I have the most basic of basic cable. I have tier one or just the lowest amount of channels you can get with the internet access package. I have it for the cable modem which I love. I really, really love the wireless internet that lets me watch tv while I am on the internet. I have a love hate relationship with the excessive amount of television I have been watching. I have been watching lots of E!. It is disgusting and pathetic but given my lack of real cable the only thing I can watch to avoid the local news other than the PAX network, which comes in with static anyway. E! programming seems to be on the same 24 hour cycle all the time. They film one days worth of shows for the month and shuffle them up and play them in a different order each day. The show I have been catching after work is Dr. 90210. (I know I should be ashamed it is so repulsive) But I cannot watch surgery shows when michael is home he gets too grossed out so this is what I watch when he is gone. If I had real cable I would be watching TLC where they show real surgeries and lots of home decorating shows and foodtv etc. But I have been watching Dr. 90210, so here is where I have a problem.
In plastic surgeries involving breasts or boobs or whatever slang you prefer they put a fuzzy mark over the nipple. But, get this...in a female to male transsexual breast surgery, they put the fuzzy thing over the nipple when it is still a "female" nipple and then they don't have the fuzzy thing over the nipple when it is a "male" nipple. What is up with that? The feminist part of me is totally pissed and also confused. What is the inherent sexually explicit difference between a transsexual's or anyone's for that matter male vs. female nipple? I really have to stop thinking about this. But not before being disgusted by the doctor who continually tells the boob ladies how much prettier they are as Full C/D cups and the women getting the implants who continually emphasize how these new breasts are really going to make them feel so much more confident and will help them finally get over what that mean boy said in 7th grade when he called them no tits or something. Yes, of course boobs and self esteem are synonymous in my dictionary. How about yours?
other horrible disgusting embarrassing things I did today:
Today at work the internet was out during lunch, when I would normally read blogs for the 1/2 hour that I eat my lunch. I realized that, while eating my lunch at my desk is sad with the internet without the internet (or a book) it is downright pathetic without these things. So, I heated up my lunch and went into the cafeteria. I never go into the cafeteria, so I don't know what goes on there, first I saw that there was no one I really knew to eat with and the people I sort of knew were at full tables. Okay, I don't have my book, but there are two book cases stuffed with books people bring in to share (isn't that nice)....no. It was nice in the 1980's which is the last time that someone brought in a book to share. So my choices are all romance/spy paperbacks from the 80's and there are magazines from several years ago and one copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting. While me and my love of gross out medical things would probably love to read the what to expect book, I can't stand the implications if I was caught reading said book by anyone at work. 10 years in office work has taught me that if you are of childbearing age people will think you are pregnant for innocuous statements about having an upset tummy. I am probably equally embarrassed by all of the romance novels and even slightly sickened by them. And so...my choice...my 6th grade favorite Flowers in the Attic. Now I know this is bad and pathetic but it is also so reminiscent of a time when I loved reading and could fall right into books, something I have been struggling with all summer. This book is so pathetic and horrible and yet I remember loving it so much and also watching the bits and pieces of the movie as it played on HBO again and again. While I was reading it I wanted to start writing down ridiculous passages to share with you here. But I really can't do that to you. To further matters I had only read a small portion of this travesty of pre-teen tripe when several of the guys I work with came in with their lunches and joined me. "Oh, so you're reading Nance. What are you reading?" I smashed the book into my lap and just said it was some junk I found on the shelf. I don't think they really cared anyway and I had finished eating so I could exit with haste to return to my desk where the internet was once again working. whew!