It’s another rambler. I won’t say verbal vomit again. Merde!

The last post with no real purpose served me well because I wanted to get some junk out of my head that was taking up real estate, so I’m doing it again. But this isn’t going to be a habit. I’m reasonably certain. You, however, should be pretty certain I’m lying.

Here come the bulleted items, people! Yay.

  • Federer is out of the French. However, Nadal is also out of the French. So, I’m going to call this even because Nadal is still holding at 14. Why do I care anymore…..?<sigh>
  • The French Open has prompted me to curse in French. Blame all the French tweets that I’d sit and try to decipher while standing in line for something over the course of the tournament. I have no idea why I was compelled to use Twitter as my source for updates. I think I was enjoying the chance to test my French again, and so many of the tweets were in French. Of course it just reminded me of how little I remember.
  • Topamax is still having fun with me. It, in cahoots with my brain (that evil, gelatinous monster), substituted taciturn for succinct. They embarrassed me with a clear misuse of laying/lying. Then, there was the incident where Cheerios became Cheerycane. That was a head scratcher because at least it’s usually a word. A real word. And not like the words I use on this blog that I’m clearly creating on the fly and taking ridiculous liberties with because that’s how I roll. Anyway, they made me drop about 8 gabillion f-bombs at St. Vincent last night, which wouldn’t be a problem (It’s a concert!) but there were teen fans everywhere. I should be above the f-bomb when the kiddos are around. I’m not going to pretend for a minute they weren’t dropping their own, but theirs aren’t as exuberant as mine. Plus, every time the artist uses one during concert commentary, and you hear their astonishment followed inevitably by cries of WOOHOO!!, you know you need to tone your bombs down for the new ears. I mean, come on, you don’t learn to drive a manual on the NASCAR circuit. Did I make that one work? Probably not. I don’t have any NASCAR knowledge. I’m not a very good southerner. However, I do love the SC Lowcountry and grits. And I’m still trying to ascertain whether or not I retain that ridiculous twang that I appear to have sported during my childhood if you believe those cranberry-pancake-serving Nantucket snots in this post.
  • I’m 98% certain my dog is broken in that she is not a dog. She appears to be an amalgam of the following animals:
    • Cat – She is constantly grooming. It’s a very specific grooming, sure, but still! She spends a great deal of the day grooming her paws. And it’s all very feline in nature. It’s not like, “I can smell the grass. I was outside running. Frisbee.” I can’t even really talk about it. It’s faintly grotesque how she goes about it. And I feel like I need to sit down with her and chat about how very gross feet are, but I guess that foot issue is mine. I shouldn’t pass it down to my kids.
    • Sloth – She sleeps about 98% of the day. OK, I’m exaggerating. 80% of the day. Like yellow dog from Funny Farm. But yellow dog was a dog actor playing against type. I mean, really. The dog tried to burn his own damn tail in the pursuit of sweet slumber. I can relate. As I was saying. Lexi is pretty solitary about the whole thing, too. She won’t sleep near her humans. Unless it’s Matthew. I think I hate her. Wait. I think she’s coming. I don’t want her to know I typed that. I love her. But I don’t like her. There. That’s better.
    • Cheetah + Dingo = Cheeto…. Well that name is certainly not going to work. I have no money, Cheeto people. Don’t come after me for that combo. I’ll try again. Cheetah + Dingo = Dingah – She’s really fast. She’ll get into a “mood” and it’s time to scatter. For real. The kids and I will see the hair on her back and tail start to creep up, and know it’s time to seek shelter. Immediately. Drop anything and everything. Let dinner burn and throw it out. Because she’s starting to run, and she’s locking on targets while running. And you can see her crazy eyes. If she sees you, well, you’re just toast. Meditate and reach acceptance. You will find out your fight or flight response has completely stalled, leaving you standing there looking at your new dingah, and you’re not really sure what that animal is capable of. Dingahs can jump very high, by the way. Also, they don’t do things that are scary in the actual sense of injury. It’s just the mental and emotional anguish. The kids and I usually hold little therapy healing events with each other after these “sessions” and we give Lexi a very wide berth for at least a couple of hours lest she unleash a second round. It’s happened, people. Oh, the carnage!

I feel immensely better. My brain hurts ever so much less with that junk ousted.

It’s a verbal vomit post because it’s been that kind of a day.

You know when you have those kinds of days that don’t seem to have a thread of connectivity running through them to ground you? So, you’re kind of like the tasmanian devil dude spinning around everyone, and …. Look, let’s just be honest. I was manic today. And it’s Tuesday. So, according to The Bangles, I can’t even do manic correctly. But anyway. It was a wild kind of day. Rollercoastery. No, spellcheck. Rollercoastery, NOT rollercoasters. I’ll write my own posts, thank you. Why don’t you take the evening off? I believe I’ve got this covered as it’s a BLOG. I’m not writing a thesis.

I’m just going to be honest. I can’t write the final two posts for Mad Men just yet. But I have to write them at some point because I have to finish! So, they’ll appear at some point. No one will care. But I will have finished the task. I just can’t quite face the fact that the show is over. Yet. It’s Breaking Bad all over again.

So, welcome to a verbal vomit post. Let’s get to it, shall we?

  • First. Who has watched Montage of Heck? If you haven’t, you must do so now. You will be grateful you spent your time on that instead of reading this crap. It’s incredible. And it got me wondering how my genius hasn’t been discovered yet. <snort> OK. No. What it actually did make me wonder, for real this time, was how many people focus on less weightier matters and topics, because it can be too emotionally-draining to dig into their psyche? I know there are many times that I just don’t look too closely for deeper meaning in things when I’m feeling particularly fragile. Usually, I’m all for poking and prodding at the dark corners of my mind to see what’s in there, but I know my limits and when to look up at the sky and just think, “Yep, it’s cloudy today.” He (Cobain) spent so much time in his head, and I can’t fathom the depth of his loneliness; although you definitely get a sense of it in the movie. It’s really well done.
  • Next. Gimelstob. Was it you? I’m not sure. If not, I apologize. One of you French Open commentators was complaining about Nadal being called for his CONTINUED time delays on his serve on a break point. Look. I get your point. It’s valid. However, I have an opposing point which is also valid. When he’s been called in the past on points that weren’t important, it hasn’t stopped him from taking extra time before every serve. Do you know how many times he went over the allotted time on his serve? Do you? Well of course you do because you told me during your diatribe. EVERY SINGLE TIME. That’s fairly significant, no? And my opinion is that if you call him on it when it HURTS him more (perhaps like on a break point?), it might make more of an impact. You immediately started blabbering about how this must NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN. THIS CAN NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN. Dude, chill. Have a beer. And he was eventually broken by Sock (Yes, non-tennis fans. The man’s last name is Sock. It’s fairly ridiculous, but what are you going to do. Also, he’s American. A male American tennis player. Who is damn good. I’ll take his ridiculous name and chant it, if it will make him successful.) See, that probably will stick in Nadal’s noggin. Hmmmm, all this time I’m taking before my serves is being noticed and becoming less and less tolerated. Maybe I should do something about it. But mine is also just an opinion. Just like yours. Guess what? The chair umpire? His is not an opinion. His is the ruling. Move on, man. I’m just grumbling about you on my little blog. You made an ass out of yourself on broadcast telly.
  • Veep. This show, people. You can’t even laugh out loud. You have to giggle to yourself as quietly as possible or else you’ll miss the next bon mot which is coming 2 seconds after the last.
  • Entourage. Yeah, woohoo and all that. I’m not even talking about the movie. Or the show. I just suspect that I’m supposed to be a part of certain celebrity entourages. It has just not happened due to circumstances. But if these celebs knew me they would almost certainly make me a part of their circle. I say almost because you have to account for a public mask that doesn’t match the private persona. If that’s the case, then all bets are off.
    • Jason Bateman. He and I would be thick as thieves. We’d probably be a threesome (not in that way, sicko) with Will Arnett with nearly constant banter. It would be endlessly entertaining to certain people, but confusing for others because we’d have a shorthand where we’d never quite finish a conversation or sentence because we’d be all crazy simpatico.
    • Amy Poehler. This would be the hardest to get in. I’d have to audition. And again. But I know who she hangs with, and my edge would win her over in the end. I trend dark humor, Amy. Call me. Plus, how could she say no to anyone. She’s so nice.
    • Lauren Graham. If she is anything at all like her former character, Lorelai Gilmore, then she and I would either get along like the closest sisters ever, or we’d fight constantly, because we are the same person.
    • Melissa McCarthy. I just need to be around her. Watch her do her thing. If you’ve ever seen This is 40 and haven’t watched until the credits finish, then you missed probably the best part of the movie. Melissa just goes to town. And I need that in my life. But I think I could roll with her. One of my favorite people ever moved out of town years and years ago, and I’ve never seen her since. I miss her terribly. She was my non-celeb Melissa McCarthy. We worked together and were a traveling comedy show which can be hard to manage in a law firm. But we made it work. So I think I could make things work with Melissa. I think.
    • Dave Matthews. I think this dude is probably in my family tree, and I just haven’t discovered it yet. I believe discovering begins with looking, but that could be a nasty lie. But I digress. You know the part in “Dancing Nancies” where he’s all — could I have been your little brother — and I’m like I’m certain you ARE, dude! Except not my little brother since you’re older. But you listen to his little bits on stage and he’s really strange and talking just “mad-crazy” talk, and I’m thinking, “Yeah, that sounds weird-trippy, and he’s doing that rambling thing. Sounds like me.” I’ve even turned to Matthew before and said something along those lines. Matthew kind of gave me the patient look that says, “Yes, it’s not one of your better qualities, but I’m rolling with it.” Anyway, as I was saying. Similar sense of humor. And did I mention that my confirmed brother has musical talents? Hi, Greg! Well, just put all that together. I don’t think I need to paint the rest of the picture for you, right? So, I’m looking forward to my holiday gift this year. Yeah, I didn’t know if it was a Christmas gift I should be expecting, or one of the other holidays, or a generic holiday gift. So I just figured I’d slip holiday in there to cover the whole shebang. Make sure I get my gift. Dude’s got mad cashflow. Hell, I’m bringing some of it TO YOU this summer, possible bro. The least you can do is reimburse.

Good news. Tasmanian devil left the house, yo. I’m tired. Time for Tito’s. Yeah. This post wasn’t even brought to you by alcohol.

Day of sloth! Day of sloth!

NOTE: US OPEN Spoilers Below

I love a good old fashioned sloth day. My definition reads: sit/lie around in PJs or loungewear with remote always within quick reach, if not in hand. Today’s viewing consisted mostly of US Open tennis, but I channel-surfed during commercial breaks. During the surf breaks, I watched a bit of both Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink in addition to other things, and I have some thoughts.

On Sixteen Candles – I didn’t have my own car in high school, and the times that I was unable to bum a ride from my more fortunate and awesome friends, I had to ride the bus. So while watching Sixteen Candles, I was forced to compare the characters on that bus with the characters I remember on mine. Unlike the movie version of a high school bus, the oddest person on my bus ride was undoubtedly me. In fact, I wish I had some characters like those in Sixteen Candles on my bus. I could have kicked back and enjoyed high school confident that I was all kinds of normal. Boys with jockstraps on their heads, the dude with the crazy eyebrow-twitching, the brass section in the back playing their instruments (no disrespect, my brother), of course, AMH all swaggering and completely oblivious, even the nerdy bus driver with his high-fiving ways and his sweatband. The people on my bus were disappointingly normal, albeit equally lacking in cool transport. With a character named Long Duk Dong highlighted in the movie, that Hughes didn’t portray a realistic view of high school bus riders isn’t really high on the list of complaints with this movie. Still, I thought I’d point it out.

On Pretty in Pink – OK, I was an Andrew McCarthy. Some girls were an Emilio. Some were a Judd Nelson. I was also a Rob Lowe despite the many reasons not to be, but that’s not really germane. Anyway, since I was an Andrew McCarthy, Pretty in Pink was right up my alley. UNTIL the prom scene. Well actually slightly before the prom scene. I have a theory. The movie muckity mucks liked McCarthy up until the scene where McCarthy is sitting on his bed in that godawful washed-out blue shirt which is when they hated him with the fire of a thousand suns. And they continued to hate him until shooting was finished. How else to explain the fact that he was crush-worthy up until that point and then turned into another character completely. If Jon Cryer is looking like the better candidate for the dance both in how he’s treating you and how he’s looking, something is up in whoville. Yo, McCarthy. Go back in time and just say no to that fugly bluish shirt and the white tux jacket. Those looks did you no favor, bro.

US Open, baby! Can you hear the music in the background? “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.” Just tweak the lyrics a bit…..eh, I’m too lazy, and it’s been done for school supplies. That kind of takes the magic out of it. Anyway, the US Open is my favorite slam of the year. You’ll hear me wax poetic about Wimbledon, the French, and even the Australian, and they all have something special to offer. The US Open, however, is the best, if a bit bittersweet since I know I won’t have any more slam tennis to watch until January.

About del Potro’s loss to Hewitt last night…. I’m very sad to see del Potro out of the tournament. I really like Hewitt. I’ve always loved his grit and tenacity. He’s so much fun to watch out there. But del Potro. He’s one of my faves. (Yes, even though he beat my all-time favorite, Fed, in 2009.) So, as I was saying, I love del Potro (who in the world doesn’t?), and I think he has more left in his tank than Hewitt and that will translate into a coast for someone. So, I’m disappointed that he lost last night’s match because I think he would have given Djokovic some trouble whereas Hewitt will not.

That was a fantastic win for Riske over Kvitova. Watching Riske tear up during her interview with Mary Joe, I certainly didn’t tear up in response to all that genuine emotion. OK, I did, but I’m not made of stone. Don’t judge.

I wish McHale won over Ivanovic. Yes, I’m an Invanovic fan, but, come on, McHale is American and this is the US Open. I thought McHale had it, but it looked like she couldn’t sustain that level of play, and Ivanovic stopped making so many unforced errors.

I loved watching Cornet beating up on Azarenka during that first set. She had to play some amazing tennis to do so, but I really love her game and her fire. As far as Azarenka, I normally don’t think of her as being a great example of good sportsmanship. It could be because of that horrible noise she makes. I find her incredibly annoying to watch play unless I mute the TV, but I thought she handled the mess at the end of the second set beautifully. It had to be obvious that she was the victim of a very bad call. It was so far inside of the baseline that it was bound to be obvious from her side of the court. But she kept her calm and was able to prevail. Impressive.

I’ve never enjoyed watching Nadal play more. He’s playing flawlessly, and it’s hard to believe that clay’s his best surface after watching him play this hardcourt season.

Kohlschreiber broke my heart by beating Isner. I think Kohlschreiber is a fantastic player and always dangerous. And now he’s on my list. Isner has got to figure out a way to play and win matches that contain fewer than 5 sets. I know this was a 4 set match. And he lost. I’m just worried that he’s wearing himself out.

Confession is good for the soul: I’m too invested in Roger Federer’s tennis career.

So Wild Wednesday at Wimbledon happened, and I needed a few days to grieve. That’s a sign that I’m way too invested in Fed’s success in the majors if I can’t watch any of the Wimbledon matches (ANY OF THEM!!) for three days (THREE DAYS!!) because I’m mourning the fact that his grand slam quarters streak ended and he won’t be featured in any more Wimbledon matches this year. I’ve followed his career from the onset, and I know he’s nearing its end. So I’ve made alternate plans for whom I’ll root for in situations when he receives an early round boot. Unfortunately, Rafa factored heavily into that plan followed by Jo Willy. So, my plans were effectively turned into a steaming pile of poo this year at the All England Club. I was also very sad to see Sharapova eliminated. Fortunately, I’ve still got two women I’d really like to see do well, so that’s where I’ll focus my attention for the rest of the tournament. Come on Sloane and Aga!

Bring on the US hard court season! US Open, please be kind to FedEx!!