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My Endless Love

Ah, Cable Television, how I love thee. My love affair with you started way back before digital. I remember the good ole days when "guides" weren't on demand. And you teased me with that blue guide channel of yours. It never failed, I always accidentally changed channels right when what I was looking for came up. Then I'd get mad at you because now I'd have to wait until you scrolled back to that listing. I see now that you were playing hard to get.

Back in the 80's, before it was customary to have a tv in every room, my father and I would fight over the remote to the "big" television in the living room. I had a pink stuffed bunny with a back pouch. I'd hide the remote in my bunny. It took my father forever to catch on to the Great Remote Caper. He'd get discouraged and leave the room. Then the tv was mine. When he finally figured it out, he locked up my pink bunny. I moved to Chicago just before my parents moved to Florida. They were in the midst of packing up everything. My dad found that bunny and brought it to me. So I now, 26 years of age, sleep with a pink bunny that holds my remotes. Yeah...

I loved preview weekends. Why don't you do those anymore? That was like a holiday to me. It was beautiful. My parents never paid for Showtime or Cinemax. Preview weekends were so cause for celebration. I'd bust out the blank tapes and go crazy. I mean how else was I gonna be able to watch "Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead" a record 3000 times that summer?

Towards the end of elementary school, my parents fell on some hard times financially. Certain luxuries had to go. Cable, you were one of them. I still remember that moment when my mother told me that you had to go bye bye for a while. She sat me down like someone was dead. "Tara, I've got some bad news." Those were some long hard months, but it was a joyous occasion when you returned.

I might have to let you go, Cable. I don't want to, we have so many memories. But you're kinda expensive and I'm kinda poor. It's sad, I wish I could keep you. You complete me. If only I got paid to be with you. But then that would taint our love.

Question of the Day

If offered the perfect body, for the price of three years of your life, would you sign that contract? Nearly 25% of women surveyed said, "Yes!" Would you?

Are You a Dasturbator?

* A dasturbator is one who engages in digital masturbation or "dasturbation." Dasturbation is the useless use of any digital medium for one's own gratification (e.g., Facebook)!

Gossip Girl

No, this isn’t going to be about my love of that ridiculous show. Sorry to all my peeps who enjoy watching the OMFG plot twists. Just not my cup of tea. Same reason that I don’t watch The Hills. Could also relate to the fact that I called Britney Spears “Satan” for many years. She still is “Satan,” but I have sympathy for the devil.  That thing is a train wreck. She may be on the tracks for now. But I foresee a future derailment.

No, this rant refers to the email I got this morning from Facebook. Apparently, there’s some sort of Social Profile app (that I wasn’t even aware I had added) where you rate your friends. It was probably something sent to me and I just hit accept as I always do. That’s why I get a million of those Lil Green Patch thingies a day. What is that? Anyway, now with your “Social Profile,” you can gossip about your friends behind their backs. Yes! Finally! This was the message:

“Do you know any gossip about your friends? Your other friends may want to hear it. Gossip is always anonymous, never appears in notifications, feeds or anywhere else where the author could be identified.”

Alright, it’s anonymous. Much better. I know none of my close friends would use that ridiculous thing because:

1. They’re not in high school.

2. They have jobs and lives.

– And–

3. They gossip like normal people… in person and over drinks.

But it’s just the concept that I find so bizarre. I mean I kinda thought the point of all these social networks was to keep in touch with people whom you like. Silly me.

It just seems like some take these profiles more seriously than others. The first step is admitting you have a problem. I cyberstalk from time to time. I’ll admit. But I don’t define my life by how many “friends” I have or what’s on my “wall.” That’s juvenile. I define myself by my status updates.

A couple days ago, I read an article about a man in England whose wife had recently separated from him. A few days after their split, he logged onto Facebook and noticed that she had changed her relationship status from “married” to “single.” He then got plastered, went to her house with a meat cleaver, and hacked her death. Now I would say he takes those Facebook notifications rather seriously. Wonder what his legal defense is gonna be? “The news feed made me do it.” Hmm?

I don’t mean to trivialize her death because it’s tragic and horrible. That couple obliviously had their problems. One being that she married a psychopath. But it boggles my mind that Facebook is what sent him over the edge. Not that she left him. But that she updated her profile. Someone like that will always snap when there’s a catalyst. I’m sure he was a ticking time bomb. If she hadn’t changed her status something else probably would’ve caused him to detonate. Nevertheless, the trigger was something as trivial as a Facebook profile.

This all just makes me think about human nature and the artificial means that we use to define our connections to one another. “It was ok that she didn’t love me. But her telling her network of internet friends is inexcusable.” I guess it’s just all about perceptions. With your profile you can create how you want others to see you. You can have a thousand “friends” of whom you don’t even really know. You can gossip about them anonymously. And you can pretend you’re happily married even though she wants to leave you and you want to butcher her.

God bless the profile.

Do You Fancy Yourself a Joe Six-pack?

As an average middle class American, I don't necessarily like being referred to as a "Joe Six-pack." Yeah, yeah, yeah... I know I don't have the right genitalia of the group Palin had in mind, but I still don't like being lumped in. I'm definitely not a hockey mom, either. Does anyone else gag when they hear Palin speak of the "Everyman" like he's a partygoer at a kegger?

Question of the Day

 Does "catcalling" ever work?

Some men just loose their heads when they see a beautiful woman.

Question of the Day

What would you do with a bailout of your own? How much would you need? Would you pay off your debts? Would you take a Mediterranean cruise?

Ah, wouldn't it be nice if all of us could just call Uncle Sam when times got rough. "Look, I know I probably shouldn't have opened all of those credit cards and maxed every single one of them out. But hey, you got my back, right?

What's in a Screen Name?

Today it's so easy to adopt another identity thanks to the internet. For people trapped in an unpleasant reality, they can become whomever they choose with a few clicks. The first step in the process is the all important screen name. Screen names are the transformers, turning the virtual Norma Baker's into Marilyn Monroe's.

You can tell a lot by someone's screen name. With that little moniker you can infer what type of person they are: serious or playful. You can sometimes see what's important to them: anniversaries and birthdays. My favorite screen names are the one's that aren't as easy to deceiver; kinda like my own. I use sparkium. Have since the internet made its way into my happy little life all those many years ago.

In high school, I had many nicknames. Names that either played on my last name (Sparks) like Sparkie, Electric, Sparkster... to name a few. Or the ones that my friends coined based upon the craziness that is Tara. For example, some called me Tarda, a lovely little combo of Tara and retarded. People are so sweet. Another favorite moniker was Textbook Sparks. That was all my fault. I was one of those overachievers in high school. One morning, after pulling an all-nighter on an assignment, I got distracted as I was writing my name on a worksheet (this is because I'm blonde). When I turned in that worksheet, my teacher laughed and shared her amusement with the class. Instead of writing my first name, I wrote "Textbook." Someone must have said "textbook" at the very moment I was filling out that paper and in my exhaustion I wrote my name as Textbook Sparks. Yeah, I didn't live that one down.

Sparkium is different. That's a name I gave myself. Again, overachiever, so I took chemistry before it was typically required. We were assigned this big group project that called for us to create our own element, name it, and other hoopla I don't remember. I of course got stuck with the senior stoners who didn't give a caca and just wanted to pass the class so they could graduate. I did everything. When it came time to name the element, I named it TaraSparkium or TS because again I did everything and felt as though I deserved an element named after me. Well my friends got a kick out of the name and it stuck. I was forever known as sparkium. It was a natural choice as far as screen names go.

So does your screen name have an interesting tale lurking in those letters? It's always fun to find out what exactly is in a screen name.

Milestones

A man in Kentucky reached a criminal milestone... his 1000th arrest! I wonder if he wins a prize? He should at least get balloons. They should come flooding down into the courtroom, along with confetti. Then the judge can tell him what he's won: an all expense paid trip to the county lockup! Woohoo!

Your World Is Ending and You Feel Fine

Life got you down? Feel like the walls are crumbling upon you? Convinced the one thing (or person) you need is outta reach? The Get Over It Foundation feels your pain and would like to offer some simple suggestions to feel "fine" when the world's got you down. These tools are certified organic and free of preservatives. Use as much and often as you like. Ignore the rules of moderation. Do not consult your therapist before use. That fraud has already stolen enough of your money. Take back your lives! Give in to the compulsions.

So here it is. A few suggestions, in no particular order, for coping with the crap that life sometimes serves you on a platter.

1. Hate your job?

It's a horrible feeling to be paid peanuts and treated like a child by those who are inferior to you yet somehow are your superior. Their ranking is most likely due to nepotism gone bad (reality show in development coming to a television near you soon). As retrubution for this gross maltreatment, we suggest you look for a new job while at work. Use their internet connection to search job boards. Use up their toner as you fax your resume to possible employers. And in the meantime, call in bomb threats to go home early. They have to pay you for the full day. A bomb threat is like an act of god and completely out of your control.

2. Didn't get the job that would lead you out of Egypt and into the Promised Land?

Make them realize what a horrible choice they made. Unleash the ten plagues upon them. With minor variations of course. Frogs aren't scary enough. Snakes and alligators chilling in their cubicles... Now that's horrifying. And yes a boil can be painful, but we think head-to-toe herpes packs the right amount of shame and pain. We're not into murder here at the Get Over It Foundation, so let's spare their first born sons. I mean they're already gonna need lots of therapy once they see their maimed (alligators don't play) herpe covered fathers. Who by the way, don't spend enough time with them because they're always at work. Shameful. No, we kill the first transaction of the day. Hit 'em where it hurts, in their chests. The chests that have dollar signs where hearts once resided. Weak dollar signs. Recession folks.

3. Convinced you're gonna kill that annoying coworker?

We know all too well that feeling that if we lived in a lawless society (or cartoon), we'd so strangle that pathetic excuse for a human being at the office. As stated before, we do not encourage homicide here at the Get Over It Foundation. We suggest a nice chat over a latte and a cranberry orange scone- your treat. Diplomatically mention the way s/he is constantly breathing down your neck regarding some irrelevant task that no one cares about and how that makes you feel. Listen to his/her response with an open mind and open heart. And don't forget to spike his/her latte with a powerful laxative so you can watch triumphantly as s/he does the "I crapped my pants run" to the nearest bathroom.

4. Period makes you crazy? Suggestions for our clients of the fairer sex.

Be mean to as many males as possible for no apparent reason. Especially strangers. If one opens the door for you, slam it in his face. They don't get to experience the joys of a bloody monthly reminder that they, yet again, did not add one more being to this already overpopulated world. If only their sperm self destructed after every failed ejaculation. Imagine thousands of little suicide bombers ready to martyr themselves for the greater good. Think of all the men who would be hand-less. We, at the Get Over It Foundation, feel as though that would be a fair reparation from god for centuries of unjust treatment both physically and socially. A call was made to his publicist. She issued a statement: "No comment."

4. Can't pay your bills?

Steal a dead person's identity and open a bunch of credit cards. Go hog wild. Pay off your debt. Treat yourself to a Mediterranean cruise. Have yourself a Pretty Woman moment. "Big mistake! Huge!" Do it all. What can they do? Sue him? He's dead. They're the idiots that gave a credit card to a dead man. What's a dead man gonna do with a credit card? We're pretty sure that the dead get unlimited frequent flyer miles and can go anywhere for free. Unlike some airlines, god doesn't suspend his frequent flyer program because of gas prices.

5. Have a low self-esteem?

Chant the phrase: "I believe the world should revolve around me." Eventually you'll start to believe it. The natural progression would then be for you to start acting like those who get everything they want without exerting any effort. That's how the universe works. It's in a book. They made a DVD outta it. It was on Oprah, people. It has to be true if it was on Oprah. "You get to take control of your life! And you get to take control of your life! Ev-ery body gets to take control of their lives!" Then we all jump on white designer sofas and there is peace in the world.

6. Hate your body?

Don't we all? Why do you think plastic surgeons make a crap load of money? Ever look at one of those freaks? Those doctors are hideous looking. You'd think they'd get a courtesy discount. "Um yeah, thanks for taking that lovely red marker and circling all my flaws, Frankenstein. But I think I'll just stick with what I got." So your bum is the size of two bowling balls. So your chest is as flat as the inside of a pizza box (kinda greasy too). So what if you curse your midsection from dusk till dawn. So what if you're going bald. When you get to a certain age you're just gonna be happy that you're breathing. Do you know how much harder it's gonna be to breathe with a chest full of saline? Maybe that's why porn stars die young? God does have a plan... Learn the lesson of loving yourself. If you don't like yourself, chances are you're still not gonna like yourself after the sutures are removed and the swelling goes down.

7. S/he just doesn't like you?

That person is more than likely a homicidal maniac who will be going on a killing spree in T minus six months. When you read about how s/he kept his/her victims fresh in barrels full of formaldehyde, obviously in the many abandoned warehouses s/he called home around the country, you're gonna be thrilled that s/he just wasn't that in to you. Remember, it's never you. It's him/her.

8. Can't convince yourself to leave a troubled relationship?

You're screwed. You're on the merry-go-round. And you're gonna be on that ride until you've lost your equilibrium and thrown up a belly full of cotton candy. Enjoy the ride. When it's time, you'll get tossed off.

9. Go into a catatonic state after you watch the world news?

Yeah, yeah, the world's going to hell in a hand basket. We know this. Just turn to some reality show with absolutely no substantial value. To truly make you forget about the world's descent into Satan's magical lair, the show must be full of social rejects trying to prove their self worth by competing for a thousand dollars (or some has been's love) in an all-you-can-eat goat testicle contest. Then think about how one of those "stars" will get a development deal for their own show and make tons of money. Then you will truly understand how unfair this world is. Again, we here at the Get Over It Foundation do not condone murder. In the case of a reality tv "star" with a tainted soul, no brain, and fake body parts... Yeah we may turn a blind eye. Maybe. Probably. Definitely.

There you go. Happy coping.

Question of the Day

What is the Worst Pick-up Line?

"Do you know how much a polar bear weighs? Enough to break the ice!"

That was the worst pick-up line used on me, obviously in a bar. I'm happy to report that it did not work. How 'bout you? What's the worst line you've used or heard? Come by and share the best of the worst lines used to "break the ice."

Reading Minds

When I was a little girl, I desperately wanted people to walk around with tiny TV screens built into their foreheads broadcasting their thoughts. Even at a young age, I wanted to cut past all the games and get right to it. Either you like me or you don't. Done. Simple. I hate pretending and hiding. Most of all, I despise lying and liars.

Well my childhood dream never came true. Here I am in my mid twenties still wondering what people think of me and now dreaming that I didn't care. For the past few months I've pined over someone who wants nothing to do with me. Maybe pined is too strong of a sentiment. Really really really liked. And there's been a ton of cyber stalking involved, which doesn't help matters. Those sites really need a 12-step program.

In the end, we're probably not compatible. I've even made a rough list of his flaws. You know minor things like he doesn't have blue eyes and I obviously love blue eyes. Or his tendency to be a melodramatic jerk. Or the tiny bald spot I noticed on the crown of his head. Or the obvious fact that he doesn't return my feelings. But, really I never asked. I hinted, a lot, but never came out and said anything. When he didn't pick up those hints I chalked that up to me not being his type or not having thin enough thighs. You know, when in doubt, self-deprecate.

Often I wish I had the audacity of one of my heroes, my aunt Terri. Yeah she's a bitch, but the lovable kind. She's straightforward and she doesn't take anything from anyone. She says what's on her mind and never minces words. Yet, it's never malicious. She just is. Unfortunately, I didn't inherit her audacity. So I'm stuck wishing I could read minds. Or at least turn on the power button, flip through the channels, and see what's on. I might love the show. I might hate the show. But at least I would know.