits for us, that is unique, and it is driving me crazy(ier).
• I ordered my bridesmaids' dresses.
• Some door-to-door asshole rang the door THREE times on Good Friday morning, while Feyoncé was on a work call in the basement and I was trying to get my bearings while falling out of bed.                You would think a large, unruly Great Dane STANDING UP ON THE INTERIOR OF THE DOOR would deter someone from at least the SECOND doorbell ring, but, NO.  You have no idea how much effort it takes for me to try to get him wrangled and locked away, just to tell you that I am not interested in your cookbooks/religion/fundraising sausage/overpriced chocolate bars/notice that there is a potentially-fatal gas leak and we need to leave the premises immediately . It's not worth even answering the door.  Once Feyoncé got there (while I was restraining the great beast) she asked if he had been sleeping (well you didn't really give a shit one way or the other, didja now?? HMM?)!

Don't bother to ring a second or third time. Just run.

He's sweet inside, but even I would run from a face like that looking back at me AT EYE LEVEL, if I was schlepping door-to-door.

• Icing on the cake? Feyoncé hasn't been feeling well either, so he went to lay down for a bit. And someone else came by door-to-door.  A ringin' away.  *CUE DOGS BARKING THEIR HEADS OFF*.   I struggled beside Schultz to get door-front window real estate, so my face was visible in the doorway and I waved the guy off.   That's right.   Made a *shooing* motion.   At least it worked, and he didn't have to see my pajama pants. Or smell my breath.

I'm holding out on writing any more blog stuff until I get out of this mental pissy state.
Or until Cesar Milan can come here and teach me calm assertive leadership when it comes to strangers at the door.

That last picture of Schultz is sort of helping a bit...

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Glade, Febreze & Britney = Poison To The Senses

Now, first off, I'd like to say that I am pissed that my secret boyfriend happened to produce a segment on his show making fun of air fresheners on the very same day that I was mentally compiling a post about the same thing.

I'm also pissed that his show aired twice and I only happened to see it last night (I still love you, Stephen Colbert).

The item(s) in question? Air Fresheners. I will also take it a step further and include "fabric refreshers".

Now, I have a sensitive nose. I can smell smoke from miles away, nasty perfume from quite a distance, chemical and cleaner smells make me feel ill.

That leads me to question ... who the hell willingly and intentionally sprays some combination of potentially toxic (or at the very least, probably not HEALTHY-TO-INHALE) chemicals into the air and takes a huge, lung-filling breath of that air?

You've all seen the commercials. To me, it's a better-perfumed version of spraying Windex or Fantastik cleaner, then leaning in to suck up all that is unnatural/chemical based/potentially toxic.

Those Febreze fabric refresher commercials show a mom sniffing her nocturnal-emission-aged son's sheets, showing a face of disgust, then being promptly informed she can freshen that shit up.

KID: "UUUh Mom?" *squirms in chair* "You might not want to pur your face in that..."

Would you ever consider spraying a can of chemicals and immediately inhaling? Unless you were George Carlin using whipped cream and doing "whippits"? No good can come from this.

Also? Last I checked you can wash coats, and bath mats, too. Man, this commerical AND PRODUCT pisses me right off.

Are you that fahcking lazy you need to spray down your coat? Seriously? I mean, really?

Mind you, my house always smells like dogs (and sometimes fried onions/omelletes), but I'd still rather spare myself exposure to a can full of "vanilla lavender" chemicals in a can.

And no, I don't wear perfume, either.

Febreze on anything other than an attempt to conceal the urine smell on a chaise that a puppy may or may not have peed on is just not okay.

Also? Mattresses that have that aroma that Rihanna talks about in her latest song. HA! Just kidding.

Finally, that Britney Spears and Rihanna combo is awful. Someone took pity on Britney and included her in S&M, and let's just say that Rihanna has a real right to be pissed off. The song has been butchered. Someone needs to tell Britney to unplug her goddamned nose when she sings.

Be prepared for ear bleeding:

Listen to the atrocity here.


So there ya go. Nice random post for a Wednesday.

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Samuel L. Jackson to Disney: "I've had enough of these motherf*cking cats on this motherf*cking plain!"

Oh that's right babies.

First, someone made the mistake with snakes.
They made Samuel L. Jackson mad.

VERY mad. With snakes.

Samuel L. is pissed... at motherf*cking snakes on his motherf*cking plane...

Don't you remember? Clip NSFW:



Snakes on a plane.

So now, of course, when Disney needed a narrator for their nature movie about two cat families in the African Savannah, who did they call?


That's right bitches: Samuel L. Motherf*cking Jackson.

Really Disney?

For CATS on a PLAIN.

I saw the commercial preview as I was about to do the 30-day shred (more like the "90-day Shred" if you only do it every 3rd day)... and I couldn't help but laugh and make that immediate connection between his last movie involving creatures.

Even the animals are surprised at Disney's choice of narrator.

On the bright side... everybody together "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw":

Cats on a motherf*cking plain. Hey... wait a second...

Please tell me someone else finds this amusing, too?

___

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