It was such a long weekend. The longest. And omigoshimsotired. And my brain is barely working. So I can’t promise that anything I write about will make much sense, but I’ll give it my best shot anyway.
So did anyone see Bieber on SNL this weekend? I watched the whole thing because I’m a closet (like waaaayyy in the back behind old sweaters and musty boxes of useless high school memorabilia) Justin Bieber fan, and I have to say…I had mixed feelings. His skits were okay, but kinda bland. If you watched the show, the one about Glice had me laughing the hardest because A. I love dysfunctional family skits because they make me feel so much better about my own, and B. Because I love love love when SNL actors break down and laugh. And Bieber could not keep a straight face. And the girl sitting next to him had to cover her own laugher with her hands. And both of these things made me so happy.
However, his songs put me to sleep. It’s SNL for heaven’s sake! It’s funny. Peppy. On super-late at night, and hard enough for a girl like me to stay awake. I have four kids and a couple of jobs. I haven’t seen many midnights since college. So why in the heck was he singing songs that would be considered too slow and depressing for a funeral? Come on, Biebs—you’re a dancer. You’re a drummer. You grab your crotch MJ style and run all over the stage. You made lines like Baby Baby Baby famous. So next time, step up the entertainment. Do something—anything!—to keep me from snoring.
I traveled to Tulsa and back and Tulsa and back this weekend for my oldest daughter’s volleyball tournament. She’s only been playing for a couple years now, so this particular sport is fairly new to me. I played basketball in high school and ran a little track, so I basically have no idea what is going on. But with three tournaments under my belt so far, I HAVE finally learned what the term “Side Out” means. Plus, I’ve learned that concession stand coffee costs a dollar and only one stall works in the bathroom at any given time—no matter where the tournament is held. Weird and super-inconvenient.
Thank God for Grammys new dress code! I am SO TIRED of looking at boobs and butts and thighs, especially
when all of them are so much better than mine because it’s so inappropriate for small children to have to see this in the middle of primetime. It’s rude. It’s gross. It’s frustrating when some of us still have young kids that might not understand so much skin. So thanks, Hannah Montana, for flashing both of yours.
Did you hear that the Pope resigned? CAN the Pope resign? And does he get severance pay? And can he use up his vacation time first? And can he COBRA his insurance? This confuses me on so many levels.
What else…what else…
The post office has suspended Saturday delivery. This is so sad. The end of an era. I don’t understand how this has happened. I don’t understand where it went wrong. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to send a telegram anymore.
Oh! The State of the Union is Tuesday. Speaking of things that will have me snoring in five minutes… Unless the President would like to dance. Or sing something upbeat. Or do a little skit with the members of his cabinet—maybe John Kerry could play a postal worker and Leon Panetta could drive the pony express.
That would totally keep me interested. Someone get Lorne Michaels on the phone, pronto…