Tuesday, April 28, 2009


Mike and I discovered a show that has been on the air for a little while, now. Medium. We thought, what an interesting idea for a show. A psychic that dreams of criminals and helps the police solve the mysteries. Awesome.

Then we started to watch it.

We were hooked from the word go. But not because it was so good. Because it was so bad. We cannot stop watching it. Can't look away. It's like a horrific plane crash that you know is awful to see, but you keep peaking to see if someone is going to come out screaming with their hair on fire. Yeah, it's like that.

Here's how crappy the writing and directing are. A little sample of what the dialog is usually like:

Alison: I had a dream last night about the serial killer and he lives in Arizona and drives a white Cadillac. Here's his address and license plate number

Police Chief: I don't know Alison. This seems far fetched. How am I supposed to believe what you're telling me. This is silly. Come to me when you have something I can work off of.

Okay, so this is what it is like every show. And the "Alison" character has helped solve over 150 crimes. How? By dreaming up a person's address and license plate number every time and giving it to the Police Chief. Why doesn't he ever trust her? After all she's done for him?!!

Then the "favor" casting. Oh, love this and can't get enough. There's a little boy on the show that plays Alison's daughter. I know, weird. But seriously, that boy is a bad actor and is supposed to be portraying the middle child who is a sister to two other bad acting children (who are girls). Bizarre. I call the boy a "favor" because there's no way this he/she was casted because he/she is talented. He puckers up his lips like he's kissing while he's talking and his voice is deep. He delivers his line like a 3rd grader reads a book out loud in class. This boy/girl's mother must have done some freaky shit with the casting director to keep that kid on the show.

You can see him/her, right? He's the blond in the pretty shirt and the receding hairline.

Another thing we noticed was the couple in the show. He's not too bad of an actor and she's alright. They have decent enough chemistry between the two of them, but it's brother and sister-like. Mike said last night, "They never f*ck!" It's so true! She's always wearing baggy-ass pajamas, and not cute ones. Something someone very old would wear. And when they go to bed together, they sleep with their backs turned to one another. (I think he's upset that he had a son that she keeps putting in girl clothes and he's just a little bit bitter.) She wears different pajamas every night. Not every show; every night she goes to sleep. Since she has to sleep a lot to find the criminals, she has to wear a lot of pajamas. They're usually floral print, a funky design, and sometimes just a solid color. They're the button up type. He on the other hand always wears the same nasty ass greenish brown t-shirt. No wonder they never get it on...they're not appealing.

Also, they constantly argue about how silly it is that perhaps one or two of their daughters have psychic abilities. The parent who actually has the abilities is the one who argues how ridiculous it is to think that they could possibly be able to see things. What?!!

Watch the show if you want to be entertained by picking it apart to death as I have, otherwise, save your time and trust that it isn't worth getting sucked into as Mike and I have. We know it's awful, and yet, we have it recorded on our TV in the living room and our bedroom. We're hooked.

Friday, April 24, 2009


I'll keep it simple and to the point...

We have a "bater" at our gym. By "bater", I mean she's a Mastur of the Bating. Get it? Soooo grossss! Why do we get the weirdos?

We might have to follow her around with the disinfectent spray all the way out the door. Bye Bye, sicko.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009


"I love you, Farrah."

"I lah loo mama. I lah loo daddy."

And then she takes my face and her daddy's face and gently pushes us together so we kiss. Then she puckers up and kisses us while we're kissing. The three of us kiss together at the same time.

And later she sings a song titled "My mommy, my daddy". Those are also the lyrics.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Iss Fweddy!

Farrah has several new words she uses that she has made her own. She used to call diapers "Ds" and her blanket "ditty". Mind you, she has not stopped calling them that. She's just not using diapers anymore and therefore doesn't have to call them anything at all. Now she uses "Doras".

If the timer goes off on the oven or microwave, she says, "Iss fweddy!"

When she says she wants a snack, she says the "s" portion of the word "snack" through her nose as if she's blowing it, followed by the word "nack". Try saying it that way. It's funny. Or the way she says, "That's fwonny!"

Thomas the Train is "Choo Choo"

"Meow" is "eee ow". "Icky" is "gicky". "Nikki" (one of our daycare workers) is "Kiki". "Lauren" is "LorLor".

Hungry is no longer "Huh ree". It has upgraded to "Hunger"

"What are you doing" is "Are doing?"

When she sees letters, she calls them "A's"

"I don't want it" is "I oh waa ihh!"

"I don't want to go to bed" is "I no waa go bed"

"There you go" is "Gay ko".

I could go on forever and fill this blog up with the different ways she puts her words and sentences together as a means to document her progress, but it could take me all day. So, I will wrap it up with a little story to explain how far along our little girl's language has come...

A couple weeks ago, Farrah was at Grandma's and Grandpa's. When we arrived to pick her up, she was cuddled up with Grandma with a bloody lip after she took a spill. No big deal. Accidents happen, and especially with a 2 year old. We were told that she had slipped off one of the foot rests and hit her lip on the side of an old table. "Owie!" Our poor Farrah looked awful. Her lip was so swollen and I wasn't sure if she needed a stitch or not. She looked like Keiffer Sutherland in the movie "Freeway" after he got shot in the face by Reese Witherspoon. Well, after about half an hour of us pouring our love over her and she started to calm herself from the pain and she had received a little bit of Motrin for the swelling, she said something to me that was kinda funny. She said, "Goggy hit," as she pointed to her lip. Then I looked closer at her face. There were 4 long scratch marks running down her face down to her lip. She just tattled on Grandma and Grandpa's dog. "Goggy hit" meant "Doggy hit". Of course, we couldn't get too mad, because again, it was an accident. However, Grandma and Grandpa will have to start paying a little bit better attention to the granddaughter and the fact that she TALKS. She will talk. Farrah is a tattle tale and will tell on everyone. That's what she does.

Her vocabulary and sentence formation is getting better and better. It has seemed like it has happened over night, too. She will tell you anything and everything that she can. Even if she has to rat out the dog and throw Grandma and Grandpa under the bus.