Happy 100th Post, Sofalista!

Ladies and Gentlemen please join me in wishing Sofalista a happy 100... the old bitch. Yes, Sof’s has successfully avoided puberty, teenage pregnancy, and menopause at the ripe age of 100. Somebody get National Geographic on the phone; we have a medical marvel to feature topless on the next the cover (No worries… if Sofalista is anything like what I picture in my head, she has perky and ample breasts with the face of Megan Fox and the luscious locks of Russel Brand).

In honor of this momentous occasion, I’ve decided to take a look back on the better days of her youth. To do so, I give you a piece I’d like to call: “The Centennial.” In truth it’s just a look back on the top 10 best things about TV since Sof’s has come around… but that’s a pretty stale description for a celebration of centurion proportions.

10. Izzie peaces out: Not much more made me happier this season than saying goodbye to Katherine Heigl on Grey's Anatomy. I'm sure Seattle Grace Hospital didn't mind the decrease in second-hand-smoke either. I bet in real life Katherine smells like a cross between Amy Winehouse and a homeless person. But then again, if her personality had a smell, it would probably be crab cake vagina. While I'm sorry for Alex that his new bride high tailed it out of there without consummating the union, I'm sure he'll have no trouble finding a better doctor to take as a wife. You know... one whose most memorable surgery wasn't on a deer.

9. This word: Doppelganger: Over the past few months I've developed a pretty serious love affair with the cast of How I Met Your Mother. In fact, I would like to take them all (with their doppelgangers included) into my bed and engage in a giant, pirate-themed orgy ...I mean... not like I haven't scenario-ed that already or anything. But I especially love the show for giving me the word doppelganger. As a lover of the written word, it's only fitting that my television selections be reflective of my constantly growing vocabulary. Plus, before doppelganger, I used the word "bizarro" which for some odd reason reminds me of a fiery orange-head. Because I find that to be the highest form of offense, I'm really happy I've found a more intelligent solution with no connection to a fire crotch of any kind.

8. The life and times of Simon Cowell: This season marked an end to an era for America's highest rated program... Leave it to Lamas. Kidding. I'm of course referring to American Idol, and by "end of an era" I really mean I'm no longer watching with Simon absent from the judging table. Oh Simon--how I'll salivate for your cruel sarcasm and mutual hatred of Kara DioGuardi. Without you, how are we going to get her to shut her self indulgent, cavernous, pie hole?! They better replace you with Justin Timberlake or Jesus himself because if not, you can consider this viewer an ex.

7. Anything Travis Wall Choreographs: The closest thing to a television-induced orgasm I've ever had was watching Janine and Jason engage in what can only be described as artistic soft porn in the "heart dance" during SYTYCD's season 5. Luckily for us, Travis Wall continued to give us lady tickles all of season 6 (and now season 7) with routines that made us wish we were gay men (so that we could be Travis' lover, of course).

6. Snooki’s poof: While it disgusts me that a hair mass could garner so much attention (this of course stemming from my frighteningly hairy childhood), I couldn't help but be entranced by the "poof." Sure, I was probably more enthralled with the idea that people can actually survive with an IQ of -18, but I was captivated nonetheless. All in all, I'm highly anticipating the return of everyone's favorite GTL-ers, when the cast of the Jersey Shore hits Miami this upcoming season (...someone remind me why that's OK again?)

5. The threesome: Remember when Lizzie McGuire became a "real college girl" on GG by sleeping with boyfriend, Dan, and roommate, Vanessa, at the... wait for it... very same time. I'd love to meet anyone besides Hillary Duff who feels that their college experience wasn't complete until he or she menaged. And if I should ever meet one of those people, I would venture to guess the act in question would not have been with this person's roommate and significant other. Guess there's no need for a tube sock over the doorknob after that rendezvous. Talk about shitting where you eat. But in truth, this is why we love GG. Completely unrealistic plot lines mixed with steamy sex between beautiful people. Well done.

4. The presentation of Lily: The dawn of Modern Family this year was not only the crack rock that sitcom junkies like myself have been feigning for, but it was also the stimulus that led me to pee my pants for the first time since the 1st grade (Ah... I was so happy to learn that my prime days of elementary school were not far behind me). When Cameron, that big sparkly meatball, used the power of Elton John, Disney, and spot lighting to welcome Lily to the world, my heart smiled so big that it accidently swallowed my spleen.

3. This line: Dolphins are just gay sharks: Sometimes I sit up at night and try to remember a time before Glee. Was the world a little more gray? Did people know how to sing? I can only imagine that was the case. Who would have thought that a bunch highly attractive, mid-twenties divas would win over the hearts of America? Up until now, I thought that power could only be held by the "Can I Has Cheezburger?" kitty... or a really cute midget or something. For me, though, Brittany reins supreme. She represents all things I love in life: cheerleading, dance, the understanding of Lady GaGa, and other people's stupidity. Hearts!

2. When Kourt pulled her own baby out of her chocha: I think it's pretty safe to say that none of us will forget this image: a superhuman Kardashian sister reaching down into her underlings and pulling her own spawn out of her hoo-hah. Hm, I wonder what kind of vaginal reconstructive surgery that unimaginable feat required. Eh... they probably just threw it on Bruce and Kris' tab. You know... get 1,400 procedures and the next ones on the house. I just hope that Mason's underarms will not be permanently stained with with self tanner.

1. The answers… the ones we received and the ones we didn’t: Don't make me say it again... ugh, yes... LOST is over. While I'm still seeking therapy to help me with this loss, I can say with genuine gratitude that we've learned so much about the island this season. Most importantly, that it was real. It was, wasn't it!?! It was real! It really was!

Ahh yes, folks... the finest moments. Thanks for joining the ride. But before we say goodbye to this century of snarky television commentary, there are a few people in need of some thanks:

First, I'd like to thank my friends who dubbed this blog "Sofa-king-retarded.blogspot.com." Without their persistent teasing and cruelty, my critical and self effacing voice would not have been what it is today. Thank you... whores.

Secondly, I'd like to thank my superior teammates on the work force... Shelly, Shanaynay & Smam. These ladies have truly proven to be the backbone of the blog. Thanks for being my blogger gurus and principal water-cooler conversationalists. But now that you're all leaving me... yeah wait a second... never mind--I take it all back.

Third but no turd, I have to thank manfriend. Who despite whatever I may write about him in this blog, still laughs it off and loves me nonetheless. It's also because he probably doesn't read a single post... whore.

And lastly, I'd like to thank my momma... Sofalista's #1 fan. While she still doesn't understand that this is an actual blog site and not just some "email" that "pops up sometimes" in "that thing called her Google buzz," she still makes sure to make a big stink to her friends.... by forwarding my "pretty funny emails."

So happy 100th, Sofie... let's hope that without a summer of new prime programming you'll make it to 200 someday. LYLAS!

The Soundtrack to Our Lives

A few months ago I went to a Rolling Stone event where The Airborne Toxic Event put on a comped concert for the media poverty elite. I had lady tickles all over because the group sang my favorite song at the time, "Sometime After Midnight," which concequently was the only song I actually knew. Let me preface this story with this: To me, all musician types look the same; blindingly sexy and "unconventional." So when I thought I was bumming a cig off the lead singer of the main act I couldn't be blamed.

"Your songs are the soundtrack to my life," I told the 5'3 brunette Kate Gosselin head. He was so overly floored that I actually thought to myself, 'wow this loser doesn't deserve his band-status.' After that, he offered me his entire pack and probably would have serviced Star Jones if I asked him to. So there I was, with my "I'm with the band" tude and bummed cigarettes looking for other band members to make me feel even more entitled. I ran into another one, and again shot him my line. "Sorry," he said, "that's pretty sad." Fail. It would've been fine if the lap dog behind me didn't pipe up "Um. We're not in the same band." So, in effort to save my dignity I told them that their hair was stupid and that leather pants have been known to give grown men UTIs.

In truth, the soundtracks to our lives are crucial in evaluating the quality of our existence. Whenever something monumental happens I always wish my own personal DJ followed me around making the moments that much more memorable. I still remember when manfriend and I had our first kiss: Hammerjacks in Baltimore--Pour Some Sugar on Me blasted in the background while we poured beer on each other. Totally set the tone for our relationship.

But on to bigger and better things, I can only hope that a Queen medly plays when I have a baby. GOSH Quinn is so lucky! Her baby is going to come out a superstar with a welcome-to-the-world song like "Mama." She's already going to be the sexiest tot in the nursery with Puck and Quinster as birth parents. THEN Idina Mendzel adopts her? HO-Kay... The life lotery this girl just won is failproof. Puck on the other hand may not be so lucky; after taking a peek at Q's crowning chocha, he may never go within a mile radius of a vajayjay ever again.

Ahh Vocal Adrenaline. Now that's a Glee club I could really get on board with. Get swung around by beautiful men while Jesse takes all vocal responsibility and still win skyscraper trophies? Yeah, I'll take it. Plus, the coaching is clearly superior. I'll take Elfaba and Maureen over Briar-Patch head any day.

Disagree? Well I ask you this. What would you rather have as singles in the soundtrack of your life? Take me or Leave Me or whatever Matthew Morrison sang on Broadway? You chew on that. I'm going to go mourn a summer without Glee, my weekly morsel of eupheria. Hmm... I wonder what song that calls for. I'll start with the music from the finale...

Um, No Thanks

So it would appear that the new bachelorette, Ali (insert gagging noise), has requested that all of her potential suitors look like things that the sewer ate and later pooped out. With the exception of Jesse, sexy construction worker, and Roberto, former minor league baseball player, these guys seem to be collected from the "take my loser boyfriend" recycling plant. And not to say that the aforementioned bachelors are peaches either. Jesse is more inked than Jesse James' Hitler-loving mistress and Roberto, by his profession, is most likely a cheating, disease-ridden manwhore.

Also this season, ABC has made a bold move and invited a real NBC character to compete for Ali's heart. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I give you Michael Scott under code name "Johnathon the Weatherman." I really don't know how the network got away with this. I smell a law suit coming on, or as the Weatherman says, "something evil and dangerous."

Oh... and another thing... whoever says that the "Weatherman" is not gay is kidding herself.

But the real icing on the cake this go-around, is the bachelorette herself. I must say, Ali Fedotowsky is the most irritating, nausea-inducing, and unappealing bach to date. Upon further reflection, I've come to the conclusion that she has the face of some sort of bear-like cartoon figure (care bear, Paddington Bear, Winnie the Pooh, you take your pick) with the personality of a squawking parrot.

It's true; I've always had a real aversion to caddy bitches... especially those who lack the ability to feel comfortable in grown up clothes. When Ali was a contestant for Jake's season, her 8th grade sundresses made me feel like I was watching a reality show documenting a cracker factory. Now that the producers force her into big girl gowns, Ali looks just about as comfortable as a post-surgery Heidi Montag wearing clothes in public. Learn how to wear a real dress, you 12-year-old.

And that's really all I have to say on the subject. Seeing as I have no more GG or HIMYM in my life, my Mondays may have to be forced into this torture. Someone find me a solution---STAT!