We are a hurting family unit over here. Dylan has been sick since last Sunday. He is doing some better, but now it has hit Jim and I like a Mack truck to the head. Yesterday, I had the worst headache ever. I felt like someone was drilling a hole through my skull. Today, Jim informed me he feels like "death warmed over". The two of us can barely get up off the couch. Dylan, on the other hand, is ready to GO. Anywhere. He and I haven't left the house since last Saturday. That is 7 days in the house! For some, maybe not a big deal, but for me and Dylan, that spells Stir crazy, with a capital S. We like to get out and be around some other humans from time to time. This week's therapy sessions - cancelled. The doctor appointment Dylan had yesterday - cancelled. His haircut he so desperately needed to get this morning - cancelled. Plans to have friends over for dinner tonight - cancelled. Superbowl festivities at our house - cancelled. The plans now include ingesting lots of liquids, popping vitamin C tablets like candy, carrying Kleenex boxes around like a security blanket, and lots of moaning and groaning about how being sick SUCKS! Wah, Wah, Wah.
So, what do I look forward to, when each day blends in to the next, and I long for the days of leaving the house, and breathing out of my nose? My nightly TV fix, that's what. I like lots of shows, but the two that are greatly amusing me lately are American Idol and American Gladiators.
American Idol truly cracks me up. You have Simon, the delightfully grumpy and "I'm not trying to be rude, but..", bluntly honest British guy, who I would just love to be for a day. Oh, what fun, to be able to say whatever I want, to whomever I want, whenever I want for a day! "What the bloody hell was THAT?", is probably my favorite thing he says, so I would say that to anyone within earshot who annoyed me. I would wear my tshirts too tight, and roll my eyes a lot, also.
Then, there is Paula, who claps like a seal, has to be heavily medicated with all her wild mood swings, and seems physically pained when she has to say no to another delusional tone deaf contestant. She is in serious need of some love, and gets hot and bothered every time a good looking young thing walks through the doors.
Lets not forget Randy, the guy with too much bling, who shouts out "Dawg! You can blow! You my boy! YE-A!"
I almost forgot Ryan, the host who has the amazing ability to keep a straight face while listening to delusionals spout out whatever dribble goes on in their psychotic little brains.
They say lawyers are ambulance chasers. I say all you psychologists are missing the boat. If I were you, I would get my psychoanalyzing butt to those American Idol auditions. There are thousands of potential clients just waiting for guidance, there. Help these poor people, would you? Then again, don't, it's much funnier this way.
Then, you have the new and improved American Gladiators show. The hosts are Muhammed Ali's daughter, the queen of cliches, and Hulk Hogan, who is still wearing the same get up as always. He always looks like he has to pee in those too tight, the 80's are over, black pants.
I'm sorry, all you "old" Gladiators, but you really weren't that scary. These ones are F.R.I.G.H.T.E.N.I.N.G freaks of nature. This guy, Militia, could cut glass with his nipples, and bounce pennies off his rock hard buns. Wolf, the guy who actually howls before each match and salivates at the mouth, might have just escaped from the zoo. Helga could crush me with her thighs, alone, or maybe just her ankles. My favorite part of the show is probably the event where the Gladiator is up on a platform, shooting tennis balls at the contestants while they scurry around like mice, trying to avoid the balls of death, while also trying to hit a huge target above the Gladiator's head. If they are lucky enough to hit it, the Gladiator is yanked backwards, with enough force to give them a supercolossal wedgie, before plunging them into the cold pool of water. What fun! If only these existed wherever I went. Whenever the jerks at Giant Eagle rolled their eyes at me, and grunted, "Have a nice day", in a way that sounds remarkably like "I hope you die", Bam! Swoosh! Splash! If I went on the show, I would be the first contestant to have the honor of peeing on the mats, and crying, "Mommy". Of course, since I am sick, I'm crying "Mommy" these days, anyway.