Horrib-ill.

You know what's annoying? The inability to keep down solid foods.

On the plus side, being debilitated by nausea affords one the ability to spend quality time with daytime judges, immobile elderly people and Lil' Mama.

Snuggie Nation.

Did you see Obama's speech Tuesday night? I'm fairly certain Nancy Pelosi was sporting a pea green Snuggie.

Can someone please explain these things to me? I'm not getting how they are supposed to be some sort of new sensation. I'm pretty sure we already had loose fitting fabric garments that were not fully enclosed. They're called robes. So putting one on backwards, fabricating it out of cheap fleece and making it huge makes it a Snuggie?

Maybe I'll end up eating my words when I order a gross of them to distribute amongst the congregation of the "church" I'm starting.

Lotto, Schmotto.

After a particularly bad/soul-sucking/craptastic day, do you ever find yourself purchasing a lottery ticket, momentarily entertaining the notion of rolling around in a big pile of moolah while telling your boss to cram it with walnuts? But then it turns out you don't win and are instead even more disgruntled, downtrodden and disgusted?

Admit it: you've been there. And it should come as no surprise, because I'm convinced the lottery is a(nother) state-sponsored scam. A scam, I tell you! Have you ever known anyone personally who was won big bucks in the lottery? I'm not talking about some fool who netted like $500. I'm talking about the ridiculous jackpots that would likely ruin your life and see you inundated with calls from long lost friends, family and children. No? That's because no one wins! The state keeps the money and doles out paltry amounts to keep suckers interested. I'm convinced it's all a sham.

Or maybe I'm just bitter because I once again failed to win the lotto yesterday and can't afford a big, tricked-out belt buckle like (the artist formerly known as Lil') Romeo, over there.

Grammy's Mix Tape.

Good news:  the folks at Crystal Light have somehow gotten ahold of the results of your grandma dabbling in 80's technology and are offering you the ability to purchase "Grammy's Mix Tape" if you so desire.  

First of all, "Grammy's" is obviously just plan wrong.  If it is a mix tape from the Grammy Awards, it should just be Grammys Mix Tape, yes?  And if they insist on denoting possession, then it would be Grammys' Mix Tape, no?

Perhaps more importantly, why, in 2009, is anyone (including your grandma) still making mix tapes?  I held on to my cassette tapes to the bitter end and even I was forced to recognize that era is dead and gone.

Finally, people still drink Crystal Light?

TLC Trauma.

When Bravo is showing only reruns of the Hooches of the East, Left and South (the Real Housewives series), I'm forced to look elsewhere for entertainment, lest my retinas be seared by the glow from their orange flesh. This often includes a stop at TLC for some What Not to Wear or Little People: Big Deal! action. All well and good.

What I do NOT appreciate, however, are the commercials/teasers for other TLC programming, which more often than not include GROSSLY DISTURBING IMAGES. Listen, I'm trying to watch some stupid show about wedding gowns: don't go showing me theMermaid Girl, the 900 lb Toddler or the Boy Who's Face Flew Off[sic]. I hate being sabotaged with video footage of some guy in India who has tree bark growing off his body, some dude whose biceps exploded or a fella with NO FACE WHATSOEVER. What the...?! 

Or at least give me some warning. Going from wondering if some jerk on Property Ladder is going to lose his shirt on a house flipping scheme to being confronted with Sharon, the primordial dwarf and her average-sized teeth is a bit jarring, to say the least. Poor Sharon! How can I go back to watching LA Ink after seeing her?  How can I go on?!

Wee Boy.

While walking home today, I came upon a family sort of clustered around a sewer grate, just kind of standing there and staring down the alley. As I got closer, I noticed that there was a stream of water coming from the 2-3 year old boy and going into said sewer.

On one hand, I guess he was just more or less eliminating the middle man by peeing directly into the sewer. On the other hand, ewww. But I guess it was better than peeing on the side of a building. Or having an accident. But now is he going to grow up thinking he can whiz whenever the mood strikes (as long as there's some sort of drain involved)? Because there are already too many people who are laboring under that delusion. I used to live off of South Street in Philadelphia (where the fabled hippies meet) and every time I looked out the window, there was some clown micturating in the alleyway. It got to the point where I would hold up score cards for them.

While we're on the topic, there seems to be an inordinate amount of like, Snapple bottles partially filled with liquid laying around on the city streets. Have you noticed this? My husband is convinced they are all filled with urine, and I have a friend who supports the same theory. This is confusing. Why bother peeing into a bottle, sealing it, and then leaving it somewhere? If you're gonna do that, just do like the little kid and go directly into the sewer. Am I wrong?

Make this Show.

Do y'all know Lil Mama? Looooove her. She's a rapper or something but I know her from America's Next Best Dance Squad on MTV. All I know is that she dresses a mess, looks about 58 years old but is only 19, and has a fabulous way of speaking. She actually sounds a lot like Brian Fellow. Which is awesome.

Someone needs to give Lil Mama her own show in which she plays a Judge Judy type person who doles out no-nonsense justice whilst over-enunciating with a Brooklyn accent. Get on that! I'd totally watch it.

Muzak Magic.

Who likes grocery shopping? Yeah, me, neither. The grocery store that's most convenient to me is also the suckiest. I went in there today and they're re-doing it, presumably to make it suck less. Except the way they're doing this is by installing lighting that makes all the shoppers look like extras in Shawn of the Dead, putting in freezers with shelving that no human with an average armspan could possibly reach, and evidently playing oldies on the sound system. Not like, some oldies. ALL OLDIES.

I don't want to feel like I'm in a malt shop or sliding around on the vinyl backseat of my parents' 1972 Plymouth Satellite as my mom careens around the corners with the radio going (what seatbelts?!) when I'm food shopping. I want to feel like I'm in the grocery store. I want to hear some Michael McDonald, Eagles or the muzak version of "Living in America" as I check the expiration dates. I don't want the Big Bopper or Frankie Valli. I want my Seals & Crofts! 

Although, isn't it way worse when you're in a store and there's NO music on at all? You start feeling like something bad is going to go down or that they closed the place and accidentally locked you in. Worse, you start questioning your purchases, the institution of capitalism and your existence. Maybe "Chantilly Lace" ain't so bad, after all. No, wait - yes, it is.

Gym Germs.

When I go to the gym, it's the elliptical machine or nothing. So if one's not available, I'm screwed. Ditto if the only one available is next to the dude on one of the few remaining Stairmasters, who is known for his delightful habit of hacking, grunting, snorting and generally being gross during his workout. And don't tell me he has Tourette's because I've seen him on other machines without these side effects.

Dude, if your workout is causing you to sound like you are dying and to cough all over the place then DON'T DO IT. Go do yoga or something, instead. Or if your calves are the concern, get those boob implants for your legs. Seriously, are you kidding me with these? Remember that guy on MTV's True Life that got those? What the...? Just put on some pants!

Ahoy, Ye Hackers.

As a gay man trapped in a woman's body, my TV viewing is pretty much exclusively relegated to whatever happens to be on Bravo. Recently, they've been running those old "freecreditreport.com" commercials, with the dudes jamming out the jingle in some discount fish hut.

Can someone please explain this commercial to me? Here are some of the lyrics:

They say a man should always dress for the job he wants
So why am I dressed up like a pirate in this restaurant?
It's all because some hacker stole my identity
Now I'm in here every evening serving chowder and iced tea

What? Why does being the victim of identity theft necessitate having to take Judge Reinhold's job from Fast Times at Ridgemont High? When someone steals your identity, do they take your job, too? And how about that creepy old lady with the lobster bib on? What's her damage? She's shooting daggers out of those beady eyes.

Why go through the hassle of creating a narrative in your jingle if it makes no sense? Am I missing something?

The Jerk Within.

Don't you hate those d-wads who fly off the handle without letting you get a word in edgewise?

While crossing the street this morning (in subzero temperatures), a taxi obviously not intending on actually observing his Stop sign began rolling toward me while I was in the crosswalk. Naturally, I started mouthing off. He jammed on the brakes, then rolled down the window. "Oh, it's on," I thought, and unleashed a barrage of anger in his direction. "Why don't you look where you're going? You're supposed to STOP at a Stop sign. You almost ran me over! Your Momma!" While I paused for breath, he said, "I was just trying to tell you I'm sorry."

Man. I hate it when I turn out to be the jerk. It's much more fun when everyone else sucks.

Can it in the Can.

People exhibit all kinds of weird behavior in public bathrooms. At work, I just want to get in and out of there - I'm not trying to have an impromptu meeting or to primp.

Some people, though, seem to love chillin' in the bathroom. These are the types who think it's somehow acceptable to strike up a conversation with you while you're in the stall. Listen, once that door closes, let's all do one another a favor and maintain at least the illusion of anonymity. This lady where I used to work would enter the bathroom and actively try to identify who was in the stall based upon their footwear. "Look at those cute boots! Who's in there?!" I'm sorry, but that's just a tad intimate for me. Leave me alone!

As far as hand drying goes, is it really necessary to use a ream of paper to dry your hands? How about taking a sensibly sized piece of paper towel instead of cranking on the hand thing 90 times and pumping out 4 acres' worth?

I also don't get the brushers and flossers. "Oooh, look at me. I'm exercising advanced dental hygeine." I don't know - there's just something weird about that. Suddenly, I feel like I'm in the dorm and should be schlepping back to my office with my crate of shampoo and soap.

Also gross: people who bring food into the bathroom. Okay, that's disgusting. Remember that lame movie "Clockwatchers" with Nosey Parker and Lisa Kudrow? There was a scene where I think Toni Collette was eating lunch IN A BATHROOM STALL and that was the point where I tapped out. Way to make me sick.

What's your restroom pet peeve?

Kitchen Capers.

Here's what's nice: having a kitchen at work so you can refrigerate your tuna sandwich instead of keeling over, dead from whatever malady befalls one who dares eat room temperature mayo (I personally refuse to believe that mayo would ever beget harm on anyone - it is manna).

Here's what's less nice - the slobs you work with who are hell bent on sullying every surface in the place. You know the types: those who treat the kitchen as a TOY and not a PRIVILEGE. A magical wonderland featuring a never-ending supply of artificial sweetener, coffee stirrers and microbes. Spilled your coffee? Just leave it on the counter! Dropped some paper towels? They'll pick themselves up! Be sure to lube up your hand with barbecue sauce before you open the refrigerator door to give it a nice veneer of "disgusting." On the inside of the fridge, leave unwrapped, half-eaten Italian hoagies for a minimum of 5 days. This will help the meat properly age to the appropriate level of putridity.

Don't be a chump when using the microwave: covering your food is for suckers! Don't be selfish: be sure to heat up your stank leftover flounder so everyone can take a voyage to the bottom of the sea with you. Avast, ye mateys!

With the proper level of care and attention to detail, the workplace kitchen can be just like Disneyland. With botulism.

Judge (& Jury) Dredd.

Around this time last year, I got called for jury duty and it was a magical time. After the initial cattle call, I got selected to sit on the jury for an armed robbery case. I felt like I won the lottery. I totally loved nearly every minute of it, and I'm not apologizing for it.

The highlights:

1) 10 day paid vacation from work. 10 DAYS, SUCKERS! I felt like I just won a dream vacation to sunny Acapulco. Looking back, I realize how very sad this was.
2) A lazy-ass judge. Or he was sick or something. Regardless, this guy slept through most of the trial, wanted to begin the day no earlier than 10:00am, and dismissed us by 3:00pm every day.
3) Comforting, kindergarten teacher-like bailiff who rounded us up and shuffled us around, asking frequently if we needed potty breaks.
4) Prosecutor who looked like a cross between (among?) Jimmy Smits on L.A. Law, James Lipton and El Diablo.
5) Mistaken impression that I might somehow get to meet Judge Judy.
6) Got to go home for lunch daily while hearing the case. While deliberating, we ordered from a a bevy of restaurants, ALL EXPENSES PAID. We're talking Chili's here, people.
7) Speaking of getting pizzaid, I got paid like $11/day including a federal holiday when court was not in session. I tried to give it to the payroll people at work but it was too much trouble for them to figure out how to deduct it from my pay or something, so KABLAM, I made like 100 clams.
8) After being verbally threatened by some people awaiting some OTHER trial, the judge made us enter and exit courtroom via a SECRET HALLWAY. Very Nancy Drew!
9) Did I mention the fact that I did not have to go to work for 10 days?
10) Actually fun to be a part of the judicial process, even though it did not include gospel singing like on Cop Rock.

So why am I annoyed? I just found out I am not eligible to be called again for another three years! NOOOOOOO!!!

Am I the only person who ever had a good jury duty experience?