Self Improvement, Craig Ferguson and David Cassidy

I am trying to be a better person. I shouldn't gossip about people or act catty over minor things, so although it will be a challenge, I'm going to attempt to do better.

Because of this decision, I'm not going to tell ya'll about the purple velvet blazer.. um.. thing.. that Bubbles wore yesterday, the one that was too short and didn't button, but tied with a little lavender ribbon just above her gut. I'm not going to mention how it made her look like she was six months pregnant with quintuplets, because that would be mean and I'm trying to be nicer. I won't go into detail about the long ruffled sleeves and collar of the blouse she wore with it or how it made her look like the love child of Grace Slick and Mick Jagger, circa 1968.

Hey, at least I'm trying.

It's humpday here in the holler. Every Wednesday I spend my morning browsing through the listings on Hotjobs, the HeeHaw County employment openings and the state and federal job offerings. I found nada. The HeeHaw County weekly paper comes out today, maybe there will be something new there.

In the words of the Partridge Family, "We gotta get out of this place, if it's the last thing we eeeeever doooooooo..."

Yes, I had the pre-teen hots for David Cassidy. Deal with it.

We're under another winter storm warning until 7pm tomorrow. I'll believe it when I see it. So far, the weather wizards have been off their mark all winter. I'm not worried about it, Jolene will plow through anything and I bought groceries last night. It was supposed to be triple coupon week, but I think I got ripped off. I was too cranky to give a rat's ass. I stocked up on stuff and spent more than I should but we were out of everything.

Yes, I'm cranky.

If I can just make it 'til lunch time so I can finish watching Craig Ferguson from last night / this morning. I didn't get up early enough to see all of it today. I was a little disturbed by Craig's interview with Sir Ben Kingsley yesterday. Apparently Sir Ben has a pet chicken and as ya'll know, chickens are evil. I know because I was flogged by a demon possessed hen when I was a small child and to this day, chicken is the only variety of meat that I never feel guilty about eating. However, it's not that Mr. Kingsley owns a pet chicken that upsets me. It's the fact that his hen bears the same name as my dearly departed Mamaw, which also happens to be my middle name.

It ain't right ya'll.

While we're on the subject of things that ain't right, have ya'll seen the new email intro on the Late Late Show? Look, I can handle Craiggers in drag, he makes a lovely Liza. I can take his Flashdance-esque dancing displays (even if he did look JUST like Howard Stern.) Having made that clear, I have to say that the sight of the Fergburger in hot pants and roller skates, swishing across the screen to a disco beat causes me to die a little on the inside.

Dude, put some britches on. You look like the snotty nosed kid I sat by in the third grade who wore his big sister's hand me downs and broke out in hives all the time.

Gawd.

Anywho, I'm gonna go like... work and stuff.

Later Taters.