It's no secret that one of my many vices, (after chocolate, cheese and cunnilingus) is my addiction to soap operas. As I'm vegging out on the couch during my currently very stress-filled life, I watch all these women (and often girls) go through these tumultuous pregnancies -- I mean, really -- has there ever been a full term pregnancy go by on a daytime show that was uneventful? Preposterous!
And we thought we had issues? I guess it could always be worse . . . like, soap opera worse.
5. Your pregnancy is high risk because a few years back you got shot in the Fallopian tube & the very fact that you conceived is nothing short of a daytime miracle. You lose it anyway and feel you should make the most of it, so you throw yourself down the stairs and blame it on that bitch that you hate so she can be charged with murder.
4. You have your entire pregnancy in hiding & let no one know about it because the father of the baby is a guy who is a crime boss that you just so happened to shoot in the head a while back. He must have managed to let that little detail slide and decided you two needed to have sex . . . obvs!
3. You're rushed in with premature contractions, get drugged and have your baby taken right out of your womb. Then, when you come to, you're told that your baby was still born and are handed the ashes, all the while your actual baby is fine and healthy and has been given to someone else to raise.
2. You actually lost the baby but in order to hang on to your man, you get various sizes of fake baby bumps and try to pretend that you're still pregnant, while plotting to steal someone else's baby. You get around the whole intimacy thing by telling him that due to the "high risk" nature of the pregnancy, no intimacy whatsoever is allowed. Baby kicks? Fuck that. Stay away from ma' fake belly!
1. You have sex with two different men within 48 hours and end up falling pregnant with twins that have different fathers. Shut up! My twins were apparently conceived 3 days apart, so it could, like, totally happen.
Showing posts with label Soap Opera. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Soap Opera. Show all posts
Mar 11, 2013
Jan 20, 2012
My Own Apartment
After enduring years of living with people that...
• hung their gun club targets in their room
• used their money as psychologically demeaning terrorism
• licked microwaved chicken fat off plates
• played Vox by Sarah McLachlan exclusively on repeat for 2 months straight
• followed me around with a bottle of disinfectant
• let varying colours of mold grow on almost every piece of food they didn't consume
• owned a rat that had a tumor... and then it gnawed it's own tumor off and still wondered around the apartment, festering and diseased
• constantly breaking their bed due to vigorous sex between two rather large individuals that sounded like rhinos trying to kill each other for dominance over their herd
• wasnot so secretly in love with another roommate, so began a sociopathic hate campaign against anyone else (a.k.a. Me) that befriended said other roommate
• tried to kill themselves
• would spill a quarter of a pound of sugar on the counter and floor and then walk away and leave it
• had "Therapy Thursdays" so we all had to avoid them at all costs after those wonderful sessions
• claimed to have trudged through the swamps in Vietnam with a gun even though she was only nineteen
• spit-shined their boots every morning and wore camouflage... FOR FUN
• blasting gangster rap while chilling in his fitted Ralph Lauren khakis and collared Lacoste shirt
• gave Single White Female a run for the title
• instead of emptying the garbage, they (and this is more than one) would just throw garbage in the general vicinity of the garbage and letting it pile up and fester
• got pregnant but decided NOT to tell her family, because we all know a skinny skank that suddenly wears XL overalls and sweaters is completely subtle and sneaky
• having 3 boyfriends that were not aware of each other and we were expected to keep track of their names
• sleeping with two brothers that DID know about each other (ewww)
• was a cutter
• would lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling for hours and not say a word or fall asleep
• insisted on watching "CSI Whatthefuckever" and then commenting on how inaccurate it all was because they knew everything about forensic science
• almost going postal because I asked whether it was cool or not that we rotated garbage duties
• talking with her boyfriend between the hours of 1am-5am, which sounded like Charlie Brown's mother reverberating through my wall every fucking night
• constantly living in fear of their cat swallowing tinsel and having to pull it out of its ass
• ran a phone sex hotline from their room...
I decided it was time I lived on my own.
The first paycheck in which I earned a relatively acceptable salary, I told the current nut jobs that I would be leaving in 30 days from that moment. And I would NOT be hitting my ass on the door on my way out.
It was a beautiful blue, single dormered two story house in the heart of Greek Town. The ceilings were high and light blasted through skylights in both the kitchen and living room. The walls were white and clean, and the hardwood floors were freshly polished. The smell of varnish and paint filled the tiny apartment, and it made me smile.
It was perfect.
It was all mine.
I could be alone, finally.
Quiet.
And then 3 months after I moved in, the landlords had a baby. Colic.
FUCK. ME.
• hung their gun club targets in their room
• used their money as psychologically demeaning terrorism
• licked microwaved chicken fat off plates
• played Vox by Sarah McLachlan exclusively on repeat for 2 months straight
• followed me around with a bottle of disinfectant
• let varying colours of mold grow on almost every piece of food they didn't consume
• owned a rat that had a tumor... and then it gnawed it's own tumor off and still wondered around the apartment, festering and diseased
• constantly breaking their bed due to vigorous sex between two rather large individuals that sounded like rhinos trying to kill each other for dominance over their herd
• was
• tried to kill themselves
• would spill a quarter of a pound of sugar on the counter and floor and then walk away and leave it
• had "Therapy Thursdays" so we all had to avoid them at all costs after those wonderful sessions
• claimed to have trudged through the swamps in Vietnam with a gun even though she was only nineteen
• spit-shined their boots every morning and wore camouflage... FOR FUN
• blasting gangster rap while chilling in his fitted Ralph Lauren khakis and collared Lacoste shirt
• gave Single White Female a run for the title
• instead of emptying the garbage, they (and this is more than one) would just throw garbage in the general vicinity of the garbage and letting it pile up and fester
• got pregnant but decided NOT to tell her family, because we all know a skinny skank that suddenly wears XL overalls and sweaters is completely subtle and sneaky
• having 3 boyfriends that were not aware of each other and we were expected to keep track of their names
• sleeping with two brothers that DID know about each other (ewww)
• was a cutter
• would lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling for hours and not say a word or fall asleep
• insisted on watching "CSI Whatthefuckever" and then commenting on how inaccurate it all was because they knew everything about forensic science
• almost going postal because I asked whether it was cool or not that we rotated garbage duties
• talking with her boyfriend between the hours of 1am-5am, which sounded like Charlie Brown's mother reverberating through my wall every fucking night
• constantly living in fear of their cat swallowing tinsel and having to pull it out of its ass
• ran a phone sex hotline from their room...
I decided it was time I lived on my own.
The first paycheck in which I earned a relatively acceptable salary, I told the current nut jobs that I would be leaving in 30 days from that moment. And I would NOT be hitting my ass on the door on my way out.
It was a beautiful blue, single dormered two story house in the heart of Greek Town. The ceilings were high and light blasted through skylights in both the kitchen and living room. The walls were white and clean, and the hardwood floors were freshly polished. The smell of varnish and paint filled the tiny apartment, and it made me smile.
It was perfect.
It was all mine.
I could be alone, finally.
Quiet.
And then 3 months after I moved in, the landlords had a baby. Colic.
FUCK. ME.
May 25, 2011
My Life - The Soap Opera
I've almost always been so grateful for the relationship that I have with my mother. I had to say 'almost' because of course, no mother/daughter relationship is perfect and we have had our ins and outs - especially through my tumultuous teen years where I was a hormonal lunatic.
We have always been open with each other and I know a lot of my friends were always envious of how I could talk to my mother about topics that most of their mothers would either slap or ground them for mentioning. My mother has helped me work through a lot of tough times, and I'd like to think that it has been mutual as I've grown up.
A few months ago, during my "third life crisis" as I'm becoming to refer to it as, I was talking to my mother on the phone, trying to get some comfort from her words.
"...but it's been 15 years. Why do I still feel like my heart broke just yesterday?"
"It often feels like that for me and it's been 33 years."
"That's not helping."
"Sorry."
"My father. You still miss him? Even having been remarried for all these years?"
"Always."
--> About here is where I began to sob. <--
"I know this sounds awful but he died; that's absolute closure I think I could deal with easier than whatever it is I'm stuck in. But instead, he's out there... alive, somewhere else... not loving me."
"I know what you mean; it doesn't sound horrible. You just have to live your life the best way you can. I have been re-married for 26 years now - and you? You are just starting your family. We survive. Everything happens for a reason."
I'm watching Day of Our Lives, as I do every fucking day. I don't need a lecture, thank you. I exposed my addiction a long time ago -- deal with it. It functions more like comfortable background noise to me than anything else... until this week. The dialog between fire-cracker granny Alice Brady and her bat-shit crazy granddaughter Sami (Alison Sweeney) made me almost choke on my cheerios. It went like this:
"I know this sounds awful but grandpa died - he's at peace. But Rafe is out there... alive, somewhere else... not loving me."
"Surely you're not saying you would rather him be dead!"
"Of course not! I'm just saying that you were able to mourn him. But me? I'll always be wondering where he is... what he's doing... who he's with..."
We have always been open with each other and I know a lot of my friends were always envious of how I could talk to my mother about topics that most of their mothers would either slap or ground them for mentioning. My mother has helped me work through a lot of tough times, and I'd like to think that it has been mutual as I've grown up.
A few months ago, during my "third life crisis" as I'm becoming to refer to it as, I was talking to my mother on the phone, trying to get some comfort from her words.
"...but it's been 15 years. Why do I still feel like my heart broke just yesterday?"
"It often feels like that for me and it's been 33 years."
"That's not helping."
"Sorry."
"My father. You still miss him? Even having been remarried for all these years?"
"Always."
--> About here is where I began to sob. <--
"I know this sounds awful but he died; that's absolute closure I think I could deal with easier than whatever it is I'm stuck in. But instead, he's out there... alive, somewhere else... not loving me."
"I know what you mean; it doesn't sound horrible. You just have to live your life the best way you can. I have been re-married for 26 years now - and you? You are just starting your family. We survive. Everything happens for a reason."
OK. Now fast forward to last week.
I'm watching Day of Our Lives, as I do every fucking day. I don't need a lecture, thank you. I exposed my addiction a long time ago -- deal with it. It functions more like comfortable background noise to me than anything else... until this week. The dialog between fire-cracker granny Alice Brady and her bat-shit crazy granddaughter Sami (Alison Sweeney) made me almost choke on my cheerios. It went like this:
"I know this sounds awful but grandpa died - he's at peace. But Rafe is out there... alive, somewhere else... not loving me."
"Surely you're not saying you would rather him be dead!"
"Of course not! I'm just saying that you were able to mourn him. But me? I'll always be wondering where he is... what he's doing... who he's with..."
Ummm... so, yes. It's official! My life has become a soap opera.
| Dear Days of Our Lives Head Writing Team, Thank you for using my life as inspiration for you recent dialog. I still don't know how exactly you mananged to over-hear my conversation with my mother, but nevertheless, I am giving you fair notice: I want my fucking cut! Yours faithfully, Lady Estrogen |
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