Kudos to US Weekly or I'm So Sick of Paris Hilton

I read today that US Weekly won't have a single mention of Paris Hilton, who was released from jail a couple of days ago, in their upcoming issue. The spokesperson said that the magazine felt the public was on Paris overload. All I have to say to that is AMEN!

I'm so sick of this stupid (she didn't even get a HS diploma), trashy (remember the nekkid coochie pictures?), fake hair-having (not only is it dyed, she's got extensions, too) party girl (isn't that what got her dumbass in jail in the first place?) being all over the news. And why is she in the news? 'Cause she's rich, and she's got nothing better to do than waltz around the red carpet pretending she's someone who's actually ACCOMPLISHED something. Give me a break. Wouldn't it be great if someone was in the news as often as she is for doing something good for humanity? I can at least stomach Angelina Jolie, she's a good will ambassador or something. But Paris?

And while I'm at it, what the hell is up with these girls like Paris, Britney, Lindsay, Nicole, and whoever the hell else, going around, getting trashy drunk, doing who knows what all kinds of drugs, holding knives to peoples throats...? These girls are on the way to a very public explosion, if they don't change their ways. And where the hell are their mommas during all this? Why don't they step in and snatch a knot in their asses? I mean, I know they're over 18 and all, but what were their mommas and daddys doing in their 'formative years', when they should've seen this train wreck approaching? What the hell? That's bad parenting, folks. Bad, bad parenting.

Too Feasible Not To Pass On

Got this in an email the other day:

Everyone concentrates on the problems we're having in this country lately -- illegal immigration, hurricane recovery, alligators attacking people in Florida.

But not me. I concentrate on solutions for the problems. It's a win-win situation.

+ Dig a moat the length of the Mexican border.

+ Send the dirt to New Orleans to raise the level of the levies.

+ Put the Florida alligators in the moat along the Mexican border.

Any other problems you would like for me to solve today?

Well it's about time...

Oh. My. God. It's finally happened.

Hunter, my adorable, semi-psychotic, sport challenged, video game obsessed son, has finally found a sport that he not only likes, but actually wants to participate in. And it's on a team. And it's RUGBY of all things.

A few days ago, Kat, the PE teacher at the school I work at, suggested that Hunter pop on by rugby practice to check it out and see if he'd be interested. I told her I'd talk to him about it, though personally not at all sure he'd even think about it since it would take away time from his precious video games. He seemed a little unsure about it at first, but said yes, he'd see what it was all about, so we made plans to attend the practice scheduled for last night.

As we pulled up to the school's soccer field, where practice was to be held, I was thankful (okay, more like practically elated) to see Kat there. Hunter, by this time, was getting nervous, and I was keeping my fingers crossed that he'd even go through with the whole deal. Since Kat had worked with Hunter over the school year, she already knew of his unfortuate absolute lack of physical sport-partaking ability, and I knew she'd be able to coax the best he had out of him. He followed her like a puppy down the hill to the field, and I sat up on the hill like one of the other moms, except my fingers were crossed and I was prepared for, if not expecting, the worst.

My heart went out to Hunter. I hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself, and that if he did, he'd be too ignorant to notice. Thankfully, there were 3 other kids that also had never played rugby, so they got to work together, and Hunter didn't stick out much from the rest of the kids. Although I cringed when he dropped the ball and felt horrible for him when he was the last one to cross the finish line when running (though I'm pretty sure he didn't even notice), he seemed to really be having fun. God knows it was certainly the most real exercise the kid's had in his whole life. Halfway through the hour and half-long practice, he came panting up the hill for his water bottle. "Sign me up, Mom!" he told me. I felt as though a weight had been lifted.

So, now we have rugby practice every Tuesday and Thursday and games every Saturday afternoon through August. Almost unable and certainly unwilling to wipe the grin off his face or stop talking about how cool rugby is, my little man fell asleep early, still wearing his new, 2-sizes-too-big rugby jersey. And even woke up with a smile this morning, still excited. Rugby rocks.