Just Another Maineiac Monday

Lately, I’ve had zero time to blog. So I thought I’d quickly throw up a mishmash of the super important stuff that’s currently taking up all of my precious time.

Let’s start with Gordon Ramsay.

Image result for Gordon Ramsay
“Oh, bloody hell.”

My 10-year-old daughter is obsessed with him. She watches all 179 of his current TV shows. Here’s just a sampling:

Master Chef
Master Chef Junior
Kitchen Nightmares

Hell’s Kitchen
Hotel Hell
The F Word*

Satan’s Pantry
Beelzebub’s BBQ Jamboree

The ‘Goddammit, My Face Resembles a Shar-Pei’s Ass, So You’d Better %$#^ing Suck It Up and Cook, You *&^%ing Donut!’ Kitchen

My favorite Ramsay show? It’s Raw! Where top-level culinary geniuses from around the globe forget how to cook a piece of chicken.

While Gordon’s ranting and raving are a bit much, I do appreciate the enlightening cooking tips he dishes out to the contestants like razor-sharp jabs to the nads.
Gems like:
“It’s raw!” and “IT’S RAW!” and “IT’S BLOODY %^%^%$##$%$%$% RAW!”

Image result for Gordon Ramsay
It’s not f***ing cooked properly! Are you not f***ing getting that, you f***ing wanker! Maybe if I crouch down to your bloody level and f***ing scream in your f***ing  stupid face, you’d bloody f***ing catch on!

My daughter and I watch Master Chef Junior, because who doesn’t want to see an impressionable young child have her dreams crushed to paprika in front of millions of people?

Image result for masterchef junior kids crying
[sniffing] [sobbing] [soul dying inside]
And every episode is chock-full of suspense.

[ominous music] Will they cook it right?

[music swells]

…or won’t they?

[dramatic pause]

Image result for Masterchef Junior Judges
“Too salty.”

 

Speaking of salty, what in the bleeping name of Jiminy Cricket is going on with these dagnabbit hoozeewhazzits?

Image result for fidget spinner

 

 

In case you’ve been living in an underground bunker filled with a lifetime supply of Spam and Dr. Pepper, these are Fidget Spinners. Or as I like to call them:

Dum-Dum Doohickeys
Stupid-Ass Shizznitzels
Flippety-Floo F*** ME!s

My kids begged me to buy them one. All the cool kids had one and all the uncool teachers hated them.  They were sold out everywhere. Weeks went by,  and my kids were still sans Zigzag Dilliwackers.

Finally, we stumbled upon a stash at the local pharmacy. I couldn’t wait to see what all the hubbub was about. Is it magic? Is it a game? Is it like a Rubik’s Cube?

I picked one up and asked, “So, what is it?”

Kids: You spin it.

Me: And then?

Kids: That’s it.

Me: [puts fidget spinner back down, then slowly walks away to weep in the car]

 

And how was your weekend?

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*Actual TV show

 

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Mad Men Lite

One of my guilty pleasures is watching the AMC hit show Mad Men.  I love the sets/costumes, the actors, and the writing. I watched the first four seasons in a span of a month. I didn’t think I’d like it, but I was hooked. Some of you may not have seen it yet (or might not care to) and I realize we live in a bite-sized entertainment culture where we have super short attention spans.

So here is my quick take on things, a zippy little recap of the entire show in 500 words or less:

[warning! Spoiler Alert! If you haven’t seen all the seasons yet, you don’t want to read further…]

Ooh! Jazzy cool theme song and opening credits!

Yes, we all work in an ultra-hip Manhattan advertising agency. And we drink.

A lot.

Don Draper: Ad Man. Creative genius. Shady past. Likes to smoke, drink, and have sex with the nearest woman at any given time or place. His three go-to facial expressions: wince, stunned and stunned wince.

Betty Draper: Housewife. Sometimes mean mother.  Keeps it all together with a steady diet of cigarettes and cold hard stares.

Yeah, she’s got issues.

Don wincing again. Here he is trying to deal with the inner turmoil about his dark past. Or his inner turmoil about the young, brilliant upstart threatening to take over his job. Or his inner turmoil about being married to Betty. Or his inner turmoil about wanting to sleep with every single woman in the known universe.

Heh. I’ll drink to that.

Make mine a double, Don.

Witty banter…witty banter…witty banter…

…and smoking and drinking and witty banter.

[Joan] God. You guys are such freaking idiots.

Wait a sec–did I sleep with every single one of my secretaries? (wince-smoke, wince-smoke)

Not this one.

Yeah, well. I’m a smart woman and a pretty kick-ass copywriter and I’ll be damned if I stoop so low as to sleep around to get what I want and–oh crap, too late.

[Roger] Is it getting hot in here? Y’know…being so close together like this, is so very… sexy. Have I slept with all of you yet? No? Well…how ’bout it?

[Don] Ha, ha! Ok, here’s a funny joke, stop me if you’ve heard this one…How many woman that I have currently slept with does it take to make this elevator plunge violently to our deaths?  No? No guesses? ….anyone?

Why is it that nobody ever wants to take a crack at me?

It’s the suspenders, isn’t it?

So because you’re my secretary, I hereby decree that we will have sex. And, ah, what the hell! Let’s get married! Just promise me no freaky-deaky zoo be zoo be zoo French songs or mad-raving-lunatic housekeeping.

[Don screaming] God!..ix nay on the oo be zay…please stop! Do our vows not mean anything to you? For the love of God, my ears are bleeding! You promised!

[Betty] Why, certainly! I would love to have another cup of tea! Perhaps it will help me swallow this gnawing bitter resentment I feel now that Don has moved on with a sexy, young, bright, extremely toothy French girl while I sit here in a loveless marriage with three kids and a bad double chin prosthetic with nothing to comfort me but a can of Reddi-Wip that I inhale late at night over the kitchen sink by the light of the moon. (ahem)

Can you please pass me the sugar?

The End.

It’s the bow tie, isn’t it?

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(Photo credits: blogs.amctv.com, idsnews.com, popwatch.ew.com, thesun.co.uk, rollingstone.com)