Catching Up with The Duggars: Now with More Rage and Disbelief

The Duggars.  Oh, the Duggars.  


My love affair with the super-sized family began when I saw their very first special on the Discovery Health Channel (this was during my little phase where I had that channel on pretty much exclusively.  I learned a lot.  Maybe a little too much.) and I have been with them ever since.

Here's my problem with those rascally Duggars:  For every sweet, adorable, or interesting thing that happens on the show, there is something ridiculous, strange, or offensive to balance it out.  I go from laughing at something that little scamp Jackson said to shaking my head while Jim Bob explain's a woman's "proper" place.  Guh.


So really, it probably shouldn't have shocked me all that much when the Duggars took a family trip to the shooting range.  Everyone except the infant, Josie, of course, because you have to be OVER the age of one to shoot a firearm.  Duh.


And actually, I was just thinking, "Par for the course" until the 5-year-old asked his dad, "Dad, why do I have to wear goggles?" and Jim Bob matter-of-factly replied, "So you don't get a bullet in your eye."


Really Jim Bob?  REALLY?!!?  You have NO PROBLEM letting your CHILDREN shoot guns, and have no problem not only presenting them with the image of getting shot in the eye, but with putting them in a position where that could actually happen ... but you strongly believe women are "not meant" to wear pants and every female Duggar has to wear an ankle-length skirt.  


According to Jim Bob, women wearing pants is like them making promises they don't intend to keep, and that is too difficult for men to understand.


So, let me get this straight: when women wear pants, men THINK those women are offering their vaginas to them, but the women are NOT because good ladies don't have sex (unless it is to make a Duggar), and since good boys don't have sex (unless it is to make a Duggar), it is mean of those loose pants-wearing women to PRETEND they are going to give them the sexy time, because all boys have feeble little brains and they will not be able to control themselves or sort out their emotions when they see the outline of a leg shape.  But a child under the age of ten shooting a gun?  Not dangerous in the least.


I don't mean this to be an anti-gun post.  I am not a gun-lover by any means, but I am going to go ahead and assume that even people who are fans of guns will agree that shooting a gun could be slightly more dangerous than wearing pants.  Just a thought.


I surely hope those teen and tween Duggar girls (who do ALL of the cooking and cleaning and childcare and serve their brothers hand and foot) are not cooking up leg-shaped food.  Or, heaven forbid, actual LEGS, like chicken legs, because who KNOWS what would happen!  Chaos at the dinner table!  Inappropriate touching of legs!  Boy brains exploding all over the tater tot casserole!


And, um, does anyone one else think that rule is a little weird considering those kids only ever see EACH OTHER?  What are you REALLY afraid of, Jim Bob?  Hmmmm? 

Breaking News: I Love 16 & Pregnant with All of My Heart. All of It.

I don't know if you know me, but ... HI, I am a reality TV fanatic.  And, much to my husband's chagrin, one of my top most favoritest shows ever of all the time is 16 and Pregnant on MTV.  It's got more drama than a The Bad Girls Club plus all of the Real Housewives  plus tequila plus a jacuzzi scene from The Real World.  Plus a message: CONDOMS.  BIRTH CONTROL.  NOT HAVING SEX WITH BOYS WHO TELL YOU THAT YOU ARE A PIECE OF CRAP.

This brings me to my critique of Season 2 of 16 and Pregnant.  Man-alive, they sure were saving all the biggest shithead idiot baby-daddies for this season.  Allow me to elaborate.

Episode 1:  Jenelle.  Jenelle's boyfriend lives 4 hours away with his parents, where he has no job, no car, no money, and yet somehow finds a way to average a few DUIs a week.  He is a prince among men, I tell you.

Right after Andrew curses out Jenelle's parents in their driveway.  Who WOULDN'T bang this guy?

In the end, Jenelle finally does see what her mom was yelling about when he doesn't call for the first month of their baby's life -- due to being in the clink.  Plus there was that phone call where he told her she was a piece of crap and less than a dog to him.  I'm no realtionship expert, but I've heard that is not a nice thing to say.  He also made it very clear that her and her parents would have to raise the baby themselves because there was "no point in him even trying to get a job."  He is too cool for work, unlike the rest of us slobs.  I guess if you have parents who will support you while you drive around drunk, you wouldn't have any motivation to get a job either.  Or maybe you would, because you have a SOUL.

However, it turns out that Andrew was NOTHING compared to our next little assbutt.

Episode 2:  Nikkole.  From good old Michigan, Nikkole really knows how to pick 'em.  Her boyfriend, Josh, who broke up with her after finding out she was pregnant, is literally the most annoying, immature little piece of shit I have ever seen in my life.  For some reason, she kept begging for more, and brought him around all the time to tell her she was worthless.  The moment that made my blood boil so much that I almost burst an artery was when he PUSHED HER OVER TO THE SIDE OF THE BED WHILE SHE WAS IN LABOR and said "Quit taking up all the fucking room.  And don't be such a baby.  It isn't all about you."  After that he stormed out because everyone was being mean to him.

Nikkole cries to her mom

Shortly thereafter, Josh starts cheating on Nikkole with the girl he cheated with while she was pregnant, and then tells her she means nothing to him and he doesn't care if he never sees her again.  The show ends with Nikkole hoping for a future that includes Josh in her happy little family.  Of COURSE.

And finally, Episode 3: Valerie.  Yeah, Valerie's boyfriend dumps her when he finds out she's pregnant, demands a paternity test (he watches too much Maury) and in return, she keeps calling and calling.  He says he doesn't want to ever talk to her again unless it's about the baby.  Guess what?  He also has no job, lives with a friend, doesn't have a car, and is "having difficulties finding time to look for a job."  Valerie convinces him to come back around after the baby is born, and the little shit manages to tell her in the same conversation that he loves her and never wants to see her again.  What does she get from this?  Yes.  Hope that one day her prince will return.  Good God.

I can't wait for him to tell me he never wants to speak to me again for the sixth time.  I can't get enough of it. 

So, my little lovelies.  What have we learned today?  It is crucial to use birth control (or abstinence) if you don't want a child.  Also, if you are having sex with a douchebag, maybe you should go ahead and use two or three forms of birth control.  Or listen to your girlfriends (and mom *shiver*) and break up with him. 

Also?  MTV now hates teenage boys.  You have a one-way ticket to my heart, you silly old television network.


all images from mtv.com

Good-bye My Lover ... Good-bye My Friend ...

Those of you who are not addicted to television might find this post ridiculous.  You might pity me or feel the need to send me pamphlets.  But some of you will feel true empathy for me.  To those of you, I say "thank you, dearest comrades."

A horrific moment in the Dimick household transpired this past Wednesday.  Our lovely, warm, comedic, educational friend -- the living room television -- died.

It all happened so quickly.  I had the television on while I was getting ready for work Wednesday morning, and I had Pet Star on (MoJo and Cleo like it) when, out of nowhere, the television screen went black. 

I was so scared to tell Jeremy.  I was sure I would be to blame.  Thankfully, he likened the event to something related to Apollo 13 and Kevin Bacon (I have no idea what he was talking about), but said it would have happened to whoever happened to have the TV on at that particular moment in time. 

After a thorough investigation and some phone calls, it seems that there is no unringing this bell -- the TV is gone.

We never saw this coming.  She was so young.  We certainly thought she had more than two years to give us.  Even more upsetting is the fact that we have a sweet little story attached to the purchase of our TV. 

It was back when we were young, unmarried folks.  There was a MASSIVE sale going on at Target, and we were convinced that we would be stupid to pass up such a fantastic deal, and this TV could last us decades.  We settled on a TV, haggled, got a lower price, got it home, and felt EVER so proud of ourselves.

Look at that face.

Our long-running joke had always been that Jeremy wanted a big-screen TV as an engagement present when he proposed.  He thought it was crummy that the man had to spend thousands of dollars on a ring and didn't get something fun in return.  I always reminded him that he would be getting a BEAUTIFUL FIANCEE in return, but eventually gave up and humored him.

So, when we picked out the TV, I offered to pay for it, jokingly saying that I would buy his engagement present even though I hadn't received my part of the bargain.  He laughed, I laughed, and we had a TV.

Little did I know, Jeremy had been saving and planning for months, and was going to propose days later.  The television sale had just popped up and we took advantage of it, but he hadn't counted on me bringing up his desire for an engagement television.  So, when he did propose eight days later, we certainly had a good laugh, and we had always referred to the television as his engagement present.  No matter how silly it was, the TV had great memories attached to it.  And now she is no more.

No TV can ever replace that fun moment in our lives.  And now, even more scary, is the fact that Jeremy thinks if we are going to buy a TV we should get a BIGGER television.  Yes, he thinks that the MASSIVE television we had before could be improved upon.  Help me, Jebus ...

Ice Cream and Booze

Yum ...

What a day!  I know all the real moms out there will want to kick my ass when I say this, but I felt more like a working mom than I ever have before.

I got up early and did housework, rushed off to work, worked hard, skipped lunch, stayed late, ran between three different offices on campus to see about getting my last name ALL the way changed (I get all my mail delivered to Veronica Marcetti-Dimick now, but I am still Veronica Marcetti in the computer system, so my schedule and my students' schedules still say that.  My quest ended in the same office I was in long ago, filling out the same form I filled out to get my name HALF changed.  So ... we will see.), stopped at the bank to deposit a check, rushed home, cuddled the animals, tried to convince Cleo to pee (she is usually too excited to see us to pee, even though she clearly has to), packed Cleo in the car, and rushed her to the vet. 

The vet was quite an adventure, but thankfully it only took half an hour.  When we got home, she got a fantastic walk (what a perfect temperature for a dog walk!!  I wore a sweatshirt, and I didn't have to roll up the sleeves AND I wasn't ever too cold.  Perfect.), then I did some more cleaning, sat down to create a big powerpoint presentation for one of my classes tomorrow (feel free to sit in tomorrow if you want to journey from Old English all the way to Modern English!), and am now taking a break.  At least I don't have to make dinner for at least another hour, since Jeremy is at his night class.

Anyway, I'm getting to my point.  I swear.

It involves that rushed trip to the vet.  And the fact that I feel like a working mom, but I am NOT a working mom, and therefore have no medical reason to look like I have baby fat hanging on to me that never went away.

While I was at the vet in my comfy pants and hooded CMU sweatshirt, I remembered to ask how much Cleo weighed.  Whooo-EEE!  She has gained a few pounds, and for a dog, that is a big deal (for the sake of Cleo's privacy, I will not include the exact number here.)  When we pulled out of the parking lot and I started discussing her recent weight gain with Cleo, I told her how unfair it was that Jeremy and the cat (also a male.  Figures.) were LOSING weight and her and I were GAINING weight.  F that!!

Okay, there isn't actually any EVIDENCE that I have gained weight (I don't believe in scales, and if you don't believe in something, it doesn't exist), but my pants have definitely gotten a little tighter, and I can no longer blame the laundry.

At any rate, it ISN'T FAIR.  Men have to make one teeny tiny adjustment to their lives and they lose weight, while women can make all the sacrifices in the world and still gain weight.  Jeremy has been riding the exercise bike pretty much every day of the week, and he has gone down five notches in his belt.  FIVE notches!!  We started giving MoJo (the cat) like FOUR fewer pieces of dry food than usual and he has slimmed right down and is as frisky as a kitten again.  I eat VERY healthy and ride the bike just as much as Jeremy, and I look three months pregnant. 

So I decided to do an honest self-evaluation.  While I make a great deal of excellent healthy choices, I do have two things that I simply adore and have no intention of eliminating from my life, no matter what those so-called "nutritionists" say: ice cream and booze (look, I got to my point!!)

I don't overindulge in either of these things, but I enjoy them.  But so does Jeremy!!  And his diet is NOWHERE as healthy as mine.  So I refuse to give up my bowl of Cookies and Cream or my Gin and Tonic with lime, because if it is impossible to get back to my high school weight (or even within 40 pounds of it), then I need SOMETHING to make me happy!  Am I right?  Ladies, I need some comfort here so I know I am not alone!

Serious Technical Advancements

I just finished watching an episode of Kathy Griffin's My Life on the D-List that I DVRed last night, and I just have to marvel at the new-fangled invention that is a DVR.

I am aware that this whole DVR phenomenon might not be altogether new, per se, but I find it enhances my life every day. For example, just last night I noticed that episodes of Bridezillas and My Life on the D-List were on in addition to my beloved Jon and Kate + 8. This wouldn't normally pose a problem, but my fantastic and non-TV-compatible husband was sitting next to me on the couch. He had just spent an entire day working on a huge grad school project and wanted to relax with me. What's a girl to do? With the power of the DVR on my side, I simply had to hit a few buttons, turn and smile at my lovely husband, and pop in a Netflix we both wanted to watch. Now, as I sit here with a towel wrapped around my wet hair while I get ready to face a day at work, I can cram all of that TV into a short time by fast-forwarding through those useless commercials. Coffee and reality TV in the morning ... ahhhhh!

Obsession(s)

Okay, so anyone who knows me knows that I might have an obsessive personality. When I find something I like, it quickly turns to love, then, of course, even more quickly to an obsession. Luckily, I get over these obsessions, or I would still be obsessed with Mousercize, My Little Ponies, Rainbow Brite, and Strawberry Shortcake in addition to all of the thousands of obsessions over the years.

So, what follows is a list of my most recent obsessions and why I have become infatuated with said items/people:

1. Augusten Burroughs: I put off reading Running with Scissors for many years because, as snooty as it sounds, I often question books that are instant bestsellers and made into movies in no time flat. I have been proven wrong. I read Running with Scissors and liked it, so my helpful friend Jess gave me all five of his other books (four more memoirs and a novel).

What I was not expecting was that I would LOVE LOVE LOVE his other books. My three favorite are definitely Possible Side Effects, Magical Thinking, and Sellevision. So, naturally, I started stalking him. I went to his website, and googled him to read all the many articles that have been written about him. Through this, I found that the family he wrote about in Running with Scissors is suing him because, essentially, they claim that while they ARE crazy, they are not AS crazy as he made them out to be. Lame. Reading his blog also led me to my next obsession:

2. Reading memoirs: From stalking Augusten Xon Burroughs (yeah, I know his middle name and I know that his real name is Christopher Robison. Sad, but true.), I learned that his best friend is also an author who has had two memoirs published. So, I went and bought A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel. Oh. My. God. I read it in one day. So I ran back and got her second memoir, She Got Up Off the Couch. Both are written in the voice of a young, sassy, unpredictable girl. I love that little girl. THEN I learned that Augusten Burroughs' brother, John Elder Robison, published a memoir about not being diagnosed with Asperger's until he was 40. Look Me in the Eye was awesome as well, and I was officially hooked on memoirs.

So, I was strolling through Schuler books the other day, and, lo and behold, they are making a new section to house their expanding memoir collection, and I found another great memoir: My Lobotomy by Howard Dully. Talk about heart-wrenching. This book is about a boy who had a totally unnecessary lobotomy when he was TWELVE years old. In his forties he decided to do some research to try to discover why and how this could have happened to him. A great read. And just when I thought my memoir obsession was losing steam, I got another lead in an interesting place.

3. Beautiful People / Simon Doonan: I was flipping through the cable TV guide, and I saw that a show called Beautiful People, produced by BBC2, was about to come on. I love those crazy Brits, especially the funny ones, so I turned it on. Words cannot express the hilarity of this show. It is about a slightly fey (light-in-the-loafers type fellow) window dresser for Barney's New York remembering his childhood as a slightly fey boy growing up in the 90s in dreary old England. And, of course, he has fantastically crazy family and a lovely accent, and I love him.

I watched the credits and learned that the show was based on Simon Doonan's memoir Beautiful People: My Family and Other Glamorous Varmits, so in a matter of moments, I snatched the book up and devoured it in a day and a half. I might be slow on the uptake, but it turns out Simon Doonan is the artistic director for Barney's New York, and he is the fabulous and flamboyant talking head who regularly appears on VH1 programs to say hilarious, snarky things while adorned in a loud, garish outfit. I love him!!!!

And yes, my friends, all of these books are available to borrow! :)