When you don't have Netflix

We just finished watching the 2nd season of American Horror Story - Asylum. It took me about three episodes to get into this particular season but around episode 5 or 6, shit got real. I love this show. Just when I think they can't outdo themselves after a killer first season (pun intended), they come up with carefully crafted, brilliantly acted stories that seamlessly intertwine and are all beautifully brought to their conclusion by the end of the last episode.

The 3rd season, American Horror Story - Coven, is currently airing but as is our custom, we f*cked up. We waited too long and now our on demand service only has episodes 2 and 3 available for viewing. We can't possibly miss the first episode. So we've resigned ourselves to waiting another year to see that season.

We even finished watching all five seasons of Breaking Bad (or should I say four and a half seasons). Now we have to wait for the final episodes of Season 5 to come out on DVD. This half-season stuff is bullshit.

We're getting nervous. What the f*ck are we gonna watch? We don't have Netflix (yeah, we're losers, I know) so we either watch stuff on demand or buy DVDs. But now what? What's on TV that's any good? Even Modern Family sucks ass now. It's just not funny. Why the writers thought Gloria should have a baby is beyond me. Jay, Gloria and Manny had such great chemistry together. A baby is completely superfluous and adds nothing that wasn't already there.

My boyfriend's theory is that the writers had kids during the last few years and think kids are funny so they wrote them into the show. Newsflash: unless they're a clone of that super cute kid from Jerry Maguire, young children aren't funny, at least not in a scripted TV show. I much preferred the infant actress who played Lily - she was adorable and didn't say a word - to the 4 or 5-year-old who now plays the role. She's terrible and shouldn't ever speak. Every time she does, the humour just gets sucked out of the scene.

Modern Family used to be sharp and funny. Now it's just a series of tired comedy clichés. Although, I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Ty Burrell, who plays Phil Dunphy, still brings it, every time, which makes me respect the guy even more. He can still shine while the show tanks around him. Kudos to you, Ty.

So now we're left with movies and hockey (the boyfriend's a huge Habs fan). It's bleak. Downton Abbey and The Bachelor only start up again in January, a whole two months away. That I just mentioned a celebrated PBS drama and a sleazy, low-brow reality show in the same sentence is disturbing. I'm getting desperate.

"Honesty is such a lonely word"

So there I was, trying to be a decent human being, reading some article on Gwyneth's goop website about honesty and gettin' real with yourself and how it will allow you to be honest with others, blah, blah, blah... and I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy 'cause I figure I'm doing some "inner work" by reading this thing and evolving, you know?

Then I come across the following statement, made by the author of said article: "It's an emotional reconnection experience I include along with many others in my upcoming book, Within: A Spiritual Awakening to Love and Weight Loss." WTF?

This is when any semblance of authenticity this guy may have had flew out the window. A spiritual awakening to love and weight loss? Are you f*cking kidding me? You schlep all your "honesty" bullshit and get real with your feelings crap to hit me over the head with the release of your new book which, amazingly, couples spiritual pursuits with weight loss.

Brilliant M.O. my friend. Well done. How better to capture an audience's attention than to throw at them two of the most sought after and often elusive concepts: weight loss and the quest to find the meaning of life.

It's not the first time I've heard weight loss in the same sentence as personal betterment. Apparently when you drop your emotional armour, extra pounds can come off with it. Hey, that's cool. But the above-mentioned statement was couched so surreptitiously within the lines of this article, it felt like a slap in the face, like: "Hey, guess what, this was just a sales pitch asshole. Gotcha!"

Note to goop editors: next time you want to publish some lovey-dovey article about being honest with yourself, you may want to examine how honest the author's motives are for writing the article in the first place. Otherwise, your readers will feel like they've just been f*cked up the ass. That's my honest opinion.

Delinquent no longer. Well, for now, I guess.

So, yeah. I've been a delinquent blogger. So much so that I almost forgot my password when logging in. What can I say, I've been distracted by Miley Cyrus licking tools (or Robin Thicke, with her ass). Apparently, where Miley directs her crotch is more important than where the US directs its diplomatic policy regarding Syria.

Is it just me or is Honey Boo Boo getting fat? I mean, sure, it's her destiny in life, given her genetic predisposition to homeliness and fried chicken but didn't she get her start on Toddlers and Tiaras? Wasn't she a "beauty queen"?

Then again, most of the parents on that show are ticking time bombs, a lot of them former pageant contestants themselves. This begs the question: Does participation in beauty pageants predispose one to a healthy lifestyle given the emphasis on physical beauty? Apparently not.

We just finished watching the third season of The Walking Dead. Is it wrong that I was instantly attracted to the Governor, psychopath that he is? But then, I tell myself, he wasn't always a merciless killer. He had a family. He probably made sweet love to his wife and was a doting father. Then the wife up and dies and the daughter becomes a zombie so really, it's not his fault.

Then we watched some special features and found out the actor playing the Governor is like, British or something. That pretty much sealed the deal. Don't you have a boyfriend? you ask. Yes, I do. But when these things happen, I simply turn to him and say: He's my Halle Berry. We have an understanding.

I had minor surgery on my left knee yesterday and I can't do a whole hell of a lot for about three weeks, until the stitches come out. So, I've decided to take up drinking as an activity instead of simply a diversion from my deep-seated feelings of worthlessness and crippling self-doubt. 

I downloaded the new iOS 7 update onto my iPhone yesterday. Just saying that makes me feel like one of the cool kids, like I belong. In actuality, it's probably akin to a Borg chip being implanted in my brain. Resistance is futile.

Drinking makes everything better

So, yeah.... I've come to realize that staycations aren't for me. However, watching Millionaire Matchmaker on a girls' weekend Saturday afternoon while drinking cosmos, now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout. Some nouveau rich hipster dufus gets set up on a date. The girl he's with gets him to try a new alcoholic beverage and this is how he describes it: "It's part tuxedo, part motorcycle fuel, part alimony payments." Best. Line. Ever.

This same classy lady says this to him moments later: "Give me a peck on the lips. Don't worry, I don't have any sores or anything." This is when the sheer brilliance of this show dawns on me. That, or the vodka and Triple Sec were taking effect. Anyhoo, there were more zingers being thrown around than ladies' underwear at a Tom Jones concert. (I'm aware that reference is outdated but Tom Jones still rocks that shit. Just sayin'.)

Then we start watching American Dad on Netflix. I'm already a fan of Family Guy and this show basically steps up the jaw-dropping inappropriateness and political incorrectness. In a nutshell, I loved it. I mean, even I was offended, and that's no easy task.

But back to the staycation. Was it nice to not be at work? Yes. Was it fun to be at home, in completely familiar surroundings? Meh. I realized that getting the hell out of dodge is essential to rebooting my brain. When I'm at home, my mind can still obsess about retarded shit because it's not busy trying to find its bearings in a completely foreign land or looking for the nearest tiki hut with those tropical drinks that have tiny umbrellas in them.

Lesson learned. Must travel. Must save money accordingly. Must trust others with my beloved feline. That being said, I should probably stop spending like a drunken sailor. Although, I do get points on my credit card for travel stuff which basically translates into money for travel, so... by spending money am I saving? I like this theory. However, I'm not sure it's accurate.

Random travel photo:

Lake Louise, Alberta

Is Gwyneth an elitist bitch?

Apparently, Gwyneth Paltrow was recently accused of elitism, and her newletter Goop, of catering to a privileged few who can spend a 1000 bucks on a pair of shoes or hours preparing a dairy/gluten/meat/sugar/anything good-free meal.

I've been a Goop subscriber for a couple years now (not sure why I signed up in the first place, boredom maybe?) and the accusations are somewhat substantiated. I mean, she ain't selling to Joe Blow middle class or even upper-middle class. To buy into the life she presents in Goop, you need to be wealthy. Not just comfortable, rich.

Gwyneth was recently quoted as saying she can't act like she makes $25,000 a year when that's just not the case. Good point. So I guess you kinda know what you're getting if you sign up for her newsletter: a look into the life of a glamorous movie star. No, not a lot of people live this way. Should she be criticized for being elitist? I don't know that she's ever stated who, exactly, she's targeting with her newsletter so, maybe not.

She's a rich, white girl who grew up in a highly privileged environment. Should we hold that against her? I mean, if we were her, wouldn't we pretty much do the same thing? We seem to have something against wealth. Gwyneth was criticized as being "out of touch". With who? The majority of the population? Then yes, that's true. Does she have to be plugged into the common man and affordable pants? No.

Truth is, if we, the common folk, are looking for advice on anything from what to cook for dinner to the latest Spring trends, we should realize that we won't be getting any useful information from a rich movie actress. Is she somewhat disdainful? Overly-obsessed with healthy eating? Probably. But maybe we would be too if we had to make a living in front of a movie camera with exacting demands on the female form, and were able to afford to eat organic-only.

But most of us aren't of that class. When we're tired and hungry, we go to McDonald's. We buy clothes at Costco 'cause they're cheap, yet well-made, and somewhat stylish.

Do I get irritated when movie actresses self-righteously tell us we should be eating a healthier diet, or "cleanse" seasonally, or buy ridiculously expensive products? Nah. I mean, she's gotta stress about having a perfect ass before starting to shoot the next Ironman while I gorge myself on ice cream without a care in the world.

The Facebook Fee

It's official. Facebook is insidious. There was an ad strategically placed on my newsfeed for the Candy Crush Saga app. When I first saw it, it briefly captured my attention, then I moved on. But the seed had been planted. Then I saw the ad again, and it stuck. I downloaded it, and now I'm addicted.

It was technically "free" to download but you only have five lives and if you max them out trying to get to the next level, you have to wait 8, maybe 10, maybe 20 minutes for a new life to continue playing. OR, you can BUY five more lives and keep playing NOW.

Guess what happened next. I got app raped. I spent a few bucks so I could keep playing, like a gambling addict in the wee hours of the morning, sucking the last dregs of cheap alcohol from a plastic cup, scrounging for those last few dollars while getting the stink eye from the dealer who's counting the minutes until the end of what seems like an interminable shift.

It seemed wrong to shell out dough so I could keep matching virtual candy but I couldn't help myself. I felt dirty afterwards. When I was asked for my Apple ID so I could buy more lives, I shamefully tapped in my password, thinking I'd sunk to a new low.

So you see, Facebook isn't free. They get their money through the back door (pun intended). Who needs a user fee when advertisers pay Facebook to sell people shit that's specifically targeted to their own individual interests. I don't know why everyone has their panties in a knot over Obama reading their e-mail. Facebook knows more about you than the government ever will. Big Brother is watching, with your permission.

Does this mean I'm going to delete my Facebook profile? I bought the app, didn't I?

Fake nipples and Frankenveins

So I'm walking down the street the other day and some guy gives me a look. Then I realize what's happened. I'm wearing a hoodie under a thin coat, and hoodies have strings, with knots at the ends, which end up strategically placed near the nipple area under said coat. So it looked like I had giant nipples. Mystery solved.

It's strange what time off can do to a person what with the mental space that opens up when you're not caught in your daily routine. My boyfriend and I were on vacation last week in downtown Montreal. About mid-week, I decide to ask him for advice about something I'd been tossing around in my mind.

You see, I have a Frankenleg, or in other words, varicose veins, which apparently, is hereditary. I guess it's better than inheriting a high probability of getting breast cancer and having to chop off my boobs. Oh Angie... But I digress. It's not gotten to the point where the mere sight of my legs frightens little children but it's just enough to start being somewhat noticeable, to me, and possibly no one else. But still.

My family physician referred me to a vein clinic almost two years ago but I didn't really follow up because I saw it as some kind of possibly risky cosmetic surgery and, at the time, wasn't bothered enough by the tiny bulge in the back of my left leg to do anything about it.

Fast forward almost two years later, on a downtown Montreal street. The boyfriend thinks it's probably like getting a tooth filling - not a big deal. I sense he's right. And then I get sucked into the rabbit hole. I must have my leg fixed NOW.

I look up the clinic on the Internet and do some reading. The procedure to get rid of the frankenveins is pretty straightforward, like getting a tooth filling. It's too late to call the clinic that evening so I'm up early the next day making a long distance call because I want an appointment as soon as possible so I can fix my leg in time for summer.

"How about 3 pm on August 29th" says the woman from the clinic. "Sure", I say. Just in time for... fall.  I have to wait three months. I feel completely deflated. I mean, I made the appointment, which was good, but three months! Three summer months of shorts wearing! The horror!

At this point, the obsessing intensifies. The full length mirror in our hotel room doesn't help one bit. I don't have one of those at home so I don't see my full legs very often. But now I do, and I stare, and scrutinize and judge and am horrified. It utterly consumes me.

We see these super cool international dance shows while in Montreal and all I can think is "look how perfect their legs are. I wish mine looked like that."

It's strange how the mind works, once it decides to notice something, and focus on it intently. I would imagine that comes in handy when you're trying to achieve goals but not so much when you'd just like to turn off the switch.

Then my boyfriend asks me: "Has anyone ever pointed it out to you?" "No", I say. "When I spoke of it with friends, I actually had to show them my Frankenleg because they hadn't noticed anything". "Uh-huh", he says. Message received. Sometimes, the sheer depth of my superficiality scares me.