Thursday, September 16, 2004

America Would Hate Me If I Was a Reality Show Character

I've decided that it's probably best that I don't go on a reality show. As much as I love to cheer my favorite person on and boo te evil people on those shows, I've decided that if I was going to be on the show, I would make it way too easy for Mark Burnett and Company to just string a bunch of bad Catwoman moments together and make me look like I'm completely psycho, evil and just an all around horrible person.

The first reason is really stupid things come out of my mouth sometimes, ok, regularly. You see, my mouth is a completely self-operating device that I don't really have any control over. The only time my brain has anything to do with my mouth is when it says something horrible and my brain immediately sends a lightning bolt of pain through the rest of my body with a message of "oh oh." But by then it's too late, the damage is done and people are laughing at me. So Jessica Simpson may think tuna and chicken are the same thing, but I'm sure te cameras could catch something that would make many viewers think that I've ridden the short bus at some point.

Secondly, I have absolutely no patience for stuff, especially in stressful situations. Which, I may not be an expert on this, but I get the feeling that reality shows purposely try to make your life difficult and situations anxious. So basically, the cameramen on whatever show I'm on would have hour upon hour of video tape of me just having complete meltdowns because of little things. I think America would recommend that I be sponsored by Prozac if all of my little moments were put back to back on TV.

I also complain way too much. I think it's a sign of old age, now that I've turned 29. Because I seem to write to customer service people more and more. Yesterday, I got my long awaited order from a catalog company that's normally very expensive. They had a clearance sale, so I stocked up on really nice stuff for my family. I basically got three of my family members' Christmas done and then one of my sister's birthdays. Well, when I'd ordered something for myself the month before, it came in a beautiful gift box, just waiting to be wrapped. This time, my items came in a giant Ziploc bag, despite my checking each page with "add gift card," which I thought would alert them to the fact that they are, well, gifts. So I got very very mad and wrote quite the off-the-cuff nasty email to customer service. If I have it my way, those cheap bastards are going to Fed Ex me just the gift boxes. And I don't care that they are located right in the middle of where Hurricane Frances hit. I want my gift boxes.

And lastly, I don't always treat Sweetie Pie very nicely. My friend M. was telling me the other day how much she hates Collin and Christie (who are Texans! Go Texas!) on the Amazing Race. See, I love them. Because I really think that Colin is just like me. He's a good guy about 23.5 hours a day, and the producers have three days of footage of him losing it to play for us once a week. And so he may tell Christie "I hate you." But notice her lack of reaction. She knows he doesn't mean it. She knows that he's just stressed out and wigged out and can't possibly deal with it. And her method of dealing with stress is just to pick at him and tell him "you're doing it wrong." So she comes off looking bad too.

The reason I'm such an expert on Colin and Christie's relationship is I'm married to her. Well, I'm not ACTUALLY married to Christie on The Amazing Race. But I am married to someone just like her. Someone who can drive me up the wall at the most stressful times and cause venom to spew out of my little body like I'm on The Exorcist. Take the other day. Sweetie Pie and I are working on the floor, which if anyone out there thinks that putting glue down hardwood floors together is easy, please give me your address so I can come over and beat you senseless. Anyway, Sweetie Pie and I have had at least one blow up each day. Tuesday's blow up was particularly bad, with Sweetie Pie hovering over me, making me screw up everything from the stress of him staring and then tellig me how to do it. I finally snapped and said "Why do you insist of making my life a living hell all the time?"

Now tell me that wouldn't have made the climax of the promo if we were on a show. Of course I didn't really mean it. I don't think Sweetie Pie makes my life hell all the time. I just happened to blurt it out when he was driving me up the wall, I was covered in industrial strength glue that was quickly drying making my pushing on the one little plank of hardwood harder and harder by the second and I was getting stressed.

He of course got his feelings hurt and said something about how he's the luckiest guy alive, who's wife tells them such horrible things and we both went our separate ways, slammed the doors and then went back to everything five minutes later and we were fine. And so when I watched Colin tell Christie he hated her that Tuesday night, I cheered them on. Because I know that when the cameras are off and the stress is gone, they love each other dearly and once in a while, they even laugh.

Love,

Catwoman.

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