Because I Miss Them, Even Tweeker Charlie

Somehow, yesterday, I was involved in a Facebook conversation that took a right turn straight into the archives of Lost.  Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.  You remember, I KNOW you remember.  Just like I know that as soon as you read 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42 you will be itching to push a button to keep the magnetic energy from bursting forth and wreaking havoc on our planet.

This conversation left me feeling odd.  It was like a flashback to the feelings I had when the series ended; that strange out-of-sorts, slightly dizzy and confused feeling.  And sad…profoundly sad.  Like you’ve been inside a dim casino for 18 hours and you step outside and it’s noon and you have to squint because the light is hurting your eyes.  Like that.

Luckily, I was able to read a post by Jillsmo that was written before blogging was even cool.  It’s that old.  And I was able to feel at peace again.  Although, still a little out-of-sorts because let’s face it, there hasn’t been a new show to come close to the awesomeness of Lost.  Not even close.

So I’m rerunning it here.  Because I can.  And because she said I could, and it sure beats the hell out of the nothing that I was going to post today.  By a long shot.

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Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Sweet, sweet relief

It’s over. Lost is over. It feels like this enormous burden has been lifted from my shoulders and I’m now free to fly like a bird. A crazy bird made out of black smoke that makes strange popping sounds and you can see faces in it when you look at it closely and then it kills you. Yeah, that kind of frickin bird.

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Never again will I hear “come with me if you want to know the secrets of the Island,” because I know, now, that I will never know the secrets of the Island. Or will I? Or maybe I already know the secrets of the Island but just don’t realize it? Something about a vagina cave that glows a yellow light full of water which keeps evil contained, but only if you keep the cervical plug constantly in place? Or maybe it’s about a wheel that makes you travel through time, but only if you push a button every 108 minutes and then cases of food and beer will magically fall from the sky? No, wait! I know! It’s actually all about the dog. Vincent is the key that holds the whole thing together, constantly barking in the background (you just can’t see him and it sounds like whispering but trust me, it’s actually the dog).

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And what about all those unanswered questions, anyway? What killed all those French people? Was it the Man in Black, silently corrupting them into killing themselves? And why am I the only person who cares that the Man in Black WAS ACTUALLY WEARING BLUE????

That shirt is fucking BLUE, people. IT’S BLUE. CHRIST!  And remember in the early season when Locke and Ben go into the shack where Jacob is supposed to be and you hear a voice say “Help me” ? Who said that, exactly, because it wasn’t Jacob and it wasn’t his blue clad brother. But, do we care? No, we don’t care anymore, because the stupid thing is over and we can get on with our lives with the freedom that whatever questions we still have will never be answered by anybody other than Fan Fiction writers who don’t know any more than the rest of us do.

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I am now free to live the rest of my life with my head held high, never again being forced to spend the day cursing the writers under my breath because they cut to a goddamn commercial instead of telling us the secret of the Island and then never got back to it (whoops!). Never again will I be frustrated when an arrow comes flying out of nowhere and lands in the neck of the guy promising to take me to the cave which holds all the answers. So, my friends, go off … go, and live your lives. Your burden of frustration and lack of closure has been permanently lifted. Sleep well with the knowledge that in the end, Jack, in his christ-like wisdom, martyred himself to save the Island and therefore the world but ended up boning Kate in heaven for eternity as his reward. Hurley got to drive around a giant yellow penis car, which is totally necessary in LA, you know, and bright yellow is actually a much better camouflage than you would think. Sayid and Shannon ended up together in eternity because they boned that one time after knowing each other for a week, but not Sayid and his wife, the woman he spent years searching the world for and who died in his arms in the street, because she wasn’t on the Island so she doesn’t get to go to the church. Locke gets to walk and Claire gets to be sane while Ben has to sit outside on the benches because he’s a fucking asshole and deserves to be left out. All we need to know, really, is that it’s over. It’s finally, fucking over.

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UPDATE: Holy fucking shit I knew it! Didn’t I tell you?? I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!!

Flat Flannery Friday #8, A Murder in Blogville

You may have noticed there was no Flat Flannery post last Friday.  Or maybe you didn’t.  Doesn’t matter, because I’m telling you there wasn’t.

She never came back from her sabbatical with Rachel.  She was missing.  I searched high and low.  Well, mostly low.  I mean, she’s flat, right?

Then this came in the mail several days ago:

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Murder.  Or REDRUM, if you’re of the horror flick persuasion.

But who?  What kind of monster would do such a thing?  Someone that drives a Honda.

I put my crafty and stealthy detective skills to work.  Wait…stealthy or stealth??  Whatever, I put my super duper totally awesome detective skills to work.  There.

And look what I found:

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Look closely at this picture I found in the blogosphere.  You can just make out part of the H, in Honda, on the steering wheel.

Let’s get another view of that photo, one with the rearview mirror:

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Jillsmo, from Yeah. Good Times.  I should have known.

She even disposed of the body.

I should have seen this coming, especially after the snake incident.  But hey, I was kind of sick of her anyway.

And so, friends, in memory of Flat Flannery who travelled near and far:

Flat Flannery Friday #3

It’s time again for Flat Flannery Friday!!

You can read the original Flat Flannery story here.

Last week, our heroine was fleeing Berkeley, California, after an unfortunate visit to Jillsmo.

This week, the Flanster has made her way across the country, and is visiting our friend, Grace, from That’sRightISaidIt.Dot.Mom.

Let me tell you, this is no Berkeley debacle, because Grace knows how to show a girl a good time!  No sooner had Flanny arrived, and they were in the car, road tripping their way to a casino!

Now, according to Grace, Flanny was a bit of a handful.

“She backed up her drinks at the casino bar.  I don’t know which is the bigger problem, her drinking or her gambling.  She was outta control.”

See, no drinks in this picture!

But in Flanny’s version, Grace was throwing around drinks like it was Mardi Gras night on Bourbon street.

Either way, at some point nature called.  Poor Grace was so cockeyed that she wandered into the men’s room, where Flanny tried to drag her out, and spare her embarrassment.  But of course, someone snapped a picture of Flanny, just trying to be a good friend.

See how this guy is holding Flanny against the urinal to snap a picture? The nerve!

All in all, the girls had a great night out.  Except for that unfortunate cat fight in the parking lot.  It seems Grace is more of a Sebastian Bach/Skid Row kind of girl, and Flanny is partial to Axl Rose/Guns ‘N Roses.

Eh, he's not bad.

It's like staring at the sun! I need my shades!!

Luckily they were able to work it out like ladies, without Grace having to brandish the switch blade concealed in her jeans.

This was quite an adventure, and Flanny is looking forward to some relaxation on her next stop.  You’ll have to check back next week to see where that is!

Flat Flannery Friday #2

It’s time again for Flat Flannery Friday.  If you’re saying to yourself, “what in the hell is that”, then you can click here to get caught up.

This week finds Flat Flannery trekking to Berkeley, California, to visit with Jillsmo, from Yeah.  Good Times.  Sadly, I cannot report that all was hunky dory in hippieville.  There’s something dark going on in the land of Birkenstocks.

You see, during Flanny’s visit, she bore witness to some questionable events.  Of course, one would certainly expect any visit involving Jillsmo to be questionable.  It seems that on one day, while Flanny was enjoying the shade of a large tree, she saw Jillsmo spying on her neighbor, and eavesdropping on their phone call.  It was certainly in poor taste, to say the least.

Things went further downhill the next morning.  While Flanny sat in a local bagel shop, people watching out the window as she is prone to do, she witnessed Jillsmo, up to no good again.  Right there on the street, Jillsmo verbally assaulted an environmental activist who was trying desperately to spread the word about the dangers of radiation.  Flanny couldn’t believe her crooked eyes.

That evening, she confronted Jillsmo.  Of course, Jillsmo made excuses for her behavior.  But she had an evil plan brewing.  It started with liquor, which should be no surprise, since it is Jillsmo, after all.

But this was no party.  After Jillsmo convinced Flannery to consume copious amounts of liquor, she tried to “get rid of her,” to keep the sordid details of the visit a secret.

Yes, she tried to feed Flanny to a snake.  Let this be a lesson that you can’t trust every blogger you meet online!

Luckily, Flanny made a narrow escape, hitched a ride to the airport with the environmental activist, and has already embarked on her next adventure.

Jillsmo, however, remains at large in Berkeley.

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An Open Letter to the Other Parents of Berkeley – Guest Post

So a few days ago I asked the illustrious Jillsmo, from Yeah. Good Times to Guest Post for me.  She was super excited to do it for me (I bribed her with pizza and beer).  She meant to get it to me yesterday, but something happened with vodka.  I’m not really sure.

 BUT, she was SUPER excited to send me this one:  “I whipped this one out (of my ass) for you.”

*sniff*

 And here it is!

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Dear Other Parents Who Live in Berkeley:

Okay, people: here’s the deal. Yeah, I’m super liberal, and it seems like I fit in around here,  but I’ve started to suspect that some of my parenting habits might get me kicked out of town if you all actually knew about them. So, I’ve decided to own these habits of mine and then get on with my life. I think it will be cleansing (you know, like in that stupid “spiritual cleansing” kind of way, that you guys do).

I didn’t breastfeed either of my kids. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, it just apparently wasn’t in the cards for us. You didn’t know about this because pulling a bottle out in a public location will actually get you a lecture from the hippie lady at the next table, so I kept all that stuff at home.

We go to McDonalds. Yes. We do. We frequent the huge mega-conglomerate evil fast food chain that makes our kids fat just by walking by one. I know, you’ve picketed and petitioned to get them out of town, but you lost, and there are 2 of these places in our town. And we go there. About once a week.

I go to Starbucks; like… a lot. I really like my mochas and I’ve been to every single place in town and tried every mocha available, and since there is no Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf around here, I’ve decided that Starbucks has the best mochas. I know, they use prison labor to make their cups. I KNOW they treat their employees badly, or something, I don’t know: who cares? They have good chocolate there, and good chocolate is the key to a good mocha.

My kids spend a lot of time in front of a computer; they each have their own (thank you, Grandparents!). I know, this will automatically make them fat and have  ADHD or something, and yet… I still let them. Because sometimes I have to work (or blog) and I don’t have the time to keep the 5 year old entertained. And you know what else? When YOUR kid comes over, that’s all they do when they’re here. Your kid really wants a computer, by the way.  Like… really wants one.

I drive my kids to school every morning. I know we only live 6 blocks away, but I always have to run off to some far away location to work immediately afterwards and I just don’t have the time to walk them up the street and then walk myself back to where my car is… so, we drive. Every day. And now that we’re in the habit of driving, I will even drive them on the days when I don’t work.

I hate bicycles. Fucking hate them. I hate riding them. I hate other people who ride them. They annoy the hell out of me when I’m driving. I don’t own one, neither of my kids have one (they have never wanted one; they have scooters) and as long as I can  help it, we will never get one.

I don’t do Yoga. I could never coordinate my frantic arm movements with all that crazy breathing you’re supposed to do, so I gave up very quickly. Also, I hate the sun and I like the rain, and if one more of you asks me if I’m enjoying this beautiful weather I’m going to fucking kick you in the shins.

I let my 5 year old watch Family Guy with me, and it’s had a really bad influence on him. The other day he wanted to know how old you have to be to have sex.

We have never done a family bed, because I never get a wink of sleep when they’re next to me.

I have never ever brought my own wooden silverware to a potluck, nor would I ever even consider it.

So, there you are: my list of sins against you, the City of Berkeley. OH MY GOD I hope nobody I know reads this, because I actually like living here, despite all of this, and I really don’t want to get run out of town for my sins. I do wear Birkenstocks every day, though, so that should balance some of this out, right? RIGHT?