Okay, so I bet you all thought that I watched every single reality television program that airs.  I thought so, too.  However, there are several that I don't watch.  I have never really gotten into Little People, Big World, which I know surprises all of you since my dream is that one day I will have enough money for to hire my very own midget to jump on a trampoline outside my window and wave at me when (s)he comes into view.  I also am very limited with the channels that I check on a regular basis.  I like MTV, ESPN, the major networks (I include the CW in that group, and not CBS except for Survivor), and SoapNet is amazing for catching up on all of the 90210.  You can never get too much of that.

Recently, though, I stumbled upon a gem of a show (doesn't that make me sound old?) which I had previously ignored.  That show is Jon and Kate Plus 8.  For those of you unfamiliar, it is a reality show about a couple who had a set of twins followed by a set of sextuplets.  The show follows how a couple raises 8 kids when 6 of them are under 4 years old.  It's extremely entertaining, especially because these two people seem hell bent on torturing themselves.

Granted, it seems like some of this is for the show, and they do things that would be entertaining for us to watch...But I am sorry, if I had eight kids, I would never in my life choose to take them all to Disney World.  Yeah, but Jon and Kate did.  They DROVE them - 17 hours in a van to Disney World.  Granted, Jon admitted to putting in earplugs whilst he drove, but I guess the point is that all eight children made it there and back.  They didn't lose any of them, they all got Mouse ears and they made it back in one piece (well, 10 pieces).  Then there was the time they took them to the place where crayons are made, or to Chocolate World...I am not kidding, these people do more with 8 children in a week than I do by myself in a year.  Bless their hearts.

Another reason I like the show is that you can really pick out your favorite kids.  For instance, I love Aaden because he pretends to be a different animal every day.  I do NOT like Cara (one of the twins) because she is just a little too happy to be on camera.  She reminds me of what it must have been like to be around a young Jessica Simpson (Blech!).  So for those of you who haven't caught the 15-passenger Jon and Kate train, hop aboard.  It's pretty damn sweet.

Okay, so for those of you who keep up with my blog you know that I have a yardman who comes by my house and cuts my grass from time to time.  For those of you who don't keep up with my blog, you'll be coming in on this one with some disadvantages, but it's your own damn fault...

Anyway, the basics are that I was having people over about a year ago, and my yard was so overgrown that I felt like I was living in a jungle kind of like Survivor with cable.  As I was going to the grocery store, I saw this guy pushing a lawnmower down the street.  He does not have all of his teeth, he wears pants with holes in them and a hat that may be older than me, but I was desperate.  So I asked him if he would cut my grass for me.  I was used to paying a guy $40 at that time.  This guy said he would do it for $15 and a beer.  From then on, he has basically just come by at his whim and cuts my grass.  Sometimes, I will get up in the morning, or come home in the evening and my grass is cut, hence the ninja part.

Even though this guy has remembered my name and knows I am a lawyer and knows that my brother is getting married (all information shared by my over-sharing mother), I have never known his name.  I have always just said "Hey, man."  Because after a while, it's too late to ask the name of the guy.  I have become very adept at nicknames over the years to cover such problems, but all appropriate nicknames for this guy would probably hurt his feelings.  Like, "Hey toothless, thanks for cutting the grass."  See what I'm saying?

The other morning, I was out running some errands and I saw that my grass had been cut, so I went to get him some money and by the time I got back he was gone.  So I continued on with my day.  But by the time I got back, I had a note from him.  He had tried to spell my name several different ways, all of which were wrong.  The note looked like this:

HeLLO Miss Jenerfer (scratched out) Jiffner (scratched out) and he finally settled on Jnfer:

Cut your grass and just miss you.

Robert Snider

So I finally know his name and he apparently doesn't really know mine.  Aww, the irony.

Hey kids.  Coming at you from the comfortable position on my couch, after a long workout because that's how I roll.

So I am happy to report that I am still on track with my workout and I am getting BUFF.  Partly because I have actually worked out now for three weeks straight, but also because I am going to get strong enough to kill Chris Majors for making my workout something that only prison inmates set on revenge should do. 

Anyway, the whole workout thing is pretty much the lowlight of the day, not the working out so much as the dread of having to go there, and the fact that I am tanorexic so the entire time I am on the elliptical machine I am worried that I am blinding my fellow worker-outers with my ridiculously white legs.  I am pretty sure that if Rudolph gets sick next Christmas I could light the way for Santa's sleigh with just my calves.  That would be fun.

And it also bugs me a little that despite my working out, I still almost bit it AGAIN when we played softball this past week.  Ugh!  I didn't actually fall but I ended up hitting the longest single in the history of church softball as a result of my clumsiness.  Yeesh.

Okay kids.  I will be back with more tales from the South soon.  There is a new addition to the chronicles of the Homeless Ninja Yardman that I think you will all enjoy.

This is like the first 15 minutes of a 48 Hours Mystery, because if you hear about the body of Chris Majors being found in the Black Warrior River, this blog post will be the piece of evidence they will point to that led the police to arresting me, but that's starting at the end of the story, let's go back to the beginning.

See, I used to be a pretty active person, what with playing basketball in college and all.  However, once I hung up the high tops, I really have not been that active at all.  See my previous post about my softball shenanigans. 

However, folks, I have turned over a new leaf.  I have joined a gym, and I plan on actually using the membership this time.  One of the perks of the gym that I go to is that the trainers there will set you up your own personal workout program.  This is where one Mr. Chris Majors enters the story.  He is one of Kent's friends, not bad to look at, and familiar with my background athletically.  I asked him to set my workout up for me. 

When he asked me what I wanted out of the workout, I just told him I wanted to lift four days a week with cardio and abs 6-7 days.  I also told him I just wanted to tone.  I have no desire - none - to return to the days of circuits and sprints till I drop.  Unfortunately, apparently what Chris heard when I said I wanted to tone was that I WANT TO FEEL LIKE EVERY JOINT IN MY BODY IS EXPLODING WITH THE SLIGHTEST OF MOVEMENT.  Today, for instance, I did legs.  When I saw the workout on paper it looked pretty bad, but feasible.  No.  I did squats, dumbbell squats, lunges, leg press, calf raises and some hellish machine called the Butt Blaster.   By the second set of lunges, I knew I was in trouble, but I didn't know what big trouble yet.

As a reward to myself for doing the entire hellish leg workout, I skipped the regular cardio and just wanted to shoot a little bit to get the blood back flowing in my legs.  I made it exactly 4 shots in, when the ball predictably bricked off to my right.  I went to run after the ball and immediately face planted.  My legs said, "Nope, you stupid 29 year-old woman...we are done doing your evil bidding..."

I immediately left the gym and planted myself on my couch.  If I could get some sort of bed pan I wouldn't even get up to pee.  I am so miserable, and I know it's only gonna be 100 times worse tomorrow...So that's why I am going to murder Chris Majors.  I think he deserves it.  No jury in the country will convict me when they hear of the horror he has visted upon me and my rapidly aging body.  I'm off to ice now.

So, I don't know how many of you keep up with horseracing.  I certainly don't.  But this past Saturday was the Kentucky Derby.  It's the first big horserace of the year, and since my uncle and I were in a room with only one tv, I ended up having to watch it.  It was fine, until I learned that the Favorite (and eventual winner) was named Big Brown.  Now, I don't know about you, but I hear that name, and I immediately think Poop.

Seriously, who would name their horse that?  It just screams poop to me.  What did this guy name his children?  Flatulence and Hemmorhoid?  So then the announcers start talking about the field and all of the hoopla that comes when you take a two minute race and hype the damn thing for 3 hours...But everything they said was setting me off, like things like, "And Big Brown may have to squeeze this one out." Or other such nonsense...

Just one more thing that shows me that no matter how much I may mature, I am still about 9 years old on the inside.

So I thought the Davidson game was pretty intense last week.  As a matter of fact I am pretty sure that the last 16 seconds took 5 years off my life.  Such is the life of a Jayhawk fan...but as much as I sweated out last week’s game (I knew exactly how Coach Self felt as he sat there on his knees), last night’s game was one of the most satisfying games I have ever watched.  Just seeing Ol’ Roy over on the opposing bench in his ugly plaid tie getting paddled on National television was just what the doctor ordered for me.

Of course, when the Tarheels made their run, I put my dogs back outside where they had started the game, and I also began ignoring all phone calls and text messages talking about how well we were playing.  Plus, I made a voodoo doll to punish Billy Freakin’ Packer for declaring the game "ovah" in his obnoxious Yankee accent with 7 minutes to go in the first half...Don’t do that again Billy...I will find you.

So to all my people in Lawrence, go to the same bar, sit in the same seat and wear the same thing on Monday.  Plan a party for Monday night and take Tuesday off work, and really enjoy being right in the middle of things.  I am jealous.

But not as jealous as I am of my friends who are actually in San Antonio, especially Crissy, who scored 2 free tickets for Monday’s game. 

Suck on it, Roy! Rock Chalk Jayhawk, Go KU!!

Dear Alabama Power:

I would just like to start this open letter by saying thank you.  No matter how often I was late or how many threats you sent, you never cut my power while I was in law school and behind a couple of months on my power bill.  No matter how poor I was, everytime I came home with my Us Magazine and my six pack of beer, when I flipped that switch, the light came on.  So I know that you also have been patiently waiting for this apology as patiently as you waited for my payments lo those many moons ago.  So here it is.

I am sorry that last Saturday, I opened my back door where three of your workers were diligently trying to restore power to my block and told my dogs "That's right.  Get 'em."  I want to also personally apologize to the 300 pound gentleman who took that opportunity to try to clear my back fence using nothing but his God-given wit and athleticism.  By the way, after about thirty minutes of working with the chain link, I have it back to its former glory.  Sorry I can't say the same for Tubby's coveralls, but I am sure that y'all have some more in stock, and let's just say that he probably needs another X before his L anyway.

Now, I know that apologies are not supposed to come with excuses as to why they are necessary, but if you would just humor me for a second more, I might be able to better explain my behavior.  See, I am single.  I live by myself and when my dogs went crazy at 4 a.m. my first instinct was not to check to see if my power was out.  When I get what little sleep I get, you see, I like to have the lights in the OFF position.  Instead, I was merely thinking that my dogs had seen a leaf move or a squirrel in the yard, not that there would be three grown men with flashlights in my yard.  So I was somewhat scared and extremely irritated that y'all were there.  While we are on the subject, I did not appreciate that young man with a goatee flashing his flashlight in my dog's eyes and saying "Oh really?" very loudly.  It only led to more of the aforementioned fear.

Granted, when I went back to find my phone to get the cops to put a cap in your collective asses, I did see the big Alabama Power trucks outside of my house and since my night of slumber had ended, I recovered my senses and was able to put two and two together.  It is for this reason there were no authorities chasing Tubby and his cohorts off the pole in my yard.  You're Welcome.

Anway, Sorry again, and I look forward to buying that aquarium so that I can take advantage of only using twelve cents a day to power it.  Keep up the good work.

Sincerely,

Jennifer

I know that it's been a while since I gave you a good blog about some ridiculous television, but even though I had lapsed into semi-retirement, one phenomenon has got me blogging again.  No, it isn't Coral and Beth's Gauntlet showdown (even though that was hilarious!) It's the brand new show, "Girlicious" on the CW.  It is a spinoff from "The Next Pussycat Doll" show from last year.  Now, I know I am on record as having boycotted that show, but that was before I was informed that they eliminated girls by having them...wait for it...hang up their pink boa!!!  I mean I am all for the regular catch phrase eliminations...You're fired, You didn't get a rose, Your tour ends here...but the feather boa idea just took it to an amazing level...I was so happy to get a second chance to get in on this action, because let's face it, that show ain't coming to DVD any time soon.  So I was excited to catch Girlicious last night in its entirety...:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

The set-up: Robin Antonin is the "mastermind" behind the Pussy Cat Dolls (PCD) success.  She looks like Fergie and talks like Joey Tribbiani's agent, Estelle.  She will be assisted by a super-gay choreographer with an attitude, a vocal coach whose resume includes working with Jennifer Lopez and the Spice Girls (so you know he can polish a turd), and the big kicker: the show is hosted by Mark McGrath of Sugar Ray fame...It is just a perfect setup for unintentional comedy.  We begin with the semi-finals, 15 girls, but only 12 can collect their feather boas (yes!) and move into the Girlicious loft. 

As we meet the 15 girls, we learn that they each are willing to give their sob stories (dead dad, heart surgery, etc.), or share an inappropriate tattoo (cherries on her hoo-ha, really?), or that they are a lesbian, but they ALL like to "party."  Of course they do…

They split the 15 girls into 5 groups of 3 so I want to thank the production assistant who managed to help Robin with her division.  The girls then chose their group's track for auditions by pulling the song off a board that have been performed by successful, groundbreaking girl groups like the Supremes or En Vogue…I am telling you, watching this show is just 60 minutes of pure entertainment.

Of course, as we cut to the training sessions, the girls all have tension within their groups…One girl (in the "We got the beat" group) is a weak dancer (Charlotte), and asked how she felt about it, her fellow band member says that it's okay but she just knows that some are slower than others….(Awww, snap!)…Hard to look cool when you are learning to dance while singing into your water bottle I guess.  But fear not, Charlotte, all the groups are having trouble.  I mean, Jenna has cramps, and Carrie's look, according to Jack McFarland is "just tragic."  So stick with it, girl.

After a full day of auditions, the girls are invited to the super-exclusive Interscope Records Tom-Tom Club for a night out (Insert my "what club? face" and squealing in the background by the girls).  Of course, when they are only given 15 minutes to get ready, you knew there was going to be some major drama.  Here comes Charlotte again…She wants to borrow some boots from Natalie.  Natalie won't let her because she wants to hurt her competition…and "it's not like anyone said, 'Hey Natalie, pack boots for Charlotte'" Eye roll.  It's at this point while watching the show, that you may feel like your life has reached an all-time low because you are on your couch watching a group of teenage girls fight over a pair of boots.  Push through that feeling, folks, and remind yourself that it is only by putting others down that we can feel good about ourselves.

Okay, to the Tom-Tom Club.  I am not really sure that this is anything more than a warehouse with a karaoke machine and a stage.  They show the girls coming in where there is no crowd, a short "red carpet" that I am pretty sure was a doormat at a large building 30 minutes ago and a rope line that was holding no one out.  When they get in there, the only people there were Robin, Jack McFarland, Sugar Ray, and (gasp!) Nelly Furtado.  Bring on the karaoke!

The girls all clap and squeal.  Carrie is particularly excited because where she is from they used to call her "Carrie-oke."  Aren't you glad you pushed through?  These people actually exist and are wandering the streets.  So the next time you lock your keys in your car or forget to turn off the stove, remember that there are plenty of people dumber than you, and they think they are the next Einstein.

In an attempt to make them all more embarrassed, the girls are forced to sing songs by PCD, Sugar Ray, and Nelly Furtado…in front of the artist who recorded it.  Get it? OMG, like, how embarrassing.  Meanwhile, they flash to Nelly Furtado who has a look on her face that says she is mentally composing her suicide note in which she blames her agent for booking her on this show and ponders where exactly her career went wrong.

More drama: Jenna has a cyst that almost ruptured and she showed up the next day in her wheelchair.  If you thought the dance was ridiculous before, watching Jenna roll around to "Where did our love go" was amazing…Meanwhile, Charlotte is having a tough time with her choreography and blames not having Natalie's boots for it…Robin is not pleased.

Performance Time:

Let me just say that up until their performances, not a single harmony had sounded on at all in any of the rehearsals.  But hell if all of them weren't right on during this segment.  Now, I am not big on conspiracy theories, but I wouldn't be surprised if there was some serious voice over work going on…

The eliminations were pretty uneventful.  Robin announced the people moving on with a standard "Congratulations."  I am ready for the feather boas, but that's next week…At the end of the night, the remaining 12 picked up their feather boas and danced around on stage with them…amazing…All but Charlotte, Keshia, and Kristin moved on.  They will NOT be in Girlicious.  I think all three of them will look back on this elimination as a happy time…But maybe that's just me.