Duggar Themselves Into a Deep, Deep Hole

As a rule, I do not enjoy reality television any more than inmates enjoy cavity searches. I don't like watching alleged grown-ups fight for the title of Most Meaningless Asshole, and Winner Of $1 Million Which They Will Neglect To Pay Income Tax On So They Can Go On Oprah Later And Whine About Their Issues. (WOOMDWTWNTPITOSTCGOOLWATI for short, or as seen in Swedish)

I make an exception, when LB isn't looking, for shows involving babies, because I love babies when they belong to someone else and can't get their goo-goo and what-not on me. I also will sometimes lower my expectations and gag reflex, and watch shows that make me feel surprisingly normal by comparison. This is cheaper than paying to ride the city bus, which is usually the only way I feel normal when compared to other humans. It's hard not to, when you're seated between Sammy the iPod Sing-Along, and the woman who has either a lazy eye or active hepatitis.

Fortunately and for free, the Duggar Family provides both babies and squirrel-shit nuttiness on their TLC show, 18 Kids And Stop Inseminating Me Every Time I Turn Around, You Reckless One-Man Stud Shop. I don't normally spend my hard-earned free time taking fashion tips from the family that 18-handedly supports the Jean Jumper Industry, but last night I stumbled upon the Duggar Family Wedding Special and, train-wreck aficionado that I am, I handed over my eyeballs and dignity and settled in.

For those of you who missed the headlines in Bizarro Baptist Weekly, the Duggar's 20-year-old first-born Joshua married fellow Crazy In The Lord, 19-year-old Anna, in September. (Yeah, I'm behind--it's just how I roll.) This made news because train wrecks always do, and also because Josh and Anna decided to "court" instead of dating, which means their agitated, frustrated, sweaty outings to Applebee's to share Cheeseburger Sliders (but not that slippery; we're Christians!) were always supervised by some adult complaining about how his glass of Tang left a water ring on his bring-along Bible.

The weirdest part about courting is that Josh and Anna wanted their Chastity Charlie around at all times to prove that they did not kiss before their wedding. As Josh said, "We wanted proof that, yes, we did exactly what we said we would," showing the world that third graders in the back corner of the playground get more action. Well, I too have proof that I did what I said I would, mostly in the form of pictures slathered all over Facebook during college, evidencing the nights where I stayed true to my pledge to go shot-for-shot with my fratty friends, and to go home wearing at least half those used shots on my platform Candies'. (Shut up, it was the turn of the century!)

The whole day of the wedding, leading up to the Ceremonial First Kiss and Face-Mauling, poor Anna looked like a lamb being led to slaughter--probably because there was no glass of bubbly to take her mind off the fact that that night, she would be the placid victim of an extreme, but extremely short-lived, sexual monsoon. Yeah. No booze, 25 miniature squawking rednecks in short-sleeved formalwear, and at least twice that many references to the fact that Josh was about ready to nail the nearest mailbox if they didn't get this sideshow on the road, pronto. Oh, jitters!

They fiiiiiinally made it to the altar, once their 10 bridesmaids and 6 bottles of hair gel had oozed down the aisle, and they pledged to love, honor, and dress each other in poor taste so as to discourage others from looking, so long as they both should live. It was lovely and touching and when they fiiiiiiiinally went to kiss, Josh all but chowed her mouth and snapped her neck, much like I assume a kiss would go down in "Twilight," had I not been so frat-party drunk when I saw that stupid movie that I can't remember if they ever kissed or just stuck with skulking around the screen, being emo and husking, "whatever, Dad" for two horrid hours. That movie blew like a dry wedding.

Which brings me to my next point: This was a dry wedding, which I 100% believe should be illegal worldwide, so the party was basically a bake sale in the church gymnasium. Before the wedding one of the camera guys had been talking to Daddy Duggar about the party, and when the camera guy said, "So there's no alcohol?" Jim Bob Duggar (sadly, his real name) said, "Nope, no booze, no dancin', just havin' a great time!"

No alcohol? No dancing? And people are expected enjoy this? How now, church cow?

I guess I knew they didn't drink, but I had never really thought about the fact that a lot of whack jobs don't dance--I mean, clearly the mom can't dance, since it's impossible to get down with your bad self when you're constantly standing in a field giving birth. But no wedding conga line? No celebratory Macarena? I guess to be fair, I have to be real and admit that if there's no bar, there sure as hell will be no Macarena.

Watching all the Duggar merry-makers celebrate their newlyweds with pleated skirts and really bitchin' chicken salad rolls, I was reminded of my own raucous wedding reception, and I felt so blissfully normal in comparison. Because clearly you're normal if your wedding doesn't involve pleated skirts and sherbet punch, but does involve one of your aunts wandering into the garden, stripping off her "uncomfortable" panty hose, stripping off her "uncomfortable" underwear, and trying to get some of the other guests to "smoke weed" with her.

Hey man, it's all relative.

Twilight My Candle, Baby

Old goal for Friday night: Paint bedroom doors

New goal for Friday night: Drink a bottle of Pinot and then go watch "Twilight."

Right, srsly, am I the only one in the free world (and the prison one, too, from what I'm hearing) who was completely ignorant re: this whole Dracula-hottie craze till today? I vaguely remember hearing something about the books when they turned into a social force greater than Madonna's chesticles, and how they were inspiring mothers to have frank, real discussions with their teenage daughters about sex, but since I A) don't have teenage girls, and B) am pretty sure it would be considered odd if I started frank, real discussions about sex with random teenage girls, I moved along and forgot about it. THEN SUDDENLY BAM!!! The movie descended on the mortal world and I could no longer ignore it. I wish I could, because I try to steer clear of the emo-world at all costs, but much like the heroin-chic of the 90s, emo-chic is apparently where it's at.

In defense of the heroin chics, at least they shower.

Anyway, all I've gathered is that the movie is a hot-blooded fangsty romance centered around lusty glances and stolen kisses between an emo-girl and an emo-vampire, sprinkled generously with chalk dust and hair wax. Teen romances are always hilarious, and the hilarity can only multiply with the addition of -wait for it- FANGS. Really, people. High School Musical? Unintentionally hilarious. High School Musical with Zac Efron with fangs, as the world's first openly metrosexual vampire? I wouldn't even need wine to get through that one. Plus think of all the doors it would open for the *closeted* mextrosexual vamps. But I digress.

So far the best, and as far as I'm concerned, the most complete plot description ever that I've been able to find is this, from cleolinda.livejournal.com: “Yeah, it’s like, Bella wants to be a vampire but she doesn’t want to be a vampire before she’s had sex as a human, and Edward doesn’t want her to be a vampire but he wants to get married, but Bella doesn’t want to get married unless she can be a vampire, but Edward won’t have sex with her until they get married, and then you put the fox and the grain in the boat and you leave the goose back on the riverbank.” I really don't care what the plot is beyond that, although I know that by saying that, I open myself up to the emo-fans coming after me to slap me or Kill Me For Real.

What I really love is the reference to THE most effing awful mindfuck of a "brainteaser" (read: mindfuck) ever. Did you catch it? The part about the goose and the grain and the corn and the lass that loved a sailor. As I unfortunately recall from grade school AND law school prep, the real brainfart goes something like this (with minor editorialization): You have a goose, a fox, and a bag of grain on one side of the river. You have a lame, lame rowboat that can only hold you and one of the above-mentioned redneck travel accessories, and you have to get them all to the other side of the river. If you leave the goose with the grain and take the fox first, the goose will eat the grain. If you leave the fox with the goose, the goose will get sassy and the fox will eat it. How do you get them all across without one going all Neanderthal on another?

First off, let's be real. You're never going to get a date whether you get your amigos across the river or not, because no self-respecting chick dates a dude who drives a rowboat. But, given that you own both a fox AND a goose, your dating pool might look different than normal. So we'll spot you one for that. That's about as far as I ever got in solving this problem until today. This problem almost ATE MY SOUL until I figured out the answer. The real answer.

GEESE CAN SWIM, Y'ALL. Here's how you do it. You throw the fox in the boat and tell him that if he hits the goose one more time, you're turnin' this boat around. You put the grain in one of those vacuum-sealing bags that are so cool, just because they're cool (the ones that I maybe once tried to seal my hand into, just to see what it felt like). Then! You tie a rope to the goose, and make him pull your lame rowboat across as punishment for sassing the fox. BAM! Done! Problem solved, with enough time to go look for a date to bring home for dinner, when you cook the goose.

There. That problem may have stopped me from studying for the LSATs, but it's not stopping me from drinking a bottle of Pinot through a clear twisty straw, and going to make fun of randy albino fanged teenagers.