Ogres and Oh God’s

I swear to you all that if I have to watch Shrek one more frigging time, I am GOING TO GO INSANE. Really. Either that or I’m going to down an entire bottle of pills, slam a bottle of Jack, and hope there’s no ogres in the afterlife. I blame myself for creating this monster. I’m sick of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (because really, one can only watch Goofbot so many times before deliria sets in), can’t take any more Thomas the Tank Engine, or Straw-buh-buh-buh-buh-berry Shortcake so when I saw HBO was showing Shrek a few weeks ago, I grabbed the remote and set the DVR. I admit it was for slightly selfish reasons. I loved (or at least used to) the movie, in fact, I could quote large chunks of the dialogue on demand, and I wanted Nut to at least know the characters somewhat before I took her to see the new movie so I wouldn’t look like a creeper sitting in a children’s movie laughing by myself. Big mistake. Huge. We watch it over and over and over again. And then we watch it some more. Oh, and just when you think that’s the end of it? Yeah, we watch it again. Last week she colored her arms and legs with a green marker and proudly announced, “Mama! I Chuck (did I mention her pronunciation sounds a lot like Chuck?)!!” Photographic evidence is below:

Anytime I ask her what she wants for lunch, she responds, “'Donal’s Chuck Happy Meal!” This is what I get for a) getting her a Shrek Happy Meal after we saw the movie and b) asking a 2 year old what she wants to eat. We ran by McDonald’s one Sunday morning to get breakfast and to curb her cries, I wound up buying her a Shrek glass as they don’t make sausage burrito kids’ meals. Since she’s 2, she drinks out of a sippy cup 99% of the time, so the cup was kind of pointless (although it did shut her up). Seeing as how they wound up being recalled, that’s probably a good thing. Only guess who’s been chugging water out of the blasted thing all day long for about 3 weeks now? Yeah, that’d be me. Damn you, Shrek!

Today of all days, I get up, go to turn the TV on for my daily dose of the news (read as: a blissful 30 minutes of television that’s not animated), and…. nothing. I thought perhaps I hadn’t hit the power button before flopping onto the couch so I tried the remote. No such luck.  Oh God, are you kidding me?!?  I moaned at the ceiling. Because, you know, that’s my way of talking to God. Through the ceiling. What the hell was I going to do on a rainy day with TV and a cooped up toddler? Granted I know the entire movie by heart now, but somehow I don’t think my dramatic reenactment was going to cut it. I went and woke DH up and after his “expert” (cough, cough) three minute analysis, he diagnosed it as “fucked” and stormed off in a huff to Wal-Mart.  He came back with a brand new TV for the living room which seemed kind of a rash move, but whatever. He claimed the television in my bedroom was too heavy to move (I’ll give him that) and that “his” TV in the man cave was too big for us to haul up the stairs. That, my friends is a load of shit, since I’ve moved that thing by myself when I was 8 months pregnant and decided to rearrange while in a nesting frenzy. He just didn’t want to give up his big screen, he’s not fooling me. Either way, peace was restored in our household, because you know that in the 30 minutes he was gone, of course Nut woke up and immediately started demanding Chuck be turned on for her viewing pleasure. She got her wish. Twice actually because guess what? We’re halfway through it again. Sigh. I think it’s only appropriate I end this with a Shrek quote, don’t you?

“I’m a donkey on the edge!!!”