Quick Vlog

Are the cool kids still vlogging these days? Just wanted to try out my new webcam-thingy and show you my new haircut. It's been a long time since I posted a photo or video, so I didn't want you to start wondering if I was actually a 46-year-old guy from Michigan or something.

xoxo

It's 'bout time from Mermanda Mermanda on Vimeo.

And they said it couldn't be done... (no they didn't)

After posting about not being allowed to watch "The Bodyguard" as a kid, people started telling me that they wanted to know what I thought after building suspense for two decades. So, I did what anyone in my position would do. I live tweeted it. Yes, I live tweeted my watching of a nearly 20-year-old movie. And guess what? I didn't lose a single follower, miraculously. Some even claimed to enjoy it. My initial thoughts are: Wow, how did they get her in that metal bodysuit? No nudity? No awkward sex scenes? Why was I not allowed to watch this as a kid? I heard worse language from my parents' mouths when someone lost their favorite pen... (sorry, Dad.) I don't want to include any spoilers for anyone who is waiting 30 years to watch it for the first time, so I'll just say, "OMG! I can't believe her (noun) (verb, past tense) a (noun)!!! I didn't see that coming! If you want to know more about what I thought of the movie, check out my tweetacular commentary. So, what's next? Maybe "The Sound of Music"? "My Cousin Vinny"? (Shout out, Lauren! I never saw it.) Only time (and Twitter) will tell.

My 9-year-old self would be ashamed

My parents were pretty protective of me growing up. I was only allowed to ride my bike on the cul-de-sac behind our house and, of course, I always had to wear a helmet. (Once, my mom even made me and my sister wear helmets INSIDE. Tornado warning. The stress of being crammed into the basement powder room with our bike helmets must have really affected my sister. She totally tossed her cookies.) Every morning before school, my mom walked me to the bus stop (2 houses down the street) until I was old enough to realize that this was SO EMBARRASSING that I begged her to stop. So as a compromise, I walked to the bus stop like a big kid, alone, and my mom stuck her head out the door--watching to be sure that I got on the bus safely. Much better. Well into my teens, I still wasn't allowed to go to the mall without parental supervision. And R-rated movies? Uh uh. I don't remember ever being as upset about not being allowed to see an R-rated as I was about my parents sending me to bed while they watched "The Bodyguard" on HBO. Excuuuuuuse me. I might have only been nine-years-old, but I knew Whitney was a goddess. (Emphasis on was. Sorry, Whitney. I saw your reality show. Eek!) I had The Bodyguard soundtrack on cassette, which I blasted in my walkman that was bedecked in stick-on gem earrings. I pitched a fit. I cried. I stomped. It was SO! UNFAIR! I threw myself on my bed and cried the whole time my parents watched the movie in the other room. Or maybe I just cried until I thought they weren't listening to me cry anymore. At that point, I likely retreated to the Barbie Dream House (the one with the elevator) and took out my rage on Western Fun Barbie. Ugh, what an insufferable b*tch.
I want you and your damn horse out of my FACE! Anyhow. It just came to my attention that here I am, approaching my 28th birthday, and I STILL haven't seen the movie! Methinks it's about time that I serve my nine-year-old self some justice, Netflix-style. (It's streaming. My nine-year-old self is astounded with how far technology has come. Be kind, rewind.)