Oh. My. Shit.

I had a really good day that was defecated upon about an hour ago.

Here's how it went: woke up to miserable, freezing drizzle and the type of gray day that makes time indistinguishable and eyelids heavy. Despite the weather I popped up, made tea, started doing some reading for my classes. I ended up getting a lot of work done (always nice for a Monday morning), listened to a couple of new cd's, cleaned up, bundled up, and took my ass to class. The class is on producing for independent film and documentary television and our guest speakers today were Jake Vaughan and Bryan Poyser who wrote, directed, and produced Dear Pillow, a little, low-budget nugget of goodness (and naughtiness) currently on the film festival circuit seeking distribution. They talked to us about the haphazard way they went about getting the film made (which proved quite humorous) and they showed us some deleted scenes, which made me happy because they were kind of raunchy. My joy in being shown these extra scenes stems from the fact that after the initial screening of the film (last week) some fucking whiney, mamby-pamby, wet blanket complained about the graphic content of the film. Fucking boo-hoo. You're in film school moron. Take your shit and transfer to the advertising department where you belong. Anyway, knowing that the complainer was being subject to a little more graphic content filled me with sinister glee. Because I'm mean.

After class, I walked and talked and giggled with my friend Kristen (EASTSIDE!!). We voiced our thoughts and concerns about this semester, generally looked at by both of us with an air of restrained optimism. Said goodbye to Kristen and headed to the grocery store which at 5pm on a Monday was a total madhouse. Got through it rather unscathed until I get out to my car which is all of sudden sporting a totally flat tire. Bitchin'. Luckily, moments earlier I had spotted my roommate's car as I was making my way through the parking lot. I called her (how do people live without cell phones?) and she came over and chatted with me and lent moral support while I changed the tire. We cracked up about feeling a little slighted that no one stopped to offer us help (it was drizzling after all), but then concluded if someone had stopped we would probably have gotten defensive (can't two females be gathered around a flat tire without someone thinking they are helpless?!?!). Despite the pain-in-the-assedness of having a flat tire, it really didn't ruin my day, although it did get me thinking about the shit I put off that I should deal with already. I should have gotten new tires as soon as I got back from break. And come to think of it, I need to take my ass (er, head) to the damned dentist before shit starts breaking down in there, too. Still, though, at this point, my day is officially NOT RUINED.

Back at home I gossip with my roommate while she cooks dinner. After dinner I read a magazine while reality television plays in the background, a perfectly delightful end to a perfectly good day. At 10pm (central) I turn on the Daily Show. Halfway through the show, cut for a commercial break and what comes on seriously breaks my heart. It was a motherfucking, goddamned, assball, shit heaping commercial for fucking Pringles potato chips that have goddamned NASCAR questions and answers printed ON THE FUCKING POTATO CHIPS. Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. I had a small seizure on the couch and then sat baffled... BAFFLED... that we live in a country where it is someone's fucking job to come up with these sort of asinine marketing techniques so that the Pringles overlords can pat said person on the back and that fucking jerk-off American can drive home in his or her Dodge Stratus and sit satisfied whenever that stupid, fucking, idiotic NASCAR Pringles commercial comes on. Say it ain't so people. Potato chips with race car trivia written in MSG? Is this really an option that people need? Fucking fat Americans are rotten with choices about things that are useless to their lives and yet are somehow complacent as our actual rights are being whittled away. Having a billion potato chip flavors is really only the illusion of personal choice, you lard-drenched rednecks. NASCAR Pringles do not a democracy make. The absurdity exists not only in the fact that people are going to eat the motherfucking chips because they love NASCAR, but also in the fact that we are talking about a fucking huge mass of people that are going to gather around their greasy TV sets (chips in tow) or drive their bloated families from whatever red state they inhabit to Daytona to watch the shit and every goddamned one of them probably has a fucking American flag sticker prominently displayed on their F-350's. These are proud, ignorant Americans doing what they choose to do: eat fucking chips with shit written on them as cars race around a track while our country is at war over oil.

I, for one, am completely embarrassed.