An Offer You Can't Refuse

My brother-in-law and his wife, who seem to feel it is their personal mission to add to the already over-populated earth, just had a new baby girl at the beginning of March. They need to go ask the 15 year old at Rite Aid for some rubbers. She is adorable and quiet, the latter of which sets her far apart from their other two toddlers, whom Mr. Pitsberger and I like to call Pebbles and Bam-Bam. I am hoping the new baby turns out more like their teenaged son, who disappears to his room for hours at a time during family functions. I'm not nice, I know it. But you try having an adult conversation in the midst of two swirling cyclones. Good effing luck.
So anyway, I was surrounded by screaming children on Saturday because my BIL and SIL asked me to be the godmother of their new baby. Which is awesome. Brutal honesty, I was touched and honored that they would think of me. In fact, when I got the email, I even cried at work, which is something I do way more often than I should. Way more often.
I had no idea what I was supposed to do. One of Mr. Pitsberger's co-workers suggested I fill my cheeks with cotton balls and say things like, "What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrepectfully?" I was afraid I would have to dress up in glittery wings and wave a wand around, but then I realized that's a fairy godmother.

Turns out, all I had to do was go to the baptism and say "I do" and "I am" and "I will" a whole bunch of times. It kind of reminded me of my wedding. Minus the baby in my arms, of course. I'm white trash, but not that white trash.
Mr. Pitsberger and I were standing in the foyer just after mass, waiting for the church to clear out. As my husband and I waited, Boo Radley's brother in a suit and tie,
comb-over flying all over the place(and we're inside, mind you), walked over and started chatting me up.
"Ah you hair for da baptism?"
"Yes."
"Who get-ting baptized?"
"Mrs. Pitsberger's brother-in-law and wife's baby."
"Oh. You muss be the wife's sister."
"I'm her sister-in-law."
"Oh." At this point he indicates my stomach, which admittedly is not flat as a board but certainly doesn't look like a smuggled basketball and says "And yer havin' one too, right?"
The appalled/enraged look on my face must have told him what a mistake he'd made because he immediately retracted his statement and started stammering that he hadn't meant it like that. And then he ran away. Which is pretty much what I felt like doing.

Side note/fun fact: I've only seen "To Kill a Mockingbird" a few times (they don't make movies like that anymore, I highly recommend it) but I never realized until I searched for that picture that Boo Radley is Robert Duval. That's what I get for fast-forwarding credits.

Phew!!!

*Sigh* He's so dreamy.
(Yes, I have my chin in my hand.)


I know you're all dying for an update. I will NOT be quitting Clive cold turkey or at all, in fact. Do they make a Clive patch or "Clive Away" pills? Anyway, "Children of Men" was not nearly as sucktastic as "Shoot 'Em Up." I am not going to offer a review, because there was really nothing to snark on. It was just okay. A bit hard to follow mostly due to the accents, but watchable if you're like me and Clive = porno. And who doesn't like that equation?

Wow...that sucked

My husband and I recently signed up for Netflix. We were members a long time ago, but we found we didn't have the time or the inclination to watch the movies. On top of which, we have absolutely nothing in common, and "nothing" includes movie preferences. Sometimes I get bummed about it, but mostly I can deal with it, due to the amazing sex that comes along with being married to Mr. Pitsberger. But I digress. Anyway, a couple months ago, when we bought our house we made the decision to not get any kind of pay TV. I know, we're freaks, right? You should see some of the looks I get when I tell people I don't have cable. It's the same sort of look you'd get if you told someone you had three nipples or eleven toes. Or that you like to eat babies for breakfast. Obviously, I still have an internet connection and we frequent Half-Price Books, so I was surprised to realize earlier this week that I am happy with having no TV. But there are times when I just want to vegetate in front of the boob tube, so we signed up for Netflix. We watched the first movie in our queue, Shoot 'Em Up last night. Well, I watched it. He lasted about five minutes before he'd had enough and went to hit the online poker tables. I, on the other hand, sat through the entire movie. I have this curse, you see. If I start watching something, I have to see how it ends. I actually sat through "Deal or No Deal" last week, I've sat through countless Lifetime and Cinemax movies, I even watched "Gigli" when I caught it in the middle on HBO. Why? Because I had to. I HAD to know how it ended. It's a disease. I call it Chronic Acute Nebbitosis. Thankfully not life-threatening, but annoying and sometimes painful just the same.
And it's lucky for you that I have this ailment because I can tell you that "Shoot 'Em Up" is the most horrible, craptastic piece of movie making crap I have ever seen in my life. Keep in mind I watched "Gigli." With Ben Affleck. And Jennifer Lopez. She played a les.bi.an. She can't even act like she likes her husband, let alone act like she likes girls. So, "Shoot 'Em Up" was almost unwatchable. The only salvation for this movie, and the only reason even with my acute nebbitosis that I sat through it, was Clive Owen. Not that it was so wonderfully acted, just that I got to look at him a whole bunch. I don't know which part was worse: the absurd premise (gun control-endorsing terminally ill Senator harvesting babies of his own making for bone marrow vs. gun manufacturer and henchmen trying to kill one of said babies which indirectly would kill the Senator), or the ridiculous dialogue ("Tell me a story." "Maybe later, when I put you to sleep,") or the fact that I saw two, yes two(!) people get killed with carrots!!! Carrots!!! Could there be anything more ridiculous? Among other unbelievably stupid scenes/plot elements: a gunfight during a sky dive, a lactating hooker and bullets fired by being placed between fingers and held in front of a fireplace. Also, if I had a nickel for every shot fired in this movie, I'd be buying a Benz right now.
Yeah. So do yourself a favor and skip this one. If you're like me and you absolutely MUST look at Clive, and desperately need to hear that sexy, husky-voiced British accent (please excuse me for a moment, I'm getting women woodies just thinking about it...ok, I'm better) I suggest "Closer," "Sin City" or "King Arthur."
In summation, I give "Shoot 'Em Up" a half star. Clive sure is hot though. He should never be allowed to wear clothes. I'm starting a petition.