According to ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY, “ABC has opted not to order additional episodes of EASTWICK, effectively canceling the freshman dramedy. The show, which has consistently ranked last in its Wednesday-10 pm timeslot, is expected to finish out its current 13-episode run. ABC, meanwhile, has ordered five additional episodes of THE FORGOTTEN.”

THE FORGOTTEN. 

Seriously? Who the fuck watches that piece of shit show?

I am so goddamn mad right now I could fucking spit nails.

And while I am on the subject of ABC, what the hell is with that clusterfuck FLASHFORWARD?

Yeah, I get it, ABC — you’re hoping for another water cooler hit like LOST but there’s only one problem: LOST has talented writers with a vision for their show. FLASHFORWARD…not so much.  Jesus, what the fuck was with that boring ass “Senate Intelligence Committee hearing/lesbian one-night-stand” episode a few weeks ago? That never-ending hour was the one that effectively killed any interest I had in this over-hyped shit fest.

And don’t get me started on V. 

I really wanted to like this, but then they had to go and hire Elizabeth “I never speak in anything but a breathy monotone and blink intermittently to allay any fears that I might’ve died or fallen asleep during filming” Mitchell as the lead. It took me three fucking times to watch the pilot because every time she came on, it was lights out for this faggot. Hand to God, no lie — just ask The Fella who kept poking me every few minutes the third time around. I can’t think of a less charismatic female lead (except for Anna Torv of FRINGE but that’s a whole other post…)

Huh? Whuzzat? Where am I? Just posting that pic put me in a mini-coma.

Oh well, at least I still have GOSSIP GIRL.

If you’ll excuse me now, I’ve called in sick and I’m going to go lay on the futon and watch the remaining EASTWICK episodes in the dvr.

I’m being sent back to the other branch for another day of training those in-breds so you’re getting a quick helping of random thoughts…

~ Am I the only one completely let down by that shitty finale to BATTLESTAR GALACTICA? What. The. Fuck. All that stupid goddamn opera house shit when we could have been having us some boozy, fucked up Saul and Ellen dynamics. Starbuck is a goddamn angel? That was some seriously stupid, lazy ass deus ex machina bullshit there. If she’s a fucking angel then that undercuts her heroic actions since she’s an agent of God and he’s got her back.Why bother will all the soul searching she went through for the last several weeks if she’s just gonna go *POOF*? Hera is Mitochondrial Eve? I thought she was the future of the human race? If they land on Earth and scatter their asses all over the planet and mate (with themselves as well as the fucking primitive people all ready there) why do they need that brat? And what was with that LITTLE HOUSE ON THE VELDT ending? I liked this show because it was so unrelentingly dark and depressing. If I wanted to watch happy shit, I’d flip over to TOTAL HOME MAKEOVER.

~ I took a GOSSIP GIRL quiz on Facebook and the results were simply delightful…

~ Okay, I’m all about hugging a tree and saving the environment and what-not, but this truly disturbs me. The thought of spilling that shit when you’re doing the dismount is enough to send me to therapy for years. Ack ack ack.

~ DOLLHOUSE. Dushku. Fridays at 8. Watch it.

~ I have had 3 monumentally unbelievable converstions with complete strangers at the grocery store this week. Look for transcripts in the near future.

~ Chelsea Handler — I love you.

~ Is it just me or is rimming really creepy and waaaaaaaaaaaaay nasty? Of course I am sure there are folks who find snowballing repulsive…

~Why was 2 AND 1/2 MEN renewed? And for 3 years? That show is as funny as cancer.

Gotta dash — have a great one everybody!

I’m out of the office training a newbie in another branch this week, so it’s another “this, that, and the other” post. My apologies…

~ I love me some LOST, but they totally need to get the cast out of this 1977 era bullshit as it seems to be putting dirty hippie Sawyer front and center. The only time that filthy pig needs to be front and center is when there is a firehose and bucket of soap.

~ I took a “What GOSSIP GIRL character are you?” quiz on Facebook and the results were most delightful:

~ What the fuck was up with that creepy fucking interpretation of “Ring of Fire” by Chris Lambert on AMERICAN IDOL Tuesday night? I thought for a minute I had been slipped a roofie, sold into white slavery, and was being raped by an Arabic trick but then I realized it was just the leftover mandarin chicken and the overblown theatrics repeating on me.

~ Speaking of AMERICAN IDOL, how awesome was Kelly Clarkson last week?

~ Chrissy’s comment on yesterday’s post (“Sounds like good gifts. But I truly wonder every time I read your blog now if you guys actually talk to each other. I mean, jeesh, what’s wrong with saying “hey what are we doing for anniversary?” Or “hey sucka, what are you getting me?” It seems like you always walk on eggshells and are just surface partners.”) got me thinking. And worrying. And obsessing. Oy.

~ I had my taxes done on Monday and it looks as though I owe the government about five grand  – nearly one third of what I sold it for! — thanks to selling some stock to pay off my car. What a fucking crock of shit.  Fuck the stock market. It’s amazing how a law abiding citizen with a job can take it up the ass without lube but folks who pump out kids they can’t support will get a fucking tax break and a goddamn stimulus check twice what I’ll see (and Link and free medical). 

~ Do you ever have days where you feel like masturbating every hour on the hour? Um, me either…

Have a great day, everybody!

I hate to sound like a total prick here, but you know what really pisses me off?

It really pisses me off when I sit down to watch the first new episode of GOSSIP GIRL in like for-fucking-ever and they break in with a stupid Amber Alert.

“Stupid” Amber Alert? I hear some of you saying.

Well — yeah. Seriously, what is the point of broadcasting an Amber Alert at 7pm during GG? Unless the child and their abductor are running through your living room, what are the odds you’re going to see them? Pretty small, methinks. Plus, even if you see the alert what are the odds you’re going to run out and look for said missing child? I don’t know about you, but if you’re me and an all new GOSSIP GIRL is on, I can pretty much assure you that those odds are slim to pretty fucking none.  Especially when Blair Waldorf is on the fucking warpath because her admission to Yale has been revoked and given to Nellie Yuki.

Seriously, run that shit in a ticker-tape on the bottom of my screen during the show if you must and then run the full black out screen and annoying beeps during commercials, but do not — I repeat DO NOT — interrupt any episode that features Serena van der Woodsen blindly pining after a gay man. (Please note that the “no interruptions” rule also applies to THE AMAZING RACE and LOST — pointless homosexual pining or not.)

And save the “you need to get your priorities straight, bitch” speeches — my points are valid and I stand by them. If a kid is missing, the best place to get the news out is on the radio where people in their cars might actually spot the aforementioned tot and on the news where nosey people who want to get involved in other folk’s business and heartache congregate.

You know I’m right.

Okay, so The Fella and I were sitting on the sofa at loggerheads:  he was all wanting to get down with the touchy-feely Dr. Phil crapola and I just wanted to watch the fucking movie we’d rented without discussing my shitty day and giving a lolli to my inner troubled child.

“Are you going to talk to me about what’s bothering you?”

I closed my eyes and exhaled.  “You know, Tristan — sometimes people just have a bad day and talking about it only serves to agitate them more.”

“And sometimes it helps.”

Okay, so here was the crux of the thing:  I could either just give in and do what he wanted (and thereby establish him as having the upper hand in all future discussions) or I could deal with it myself like I do everything else (and remain self-sufficient and secure in the knowledge that I don’t need anyone to help me handle my problems but piss him off in the process).  Obviously, I wasn’t going to win either way here so the question was did I want to let pride goeth before the fall (or beforeth The Fella walked out the door in this case) or just suck it up and let him win?

In the end, I figured I had so little pride left, what was my last remaining shred?  So I gave  him the “50 Words or Less” version and The Fella being The Fella, he asked a few more questions, digested what he’d heard, then went in the kitchen and sliced the pizza.   And Dirk being Dirk, I retreated further into myself because (1) I had given in to yet another person’s badgering and done something I hadn’t wanted to do, and (2) admitting I have a problem of any sort makes me feel weak and inferior and I hate the idea of appearing that way in anyone’s eyes.

We ate our pizza in silence, then plopped down on the sofa for a little DEATHRACE.  Irritated with myself for giving in and not really sure I had anything I wanted to tell him at that point, I immediately fell asleep the second cars started zooming around and trying to blow each other up or whatever it was they were trying to do.  Not that Tristan noticed (if it involves Jason Statham or a fireman — or ideally Jason Statham as a fireman – the entire world falls away).

Two hours later, both the video sedative and my nap ended just in time for Nancy Grace. For those of you who have never experienced it, The Nancy Grace Show has great healing powers.  I would not be surprised to hear that in addition to being the cure-all for stress and bouts of gay assholism it also reverses male pattern baldness and shrinks tumors.  It’s that good.

The Fella snagged a blanket and we curled up for the latest on “tot mom Casey Anthony” and the never ending search for justice for “lil Keh-lee” (Nancy can’t pronounce Kaylee for love nor money).  We giggled at perpetually frumpy, outside voiced Susan Moss, mocked callers’ repeated need to congratulate Nancy on the birth of her twins (despite the fact those kids are almost a year old), and spoke to one another in Nancy twang.  Quicker than you can say “shocking revelations tonight in the ongoing Casey Anthony murder case as parents George and Cindy are once again put under the spotlight and the remains of lil Keh-lee lie in a Florida funeral home…when. will. this. child. be. laid to rest?”, our disagreement was forgotten and we were united in our bitchery and shared love of all things Nancy.

“Wanna watch some GOSSIP GIRL?” Tristan asked when The Murderin’ Tot Mom Variety Hour was over.

“You turn down the bed, I’ll get the ice cream!”

We leapt to our feet, ready for action.

Five minutes later, we were cuddling under the covers watching the evil Georgina Sparks torture our beloved Serena van der Woodsen and eating Moosetracks ice cream.  (For the record, I truly believe the middle east crisis could be solved with a big furry blanket, a bowl of sweet frozen dairy goodness, and a liberal dose of Miss Blake Lively.)

As The Fella delighted to the machinations of Michelle Trachtenberg’s Georgina (and is there anyone out there thinking what I’m thinking — that Georgina will turn out to be Lily and Rufus’s long lost baby?), I was pondering the wisdom in going through with my plan to make my feelings known.

We were midway through episode 15 (“Desperately Seeking Serena”) when Tristan reached for the remote and paused the dvd. ”It’s midnight,” he said, leaning over and kissing me. ”Happy New Year…”

“Happy New Year.”

He put his arm around me and we snuggled deeper under the covers, dissing Chuck Bass’s hair-don’t and discussing whether or not Chace Crawford is cross eyed.

After 4 episodes, we were both beginning to yawn so we called it an evening.  The television was turned off, the lights were extinguished, and we curled up under the covers sharing our warmth.

As I lay there in the dark, my mind tried to find the right words and the proper inflection to not only communicate my feelings but more importantly not come off like a fucking needy, clingy ‘tard.

Tristan, I love you.

I love you, Tristan.

I love you.

It suddenly occurred to me that there really was no way to say it without sounding like a total pussy.  Once I came to that realization,  I was ready.

“Tristan?” I rasped, swallowing hard.

Oh, Serena van der Woodsen — what you do to this gay boy…

So The Fella wanted to hit a few Black Friday sales and being the sort of guy I am, I acquiesced with only a modicum of cajoling.  And also because I’m me, I documented the entire fucking nightmare for my readers’ own personal edification.  Feel free to thank me later…

First up, we have what is either a Peanuts collector’s dream come true or a huge fucking waste of money.  I’ll let you be the judge:

I’m going to vote for huge fucking waste of money.  I could cut a branch off a live tree and hang a dumb-ass red bulb on it for free.  Seriously — $12.99 for that?  And I don’t see the Little Mermaid or Serena van der Woodsen anywhere on the box.   Now $12.99 for this…

Let’s just say some bargains cannot be passed up.  (Oh shut up!  It was a fucking recreation of the cinema’s most romantic animated couple as toddlers – there was no way on Goddess’ green earth I was going to pass that up!)

Moving on.

That sad little piece of Charlie Brown shit seemed like a fucking bargain to end all bargains when I stumbled upon this monstrosity a few aisles later:

Now I’m sure there are some porcine admirers out there salivating over their keyboards at the mere thought of being able to display this god-awful monstrosity on their front lawn or on their hearth, but before you bacon fetish fucks grab your coats and dash out to your local marketplace, stop and ask ask yourself “how much would I pay for that travesty?” and if the answer is in the $70 range, then I feel sorry for you.

$69.99? Once again I have to ask myself where they came up with that ridulous amount when there is nary a sweet lil red-headed fish woman or a slutty private school debutante slash socialite featured anywhere on said product.  Unlike, say this suh-WEET item a certain gay blogger snagged for $6.99, once more making his Little Mermaid doll figure collection almost complete (my kingdom for a blasted ever elusive Jewel Prince Eric by Tyco doll figure!):

The Carrie Donovan sized sunglasses were worth $5.99 alone.

Now one of the dangers of shopping is the inevitable eye rape that can occur whilst in the presence of other shoppers.  The following pic cannot do justice to the forced aural copulation I suffered when I found myself behind this bargain hunter.

Although the photographic evidence fails to show it, the stripes being so close together coupled with the movement of the fabric created a truly hypnotic effect that left me more than a wee bit disoriented.  I’m not shitting you when I say that literally after 30 seconds behind that, up was down, beige was the new taupe, and Casey Anthony was a victim of circumstantial evidence. (Hmmmm, the baby killer’s lawyer’s might wanna looking into some seersucker suits in that pattern when the kid chloroforming cutie goes to trial…just sayin’.)

Tomorrow:  lunch, time out for a movie, and more incredibly lame (and savagely overpriced) shit!

What’s on my mind this Monday morning?  I’m glad you asked…

~ Beyonce as Wonder Woman.  Seriously, Warner Brothers — you fire Joss Whedon from the project and then entertain this idea? With that type of forward (i.e., retarded) thinking, may I suggest Stephen Hawking as Steve Trevor and Harvey Fierstein as Queen Hippolyta?  And of course, you’ll want to have Akiva Goldsman write and Joel Schumacher direct to make the trainwreck complete.

~ Stephen Rader brought my attention to the new WATCHMEN trailer. Sweet. Fetal. Jesus. This is going to rock.  And as always, if you haven’t read the graphic novel — what the fuck are you waiting for?

~ I’m sure it’s just me, but what is it about Barack Obama that has everyone spontaneously orgasming every time his name is mentioned?  I just don’t get it.  And might I suggest we let him get his presidential feet wet before we declare him the new Messiah?

~ Wanda Sykes is gay?  Why didn’t anyone send me the memo?

~ How awesome was the TOP CHEF season premiere?  I love, love, LOVE me some Tom Colicchio and Padma Lakshmi.  (And I’m mad crushin’ on contestant Danny.)

~ Since heterosexual marriage is so sacred, how about we pass a law making it illegal to get a divorce?  You know, to keep it sacred and prevent the institution from getting all sullied and such.

~ I hate that in-touch-with-his-inner-teenage-girl Terence and Sarah went home on last night’s AMAZING RACE.  I really wanted to see eyelidless Tina and whipping boy Ken take a powder.

~ Serena van der Woodsen.  Sorry — I just love saying that name.

~ How adorable is Tucker?

~ Limited edition Jello brand Classic Turtle pudding fucking rocks.

Well, that’s about it.  (Yeah, I know — I’m just all kinds of deep and shit.)

So, what’s on your minds today…?

I’m Nicky Bruschetta and these are the headlines at this hour:

~ TV SO GOOD I WANT TO EAT IT UP (OR RUB IT ALL OVER MY BODY AND HAVE A CERTAIN SOMEONE LICK IT OFF):  How awesome was last night’s GOSSIP GIRL?  From that MY FAIR LADY opening to more of the national Serena van der Woodsen love-in (“I heard Marc Jacobs named a purse after her”) it was awesomeness incarnate.  Not sure if I’ve mentioned it before, but I love this show.  And the previews for next week’s CRUEL INTENTIONS rip-off have me making happy in my boxer briefs already.

~ YOU WANT ME TO WEAR WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?…OKAY:  The Fella decided on Halloween costumes for us should we decide to dress up.  I’m not going to tip our hand just yet, but think fairy tale.  And then put the accent on “fairy.”  (And no, Trout — this does not involve drag in any form…)

~ YOU CAN’T TEACH AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS:  Mia called to tell me she’s decided to go back to college after 21 years. Her major?  Umm…undecided. But what she was sure about was correcting me when I suggested she might have to retake a few classes due to the gap in her educational career:  ”So what?  If you’re out of college for 21 years and in your profession, do they make you retake the fucking class again?  I don’t think.  I’m an American, I have to the right not to take things over.  Unless they’re oil producing countries.  You’re serious? You mean I really might have to take things over that I’ve already taken?  Wait! — I have an associate’s degree!  They can’t touch that.  They have to take the credits! I’m immune — they can’t touch me.”

~ THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME?:  The Fella and I are making some holiday plans (re: Christmas-y). Don’t make too much of it — I’m not.

~ WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT DOESN’T GROW ON TREES?:  I have spent an obscene amount on amazon.com in the last few weeks.  Think 9 big boxes at my door obscene.  

~ ANYONE EVER TOLD YOU THAT YOU”RE LIKE COLD WATER ON A HARD-ON?  REALLY? ‘ CAUSE YOU TOTALLY ARE:  Clint informed me yesterday that I would need to work this Saturday.  All day.  Which totally fucks up my plans with The Fella. Of course, the good news is that he didn’t pick next weekend which is a Nicky and The Fella Getaway Part Deux.

~ COMING SOON:  Watch this space tomorrow for not one, not two, but three — that’s right, count ‘em! Three! — big announcements.

~ AND FINALLY, BECAUSE I HATE TO BE QUESTIONED ABOUT THINGS LIKE ACCURACY:  No, MindyMoo — it is not a “collapsed” uterus — it really is a prolapsed uterus.  Think of a really big pendulous hemorrhoid…only swinging from your vagina instead of your ass.  Does that make any sense?  No? Hmmmmm…then just click here.

I’m Nicky Bruschetta and it’s news to me!

Saturday evening The Fella and I had dinner with his friend Kent.  Walking home, he explained to me how after a number of really awful dead-end relationships, Kent had dated a Canadian architecht named Brent. Brent had been everything any gay man (or straight woman) could ever dream of: smart, funny, gorgeous, employed.  Simply put, he was perfect in every way.

Then one day, Brent was asked to work on a really important project in New York and flew out to meet with the people involved. Brent explained to Kent that the job would be a huge career break for him and Kent, wanting the best for the man he’d been with for nearly 5 years, encouraged him to accept the position. And so Brent did. Kent drove him to the airport and they shared a tearful good-bye. What Kent didn’t know at the time was that it would be the last time he would ever see Brent.

Oh there wasn’t a plane crash or any nefarious foul play — it just seems that once Brent arrived in NYC, he never called, e-mailed, or made any effort to contact Kent again.  He talked with others.  Just not Kent.

“Kent was devastated,” The Fella said, “and so were the rest of us — we’d all thought Brent was the best guy EVER.”

Later that night, laying in bed and watching GOSSIP GIRL, I turned to The Fella. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything.”

“If you decide you don’t want to date anymore — just tell me, okay? Don’t pull a Brent and leave me hanging, wondering what our status is or if I’ve done something wrong, okay?”

“Okay.”  He thought for a moment. ”And you’ll do the same?”

“Yeah.”

A while later as Blair Waldorf was totally working the shit out of yet another headband, Chuck was comptemplating his next lay, and Serena was inducing more yawns by appearing on screen, The Fella turned to me.

“It’s never crossed my mind, you know…”

“What’s that?” I asked, my ears attuned to The Fella, my eyes trained on the television screen.

“Not wanting to date you.  ‘Cause I totally do.  Want to keep dating, I mean…”

I reached over and took his hand in mine.  “Me, too.”

And so with that settled, we snuggled under the covers and once more immersed ourselves in the decadent lifestyles of upper East side adolescent socialites.  Then we ate Triscuits and read comic books until 2 in the morning.

Funny, that last part didn’t seem nearly as geeky or pathetic at the time…