I watch a lot of HGTV. A LOT. Especially since the writer’s strike is still dragging on and all of my shows are in reruns. Bah. HGTV, however, now that’s a station I can watch for hours — and often do. Maybe it was my fever earlier in the week but I have noticed that there are some really foxy men on that channel.
Like Clive Pearse 
, Eric Stromer 
, Steve Watson 
and Carter Oosterhouse 
.
I think Steve is my favorite. Yummeh.
Speaking of home improvement, my replacement bed slats came tonight — the poor UPS guy carried them up 6 flights of stairs bc the elevator wasn’t working; I think I have told him, though, that my brother works for UPS. That usually gets me better service. 
Anyway I was all set to be Ms. Fix-It and attach the slats but ummm I am not sure where my drill is. I have my big thing of drill bits, so I’ll have to look for the drill tomorrow.
Ohhhhh this made me so mad today. This tool in my class, who is the self-appointed team leader for our group project (meaning he claimed the title first), not only sent out an e-mail reminding us that our discussion posting was due today — a posting that has NOTHING to do with our group project — he also scheduled SIX online chat times for this WEEKEND … when we have nothing yet to discuss! Mothafucker better back the fuck up … or Miss Monique is gonna tangle with him before this three-week-long project is ovah.
Son of a bitch.
If I had been in Vegas this week instead of last, I could have seen my favoritest WT crush, Kid Rock, currently on the Billboard Music Awards from the MGM Grand hotel.
Damn.
I’ve put enough photos of Kid Rock on this site … aw, hell. What’s one more?
In other news, Nickelback is still around? I had no idea.
Isn’t it funny how hearing a song can bring back memories? Just recently, I was listening to a song (by the Goo Goo Dolls, for pete’s sake) and one line jumped out at me. My stomach flip-flopped, and I remembered that someone no longer in my life said the same words to me: Take what you need. Afterwards, I could only laugh at my visceral reaction to the song.
Anyway. My point is that today I heard a God-awful, sappy song and it instantly took me back nearly 20 years. Remember “Somewhere Out There” by James Ingram and Linda Ronstadt? Of course I was reminded of a boy. His name was Jason, just like every third boy back then. Our last names were close alphabetically, and we were in the same homeroom in seventh grade. We also had science together that year and maybe a few other classes. He was sooo cute and he liked me, too. He’d take my books, my pencils, all that annoying shit that 12 and 13 year old boys do.
I wasn’t the type of girl that “went” with boys, most likely because I didn’t get asked. But Jason and I talked all the time and, from what I remember, our science teacher separated our seats more than once, but we’d just talk across the room.
Once we got to high school, he started smoking and hanging out with the “burnouts,” as we called them back then, while I was off doing newspaper and debate-related things. I don’t remember ever really seeing him. My neighbor was a year younger and also ran with the burnouts. He came over one day after school, dying to tell me that Jason had asked about me. My neighbor was baffled, wondering how Jason and I knew each other, as I was totally a goody two shoes. My neighbor, under the guise of being helpful — but he was in the middle of one of his crushes on me, as we both kinda liked each other for years — told Jason, “Monique would never be interested in a guy like you!”
Alas. I’d like to say the neighbor wasn’t right, but he was. I was 15 or 16, I was snobby and too concerned with what everyone else thought.
But back to the song. At first I couldn’t remember why that horrid song reminded me so strongly of Jason. Then I remembered that we danced together to that song at a 7th grade dance. He was tall. It was nice. I’m sure I was terribly giddy and embarrassed. It’s nice to have a memory of an adolescent crush that is still sweet and fresh.
Tomorrow afternoon, I’m off to Michigan for the long weekend. Who knows what magical wonders await.
Actually, I do know — because I downloaded an abridged version of “My Life,” read by the author, my beloved Bill, to listen to in the car. Sigh. Six hours and 12 minutes of Bill’s voice. I know he’s my mom’s age and a total skanky man-ho, but I don’t care. I don’t know any female or gay male Democrat who wouldn’t do him. I’m just saying.
I’m sure my weekend will be a letdown after my Bill time, but I have a few other things to look forward to: lunch and margaritas with my friend Jennifer (I think she has a bone to pick with me, based on some decisions I’ve made lately. Nothing like the sass of a 18-year friendship), meeting/hanging out with my brother’s new girlfriend (word on the street is that she’s quite normal), steaks on the grill cooked by my daddy and perhaps, even the opportunity to drive my mom’s kick-ass Honda Pilot. (I’ve already been banned from driving it once.) I also have a few things in the works for next week; hopefully the activities will inject some much needed boredom relief.
I have a new obsession: A live version of “Ain’t Nobody” by Natasha and Daniel Bedingfield from the Brit Awards. If I knew how to post the song, I would. Shrieky yet oddly charming. Ha, that could describe me too. Wink.Â
So Jessica Simpson, a classy example of an ex-wife if I’ve seen one (unlike myself ha ha), has said that Nick Lachey, my future husband, is underendowed.
Noooooo!
I refuse to believe that Nick has a small wee-wee! In my dreams he is hung like a horse so hung like a horse he shall be!
Near the end of my marriage, things got a little testy. But I never — never! — pointed out the ex’s skillz or lack thereof (at least to his face lol). As far as I’m concerned, a girl’s got to save those comments for when it’s time to be really hurtful. Far be it from me to draw a connecting line between the Mercedes and what he’s packing, but, oops, guess I just did.
I love me some George Michael. Love love love. Wham!, his solo stuff, love it — well, except when he’s all mopey and shit. But “Father Figure” (aside from the creepy overtones), “Monkey,” “Freedom” (the original, with Wham!) — I can’t get enough — even now that he’s older and still working the 5 o’clock shadow look. I’m willing to overlook a lot in my men.
But how many lame-ass scandals can one man have???
First, there was the infamous sex-in-the-park scandal, which I think was just designed for him to “out” himself. Then, a few months ago, he was passed out in his car, after smoking pot or whatever. That was pretty lame. Now, supposedly, he’s been caught again with his pants down, as it were, with some icky guy. George is claiming it’s made up, but what the hell else would he be doing in a park, at night, in some bushes?
George’s partner is hot. Really really hot. Like my mouth fell open when I first saw his photo, in the CD booklet to George’s album “Patience.” It’s sad that someone with $150 million US and a super-hot boyfriend still isn’t happy … sigh.
Hopefully George will figure out how to save himself and save us from these stupid news stories.
Call me a glutton for punishment, but after sitting through the first “Mission: Impossible” movie yesterday, here I am watching the second one on CBS.
I am not a Tom Cruise fan — nay nay nay — but I have been reacquainted with the hotness that is Ving Rhames.
Yum.
And imagine my delight when I came across this delicious photo — Ving and Wesley Snipes — yum yum yum!
My former co-worker always tried to talk me into dating black men (she’s black herself), and was sorely disappointed when I confided that my one date with a black guy was when I was perhaps 19. She was even more disappointed when I said I hadn’t seen “it.” Sigh. Story of my life, always disappointing others. LOL
Bill Clinton was in Indy today. Sadly, I didn’t have the $250-$2,100 necessary to get in the door.
Sigh.
I have heard him speak twice, once when I was in college and he was a candidate, and then again right at the end of his presidency. Very dynamic and charismatic.
If you don’t like Bill, fine — I’m just saying I’d vote for him again. And again. And again.
I do love me my Bill.
It’s been decided.
Nick Lachey is the hottest thing ever.
He even looked hot singing at the freakin’ Macy’s fireworks spectacular, or whatever.
Damn, he makes me have all SORTS of ooh-he-was-way-too-good-for-Jessica thoughts.
I could make him Crush of the Week, but what’s the point? He’s been that like 3 times already. I should just make him my freakin’ blog mascot.
Yum yum yum.
