what television gets away with

So many times over the past year or so, I've been completely blown away by what is acceptable for tv now. OK, before I continue, I just have to say--I'm NOT AT ALL offended! While I'm usually amused by vulgarity, I am amazed at what's becoming the norm. We're so desensitized to sex, foul language, drug references (all of which I proudly display on this blog). My defense is that my blog readers know what they're getting into when they read this. I ain't "fronting", as the kids would say. I OWN my obscenities, dog! But, when an 80 year old woman is innocently scrolling through her cable channels and she sees a commercial for KY Intensify, which boasts optimum clitoral stimulation, I picture the poor thing dropping dead of a heart attack. KY has also recently put out a commercial for their mini-vibrator. This is an absolute fact. WTF? Does anyone else think that's kinda weird? I felt like I was watching a commercial for cigarettes or rape or something.



What does this say about 2009? In the 50's they wouldn't even allow Lucy & Ricky to sleep in the same bed. I regularly hear "douche bag" said on tv. That's a new one. Love it. Last night on Real Housewives of New Jersey, Danielle said, "I've got a pu$$y". This is primetime, people! This isn't Cinemax, mind you. My jaw dropped when I heard that!!! So what can't we say on tv, these days? F--K and C-NT, apparently. Because, you know, that crosses the line. But, Pu$$y and Douche Bag, however, are sweeping the nation.

I hate the commercials that allow the masses into a woman's personal life. I still believe that a woman's personal matters should be kept under wraps. (As you'll plainly read about in any of my blogs pertaining to child birth and everything else that embarrasses me from the waist down). Ok, so what's with that commercial from Schtick? Don't quote me, but I believe it's Schtick Intuition with a bikini trimmer on one end. We get it, ok? It's for trimming up your bush. We don't need the visuals that accompany it. A woman walks confidently out of a boutique and as she passes, the topiary plant magically changes it's formation to the shape of the woman's (supposed) bush. Hot chick walks by, the tree instantly contorts to a triangle, rectangle, rhombus, what have you. I don't get it. Ever, ever in your lifetime would you see a commercial about a man's bush? Never! So, why do us girls have to be exploited? And reduced to being compared to that of an evergreen? Arg. (to be said like a pirate)

My girlfriend, who has known me for almost 20 years, knows that I'm a freak about girly, private parts talk. Anyway, she, her husband and I were having drinks one night on her deck and she was saying that they'd seen a commercial the night before that would probably have put me in a coma, had I been present. I inquire. Allegedly, it was a commercial for a feminine (gulp) itching product. Already, I'd begun panting and turning white. If she and I were alone while she was giving me the play by play, I probably would have listened, but because her husband was sitting with us, I had to start breathing in a bag (chagrin). She goes onto report that the commercial asked the question, "does your feminine itching feel like this"? and then evidently it showed a picture of a burning bush. Then it asked, "Do you have odor?" and then showed a picture of a trout in a garbage can. I didn't even let her finish. The coroner was already at her home. There was already a chalk outline of my body on her patio. I can't begin to tell you the horror. You know, I haven't been back, to her home, come to think of it. I'm sure I'll never be able to look her husband in the eye now. I hate for men to think our cha-cha's are scary burning bush that smells like dead fish. Who the hell is selling these ads? And to whom are they selling them? I don't know about you gals, but I'd rather the boys think of us as pretty, little flowers, not angry, smelly horticulture.

Anyway, my point being...well, I don't really have one. But, yo, that shit's f'ed up, dawg.

LB

the dreaded summer

Hello Gorgeous Readers. I have NOT abandoned my blog. I've been dreadfully busy and unfortunately, lesliedishes has fallen to the wayside. In short, my house was torn apart for about 5 weeks during a not-so-extreme home make over. Then, I've been writing scripts up the wazoo for the upcoming webisodes. Not to mention the day to day rederick of homelife. Which brings me to today's blog.

Ugh. My son is counting down until the last day of school. I, for one, am holding onto the '08-'09 school year for dear life. Picture me sitting in my closet, wearing nothing but a white t-shirt, rocking back and forth, turning my lamp on, off, on, off..... I practically hyperventilate thinking of 3 mos. of this. "This" being screaming, fighting, tattling, breaking, endless snacks, endless requests, endless questions and hours and hours of unfiltered dialogue. You know what I mean. I laid in bed this morning listening to 15 STRAIGHT minutes of why my son believes it takes George Lucas soooooo long to make 'one stinkin' Star Wars movie". Because there's no filter between the boys' brains and mouths, it makes for a very, very long day. Can you imagine saying each and every thought that pops into your head? As I'm typing this, the boys are sensing that the focus isn't on them, so they're dancing around my chair screaming, "I'm cuckoo for cocoa puffs". For the record, I do not allow such cereals into my home. Someone who was left alone with the boys for ONE NIGHT decided to treat them to a chocolatey breakfast and then forgot to hide the evidence when I returned home. So, just like any other heroine addict worth his weight, my kids are now full blown junkies. I've since removed the incriminating evidence, but the desire and the crave will always be there. Sure, they're attending their bi-weekly meetings, but still. While they're no where near completing the 12 step recovery process, they have begun to "Let go and let God", so that's a start.

I digress. As I was saying... I'm DREADING the impending Summer. I always do. I loathe the heat and the incessant guilty need to be outside. I'd rather be in the air conditioning than outside sweating my a$$ off. I don't like being hot. I don't worship the sun. I don't like having to schlep sunscreen everywhere I go. I don't like that every night is bath night. I don't like the kids' sense of entitlement when the ice cream man drives through the neighborhood, playing that annoying rendition of Popeye the Sailorman. I don't like that it doesn't get dark until 10 (how do you explain that to your kids, whose bedtime is 8) and finally, I don't like sand. Oh wait, I don't camping or outdoorsy stuff either.

So, as it stands, I've managed to sign my 7 year old up for pretty much every possible thing you could sign him up for. Football clinic, Vacation Bible School (he hates it), Jurassic camp, Witchcraft camp, Pipe bomb camp...I don't care at this point. Sign 'em up! If it occupies him for several hours a day, I'm happy. Don't think I've overlooked the 4 year old. I've tried, oh, I've tried to pawn him off onto any takers. No one wants him. I begged the Vacation Bible School to take him and they said they would, but only for mothers who volunteer all day, everyday.
F--K. THAT! I'll keep him home with me. I'm all about church and God and the wonderful messages that VBS teaches, but I certainly don't care to Rah Rah Rah about it to 300 elementary school kids!!! I'd rather shoot myself in the face.

So that about wraps up what's new and fascinating in my life. If you see a gal out on the lake, in a boat, wearing pig tails and a straw cowboy hat, looking as if she's contemplating throwing herself into the propeller, then wave, IT'S ME!!!!

Summer's coming. Can't you feel the air getting thinner???

LB

Stoopid Girl

....And speaking of my intolerance for stupidity, I was getting a massage a few weeks ago (full release...whaaat?) Anyway, I had previously made a subsequent appt. for my husband to get one the following Friday, but he had informed me that it was the Tiger's opening day and that in no way would he be available to get a massage (but would be available, however to play golf, get drunk with the neighbors, play ladder golf with the neighbors and bet the neighbor's son that he wouldn't wear my dog's shock collar around his neck while crossing the property line). But I digress.

Anyhoot, so as I'm checking out, I say to the receptionist:

Leslie: My husband has an appt. at 6 PM next Friday, but it's opening day and he has flat out refused a massage. Can I just keep his appt.?

Receptionist: Sure, I'll pencil you in. But he really should reschedule, he'd love it.

Leslie: He will....any day but opening day.

Receptionist: What's it opening day for?

Leslie: Tigers

Receptionist: Oh My Gosh---YOUR HUSBAND HUNTS TIGERS????

Leslie: (Starred blankly at her) That would be the Detroit Tigers...you know, baseball?

Receptionist: (lays her head down on the desk in humiliation)

Leslie (leaves the spa, laughing all the way to the car, then proceeds to tell every single person whom I've come into contact with what this idiot said to me).

This has been the source of laughter for us this entire week. Thank you dumb, spa, receptionist lady.

idiots....God bless 'em

Just for kicks, take a gander at the day in the life of me. This made it's way to YouTube on the Detroit Tiger's Opening Day. This is my husband and his neanderthal friends (also known as our neighbors). He had an 8 AM tee-time and many, many beers had been drank between that tee-time and the filming of this video. Oh yeah, he watched the home opener sometime in there too.

To clear up any confusion, yes, he's wearing a dog's shock collar. Yes, his friend's convinced him to turn up the juice on the collar. Yes, that's my 3 year old's tricycle. Yes, he was a perfectly willing participant.

~Enjoy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKaKLGFGMro