When Weddings Attack Your Wallet

My mother drives me around the bend. It's not just her job, it's her career. Her calling, as it were. In her own defense she usually offers up, "I just want everybody to be happy!" If that were true she would have stabbed dad in the chest instead of the arm that time he was strangling her. But hindsight is 20-20, so I won't belabor that detail.
So, the latest tizzy she's in is over my nephew's impending nuptials. A rare nonshotgun wedding for our family. Just as Dante ascribed levels to hell, so do weddings provide a glimpse into the eternal suffering locked therein. And right now, my mother is the ringleader. No, I'm not comparing her to satan, although in a way I am. I mean, she's not that bad, she's just got herself all worked up, and she's got a telephone, so, you know, we've ALL got to hear about it. The wedding is six weeks off, and mom wants to coordinate who is giving what gift. Well, I am fundamentally against being forced to spend BIG $$$$$ on gifts. If I want to do it it's one thing, but to have someone tell me what I have to spend? It gets my dander up. I'm refusing to commit to a dollar amount, and if mom keeps this up, I'm going to stuff twenty bucks in an envelope with a homemade card. Is that petty of me? Sure it is, but I've done worse and I have no problem sleeping at night. In fact, MK marvels how I can have a screaming match with my sister-in-law and then take a nap. It's because I sleep the sleep of the damned, or the unfettered. I imagine my sleep to be a lot like the sleep that limbo babies enjoy.
Anyway, I've calmed down now so I guess I better call my mom back and apologize.

Hell is for kitchens

I'm not a regular viewer of this show. Indeed, I only drop in when there's nothing better to watch on the science channel (this evening I fore-went the evolution of the button in medieval Europe and how it later became a satanic sign of pride to Puritans, Quakers, and the Amish...who knew?).
I regularly watch Gordon Ramsay's BBC show, Flip This Kitchen Nightmare, or whatever it's called. But this spawn of Chucky Americanized version of that show, with a lot of tweaks and a completely different premise, is akin to being force fed nutrients through a rubber tube inserted up your nose and down your gullet. How awful are the contestants? The men are completely vile, foul mouthed and misogynistic (in a bad way). The women are incompetent cry babies who should be armed so that they can kill the men, and then themselves after a lengthy stand off with police. Did I neglect to mention that the teams are separated by sex? A lot of the women are young, nubile hot blondes. The men...not so much. Chubby bald kitchen hacks who name call the women and back stab anyone within arm's reach. Gee, I wonder why this show isn't more of a hit? I know I wanna see more middle-aged whiners who serve raw chicken complaining about almost everything. Don't you?
This show is hideous, even as reality shows go. The contestants are so wretched that you can't help but wonder what starving orphan from Darfur would be desperate enough to eat their cooking. I'll have that with a side of salmonella because my life doesn't suck enough already, sir.
But, to be fair to the cooks on the show competing for a chance to be executive chef at Ramsay's new LA eatery, Ramsay makes life hell for them. Ridiculous hell at that. Through editing or just plain genetics, he lacks any and all appeal. I almost hate him more now than Emeril (who, btw, is a ghoul...evidenced by his copious knuckle hair).
Ach, I'm going to have to give this show up, even if it means watching how shoelaces are slowly being replaced by velcro or how installing a composting toilet can provide enough natural gas to your home to fry an egg and heat one pot of tea. I've had enough! This season just sickens me.