It was with great sadness that I discovered that Maury is no longer available for my viewing pleasure.
It is also with great sadness that I discovered that Ricki Lake has a new talk show.
And that her talk show replaced Maury.
Okay, here's the unvarnished truth:
I'm not a Ricki Lake fan.
When I look at her, I seriously think she needs to be fat.
Not in a mean way, but in an "Aren't you supposed to be fat?" way.
And when she talks about sex, I get that same uncomfortable feeling I get when my mother says the word "nipple" or "vagina." (Which she's been doing with increasing regularity lately, since she's getting older and the body parts of her friends are beginning to come under scrutiny, in a medical way, of course. One of her friends had a hysterectomy recently and my mother knew wayyyyyy too many details about the surgery. It took everything I have in me not to stick my fingers in my ears and sing the "la la" song while she was giving me a second by second account of the entire procedure. I'm all, "Okay, I get it... she has a vagina. You have a vagina. You know how to say "vagina." How's the weather?")
|I will pay you a million dollars if you stop saying the word "vagina."|
Anyway, back to Ricki Lake.
Bottom line: She's no Maury.
Topics on Maury:
|I HATE when that happens!|
This is good tv, y'all.
Top THAT, Ricki.
She's so busy being sympathetic to underdogs that she doesn't have time to find out who the Daddy is.
She doesn't even have a lie detector technician on her payroll.
What's up with THAT, Ricki??
You want to stop bullying? Stand in line... so does everyone else.
You sympathize with gay teens? Uh huh... and?
You manage to locate a real 40 year old virgin? High 5, babe... are you going to help her get laid? No? Then I don't care.
Sex therapy? SOOOooo 1970s.
Did you find a 14 year old that had sex for a hair weave? Of course you didn't... because you aren't Maury.
So now I have to watch Divorce Court at 10 in the morning because dammit, if I'm going to sit down for an hour and watch television, I want it to be meaningful.
|Apropos of nothing, I got totally distracted by this picture of Nancy Grace. I wasn't even looking for it... it just happened randomly.|
Wow. I just totally got caught in an endless loop of bad Nancy Grace photos. I want to handcuff her to a salon chair and fix her eyebrows and do something different with her hair. She looks like a pissed off lhasa apso.
(Sorry... I went off on a tangent. Mea culpa.)
So yeah... I don't want to watch The View. Or The Talk. Or The Whatever, featuring a multi-racial group of women discussing avant gard topics. I have my own girlfriends I can chat with, thank you.
Do you know what I don't have?
I don't have any friends who don't know who their baby daddy is.
I don't have any friends who need a lie detector to tell them if their man is sleeping with their mama.
I don't have any friends whose husbands are accusing them of prostitution or having sex for a double cheeseburger or a free pizza.
I need that in my life, dammit!!!
I NEED MAURY!!!
Maury provides a distraction I occasionally need in my life. I like knowing that out there somewhere are people with problems so ridiculous and so bizarre that my own First World problems look positively mundane. I mean, yes, I need a job, but I don't need to prove to anyone who the father of my children is.
My husband has Asperger's and occasionally drives me up a freaking wall but he's never accused me of being a prostitute or having sex for a pizza. And if he's 20 minutes late I'm not concerned that he's got a side job as a pimp after hours.
And yeah, I need to lose weight. Dammitall that I have too much to eat.
Maury serves a dual purpose: Makes me feel better about my life, gives me golden opportunity to mock the lives of other people.
Can Ricki Lake do that?
I think not.
This is what the inside of my head looks like right now:
I haven't had much sleep because I'm worried sick about my little Javi doggy. He lost use of his hind legs last weekend and after taking him to the vet and being told that he has Renal Acidosis and is in the final stages before kidney failure and having to wait until Monday for his surgery, I've been spending a lot of time lying awake at night and making sure he's still alive. I won't go in to the trouble we've had trying to even get a vet to see him because we're new to the area and are "non-clients." Suffice it to say I feel helpless and angry and sad. We've been trickling water down his little throat (he weighs 5 lbs) and giving him pain meds and holding him and loving him and treasuring his furry Javi-ness, but we can't seem to do anything to make sure he doesn't die or that he isn't suffering.
It's breaking my heart.
Even Maisy, the biggest attention hog in the world, is backing off while we give Javi love. She's been gentle and careful with him because he can't stand up and will even back off and wait her turn when I try to tempt him with a treat.
Bottom line: All the funny in my head is temporarily on hiatus.
Let me end with this:
If you remember on Monday, please think positive thoughts.
Please keep a good thought for a precious little black dog.