There I was, happily watching Sex and the City until I accidentally sat on the fated remote and stumbled upon an Alanis Morissette concert that daddy absolutely had to watch. Curses upon that woman and her homeland! Dirty Canadians...

Oh well, such is life. I can't get too attached to that show anyway, cable TV has never flowed through the house of my mother and I doubt it ever will.

You know, I've never understood the appeal many find in a concert. Yes, there is a certain degree of excitement that can't be achieved at home like it can in a noisy, dirty stadium where you sit 2 and a half miles away from the performance, but watching one on the TV makes no sense whatsoever. What deranged individual chooses to watch an angry Canadian hop around on a small stage belting song after song after song? What pointless charade has invaded my evening and prevented my entertainment? What poppycock!

We went to the Kenton County fair today and I'm afraid that I'm still a wee bit nauseous. The rides were fun, but the whole up-and-down and side-to-side feeling was only fun at the fare, and any enjoyment of the motion fled after I realized it wouldn't go away when I was standing or driving in the car back home. Not too much fun, to be sure. And then, of course, I come home to realize that Dixie the Jack Russell has consumed half of my Jamba Juice chapstic and completely shredded the cap.

I'm mad at Dixie and I'm mad at stupid Alanis Morissette. I'm also mad at the stupid petting zoo employee who wouldn't let me hold a duck. What kind of petting zoo doesn't let you touch the freaking animals? How exasperating!