Top Ten: Andy Rooney-isms Part 3

I clicked the new button I added to my blog that offers up a random post. Out came a post I hadn't seen in some time -- a top ten of Andy Rooney-isms that I honestly hadn't thought about or read since 2011. That was kind of funny to me since I feel like I revisit most posts at some point a few times after they were written. Turns out that isn't always the case.

Andy Rooney, you ask? (At least, a youngster might be asking.)

The late, great television journalist Andy Rooney was the king of random observations. Things that mattered. Things that didn't matter. Things that irked him. Things that just sort of puzzled him. And all things in between. He built a career around it and shared these little Andy Rooney-isms in the closing remarks of 60 Minutes up until he was ninety-two years old. And that random post I came across was written right after I'd watched the clip from Mr. Rooney's very last segment which happened to take place not even four months before he passed away. And a couple of days before he passed, I wrote another post chock full of even more Andy Rooney-isms. Yeah, man. 

Anyways. The point is that I was a fan of ol' curmudgeonly Rooney and still am. In addition to his unruly eyebrows and how beautifully he perfected the "mean mug" (see above), I loved how masterfully he got us all thinking about a whole bunch of nothing. And you know? It was really something.

And so. Seeing as I could not possibly be feeling any more random than I do at this very moment, I figured I'd go all Andy Rooney on you today. In fact, I wrote a little top ten about it. Tonight I bring you:

THE TOP TEN ANDY ROONEY-ISM THOUGHTS OF MONUMENTAL UNIMPORTANCE THAT I AM THINKING ABOUT THAT ARE ABSOLUTELY GUARANTEED TO WASTE YOUR TIME ON THIS HOLIDAY WEEKEND

Like to hear it? Here it go!

#10  Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Manners.

Say what?

Okay. So since when have kids reached the point of total permission to speak freely to grown ups? Like, what the WHAT? 

So this kid was at my house for a playdate and it was time to have a bite to eat. So I go all June Cleaver on the kids and call them into the kitchen all sing-songy like and in they come running like the Wally, The Beave and Eddie Haskell. And, I'm saying, all I needed was some pearls on my neck and an apron and, okay, maybe a bouffant but otherwise I was "that mom." 

Mmmm hmmm.

So this kid comes to my kitchen table and inspects my snack situation. He then asks where my offering came from and commenced to tell me that I should have gotten what I had to offer from elsewhere seeing as it is the best in town. So, my June Cleaver quickly started morphing into Florence from The Jeffersons. So THEN--I kids-you-not--this child bites my snack and then spits it out like it is truly some dog food. 

"This is HORRIBLE," the kid announces while letting it ooze out of his mouth like some rabid animal's saliva. 

And now, I was totally Florence. Mixed with Willona from Good Times. "Excuse me?" I said. Hand, totally on my hip and back bone 100% prepared to slip. 

"I don't like this brand. It's kind of gross."

That. That is what this child said up in my house. And he said that like it was what it was and dude was staring me straight in my eyeballs like "What? What!" 

So me? I grabbed him by his shirt and threw him out on the front porch, locked the door and left him there until his mama arrived. Yep. I let that front door hit him where the dog should've bit him. Or better yet, as my Florence-Willona hybrid might say "where the good Lord split him." Either way, he had to go.

(Relax, people. I didn't do that, but I bet Florence-Willona would have. )

So what I want to know is. . .what is UP with that? Like, for real? And I feel okay telling about this because this isn't the first time I'd had a kid around me say or do some WHAT-THE-WHAT?! mess while dealing with a grown up like it wasn't nothing. 

What happened to the days of shutting your pie-hole? What happened to "'cause I said so, that's why!"  and "your mouth is about to write you a check that your behind is gonna have to cash!" 

My poor kids got the brunt of that. As soon as that child left, I hazed them for no less than one hour about how to behave as a guest and how to talk to adults. Wait. That would have been rude even if I wasn't an adult. But I'm saying. Florence-Willona would have thrown that snack at his head and told him to kick rocks and wash the dishes, too.

I kind of wish I had done that.

#9  "Cannonball!"

What is it about little kids and cannonballs in pools? Have you ever noticed how the more you desire to stay dry, the more of a cannonball-proximity-magnet you become at the pool? Today and yesterday at the pool, I kept, kept, KEPT moving away from the cannonball action and no matter how many times I moved, they found me and jumped in RIGHT beside me. My kids. Random kids. Middle schoolers. Hell, even a two year old who could barely talk jumped to her dad in the water whilst attempting to say "CANNA-BAW!"

Dude.

June Cleaver, Florence and Willona wouldn't be caught dead splashing in a pool. That's a joke, but seriously, I was not looking to get wet. Not because I'm a diva, but because I'm between relaxers so getting my hair super-soaked was not a part of my plan. No, 'twas not.

Yes. My hair. And if you think I'm being unreasonable, clearly you have either forgotten or not read The Hair Mane-ifesto which explains all of this in full, ridiculous detail. 

The only good part? You have three seconds to get out of the way because of the obligatory announcement every time it goes down.

"CANNONBALL!!!" 

wait for it. . . wait for it. . . .

Aaahhh damn!

#8  Two is better than one.

Any runners reading this? What the HECK is the deal with me being able to run like crazy when I have a friend with me but how every two seconds I want to WALK when I'm alone? Like, it's kind of bad. 

Thank goodness for my Grady BFF Lesley M. who gets me running further and longer than I ever knew I could. Because alone? I'm sort of a hot mess no matter how good my playlist is.

#7  Zesty Italian Man.

Is it considered a violation to my marriage to have a rather substantial crush on the man featured in these commercials?

What is the rule on TV/celebrity crushes? This is a lot stronger than my Justin Timberlake crush because I mostly like his dancing. I don't think Harry would approve of the thoughts I have when watching these commercials. Although I don't approve of his when watching Eva Longoria or "his girl" Jennifer Anniston.

Mmm hmmm.

Maybe since the dude isn't famous or well known. Maybe that's why I feel bad about it. Well "bad" is a strong word. I don't feel bad per se. Just really, really. . . errr. . .  happy when these commercials come on.  A little too happy even.

Like really. #don't judge

#6  Tweet and Re-Tweet.

Speaking of hashtags. OM-expletive-G. I just got on Twitter recently and talk about #overwhelming. 

Okay. So this is what the first day of Twitter is like: 

A gigantic flood of just. . . .stuff. People saying things, sharing things, doing things, commenting on things, and just. . . all kinds of stuff. I am probably just as underwater as that poor little car.

Why Twitter? Well. I admit that I have gotten a crap ton of news so far. Like up to the minute. And the main reason is because when I do media or writing or whatever, I get this look of disgust when asked my twitter handle and don't have one. 

My friend Nate G. says that it's worse, though, to have a Twitter account and not tweet. 

Well. I am a Twitter pre-schooler. It is not clear to me whether I should Tweet on all the things I think about or only professional things or what. See? I am thinking I'm too random for Twitter. My tweets will be all over the place if I say all on my mind. From cannonballs to cabernets to calcium channel blockers for hypertension. 

Um yeah.

#5  Unbe-weave-able.

I am perplexed by something. Why is it that every, single reality television series featuring African-American women based in Atlanta, Georgia seems to make it look like EVERY SISTER IN ATLANTA has a hair weave? 

Hold up.

I have nothing at all against a weave. Not one bit. But I'm just saying. The vast majority of my friends do not have weaves. And the ones that do, they don't have the ones that hang to the center of their back or ones that are bleached blonde. 

We also like each other and aren't fighting all the time. Imagine that.

#4  Gel Nail Polish.

Am I the only one wishing I had stock in whatever company originated this? Yes. The $20 to $30 manicure that lasts two weeks--or until you are ready to pay $20 - $30 to get another one. And it's not "fake nails" so all the natural girls feel good about saying that as they shell over more than the fake ones cost.  

Yes. It's kind of a racket, albeit a pretty one.

#3  Reality Bites.

I turned on my television a couple of weeks ago and saw Rudy Huxtable from the Cosby Show in a sequined bathing suit  and a full face of make up preparing to dive off of a platform. And I was all like, "What in the heck is Rudy Huxtable doing on a diving platform?" And then I watched longer only to learn that not only was Rudy on a platform, Louie Anderson was too. 

And all of it was just really, really weird. Especially the weird music they played to amp you up for the big moment.

All the while I'm just saying repeatedly, "What IS this? What the WHAT?!"

So yeah. Turns out that there is a reality TV show kind of like Dancing with the Stars where they teach people to . . .um. . .well. . .like dive. And like, I think Greg Louganis and somebody else that for real used to dive is on it and they judge these really uncomfortable looking pseudo-dives with all of the enthusiasm of that wacky lady on Dancing with the Stars. 

I think it's called "So you think you can dive." 

Okay. Maybe it's not called that, but I do not think Mr. Andy Rooney would have approved of this show. Or participated in it. (But he would have been tweeting about it.) #CUTITOUT

#2  Hangover 3.

The verdict is in. People are saying it's bad. Like, really, really bad. 

Now. Let's just be clear. I am usually happy to watch Mr. Bradley Cooper do just about anything. He is *almost* as hot as the Zesty Italian dude but even he isn't enough to make me pay my hard earned cash to see another one of those movies after the epic failure of The Hangover 2.

#CUTITOUT

(I'm getting the hang of this Twitter hashtag thing, aren't I?)

#1  (Size) 4 crying out loud!

Have you ever noticed how people in magazines or celebrities lose a few pounds and immediately allege that they now wear a SIZE FOUR? Even when they are a SIZE TWELVE.

Dude. I am not knocking anybody's weight loss. At all But why-oh-why must you stand in front of me in my People magazine and say to me that you are now a SIZE FOUR when you know  that I can SEE you. I have not been a true size four since college. And, okay, sure I can wear certain dresses in a four, but anything from the waist down? FOUR-ggeddaboudit. 

I am annoyed by this. This is similar to Beyonce on the hair dye commercial convincing women to go out and buy a drug store Loreal hair dye to bleach their locks when she knows good and well that that hair she is shaking was from another continent and then sewed to her pretty little head. 

Two words: Dead. Wrong.

So now just like somebody with kinky hair is a baldheaded in her dorm room with a $6 box of Feria hair color, somebody else is thinking that's what a four looks like and thinking that their very perfect eight is too big. Or their twelve. Or their whatever. 

Kelly Osbourne--girlfriend, you look good. But a size four? I don't care if it's US or UK--U tripping if you call this a 4. #CUTITOUT

Whelp. That's it for my nonsense. And follow my rare and very novice tweets on twitter @gradydoctor. #shameless #whatev

Weigh in, alright?

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Happy Sunday-almost-Monday.