Prepping for the last year of my 30’s

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My 39th birthday is coming very soon, friends. I’m preparing with a simple list of resolutions, and lots of drinking. It’s never to late to better/pickle yourself.

Here is my list of resolutions for my last year as a 30-something:

Stop trying to bait Lindsay Lohan with my blog posts. I need to accept that she probably won’t ever be my friend, no matter how much she needs me.

Stop getting angry when people use too many internet abbreviations.

Give up wine for a while. JK! LOL! ROFLMAO! FML!

Wash my bras more often.

Stop telling people about my hemorrhoid surgery. Apparently that’s not appropriate small talk.

Clean up my language. A woman my age should not be using words/phrases like buttload, crapload, shitload, shit-ton, turd* monkey, turd jerky, turd knocker, fart knocker, toot knocker, douche nozzle, douche monkey, sir toots-a-lot, sir farty car, professor fart face, monkey butt, monkey bottomus, poopie pants, butthead, butthole, butt puppet, butt nugget, turd nugget, turd waffle, or butt waffle. I call myself a writer for shit’s sake. I really need to rethink my vocabulary.

I think it’s obvious that I’m ready to take 39 by the gnards. Bring it!

*For those of you who are aware of my long-standing issue with the word turd not being spelled terd, you’ll be glad to know that I’m working past it.

True Blood: thanks for wasting our time

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Many viewers feel completely cheated after last night’s finale. True Blood was a great show for the first season. And some of us hung in there after that. One reason was that we believed it could return to its early glory. Another reason was Eric’s frequently naked bum. Or for me, it was to see Lafayette and Pam.

Here are some of the highlights of the show that culminated in an utterly disappointing last season:

Remember that time in the first season when Jason punched Sookie and we were all, “Oh no!” He totally should have saved that for any other season, when we would have been fine with Sookie taking a fist to the face.

And then Tara turned that vampire who looked like he escaped from a methadone clinic into massive headwound Harry. That’s not how they die, dumbass. The head has to come all the way off.

Or when Tara ran off and became some sort of wrestler and a lesbian and she was FINALLY interesting so they turned her into a resentful vampire. On the upside, the turning scene with Pam in a sweat suit was kind of the best thing that ever happened.

And when Terry died there was an entire episode devoted to his funeral and flashbacks of his life, but when Tara died it was off-screen and then only person who really gave a shit was her crazy-ass mama. Everybody else was all, “Tara’s dead. This sucks.”

What about the whole Warlow season? What a crock of crap that was. “I’ve been looking for you for hundreds of years. I love you. Now do what I say or I’ll kill everyone.”

Do we even need to talk about Lilith, with her band of blood-covered naked chicks with pube goatees? Nah.

Or when Sookie put Russell Edgington’s dead lover’s remains down the garbage disposal just to be a massive bee-yatch?

And how about Jessica? She kills two of Andy Bellefluer’s fairy children (who apparently suffered from soap-opera-rapid-aging-syndrome), and then he presides over her wedding about eight weeks later. Why not? Time obviously has no meaning in Bon Temps, or Sookie wouldn’t have doinked Bill two days after Alcide was shot right in front of her.

If nothing else, True Blood gave us Lafayette. And our lives are better for knowing him. But why, oh why, was there plenty of Holly in the finale, and no Lafayette except for a flash of his lovely face at the end? If Nelsan Ellis doesn’t have a flourishing movie career soon and I’m going to sue Hollywood for punitive damages. I think that’s a thing, right?

We stuck with this madness for seven seasons, only to have it end with Sookie knocked up by a nameless, faceless beardy guy and spreading out food on an outside table a la Parenthood. And with Sarah Newlin chained up and not feeling thankful. I’m calling bullshit, Alan Ball.

An American’s Guide to Ebola

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Want to avoid that wacky infectious disease that liquefies internal organs? Here are a few tips from SGSC:

1. No making out with strangers. This is especially true if they are bleeding from the eyes. I know True Blood would like us to believe that eye bleeding is something that happens to sad vampires, but you can’t accept that as an excuse. Even if he or she is super hawt, eye bleeding is ALWAYS a bad sign.

2. Don’t live in Atlanta. If you already live there, don’t move because it’s probably too late for you. Don’t visit Atlanta, either. This is probably true all the time, not just when Ebola victims are there.

3. Don’t go to West Africa. Our pansy-ass American immune systems are not built for the scary stuff African jungles produce. Don’t be a hero.

4. Wear a hazmat suit for air travel. They’re roomy, comfy, and tell everyone you’re not messing around with the cooties that get trapped in airtight plane cabins. Don’t worry about the embarrassment of wearing bright yellow thirty years after the 1980’s. You’ll have the last laugh when everyone else from the flight bleeds from the eyes/ears/mouth/nose/butt and you’re left with your organs solid.

5. Avoid contact with primates. Sure, monkeys can be cute. But have you seen Outbreak? Those little jerks are breeding grounds for Ebola. A monkey will give you Ebola and laugh at you while you’re dying. And then eat the food from your pantry. They’re evil creatures who want the humans dead so they can take over.

I hope this helps. Good luck avoiding a miserable death!