The One Where Backstreet's Back (ALRIGHT!)

In the late 90's/early 00's (Is that right? Is that how you shorten the early part of the 21st century?), I was a teenager. I turned 13 in 1997 and remained in the throes of teenagerdom until I turned 20 in 2004. That period of time, obviously, was the Age of the Boy Band, and, badass as I may have (or may not have?) been, I was not immune.

I was actually an *NSync girl, as I may or may not have mentioned previously. Like. . .obsessed. Ridiculous obsessed. I was absolutely going to marry Lance Bass (Um. . .after I get my sex change?), and I knew every song on every album. Even the lame ones. There were several lame ones. And! I was taking piano lessons at the time, and had a songbook for their first two albums. (I never got terribly good at any of the songs, but I can still play the intro to "I Want You Back.")

Then, of course, there were the Backstreet Boys, who were older than *NSync and who did more ballads and the like. I liked them, but would fight to the death anyone who insisted they were better than my boys.

I saw *NSync in concert in. . .2000, I think. I still have the concert T-shirt and I wear it when I go running sometimes. (Yes. . .I exercise occasionally. Sometimes.) It was epic.

All of this to say, I have never lost my Boy Band Love. Call it lame, call it stupid, call it whatever you want. I wasn't listening to Nirvana or Eminem or Limp Bizkit (what the EFF kind of name is that? Honestly.). . .I was listening to the boy bands. I still do. I have the *NSync Greatest Hits CD in my car.

Point of ALL this being, a few weeks ago, I put on Twitter something to the effect of "Hey! Backstreet Boys are coming here in a couple weeks!" I don't remember exactly what I said, but my friend Ashley (with whom I was in middle school during the Boy Band Days and who was all about some *NSync as well. JC was her Syncer of choice, if you're wondering.), looked up ticket prices and texted me saying, basically, "Um, this is a thing that needs to happen."

So last night, we went to the show. It was. . .exactly what you would expect it to be. Epic. And awesome.

It was held in the new amphitheatre downtown, which was, as amphitheatres are, outside. They were calling for rain, but the sky had looked good all day. I got a ridiculously overpriced beer, just because I could.

When the show started, they had an opening act, which I don't think was actually the opening act they advertised on the tickets. It was these four African-American kids (I say kids because they looked to be between 13 and 16) who danced really well and who sang (?) through a synthesizer. They were entertaining enough, I guess, but they only lasted about half an hour, which meant another half-hour wait before BSB came on stage.

When they finally started, it was. . .kind of awesome. The kid of one of them came on stage (he was about 3 or 4, I'd say) and was all like, "Are you guys ready for the Backstreet Boys?)" (Screaming.) "Are you ready for Howie? AJ? Nick? . . .My daddy?" So much screaming, and I could hear the ovaries of 85% of the women in attendance exploding from the cute.

So they started, and it was awesome. The first song was "Everybody (Backetreet's Back)", which I totally called. Everyone was singing and dancing and having a generally awesome nostalgic time. BSB was a little more. . .subdued than I might have expected, but they're also getting older. Not that they're old (despite AJ's receding [sp?] hairline), but oldER. Only one of the songs would I consider lame (I think it was called "PDA." It was. . .well, it was pretty lame.) But they did all the hits, all the songs everyone would know. . .it was awesome.

It did, incidentally, start raining about an hour in, but the only person who seemed to mind was this greasy Hispanic dude in front of us who was pissed that his white leather shoes (which he was wearing with an all-black ensemble) were getting wet. Bought a T-shirt for an obscene amount of money, and was able to be, for at least 2 hours, firmly ensconsed in my adolescent years.

Awesome.

The One Where I Find My Calling

I discovered this morning that the community college here offers culinary programs. I'm. . .pretty excited about that, considering I checked out a culinary institute nearby a few months back, and discovered it would cost me roundabouts $50k a year.

That's, um, more than 2 years' worth of salary.

I understand the need for an education, but I feel like you shouldn't have to give up eating in order to learn how to feed other people. The institute's program was a great one, but the guy who gave me the tour and information and everything was trying. . .a little too hard. He gave me the usual statistics, X% of people who go here find work immediately.

Well, considering no full class has graduated from this particular location, I don't see how you could promise that.

"Oh," he says, "those are statistics from all of the locations combined."

I see.

So, basically you're charging me $50k to maybe possibly get a job.

I also read this article saying that culinary schools may or may not be kind of overrated and unnecessary. They say (like this one place did) that they can definitely get you employment, but what they DON'T tell you is that, yeah, they can definitely get you employment. . .maybe as a dishwasher or a bus boy.

Note: There is absolutely nothing wrong with washing dishes or bussing. I've bussed. But I, at the time, had not spent a ton of money getting an education so I could be the person who makes the food that gets eaten off the dishes which are then bussed.

So this program at the technical college could be a great thing. I could either get a certificate in Baking and Pastry Arts or an Associate's Degree in Baking and Pastry Arts. Since there are only 5 classes involved in the BPA certificate program, I thought (and D agreed) that I could do that, to have the certificate, and then start working. . .somewhere and go for the Associate's.

I read the requirements for the different things, and freaked out when I saw that the program required a 600 on the math part of the SATs. I freaked out until I realized that that is for people graduating high school right now, and I have enough college stuff (you know. . .a degree) for that not to pertain to me. But the conversation about it with D went like this:

Me: I was really freaked out when I saw that you have to have a 600 math on the SATs to get into the program.

D: Is 600 a high score?

Me: (pouting) Noooooo. . .

(I don't know if I've ever mentioned how much I hate /slash/ am bad at math. Hate it muchly. Am awful at it.)

The program for the certificate requires you to take Sanitation & Safety; Basic Culinary Skills; Baking I; Hot and Cold Desserts; and Cakes Design and Decorating.

Fun, right?

As soon as I win the lottery, I'll be able to pay for it, since I've passed the deadline for registering for financial aid until the 2011 Spring Semester.

I'm hoping I can make this become a thing.

The One Where Craigslist Creeps Me Out

Last night, D and I were looking through the personal ads on craigslist. Not looking for anything in particular, just checking out the depravity that takes place online.

And what we found was amazing.

One that caught my attention was someone (a dude) who was looking for a woman who wanted. . .oral attention on the way home from work. He noted the highway he lived by, and said that if anyone (he specified people in relationships) wanted some "oral attention" on their way home from work, he would be more than happy to oblige.

. . .what?

Then there were plenty of people who wanted random hookups (those are to be expected), relationships (also expected), and one guy who was dying to get it on with a transgender person.

. . .WHAT?

I mean, I get that people like sex. I get that some people like a lot of sex with a lot of different people. But it's like. . .why specify that you want someone in a relationship? Why look for something when YOU are in a relationship? There was one that specified that the guy was in a relationship, and that he wanted a woman who was also in a relationship.

How about (and here's a crazy thought) you. . .have sex with the person you're in a relationship with? Even when I found myself in the Other Woman position (yeah, yeah. I know.), there was no sex. Was not a thing. I don't understand the people who go out and that's specifically what they're looking for: sex (or. . .whatever) with NOT the person they're seeing.

All of this doesn't even include how skeezy I find it to troll for sex online, even when you're single. Sure, when you're single, you can do whatever you want, but. . .why would you want to do random people? Not having had a giant number of sexual partners (Hint: That number is fewer than 2), maybe I just don't understand the allure. But I feel like posting pictures of your junk online is just gross. If you have to find someone online, why not try a legit dating Web site? (There was an ad for one on a Web site I visit called PlentyOfFish.com. See? Cute name AND I'm guessing there are no photos of naked junk. Although, to be fair, when all written out with no capital letters, it looks like the name of the site is Plenty Offish, which doesn't make any sense at all.)

What took the proverbial cake, though, was a listing D found. Apparently, a middle-aged homosexual gentleman had received. . .oral stimulation from a random, unknown 20-ish homosexual gentleman. He didn't know his name or anything else (CREE-PY!). His main concern was that his. . .junkular piercing (a sentimental gift of some kind) had gone missing, and the dude was afraid that the unknown young man had swallowed it. He wanted it back. Understandably. He even helpfully included a picture of what the ring looked like, in case the younger dude was crapping out several genital piercings and needed to know specifically which one this guy was looking for. Luckily, it was a generic stock photo of said piercing and not a photo in which the ring was. . .attached to anything.

My first question here, I guess, would be why in the name of all that is holy would you give something like that as a gift? WHO gave him this gift? Possible suspects:

1. Friend, as a gag gift;

2. Former Lover, not as a gag gift;

3. Supportive Grandmother

I really don't know. But I feel like, in this situation, rather than taking it to craigslist, the guy should call Grandma and fess up.

"Hey, Grams, it's Kris. Yeah, things are going fine. Work's good. What's that? Oh, yeah, Mom's doing well. I'll tell her to call you. Listen! The PA you got me for Christmas got swallowed by some random dude. . .I know, right? You'd think he would have noticed. No, I met him at a bar. Yeah. You think you could send me a new one for my birthday? Excellent. Thanks! See you at Thanksgiving! Give Snuffles a kiss for me!"

Snuffles, obviously, is Grandma's cockapoo. Ironically.

So there's that. How I Spent My Tuesday Night.

Synopsis: Craigslist is a little sketchy.

The One Where John Edwards' Former Aide is Obnoxious

If you're wondering, the "maternity prom dress" is up to $10,000 in eBay bids, and also, in case you were wondering, it is "not actually a maternity dress." It is a size large. So what you're telling me is that a large majority of the clothes in my closet are actually maternity clothes. Score. If I start having babies, I won't need a new wardrobe.

I know I mentioned a million years ago that I'd read that John Edwards book written by his former aide, Andrew Young. I took notes (NOTES!) on this book so I could write about it, but today, when I went back and looked at said notes, I realized I'd shorthanded it, so a lot of it, I'm only like 67.8% certain what I meant when I wrote it down.

What I have to explain, first and foremost, is that the guy that wrote this book is a gigantic tool. He obviously OBVIOUSLY was involved with John Edwards and his campaign because he thought it would get him big bucks "when" Edwards became president. My theory also (a theory that was repeated by Rielle Hunter, John Edwards' baby mama, in her interview with GQ magazine) is that this guy was in love with John Edwards. He was obsessed with the guy, and, according to a quote someone (I think Elizabeth Edwards) said to him that he wrote in the book, he was "hold[ing] [the Edwardses] close so [he could] advance [himself]."

One thing that points to the "this guy was in love with Edwards" theory is in the chapter that references John Edwards' $400 haircut debacle. Allegedly, Edwards didn't know the haircut was going to be that expensive because he "didn't usually take care of things of that nature" on his own. I don't really care one way or the other about any of that; what makes ME laugh is the fact that, while Andrew Young is going on and on about Edwards' obsession with his own hair, he said, "[Edwards'] hair, which was naturally thick and lustrous. . ."

I feel like, if I were a dude, a supposedly heterosexual dude, I would not be referring to another dude's hair as. . .anything. Especially "thick and lustrous." I laughed, a lot, when I read that.

Then, in further exhibitions of toolishness, Young mentions in the course of the book that Elizabeth Edwards had written a book and had thanked him in the acknowledgements. . .but in this book, Young thanks "The Edwards and Anania families. . .except John and Elizabeth." Yeah. . .thanks to everyone except the man he was obsessed with and that man's wife. . .both of whom made surfe he was paid handsomely for his time and effort, even though all this guy does is bitch and complain about the work he was doing throughout the entire book.

Um, how about you say, "No, I'm not doing that. I quit"? Yeah. Because you wanted the money that came along with the job. You wanted it then, and now it has come crashing down on you, you and the unethical things you did, and now you want to play martyr.

I'm saving everything I have to say about his part in the whole John Edwards-Rielle Hunter affair, because that will take up an entire post on its own.

More reasons this guy is a tool:

*He spends the first chapter of the book talking about himself, how he got together with his wife, how much he believed in Edwards, etc. My question here is. . .who cares? I don't pick up a book called "The Polititian" to read all about some guy who used to work for a politician and is now bitter because he got screwed. The book is not called, "The Politician('s Bitch)".

*The epilogue of this book is about Andrew Young's dead father. Again. . .I'm really sorry his father died, but I did not pick up this book to read about how his father died. I picked it up because I am a celebrity gossip whore, and was interested how everything actually happened. I mean, this chick (with the help of Edwards' sperm) brought down an entire presidential hopeful's campaign. Salacious stuff, right? That's what I was hoping for. Instead, I read about Andrew Young's dead father.

*Apparently, in Elizabeth Edwards' book (which I have not read, but which I keep seeing at the library and I may have to pick up, even though I think Elizabeth Edwards is another one who needs to shut up) she portrayed Young as an obsessed fan. I'm thinking, after reading "The Polititian" that this might be a more accurate portrayal than the woebegone, downtrodden Andrew Young he himself portrays.

*He keeps complaining throughout the book that the house he and his wife were building was "getting bigger and morwe expensive than planned." First of all, if that's the case, tell the builder what you actually want. Secondly, boo freaking hoo. You used to have the money for a giant house. I feel so sorry for you and your gobs of cash.

*He had to go into hiding for some reason, and where did he choose to take his family for this occasion? Disney World. I don't think I even need to make commentary on that one.

*All throughout, he complains about the things he "had to miss" (school functions, family time, etc.) because John Edwards was calling. Hey, how about this? Say, "Can't do it right now. Give me an hour." Maybe he would have said something like that if he weren't so obsessed with Edwards and his naturally thick and lustrous hair.

So, all that to say, I was pretty disappointed with this book. While it was interesting to see what went on behind the scenes (supposedly) throughout the campaign and all that, Andrew Young is just whiny, self-involved, self-pitying, and has his head so far up his own ass that you can't really take him seriously. The book didn't really tell a whole lot more than the news media had already shown, and the most honest part of the book was in the prologue when he says, "A lot of people will say I am writing this book for money. This is partially true. . ." and then he goes on about being unemployable (thanks to the Edwardses, of course). I could give him props for saying, "Hey, yeah, I wrote this because I needed the money," but from there, I just want to slap him.

I DO have a lot to say about the whole Rielle Hunter thing, but that's for another day.

The One Where No One Has Talent Anymore

D and I have had this conversation before, about how sad it is that in order to be famous in America, you don't actually have to have an ounce of talent. Today, Karen and I were also discussing it, thanks to an eBay link she sent me, coming from a person formerly featured on MTV's "16 and Pregnant." She's selling her prom dress and at. . .press time? The bidding was up to $5,600.00.

What I've deduced, is that, to be "famous" and a "celebrity," you need to be willing to get on TV and show that you truly have no shame. None.

TV used to be entertaining because it was funny, not because you got to see what people are willing to do for fame. Back in the day (you know, until the late 90's, early 2000's), there was legit comedy on TV. You did have things like The Real World, but in its early stages, it was interesting. It was interaction between people who probably wouldn't have ever been in the same house with each other otherwise. Now, it's all about casting people who will most definitely have conflict with each other. The virgin and the man whore. The gun-toting, homophobic, hog-wrangling Southerner and the drag queen from Los Angeles. The white supremacist and the former Black Panther. Me and Matthew McConaughey.

Then there was season 1 through 3 or so of America's Next Top Model. Season 1 (which, yes, I own on DVD) was legitimately about these girls who thought they had a shot at worldwide fame as a supermodel. This was before Tyra Banks turned her own show into a giant joke. The producers of this one also use the same tactics with casting.

"Hey, Kevin," one bigwig will say to the other, "it's time to get it down to the final 20."

"OK, Lou," says Kevin. "We have here many attractive people. . .and also an 'interesting-looking' lesbian and a 'plus-sized' model who says she slaps lesbians for a living."

"Those last two sound real swell," says Lou. "Make sure they're in."

It has nothing to do with anything except making sure there is some kind of conflict, and that contestants have seen previous seasons so they know how to play the game.

And then that brings me to 16 and Pregnant. My question is, when did it become AWESOME to be pregnant in high school? I mean, I know stuff happens. (Not to me, obviously. I wasn't cool enough to be having sex in high school.) But it does happen. Accidents and all that. But didn't it used to be that it was. . .a bad thing? Like, vaguely shameful?

Maybe I'm all old-fashioned and I just don't get Kids These Days. But while I'm not necessarily of the "Wait until you get married to have sex or you are going to Hell," line of thinking, I DO think that maybe possibly high school isn't the best time to be doing something like that that could result in a PERSON, especially if you're not going to be careful about it.

All I'm saying is that I don't think it's fair that this chick not only got paid to be in 16 and Pregnant, and that getting knocked up is why she's pseudo-famous, but that now she's selling her maternity prom dress (three words that SHOULD NOT GO TOGETHER) for probably about $5,500 more than she paid for it, just because she was on TV with her pregnancy.

And don't even get me started on Justin Bieber. He's an entire other post for an entire other day.

My roundabout point is that I don't feel like people (I'm looking at YOU, Heidi Montag) should be famous for being famous. I'd like to get back to the days of actual talent being on TV, rather than just self-deserving douchebags. (Hi, Spencer Pratt.)

The One Where Christmas is in May

Happy Tuesday everyone. I've spent the last little while feeding my Google Reader obsession (I'm up to somewhere between 90 and 95 blogs I follow now. . .) and now it's time for a Christmas Update.

. . . . . . .

What?

"But Sarah!" you say. "It's May!"

True. My family, for whatever reason, doesn't do Christmas ON Christmas anymore. (We don't do Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving either.) We were going to have it in January, but then my cousin (the one I mentioned was in the car wreck?) wouldn't have been able to make it. So the whole family, plus a couple of cousins from Massachusettes, got together at my uncle's house for barbecue and Yankee Swap.

(I didn't take any of the following pictures, FYI, except for the one of the dessert. They were either taken by my uncle, my aunt, or my SDad. Or possibly Mom, I'm not sure.)

Here's John, my little cousin who was in the car accident. He's doing a LOT better, even though he's not able to really communicate that well, or move around on his own. That sounds really bad, but trust me. MUCH better than before.My brother and sister looking. . .angry? Gangsta? I'm not sure about this one.Then there's my mother and HER siblings behaving. . .as siblings do.

And, of course, the dessert. (Crappy quality thanks to it being a camera phone photo.This is a chocolate peanut butter trifle involving chocolate cake (it was supposed to be brownies, but I didn't have the time to make them), vanilla pudding, peanut butter, and Reeses Cups. Yum. I also made deviled eggs, but didn't take a picture. (And, by the way, my sister, who's 18, said they were "Legit, the best deviled eggs she'd ever had." This is the second time she's said I made the best (whatever) she's ever had, and I take that as high, HIGH praise coming from a teenager.

Yankee Swap went. . .better than expected. I actually HATE the whole concept of YS. For the uninitiated, Yankee Swap means everyone who's playing brings a present, and they're put in a pile. Then everyone draws numbers. The first person picks a present and opens it. The second person can either open a new present or steal the present from the first person. And so on and so forth.

Makes me crazy. My OCD way of things needing to be a certain way doesn't jive with this, because if something is mine, if it's given to me, then it's MINE. This isn't to say I'm selfish. . .it's not that I want everything. It's that if something's mine, it belongs to me. I'll share it, but it goes home with me.

So, needless to say, it's a very, very frustrating game for me. I'll play it, but it's frustrating. I ended up with this really, really ugly chicken (I'll have to put a picture of this thing up. It's UGLY. And a leopard-print Snuggie.

Excellent.

D got this foam thing to put on the wall that says (I think) BAM! It's like the sound effects drawn in old comic books? It's kind of awesome. (That does not mean, however, that when he started to put it on the wall right beside the front door, I didn't go, "Um, how about over here?" and put it on the wall beside the bathroom around the corner. It's cute and kitschy and I like it, but not in the main foyer of my living area.

So that was Christmas. Sounds like we'll be doing it in May from here on out.

The One With Irritating Terminology

Today's soapbox rant is sponsored by the letters D and G, the number 7, and this article. I came across this on the facebook page of a. . .not a friend, per se, but someone I used to know who survived the cut when I sliced my number of facebook friends in half. (True story.)

Now, I have to say I kind of agree with what the guy that made the statement was saying. That's neither here nor there. What irritated me so much was a comment someone made on the guy's facebook wall that said something about "reverse discrimination."

This bugs me in the same way people bug me when they say "ATM machine" or "PIN number." It's not an automated teller machine machine, it's not a personal identification number number, and discrimination is discrimination no matter who it's happening to. It's not just racism if a white person is being mean to a black person because they're black. It's ALL THE SAME THING.

That's. . .all, I guess. Not terribly interesting.