There are few things that can drive me to want to stab people in the neck.  Those that sit there after the light has turned green.  Overly tan Oompa-Loompa/raccoon hybrids.  Anyone associated with the Fox News network.  But there is a special black corner in my heart for infuriating commercials.  Not annoying commercials.  Not repetitive commercials.  Not commercials for bad products.  No, these are the commercials that make me personally angry and scream at the tv with venom in my voice.  These are the commercials that I have vowed never to purchase the products they’re selling, lest someone think that their commercial was successful.

These are the commercials I hate.

Lowes “First Time Home Buyers”

An adorable young couple has just purchased their first home, but it seems as if they’re having some troubles!  Their basement becomes flooded with three feet of water, the weight of an anorexic girl is enough to break through their wood flooring, the green paint they chose is “really green,” and their dryer appears to be having seizures.  Each one of these troubles is followed by a desperate phone call to their parents, who apparently are of no help.  Luckily, their friendly neighborhood Lowes sales associate is there to help them fix all their troubles!

Why I Hate It: Okay, clearly these two crazy kids are mentally retarded, because not only did they buy a totally decrepit house without a) noticing that it’s falling apart or b) getting a damn home inspection so someone else can tell them they bought a piece of shit.  So first off, I would not be calling home every five minutes, because I’d be too embarrassed to admit that I paid money for that piece of shit.  Second of all, were I old enough to be married and own a house, one would think that I would be old enough to make at least a rudimentary attempt to fix my dryer or re-paint my bedroom instead of crying home to mommy and daddy.  But they don’t.  No, they let a fucking Lowe’s sales associate tell them how to fix everything.  Now, I don’t want to insult the fine Lowe’s sales associates out there; I’m sure they’re all quite qualified.  But if you are so stupid that you can’t figure out how to fix the fucking bedroom that you painted fucking green and you have to go ask a fucking Lowe’s sales associate how to fucking fix it, then you are too stupid to live.  Go throw yourself off the piece of shit roof of your piece of shit house.

Burger King’s “Team Edward vs Team Jacob”

Burger King is having another one of those stupid peel-off contests, and in this one, you have to choose between Team Gay Sparkly Douchebag and Team I Can’t Wear a Shirt to Save My Damn Life.  So in order to help people decide which team to pick, they brought in a legion of mindless twats to tell grown men which imaginary man they should prefer.

Why I Hate It: I don’t think I’m alone when I say that I am so fucking sick of Twilight.  In all its forms.  I’m sick of the books, I’m sick of the movies, I’m sick of vampires in general.  But this…this display of female retardation…it makes me embarrassed to be a woman.  That this discussion warrants even a few seconds of a young woman’s time…it just makes me want to stab every one of their little twat faces.

Any and All Red Robin Commercials

There’s several different versions, but the general idea is that someone calls out the first half of the Red Robin jingle, (usually in an attempt to make someone speak who otherwise doesn’t want to,) and the other person feels compelled to return with the second half of the jingle.  Think Roger Rabbit’s “shave and a haircut.”

Why I Hate It: Who do you think you are, Red Robin?  You think your jingle is soooo fucking universal that a person can’t help but respond to it?  You’re not Oscar Mayer or Folger’s Coffee or Klondike Bars!  You’re a Fuddrucker’s wannabe who thinks that bottomless french fries makes up for crappy burgers.  Wrong.  You have a half-assed jingle and an lame-ass concept for a commercial.  And the sooner you can come to terms with that, the sooner we can all move on and stop having to listening to that fucking jingle.

Yoplait Light’s Raspberry Cheesecake

Okay, I couldn’t find a video of this one.  A woman stands in front of an open fridge, which holds a delectable looking raspberry cheesecake, while she goes over all the ways in which she can justify having a piece.  While she’s standing there, agonizing over whether or not she can have a piece, her friend reaches over her shoulder, says, “Mmm, raspberry cheesecake!” and grabs a carton of raspberry cheesecake flavored Yoplait Light.  There’s more to it, but I don’t remember.  Some gibberish about why Yoplait Light is so fucking great.

Why I Hate It: Don’t get me wrong, I like yogurt, and Yoplait has some good flavors.  But they seem very, very confused about one concept.  You see, they seem to think that eating raspberry cheesecake flavored light yogurt tastes the same, and is just as satisfying as eating a slice of raspberry cheesecake.  This is wrong.  Raspberry cheesecake flavored yogurt is not even remotely the same as raspberry cheesecake.  It will never be the same.  A bunch of chemically created flavorings added to soupy yogurt will never taste as delicious as sweet, rich, creamy cheesecake, topped with tart raspberries, and to insinuate otherwise is not only an insult to my intelligence, but the entire art of food.

Chase Sapphire’s “Dress”

Wife walks into the living room, where husband sits reading the paper, wearing a stunning (and most likely expensive) dress.  She strikes a pose and askes, “What do you think?”  Husband smiles, stands up, and proposes that they use their Chase Sapphire points to take a weekend getaway.  Wife says they can’t.  Husband says, “Of course we can,” and launches into a list of reasons why Chase Sapphire makes it possible to do so, accompanied by a bad montage of all the things they could be doing on said vacation.  The wife repeats that they can’t use the points for a vacation.  Husband says that you can use the points for anything.  Wife takes a step back and says, “I know,” indicating that she used the Chase Sapphire points to buy her dress.  Husband cracks a huge grin that seems to say, “Oh, you!  What a scamp!  I love you!”

Why I Hate It:  I don’t actually have a problem with this commercial until the end.  You see, Chase clearly forgot the last 10 seconds of the commercial, because here’s how that scene would have gone in real life: Wife indicates that she used points to buy dress.  Husband smiles, and CRACK, backhands that bitch across the face.  Now, before you jump down my throat, I am not a general fan of spousal abuse.  But if Kyle found out I used what was essentially our vacation money to buy something for myself, you better believe that he’d kick my ass, and visa versa.  (Of course, Kyle would already be pissed about the fact that I bought what looks like a very expensive dress for seemingly no apparent reason, so the fact that I used vacation money to do so would just make him even more furious, but that’s a different story.)  And we’d deserve it.  That wife did something incredibly selfish, and no husband would just sit there and smile like he was proud of her.  That’s the type of action that starts the type of fights that in the best marriage ends with a huge fight, and in the worst ends in divorce.  Shit, they weren’t even my points and I’m pissed at that bitch.  She was stupid and selfish, and her husband is a stupid pussy for not getting pissed about it so I guess they deserve each other.

Honorable Mention: The Quizno’s “5-4-3 Singing Cat”

(I couldn’t find a video of this one either, but I feel like it’s for the best.  Just know that there’s a bunch of weird cat puppets with symbols singing in child-like voices.)

Why I Hate It: I can’t really say I hate it, but I can say those cats creep my right the fuck out.

Deep inside, I am totally a fat kid.

As a kid, as far back as I can remember, there was always candy hidden in several locations around my room.  I’ve been known to drink caramel sauce right out of the squeeze bottle like it was Gatorade.  And I will do things for soft cheese that shame my family.  I’m totally an emotional eater, and I find the process of both preparing and eating food to be both soothing and enjoyable.

Which is how one finds oneself a little on the pudgy side.

Not fat, mind you, just a little on the squishy side; enough that when getting out of the shower, I do that “glaze your eyes over when you pass by the mirror so you don’t actually have to look at your naked body,” thing.  And I’m tired of it.  So lately, I’ve been trying to take this whole “eating healthy” thing a little more seriously.  Baby steps.  Eating veggies with my dinner that haven’t been cooked in butter.  Laying off the beer.  Not continuing to eat after I’m full.  Watching my calorie count when we eat out. Not feeling entitled to a candy bar every time I successfully complete my grocery shopping.  Baby steps.

Those baby steps and others, combined with an hour of Wii Fit in the morning and 2-5 miles of walking in the evening, are actually working.  Albeit, veeeeery sloooowly, but that’s okay.  The point is, it’s getting easier and easier to resist the temptation to go nuts on junk food, because I’m starting to see the fruits of my labor.  Before, the combination of deprivation and a bad day might drive me to sit in front of the fridge and gorge myself on bologna and handfuls of shredded cheese.  But now, I’m strong enough to resist a lot of the crap, because I don’t want to undo all the hard work I’ve put in.

With one exception.  My kryptonite: free after-gig food.

After-gig food is a powerful weapon to begin with, because it plays on my emotional eating.  After-gig food is similar to fourth meal or drunk food, in that it is only eaten late at night and usually comes in the form of something fried or in a taco shell, and slathered in cheese.  What makes after-gig food different however, is the feeling that one is entitled to it because it comes after a long day.  It is eaten almost in defiance.  I’ve just finished packing a 24′ semi-truck at the end of a 16-hour day.  I spent most of those 16 hours working as a bitch for the most incompetent jackass ever to walk in my space, who’s lack of knowledge was directly proportional to his over-inflated ego, and who’s continuous mistakes forced me to spend the day literally running all over the theater.  I may have cried.  I am emotionally and physically exhausted, I smell like I’ve been sleeping in my gym clothes, and I NEED JUNK FOOD.  I deserve it, and it’s the only way that I could possibly justify the terribly shitty day I just finished.

But regular old gig-food is resistible.  Back when we were in Atlanta, every gig was immediately followed by a trip to Taco Bell.  (As were evenings at Dave and Buster’s, trips to the grocery store, successful days of work…)  But that came to a stop without too much effort, especially now that the Taco Bell is no longer right around the corner from our apartment.

It’s free after-gig food that I’m helpless to resist.

A wise old stagehand once gave me this advice: “Never turn down free food, because you never know when it’s the last time you’ll get to eat.”  Whether he meant that you may fall off a ladder and die so you might as well enjoy your food now, or you never know when you’ll find yourself without enough money to eat, I do no know, but the advice came with a piece of pizza, and I took them both.  On general principle, if there has been free food available, I would take it, especially if it was at work.  Free food is surprisingly prevalent at work; very often if there is catering left over after the talent has left, it’s offered up to the crew rather than be thrown away.  We’ll get thrown things like water, fruits and veggies, leftover hot meals, desserts, yogurt, juice, sandwiches, and everything in between, and we snap up everything that’s not nailed down.  Again, we feel that we deserve it; it’s almost by taking that hoagie we’ll be able to make up for the hard work, long day, and tiny piece of our soul that was eaten by the gig.

And it’s this food that I have the hardest time resisting.  Food, delicious food, that is literally sitting there for me to take, right when I’m my most emotionally vulnerable.  The perfect balm for my tattered ego in the form of little chocolate cheesecake squares, begging to be eaten.  Even the strongest resolve crumbles in the presence of free after-gig food, especially when it comes in the form of a delectable chocolate raspberry cake.

So what’s a girl to do?  Try to ignore the yummies that are up for grabs?  Go all Weight Watchers Food Nazi and throw it all away, saving myself but denying anyone else from having any of the yummies?  Or maybe, knowing that I’ve been working hard on my feet all day, give myself a break and allow myself to have a yummy or two?

I suppose it’s better than sitting on the floor, crying and stuffing brownies in my mouth.

(More dignified.)

As of late, I’ve taken to taking walks through the neighborhood.  It’s one part hoping to loose those last couple stubborn pounds, one part attempting to get just enough sun so’s not to appear dead, and one part enjoying the interaction with society.  And I’ve found a good route.  It’s 1.6 miles, approximately 4,000 steps, and it takes about 45 minutes to walk by myself, longer if I’m with Kyle.  (He has short legs.)  It runs through what for me is the essence of this town, and many of the things I love about it.  And today, you’re all going to come with me.  These are some of the interesting and amusing things that I see everyday on my walk, exactly as I walk it everyday.  (All pictures were taken with the camera on my HTC Incredible.  I know, it’s that fucking incredible.)

So this is where my walks start, at my front door.

Walks usually take place in early evening, around 6 or 7.  (Pending rain, extreme heat, or a Scrubs marathon.)

This is the exact spot that as Kyle and I were walking to the 4th of July fireworks last week, a creepy guy tried to sell us glow sticks.

What made it creepy?  Might have been the fact that he waited until we’d passed him to ask.  Might have been the fact that he had a little smile on his face.  Might have been the fact that he asked, “Wanna glow stick?” in the same voice that one asks, “Want some heroin?”  or “Wanna buy a Mexican baby?”  I don’t know, I can’t quite put my finger on it.

This shopping cart used to be precariously hung atop a street sign.

Now it’s in someone’s yard.  I’m not saying the same person put it up and took it down, but I do believe that the inspiration and courage came from the same place.

Either a band practices in this house, or a single guy plays the drums along with his CDs, because there is always very loud rock and roll music coming from this house, heavy on the drums.

(Either way, they’re not very good.)

This is the street sign the shopping cart was hanging on.

It’s actually a pretty busy intersection.

I wish this picture had been taken at night, because then the blue neon really shines.  For those of you who can’t tell, that’s a law office.

That was apparently decorated by strippers.  I think the neon means they’re classy.

I love, love, love, this building.

It makes me wish our building had a fire escape.  And a ballet studio on the first floor.  (You know what, scratch that last bit, I know what dancer stank smells like.)

This is the local chain of grocery stores here in Saratoga.  This particular location is known as The Ghetto Chop.

That’s because if you come back in 7 hours, you’ll also be able to purchase reasonably priced crack in addition to groceries.  It’s a one-stop shop!

Okay, these signs?

Are everywhere.  All hand-painted on cardboard.  I don’t know what hosting a student from Spain entails, but I have a sneaking suspicion it requires rubber gloves and my bank account number.

This fountain makes me so sad.

They went through all the trouble to build this fountain, it’s flanked by lovely red and white geraniums, and…that’s it?  That piddly little squirt?  Poor, sad little fountain.

Saratoga, like many cities, does the “painted animal statue” thing all over town.  Sort of like Decatur’s cows, or Pittsburgh’s t-rexes.  (Yeah, I didn’t think Pittsburgh was much of a t-rex town either.)

They’re all painted by local artists, which is kind-of cool.  But they’re really hard to climb on when you’re drunk, which is not cool.

One of the best places for drunk food ever!

Luckily, they open at 4am.  Which is conveniently the same hour the bars close.

If we leave Saratoga fat and broke, it will be the sole responsibility of this specialty food store.

When things get hot and heavy with the husband, I close my eyes and fantasize about a piece of their chocolate cake dipped in their seafood bisque.  Does it for me every time.

Caroline Street.

During the day, it’s a great collection of restaurants specializing in a variety of foods.  At night, (September through June,) it’s a row of great bars, perfect for relaxing over a pitcher with friends or chilling over a pint, with a fun club or two to keep things interesting.  At night, (July through August,) it’s a great place to count douche bags and hookers.

Uncommon Grounds, a fabulous coffee shop.  When we lived closer to downtown, we would often walk to the coffee shop for Italian Sodas.

However, if you want a shot at the crazy-comfy couches by the fire, get there early.  Every night at around 8:00, two gay guys come in, order tea, sit in the comfy chairs, and silently listen to their iPods while they knit.  They don’t talk, and for the life of me, I don’t know what they’re knitting, but they’re there every night, without fail.

Awesome huge Borders where I can browse books to buy on my Kindle and use the bathroom without having to buy anything.

(But don’t mention the Boarders around some of the older locals, they get real pissy about it…killing the small-town charm, and such.)

Best.  Frozen.  Yogurt.  Ever.

That is all.

(Seriously, though, we’re here at least twice a week.  Soooo fucking good!)

This is the very first restaurant Kyle and I ever ate at in Saratoga Springs.

We got into Saratoga at 9:00pm after driving all day.  (Okay, so technically the very first place we ate at was the Taco Bell, but this was the first good place we ate at.)  The next day, rather than tackle the 24′ truck full of crap, we explored downtown, and this is where we ate.  Right at that table on the right, by the sidewalk.  It was yummy, and walking around downtown made us excited about our new home.

Fancy pantsy hotel that I’ve never seen a single person go in or out of.

Personally, I think it’s just a facade to make downtown look fancier.

Domino’s that for the life of me, I have no idea how it stays open.

I mean, this town has a million family-owned New York-style pizza joints, many better prices than this chain.  With so much deliciousness around, who eats Domino’s?  I mean, really?  Domino’s?

This is our favorite of the Saratoga horses.

Sure, it would be better if those were all beer caps, but pop is neat, too.

Our old street, and our old house.

Sometimes, I like to flip the house off, in case one of the two angry bitches are watching, (and in general principle.)

This specialty food store makes absolutely killer subs with hand-crafted deli meats and homemade cheeses.

However, the first time Kyle and I went there the monkey scrotum behind the counter made fun of my stutter, so I found another sub shop that doesn’t make fun of the way I talk.  We only go to Roma if Kyle really begs, and then I make him say my order for me, because I’ll be damned if I give that greasy butt plug any ammunition.

If I’m talking to someone I like and they ask whereabout I live, I tell them that my street is right across from Pope’s, the Italian restaurant.

And if it’s someone who’s annoying, I ask them if they’re familiar with the location of the Planned Parenthood.

These are some of the pretty houses that are being built on our street.

Aren’t they fancy? Such neatly tended lawns.  And it looks like they sit next to a forest of some kind.  Maybe elves live there!

Okay, or maybe it’s just a lot overgrown with weeds.

I like it because it’s full of lovely wildflowers.  I think the neighbors like it because it acts as a buffer between their neat, modern properties and…

our house!  Which while it may not be “fancy” or “classy” or “up to code,” it’s home.  Which is a good place for someone who’s just walked a long way to take off her shoes, pet a kittie, and drink an ice tea.

Join me?