"You Can Tell Jesus The Bitch Is Back" or "HOT ASS of the Week: Weeds Season 5 Premiere" by Tregg

Don't get all crazy on me, bloggers.  I know the headline is a quote from Gossip Girl, but I feel it's semi-appropriate regardless.  

I LOVE this show.  I watched the first season via Showtime On Demand back in 2006 and didn't quite love it.  But I stumbled upon Season 3 and then ordered Showtime for Season 4 and was hooked.  Thanks to getting Season 2 on DVD for Christmas, I have successfully devoured every episode.  And much like a pothead, I am craving a new season like a big old cupcake.  Or something else that people who smoke a lot of marijuana like to eat while high.

I'm treading in unfamiliar territory here, people.  Sorry.

I know it is a gross oversimplification to say Weeds is about pot, but I still find it noteworthy that I love a show so much and hate marijuana so much.  

I was watching the Season 4 finale just a few minutes ago for the second time, and there were two scenes that basically highlighted why Mary-Louise Parker is a goddess.

The first scene is when she's taking a bath and Andy knocks on the door.  She doesn't flinch that she's topless even though he's got a huge chub for her.  Then she dangles her sex in front of him asking him to fill up the tub with bubbles for her so she can tell him all the trouble she's in.

I have to remember that trick.

The second is when she's ordering Silas a gift basket from her OnStar system at what appears to be 11:00pm, so I can't imagine why some place is open.

"'Dear Silas, If I never see you again, I've been murdered'...Don't write that.  'Dear Silas'..."

Not that I needed a reminder, but seeing that episode made me increasingly happy to see a new season start tomorrow night.  The dreadful abyss that is the television landscape will be dramatically rescued for at least the next few months.  Would it kill Showtime to have 22 episode seasons?  I'm sure everyone that works on the should wouldn't mind the extra money.

“Fash-Inspiration Du Jour: Rick James” or “How To Manage Adult ADD Without Really Trying” by Nicole

There are some things in this life one should dare not try to explain. Of course, there are people out there who refuse to leave things to the imagination…but I digress. For whatever reason, as of late, wearing a giant silver ring on every finger suddenly sounded like a fantastic idea.

I am now, and have always been, a creature of impulse. I didn’t even realize I had an impulsive personality until I met my friend, T (not Tregg). T possesses just about the most irrational and immediate behavior pattern I’ve ever witnessed in another human being. She acts quickly, whole-heartedly, and often without consideration of the alternatives.

…It’s like looking in a friggin’ mirror.

Luckily, I’ve managed to harness my impulsivity (read: raging ADD) in the workplace, but not in my personal life. And CERTAINLY not in my relationship with clothes (See post featuring Lady Gaga, below). In that aspect of my life, possessing the emotional restraint of a bunny rabbit has leant itself to a series of phases: there was The “I’m Only Going to Wear Dark Denim” Phase, The “No Outfit is Complete without a Cardigan” Phase, and, most recently The “One Can Never Have Too Much Black Sequins in Their Life” Phase.

In an attempt to exhibit some semblance of growth in my almost-mid-twenties, I’ve been making a concerted effort to act more shrewdly and cerebrally. But, there’s something about a naked left hand that I can no longer abide. I have no rationale to go on except that once your hair is long (like mine – thanks, you guys!), chandelier earrings can’t really be appreciated, and necklaces make me want to scratch my neck all day – and then hang myself.

Thus begins the “Silver ring on every finger RIP Rick James” phase.

…I give it a week.

"The Power of Parental Suggestion" by Tregg

This weekend my mom was in town helping me move to a new apartment. I love her dearly and knew her help would be invaluable. Because let's face it, if this blog didn't hate monotony, "Moving" would be the Sick Ass of The Week, every week.

Of course, the blessing of a parent's visit is that they'll buy you stuff. Food, maybe some clothes or a tank of gas. But when you're moving and a parent visits, you can expect a lot more. Or at least if you're parents aren't tightwads.

So on her last day, my mom and I find ourselves at Target. Yes, Angelenos, that Target on La Brea and Santa Monica. As usual, even at 8:30, it was overrun with people. I would never go there that late without the deadline of my mealticket's, I mean mother's, departure to her home state looming within hours. Why would you run to Target on a Monday night? And why would you run there to get batteries and chocolate like the couple in front of me? Oh...

My mom knows a lot more about setting up a home to me, so bascially our shopping trip proved to be a lot of "Tregg, do you need _____?" "Sure, mom."

This is where the guilt comes in. I was trying to not be frivolous, but every time she suggested something, I realized how great it would be to buy that now rather than wait and get it later.

For example, shower cleaner. I definitely needed it, but sometimes I feel it is an unnecessary purchase since one only cleans his shower every so often. I can save some money by not buying that, right?

"Do you need some body wash?"
"...yes."

"How about fabric softener?"
"Yes"

"Distilled water for your iron?"
You guessed it, "Yes."

I feel like my mom could have sold me a broken VCR that night. I was powerless to say no to her, partly because she was right, and partly because I felt she'd be hurt if I said I didn't need something she suggested.

"Oh, look at this new laundry detergent scent."
"Mom, I don't need that."
"Why, you ungrateful little bastard!"

Or at least that's how I imagined it would go.

The moral of this story is, your mother is always right and knows everything. Listen to her advice. And she should probably sell real estate in this poor economy. I'd buy a condo from her.