I hate Matthew McConaughey. And I hate duct tape. Or is it duck tape? I don't fucking know the difference but whatever it is and whatever it's called: IT MAKES ME STABBY. Along with that stoner-dude-surfer-boy who plays the bongos high naked and any piece of lovey-dovey schlock he stars in. And lovey dovey schlock in general.

There. Now you know what they have in common:

Why I ABHOR duct tape (or is duck tape?): First of all: what the fuck is this shit called? You know? That heavy duty, silvery, really sticky tape that construction workers and engineers and REDNECKS (apparently) carry around in their pockets because you never know: At a moment's notice something might break need to be taped? Sigh. Anyways - let's forget its name. And let's discuss its presence all. throughout. my. house. In the shower. On the kitchen floor. On the porch. Apparently - whenever something broke, the previous tenant decided to slap some fucking tape on it and hello...welcome to Redneck Rigged Central. It drives me fucking batty like you would not believe, Ok - maybe you believe. And oh by the way ARGH! I hate this crap. Of course.....

 

{um hangs head in shame}

 

Remember that time Mother Nature decided she wanted to impregnate me and so she fucked me for 36 hours straight? And she produced copious quantities of rain? And flooded my basement? And submerged my furnace? AND LEFT ME WITHOUT HEAT FOR 4 GODDAMN DAYS SMACK DAB IN THE MIDDLE OF THE COLDEST WINTER NORTH CAROLINA HAS SEEN IN A FARCKING CENTURY? REMEMBER THAT? DO YOU?

Well - you might not. But I do. (Oh trust me. I remember) And one of the results of that 4-day Armadillo-Ball-Sucking-Hell was that I had to slash some giant insulated shiny silver whosamathingywhatnot that connects my furnace to my whatsamajiggy in order TO LET THE RIVER DRAIN. And it will probably take 100 years for the whosamathingywhatnot to dry out but when it does, I have been instructed: to tape it up. With that thing of which I can not actually speak BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LEGITIMATELY CALLED.

Sigh. And STAB. STAB. STAB. STAB.

Welcome to my Rednecked Rigged Hell.

Meanwhile....

(Hold on for a moment: DEAR MOM AND DAD: YOU DON'T NEED TO READ THE REST OF THIS POST. GO READ ABOUT WHAT HARMZIE COOKS HER KIDS FOR BALENTIME'S DAY. IT'S ALL KINDS OF SWEET!!)

Now....we have this....

mcc_noshirt[1].JPG 

 

First of all. NO ONE. And I mean NO ONE. Looks that good in real life. Seriously.

Secondly (and here is where the wine takes over I get my Rom Com leading men confused):

The day some man sends me 100 roses (or fucking carnations - I'd settle for the goddamn shittiest flower in the universe) because he thought of me 100 times the day before, is the day I give him 100 blow jobs. In a row. 

The day some man shuts down Tiffany's so I can pick out my very own engagement ring, is the day I peform oral sex on the corner of 57th and 5th.

The day some man is ready to chuck bachelorhood after 10 days despite my ongoing attempts to SMOTHER him, is the day I become a lesbian and perform oral sex on Kate Hudson.

The day that I eat as much as Sandra Bullock in any one of her movies and proceed to NOT GET FAT and WIN THE MAN OF MY DREAMS is the day I call shenaningans. Also? It's probably the day I call Jenny Craig because there's NO way you wouldn't gain 400 pounds ordering that much Chinese food. 

The day that Hugh Grant dances naked across my living room...well...never mind. 

And for the record, to THIS DAY I CANNOT really watch Sixteen Candles without wanting to hurl my TV across the living room because I was Molly Ringwald in high school (I didn't have red hair and I wasn't 6 feet tall or anything but I was all, awkward and unpopular and shit) and trust me, Michael Schoeffling never showed up at church after my sister's wedding to wish me happy birthday. Let's forget for a moment that I don't have a sister but still...

My suspension of disbelief is as good as the next girl's but when it comes to Happily Ever After, well, sorry. My inner duct duck duct duck fuck-I-don't-know-what-it's-called-tape hating cycnic takes over and she doesn't believe in it. Happy yes. I definitely believe in happy. But fairytales for grown-ups? I just don't buy them. 

Anyways. Yeah. Rom Coms and some kind of tape make me fucking stabby. What makes you want to stick the Pillsbury Dough-Boy in the thigh with a fork?  

5 Comments

Wow, dude, sounds like you need a Chillaxanax. :)

I'm too ambivalent about my life and all of it's chaos right now to be irritated by anything else.

I'm just happy I've got coconut M&Ms and after eating a whole bag last night, I plan to ration the rest for the duration of my move.

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The stabby stuff is spelled DUCT tape - most often mispronounced as DUCK tape - although I think there is an actual brand of DUCT tape called "Duck Tape." There is also a book titled something like 1000 Uses for Duct Tape. I gave it to a cousin as a joke gift once. Perhaps I should send you a copy

-- because you should never be without a roll in your car, your suitcase and possibly your large purse/briefcase.

It is great for holding broken things together, of course, but much better than a stapler for repairing the hem you just caught your heel in and ripped out and holding together the iPod, Blackberry, or other electronic item you just dropped on the concrete sidewalk or, as we found recently, keeping your clothes inside your suitcase after the airline ripped it to shreds.

Also very useful for wrapping around an overstuffed suitcase that you had to sit on to close and has bulging zippers when your shopping gene forced you to buy more on that trip to wherever they sell whatever you couldn't live without.

And a few strips in the shape of, say, your initial on the side of your black suitcase that looks just like everyone elses may look tacky as hell but can help you get out of baggage claim and into the taxi line ahead of everyone else. Just saying.

As for MM -He was clearly photoshopped! And never forget that he is only doing what the script writers tell him to. But then , why can't we all have script writers?

I have never seen *actual* blogging ADD, but I'm happy to be a part of it.

And... carnations? I didn't think it was possible to love you any more after the whole coconut thing, but here we are.

Also... you need to watch more movies with shooting and stuff. The men are arguably hotter (because they're sweaty and have a deep gouge in their chest, and a perfectly placed smear of dirt or grease or whatever. I mean, don't get me wrong, you can't touch me because you know, gross, but just let me sit here and watch.) So... what was I saying? OH, yeah. ADD. Best affliction ever.

Daniel Craig. (Sorry. That was supposed to be inside voice)

I LOVE ADORE would have babies with Matthew McConaughey. As a matter of fact, if he showed up on my doorstep, I would just follow him to the ends of the earth. So, we might have to agree to disagree on him.

Things that make me stabby today are: arrogant, abrupt bosses, inept clerks, people not moving out when they are supposed to. Just to list a few.

I never have heard of coconut M&M's. Where can I find those?

On the good side I scored a 94 on a test that makes me eligible for a nice promotion.

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1) Your previous post is correct - the proper name is duct tape. It is commomly used to secure or seal HVAC ducts to preven leaks, but it has been coopted as a fix all for just about everything (as evidenced by your domicile). It is commonly used in NASCAR when a less talented driver (let's call her Danica for this excercise) decides to bash her car into anything that moves. Enter duct tape (aka mexican speed wrench) and viola! She's back on the track in no time to ruin someone else's chance at victory.
2) The big thing on the floor is probably your return duct. Take care of it. Its important.
3) While I did like "A time to kill" I agree with your MM comments. No one can smoke that much dope, get the munchies and still have his abs. His deal with Beezlebub will end someday and he'll pay in full.
4) Where do I deliver the 100 carnations?

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