It is not a secret that I watch a lot of junk television.
I'm a sucker for those skill-oriented competition type programs. Pretty much anyone with a talent or a crazy skill fascinates me.
This is probably because I am quite mediocre at just about everything.
I never displayed a talent in anything except piano.
The most interesting thing I can do on a piano is play songs by ear, but mostly only in the easiest scale of "C" (the one doesn't require the use sharps or flats). All of my songs basically sound exactly the same; my piano skills are the equivalent of that 80's band The Smithereens.
Actually, even the non-competition shows are pretty intriguing to me, too. The Rachel Zoe Project has very few of these competitive elements, unless you count the drama between Taylor and Brad. (I strongly feel that Taylor needs to switch her meds. I have had experience with this type of thing and I can just tell.)
My DVR is full of shows I need to watch.
They build up because I try to watch them when the children are not around. I have a thing about not letting the kids, especially Miss M, watch junk television because I think it is a detriment to their IQs.
My IQ, however, is most likely a lost cause. No amount of documentaries or non-fiction books is going to change the fact that I failed math in high school and verily cheated my way through statistics in college.
"Turn Spongebob off, guys," I yell at the boys when I hear the screechy voices of Spongebob and Patrick "You're making the baby retarded! Turn on an educational show, or better yet, Vivaldi!"
Maggie listens to folk, classical and big band music during the day. She watches the occasional Yo Gabba Gabba (the one with Jack Black. "You Can't Always Get What You Want" is a brilliant song) and her "Your Baby Can Read" DVD's.
I'm determined that this one is going to be a prodigy.
She will start violin at age three (or as soon as she stops throwing things) and will be reading at 2.5. She just will; I feel it in my bones.
It might be shocking, but not all junk television is "junk." There are some very important lessons to be learned as I have discovered recently.
Case in point: I have just found the A&E program called "Hoarders."
If you EVER want to feel better about your current situation, watch "Hoarders." I kid you not; you will feel like a rock star.
My floors have not been mopped for a week, and there are dishes in my sink from dinner last night.
On the bright side, however, there isn't any dog
crap/vomit/urine on the floor that has been fermenting for six months and there are no mouse droppings anywhere to be seen. You will find nary a squash or pumpkin from last fall decaying in a corner, nor do I have milk that expired two months ago on the kitchen counter.
"Hoarders" makes me feel like a winner (score one for self-esteem), and causes me to get up off my couch-potato ass and clean (score two for motivation).
I watched one particular episode this past week about a couple whose children were taken away from them because their house was such a wreck. As the crew took shovels , yes SHOVELS, in the house to haul away the dirt and trash, rats scampered away to get out of the glare of the cameras.
I didn't even wait for the end of the show to get up and clean my sinks, toilets, bathtubs and showers. I pushed "pause" and scrubbed my little heart out.
Another epiphany I had this week was during "Flipping Out" with Jeff Lewis.
Jenni, Jeff's assistant, regularly takes on a persona of a woman named "Deb" when she makes phone calls. "Deb" is irrascible ~ a bitch ~ if you'd like. She is demanding, kick-ass and tells it how it is. Deb speaks in a low voice and plays rugby.
I think that I may create a "Deb." Perhaps maybe even not only for the phone .
My Deb could express her displeasure at Suntrust bank, Walmart, and the DMV. My Deb can be strong, decisive and not so worried about what people think of her.
My Deb can be more outspoken about her kids, herself and issues that affect her daily.
I think it's a brilliant plan and I am going to see how it pans out in the next week or so. Some people might call it a personality disorder, but perhaps this is just what I need. And I don't think I have to worry about psychiatrists down here in Florida since just getting into a regular doctor requires a wait of about two months .
I think "Deb" will claw her way to the front of the line and get an appointment with a doctor for next week. Maybe I should dare her to do such a thing. Perhaps "my" Deb plays rugby, too, and is familiar with clawing, pushing and tackling her way to the goal.
Those are moves that this "Mary" isn't quite so experienced with.