Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Alas, Memory

Whoa. You know how sometimes you're sitting in front of the television, freed from spousal supervision, and find yourself aimlessly flipping around, unable to find anything compelling enough to catch your interest, and it certainly isn't going to be that little chippy Rachael Ray, and so you basically have only two choices: Cardio kickboxing on FitTV or Beverly Hills, 90210? Anyone?

Come on, don't lie!

I'll leave you to ascertain what I ended up with (but for the record, even I'm not a big enough hypocrite to lie on the couch making cellulite and WATCH 30 minutes of an exercise program). But for the record, good Christ, the BH90210 kids CANNOT act. Not at all. Not to save their wretched, multiple failed marriages-having, reality-or-Wiccan show slumming, crisped-out 80's hair-wearing lives. Seriously. Why didn't anyone tell my poor 17 year old self that so that she could have used those hours more productively--primping, or learning emo Tori Amos songs, or talking on the phone to boys with...crispy 80's hair?

Alas, the wasted detritus of youth.


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