On Being Plastic...and Icky
I've already admitted that one of my guilty pleasures is watching the puerile reality shows that litter the MTV airwaves. There ain't no shame in it.
Tonight there was a marathon block of "Super Sweet 16," the premise of which is that prima donna teenagers have lavish parties thrown in their vain honor all to merely illustrate how utterly shallow they are.
Got it? Okay.
One of the episodes featured a Long Island girl throwing herself a $300,000 Egyptian-themed party. Goody for her. Daddy took her shopping for a car. She got into an $82,000 BMW Z4. He questioned the price for a half-second before saying "whatever makes you happy." Then she started looking at Porsches.
Here's where I swoon. I love me a Porsche something fierce. Hate that they come with automatic transmissions, but hey, the impotent guys need something to drive, so whatever.
Anyway, the girl had her pick of any single car in the world. ANYTHING. And she ended up with a 700 series BMW.
Hmm, Porsche or granddaddy beemer? Uh...
I kept yelling "STUPID GIRL!!!" at the television and then realized I'm way too invested in the superficiality of strangers. Daddy isn't going to buy me a Porsche, I can get one myself, so why do I care what some hicktown brat is getting?
Actually, the goal is to buy dad a Porsche. My brothers and I are in an unofficial race to see who can afford the 911 first...my baby brother just got a promotion, so he might be winning.
See, we were raised right.
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In other news, I have a telephone stalker. I made the drunken mistake of giving my number to a guy in the bar during my birthday party the other night. Clearly on the booty call hunt, he called SEVEN times between 1 and 2 am that night. I finally picked up and told him to give up because I was going to bed.
SEVEN times, yo.
He stayed away for a couple of days, then called twice yesterday afternoon--and twice again at MIDNIGHT last night.
Needless to say, I haven't answered any of these calls.
Today alone he's called four times and texted me twice. Truth is, I barely remember the guy. And after FIFTEEN increasingly desperate phone calls, I'm not in any way interested.
He's creepy. Anyone got a solution?
UPDATE: in the 30 minutes since I posted this, he's called twice more. Fucking hell.
8 comments:
have one of yoru guy friends pick up your cell and tell him to "stay the fuck away from my girlfriend" that usually chases them off.
yeah i,m with exile, i told you that guy was icky even as unbelievably, totally smashed and trashed as i was, you want me to have my hubby give him a call?
That's a thought, but I can tell him to fuck off on my own. Which I fully intend to if/when he calls again. If he persists after that, then I'll just call the cops.
WAIT, I'VE GOT IT!
post his number on your blog, we'll all call and tell him to leave you the fuck alone!
we can all just leave cryptic messages like "stop calling her or i'll paint your dog" (i'm not good with threats...)
Actually, the problem solved itself. He called AGAIN while I was on a date last night. The guy answered the phone for me and told the stalker to lose my number.
So far, no more calls. Yay!!
I like watching the UFC when I'm at the gym. The fights, being real, aren't nearly as neat as the slow-mo, acrobatic fights I'm used to from movies.
But, the guys just hanging out in their heavily surveilled house, kicking it and playing pranks on each other, getting drunk...
It's genius, man. Genius.
David - wtf?
Princess - We will have words over coffee.
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