Look at what I got!

Sorry I've been MIA. I've been busy not eating, being grumpy, suffering from SAD, surviving ice storms and local weather media, complaining about the gym, crying over my bank balance, having more dental work and ...

Glamour shot.

chilling with this little dude! His name is Zeb. As in Zebulon. Like Pike. Except we call him all kinds of things. Like Zebron James, Merriam-Zebster, zebutante, zebulator(! - you have to yell that one), Zebbie, zeptic tank, etc. Basically, he has no idea who he is.

Treats. Treats. Treats.

A dude at work brought him in because baby Zeb had followed his wife home. The BF and I discussed adding him to the household, but by the time we'd decided, someone else had offered to give Zeb a home. So, naturally, I was heartbroken for a week, but that's ok because there was an ice storm, so I had lots of things to distract me from checking out every.single.dog on petfinder.com. Not. Cut to Monday of last week when I learned that Zeb was still available! His interim owner wasn't sure Zeb was the right fit since he already had four grown Rotts and Zeb, was, well, a tiny puppy. So, I brought him home Monday night!

Give me some m-effing treats!

Naturally, he's adorable. I have no idea what breed, though. The vet put him at maybe 10 - 12 weeks last week and he weighed in at 11 pounds. I don't think he's gonna get that big, but who knows. What I do know is that he's had one accident inside in six days, chews the hell out of a stuffed toy, is a Kong addict, sleeps through the night, loves cheddar and freeze dried liver. I'm in lurv.

Thank you.

Right, so, thus far, training is going well. It's kind of exhausting, but in a good kind of way when he masters a command or we get a little snuggle time. Right now, he's sleeping in his crate next to me, making precious puppy snoring sounds that will surely be replaced by puppy destruction sounds in the coming months, so I'm signing off to enjoy his innocence.

Super spoon.

BREAKING NEWS:

I think I'm bored with the internet. Like, I've looked at all I can think of to look at and I either get sad because I didn't think of it, didn't understand it, or want to buy it then remember I sold my soul to the Department of Education. It's a sad, sad day when my most visited sites are gmail, weather.com and msnbc.com. WTF, self?

oh dear.

What I know about Haiti I (well, I mean I knew basic geographical, historical and political information) I learned from reading Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder about Paul Farmer and his work on cultural understandings of disease and medicine in Haiti and other countries plagued by infectious diseases. I read the book for a medical anthropology class in college, which turned out to be one of my favorite classes*, in spite of making probably a B- because I inexplicably refused to turn anything in on time. Tracy Kidder's writing and Paul Farmer's super human efforts really made an impact on me. I even donated to Partners In Health when I was still in school. So, not that Haiti is any more or less important than any other area struck by any kind of disaster, but it holds one of the few soft spots in my heart. I implore you to read the book. If you're going to donate to anything, consider a donation to Partners In Health.


*Thanks Dr. Joralemon. I sucked in your class, but you were a kickass professor and I shockingly retained and carry with me much that I learned that semester. Sorry for being an unresponsive jerk.

It's 2010 Bitches

I realize it's now 1/10/10, but whatevs. I've been busy (lie). The point is, it's time to make some nutless declarations. Remember last year? I purchased both items while failing to return to my high school weight. However, I did develop a gym habit, quit caffeine for six whole months, can run several minutes without stopping, completed a boot camp, and dropped 12 pounds and a couple sizes without decreasing my boob size. So, halfway to awesome.

This year, I intend to work on the following:

• Read books besides Real Simple, Living, New York Magazine, TV Guide, Cooking Light and Lucy, which are not technically books. I mean, real literature and shit. Not JD Robb and Patricia Cornwell. Recommendations?
• Organize all of my music; digital, vinyl and and CDs. The gym has thrown me into a terrible shame spiral of popular music. Must climb out and reclaim my musical self.
• Stop hitting the snooze button for hours. HOURS people. The BF loves this. Just ask him. I started a streak of getting to work not on time, but early before break and I intend to keep this up for the rest of the year, mainly so I can get to the gym, commute home, make dinner and get to bed before 1 am. Mornings will be mine!
• Go on a real live vacation. I took a little staycation in October to burn some time off as well as regain my sanity after a difficult spell at work, which was wonderful, but I haven't been on a plane in almost a year. What the what? I need to get out of here. Fortunately, the NY Times has done my research for me. Now, I just need to come into some serious money.
• Deep clean my house. Like Pledge the baseboards clean. I realize that I don't own this home, but it doesn't look like I'm going anywhere anytime soon, so I should just bite the bullet to make it a real home, which means clearing and cleaning the debris of a couple of years and a couple of roommates.
• Change my hair! I've had the same essential hair cut since my page boy grew out in '85. I don't know if that means go lighter, go darker, go shorter, go longer, try side sweeping bangs again, but good Lord, I need to change something.
• Watch less TV. There's nothing I love more than reading gossip blogs and having first hand knowledge of everything mentioned, but sweet Jesus, it takes a lot of TV time. I'm gonna turn in the remote.
• Convince the BF to get dogs (yes, two, because I will never go through the heartbreak of losing a dog through a break up ever again). 2010 is the year!
• Get the Jeff Dunham show canceled. Oh, sweet. Check.
• Dress up at least once a week. I own probably 15 pair of heels that have never seen the pavement. I feel like an ass when I'm gussied up, but as a 28 year old woman, I'm certainly old enough to dress up whenever I Goddamn well please. So, I will.
• Polish off the ol' resume and see what's out there. Let me know if you want to hire me. I'm good at general all around awesomeness.
• Do everything I'm supposed to when I'm supposed to. Like teeth cleaned exactly every six months. Library books returned on time. Birthday cards sent out in at least the correct month. That sort of thing.
• Stop sucking at blogging. My life has become super routine, super boring, super blah, which is probably a good thing, considering how things were a few years ago. But, this year, I need to kick it up a notch. Surely there's something left in my brain, right?
• Try not to cry every time I see the ASPCA commercials.
• Cook from recipes instead of my head. I can make a handful of meals pretty fucking well, but my repertoire is pretty limited. So, this year, I will put my cookbook library (seriously, I have like 30 and haven't even read through half of them, it's an addiction) to work and learn some new tricks.

So, pretty mundane shit, I know.

x-treme ultimate sadness

Yesterday, I was leaving work around lunch and totally backed into a parked car behind me. I just threw it in reverse, looked behind me, didn't see anything that second, and started moving. It was only when I could feel the car meeting some kind of resistance and see the horrified look of the woman whose car door I was crushing before I realized something wasn't normal. BLAST! I haven't been in any sort of incident for over 10 years. 10 years! And now, my rate's gonna get jacked, I can't afford the deductible to fix the damaget my (new!) car, and my parents are disappointed in me for being a 'tard. The moral of this story is, Toyota Matrix's have fucking huge blind spots, so beware. Also, don't sit in your parked car along a no parking yellow lined curb unless you want someone to hit you.

brief letter

Dear Words With Friends,

Please give me my boyfriend back.

Thanks,
Bee

So... there's a motherfucking blizzard, y'all.

Dude. For once, the high lords of plains weather got it totally fucking wrong. Three to five inches? I don't think so. Let's try 12 to 14. And wind! Blowing snow everywhere! The state has gone apeshit. The governor closed all the roads. Every.Single.Road.In.The.State. They're setting up shelters along the major highways for stranded travelers. Boo. If I lived close enough to the highway, I'd go invite people to stay the night in my cozy wozy house in exchange for beer. That's right. While my genius mother stocked up on TP, water and pasta, I forgot the golden rule of potential natural disasters. GET BOOZE! The BF and I are draining a bottle of some sort of German fortified wine that you heat (delicious!!!), but soon it will be gone and we will be left with our personalities or four bottles of apple flavored Smirnoff Ice. I want to walk to the gas station about a mile away for a rack of 'stones, but K says no. It's Christmas Eve, so maybe there will be a Christmas beericle, but I doubt it.

In the meantime, we bundled up like retarded yetis (no we didn't, I left my snow boots, real winter coat and gloves at my folks house, so I'm wearing pajama pants and old gym shoes with some awesome knee high wool socks and a hat some cousin left one time) and bounded about our pristine street. We walked up and down the street, unable to retrace our own footprints because of the blowing snow. Yay! Is it weird that this makes me totally happy? I don't like the part about being away from family this eve, or all of the car carnage out there, but I love snow and cold and white and sparkling and condensation on the windows and rocking legwarmers and drinking mulled wine and snuggling in my new Snuggie and wearing out my Netflix subscription. K is frying corn tortillas he found in the fridge (we literally have nothing else - we had planned to be house sitting and cleaned out our food) and has declared them the Christmas chips. I don't know what that means, but the smell of corn and salt is beckoning. Merry Christmas.

P.S. Gary England has been suspiciously absent today. Hmm.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. Please. So I don't have to go to Woodward, OK on x-mas day.

Word on the local news weather street is that there's a big ass storm headed to the OK. By big ass I mean 3 - 6 inches. WOO! Kids play in my book, but everyone's fucking flipping their shit around here. My mom made my dad go buy TP, bottled water and the makings for lasagna in case we get snowed in tomorrow night and can't enjoy our ceremonial Christmas Eve dinner at Outback. I am dead fucking serious. This has been going on for like 10 years now. My brother gets two orders of cheese fries. It's disgusting.

Right, so I wish I had a fireplace. And I wish it would really snow a shit ton. I miss waking up to the sound of plows beeping and scraping up and down the streets foretelling the glorious white mounds of winter wonder.

Christmas brings out the worst in me, but this year I managed to purchase a relatively relevant gift for those in my immediate life as well as string up some ornaments (no tree) and a couple of lights from a window. I know, right?

Also, I'm now even lamer and older than ever before. My parents asked me what I wanted this year, which is retarded since they bought me a car and probably shouldn't purchase anything for me for about the rest of my life (although, I still pay a pretty penny each month for my student loans...), but I obliged and provided them with the most boring, sensible list of old person stuff ever.

Cook's Illustrated recommended toaster

Nike Triax +12 running shoes

matching flatware

comforter cover

Cuisinart hand mixer

I know, right? LAMEST CRAP EVER. What I really wanted was this, these, this bad ass, these guys for my living room, and a weekend trip here with the BF. Being old and sensible sucks. And poor. Being poor sucks too.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

If you need me, I'll flatironing my hair in the tanning bed.

Surely, you've heard about Jersey Shore. It's truly miraculous. Mostly because it's on now that IASIP and The League are kaput for the season. Even the BF is mesmerized by the the awesomeness that is Jersey Shore. I can't really say anything without sounding like a total ass, so I won't. I will say that I'm jealous that all the kids have nicknames. I always wanted a nickname. I never got one. When you have a weirdo first name, I think you're precluded from a nickname since everyone's still trying to figure out how to say your first name. But no more! Behold, the Jersey Shore Nickname Generator. Enjoy.

This was my first result, I shit you not.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Handbellz Rule Edition.

Yes, I'll admit it. From sixth grade through my senior year in high school, I was a handbell playing fool, yo. I even went with my group to competitions and stuff. For realz. I've long thought handbell choirs are one of the greatest mechanisms for teaching people to be a team out there. Basically, a choir consists of a multi-octave human keyboard with one person accounting for maybe four notes total. So, every single person is crucial. There's rarely doubling, so when you're not there or sucking, it stands out, hence the terrific opportunity bells create for group work and commitment. Also, yes, I am lame. I wish I could write music. I would arrange "I Will" for handbells because it's my favorite song AND handbells, well, rule. Anywho, check out this installment from Improve Everywhere featuring some handi (not that kind) action. Agent Davis is a childhood friend. Awesome!

Jean Visitation Hours Saturdays, 1 - 4 PM

Immediately post breakup 06, I dropped like 25 el bees fucking overnight. Like snap your finger and bam! Best.Diet.Ever. When that happened, obviously, I had to get some new threads. I still find all of this mystical and amazing since I was drinking more alcohol than I can remember, which equals some serious calories, but anywho. Now that's been over for a long time and I'm happy again, which means the poundage has creeped up a bit rendering those old jeans useless (I refuse to sport a noticeable muffin top while standing, at least). But just by a little. So, every time I go to my parents house to walk my/their dog, put up Christmas crap, or help them with anything involving the internet, I sneak in to the closet of my old bedroom where I stash the crap I don't want at my house and am too cheap to pay for storage and pull out my old jeans. And try them on. I think one more trip and they're all going to fit again! So, yes, I visit my former jeans once a week. Weird, I know.

let the parties begin!

Larger version here.

Well, I did it people.

I recently conquered two, count 'em two fashion fears. The ever present skinny jean and boots over jeans combo. I'm hesitant since I'm what I like to call voluptuous (others might call it, well, something else) and rather vertically challenged. I can hear Trinny and Susannah, Clinton and Stacey telling me no. Really loudly. But I did it anyway! Kudos, me.

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me catching on to a trend that surely almost over.

blergh

i have the wintertime sadfaces. big time. for no apparent reason. i'm a joy to be around. ask anyone.

All I do is watch 30 Rock, Parks & Recreation and IASIP. I am awesome, I know.

Well, it's official.

Parks and Recreation is actually good now. Really good. Well done, Poehler. Well done.

I'll stuff your stocking, I'll tell you what.

I tried to do some x-mas shopping yesterday, until I realized I was poor. And besides, what is there that we don't already have? It's insane, really. I find myself making up problems so that I can buy the solution. It's ridiculous, really. And also, I'm flat broke. All. The. Time.

Which brings me to this: Tips 4 Poor People.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: BF edition.

BF came across this - it's on sale for $5 on Amazon - and it rulez!

Tall Boy



Body Request



Power Lunch



DUI

t-day aftermath

I was searching for images to accurately capture my current state of T-day overload and came across this, which doesn't really accomplish my goal, but is sufficiently weird, so there. I came, I saw, I ate Paula Deen's pumpkin gooey butter cake*. I'm now relegated to sweat pants. Marry me.

More later, you know, when I have enough energy to type.

*Not only did I partake on T-day, I definitely liked the mixer clean when making them. OHMYGODSOGOODFUCKYOUPAULADEENFORMAKINGMEFAT.ER.

Stuffity Stuff Stuff

I am at home, lazing about on mismatched sheets (my new thing is mixing up striped sheets with floral pillow cases - I know, crazy!) enjoying the remainder of my morning before T-day preparations commence. Last year, I pretty much made everything for my fam plus the BF and a stray uncle, but this year, we're headed to the homeland (Woodward, OK) so I'm not responsible for it all, just a few items. Crudite with lowfat yogurt dip, gooey pumpkin butter cake, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and corn pudding.

But before that, here's what caught my eye and I thought I would share because, well, I'm nice like that.

NPR did one of those last minute bits on this blog, My Parents Were Awesome. It's endearing.



The Muppets are blowing up. And Rocking out.




Shoes. I like to live vicariously through those who can both afford and manage heels like these: Elle Shoe Blog.


Duh news of the day: Junk Food Turns Rats Into Addicts.

Listening to: How Long Has This Been Going On? - Ella Fitzgerald

RIP BreakUp 06

Well, it finally happened. The exbf and I engaged in exchanging pleasantries at birthday time for the past few years. Last year, it took him almost a year to respond to my fab ecard. He did, though, and wished me a good one on my 28th this year. So, I followed suit earlier this month, but nothing. No acknowledgement, no nothing. I think that means we can officially stop doing that. Which is great!*

*I would not suggest listening to Nick Cave while thinking about past relationships as I am now. Just trust me.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Amazon Black Friday $5 Special! Edition

Dudes, Amazon is selling all kinds of good shit for only $5! As if my iPod has room to store everything. Oh well. Maybe someone will get me a new one with more capacity for Jesus' b-day, but I doubt it. In any case, here's what I've downloaded so far:

A Charlie Brown Christmas - Vince Guaraldi Trio (This is a new one with more stuff. Yes, I have the old one. And the record too.

Odyssey and Oracle - The Zombies

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes - Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes

The Definitive Rarities Collection - Nina Simone

And I have plans for many more. I just need time and $$.

Also, I downloaded "Bad Romance" (Lady Caca) and "I Can Transform Ya" (Chris "Ladybeater" Brown) for the ol' work out mix. Helpful tip: if you are trying not to be such a lard ass, do not, I repeat, do not get it into your head that it's ok to eat at Greek House even if it's the first time in many months and you've been good all week. JUST DON'T.

Currently, I'm laid up on the couch like a beached gyrowhale, fending off impending heartburn from the massive amounts of garlic and onion consumed watching my favorite movie on the CW (34 local) Home for the Holidays. It's about dysfunctional families eating gross food wearing terrible coats yadda yadda yadda Holly Hunter's character makes out with Dylan McDermott's. And it got me to thinking about how awesome making out can be. Just making out. Sometimes, I think it's kind of weird, because we're adults and can get down to business if we want, etc. But there's something about making out. And the final scene of the movie.

FU TLC (or I am not unlike Andy Rooney in my hatred of all things)

Saturday mornings, when the BF is out serving the public volunteering or other productive pursuits, I like to laze about in bed, swaddled in the down comforter, space heater pointed directly at my feet, and fire up some TLC so that I can catch what I missed Friday night, namely Say Yes to the Dress. There. Now you know my dirty secret. Right, so this bright Saturday morn, I click on the new flat screen and sure enough, there's Randy*, sobbing! And all is right with the world, except for one thing. We all know that Jon and Kate Plus has hit the skids and apparently Monday night is their final show (year right). TLC has chosen to inform everyone of this with a fucking annoying countdown at the bottom right of the screen. Great! Just what I want on a Saturday, something that tells me exactly how many hours, minutes and seconds until the weekend is over and then some. Thanks TLC dudes!

And then OU got punked by Texas Tech. In a related story, does anyone want my OU/OSU tickets for next weekend?

Also, I went to see 2012 with the BF and my mom because she wanted to go as part of her b-day weekend. OH MY SWEET LORD. I really have no words to express how ridonk this movie is. Worse than Bird on a Wire and Beverly Hills Cop III combined. It was a fucking insult. Good thing my mom paid. I'll leave you with three (one hyphenated) words: No more Pull-Ups™!

But, in a related story, Amanda Peet is my new (although I've suspected it for some time now) celebrity chick crush. Girlfriend went to Columbia, was in a Seinfeld episode, starred in a movie with Steve Zahn, has an adorable bebé, and can rock bangs like nobody's business.

Some good news: only two days of work this week! Yeehaw!


*This makes sense if you watch, like me. Oh, you don't? Because you're cool and have a life? Oh. Ok.

Great story as for me.

November is known for its holiday, no? Not t-day, but Liz day. Mom declares the entire month her birthday month. Basically, she just talks about how it's her birthday month and none of us do anything until her actual birthday, which happened to be yesterday. The family (plus my lil bro's GF and my BF) gathered at her favorite restaurant in town (which also happens to arguably be the nicest restaurant in town) to commemorate her umpteenth 35th birthday. [Brief back story: my brother worked at this restaurant for three years or so and knows most people who still work there, including the bartender, which also happens to be the youngest brother of L-Ma.]

While awaiting our entrees, we decided to think of the most awful drink one could order to be jerks. Dad busts out his iPhone and finds an article that says Manhattans, cosmopolitans, mojitos and lemon drops are the worst, but the BF pipes up that maybe we should order a Cleveland steamer. I had a personal record scratch moment, but everyone else just kept talking. About Cleveland steamers. Because they had no idea what they were saying. Until Dad looked it up. But not before practically screaming Cleveland steamer several times within earshot of small children (not that they would know, but kids sure do grow up fast these days). Soon, Dad is showing Mom the definition from Urban Dictionary on his iPhone. They're both laughing and Dad is compelled to mention dirty Sanchez.

SWEET JEBUS! Who are these people?

I'm not sure if the BF was trying to find a way to embarrass me or my family into ending things or what.

Help me internets (please).

How do you know it's the right time, or at least a relatively ok time, to get a dog?



I really, really, really, really, really, really, reallyreallyreallyreally want a dog. Like bad. However, there's always an excuse not to commit to the whole thing. Like, they're expensive, messy, smelly, poopy, peey, furry, sheddingy, dirty, disobedient and potential relationship enders. All kinds of relationships. Ones with shoes, yards, fences, corners of couches, landlords and more.

On the minus side, I work about 20 minutes (with no traffic) from where I live, leaving me little time at home mornings and evenings. My typical schedule has me leaving the house about 7.20am and returning about 7.30 - 8pm. That's a lot of time away from a pup. However, I do have BF who offices at home, so it could be doable...

On the plus side, I am sure that I was more active without even trying when I had Zealand (dog lost to breakup '06). He was a big, goofy guy who needed lots and lots of walking and interaction with other folks and animals. So, there I was, day after day, him dragging me through the two mile loop at the dog park. Two miles a day, rain or shine, winter or summer adds up to a healthier me.

And yes, dogs are pricey, but I think the act of financial restraint and saving for something other than yourself is a worthwhile pursuit.

I feel like if I wait for everything to properly align, the soonest I'd get an animal is when they bring kittens to the old folks home.

So, in closing, I'd like one of these please.

Dear boots, now that I have you, I have no idea how to wear you.

Congratulations, me! I am now the proud owner of two pair of boots. The aforementioned black heeled boots, and now a pair of flatish brown boots. I literally have no idea how to properly wear either pair. I had grand visions of pairing them with stylish skinny jeans and dresses with unique tights, but at the end of the day, skinny jeans involve the word skinny and tights are, well tights. So, yet another trend fail.




For more on trend fails, see my battles with skinny jeans, dresses and leggings, dresses over jeans, flowy tops, ironic Converse, dark nail polish, and sideswept bangs.

Things I hate #83

Pumping gas when it's colder than a witch's titty out there. HATE IT. I pumped approximately 0.98 gallons just so I could get home. I'll deal with tomorrow's commute tomorrow. When it's still just as cold. BALLS!

Goodnight, Sunday.

Yesterday, I was watching TV on the local NBC affiliate when Linda Cavaneck started talking about some sort of supermarket sweepstakes thing. Not sure what the rules are, but you could win either a $200 gift card or a grocery grab shopping spree! Whee! So, I started thinking, what's the best strategy for one of those things? As if I would win. Anyway, I decided I'd hit up the spices aisle, rake all of the olive oils and expensive vinegars into my cart, grab up all of the nuts, hit the specialty cheese case and then sprint over to the health and beauty section to stock up on razors (they're fucking expensive and only four blades, nothing like these bad boys) and then snatch up all of the Excedrin I can find. The whole scenario would be choreographed to mimic the season five, episode four of Designing Women, "Miss Trial", where Julia serves on a retarded jury, but more aptly, Charlene wins a free for all shopping spree at a record store and invites Suzanne to be her partner. Pastel sweatsuits are deployed. Brill.

Love you ladies!

And that's what I'm thinking about this Sunday evening.

Seriously, what is up brain?

Last night, I went to sleep. All normal like and stuff. But, my night brain went to work creating a truly bizarre sleep movie that I can only remember bits of.

Andrew Bird is my tour guide on a night cruise of famous swimming pools. He drops a tiny boat into still, black celebrity pools (the first was one from a movie I could recognize in my dream, but can't remember now) and we paddle in a circle while he narrates the history. And he talks exactly like he sings. Here's a sample from the song "Sovay."

I was getting ready to consider my next plan of attack
I think I'm gonna sack
the whole board of trustees
all those Don Quixotes un their B-17s
and I swear this time
yeah this time
they'll blow us back to the 70's
and this time
they're playin Ride of the Valkyries
with no semblance of grace or ease
and they're acting on vagaries
with their violent proclivities
and they're playing ride
Ride of the Valkyries
sovay,sovay,sovay
all along the day

Right, so, he paddles about, using newly created words to expound upon water and whistling. Very AB*. Suddenly, my mom is there, but she's a cartoon version and looks like Meg Griffin with Sideshow Bob hair. She wants to get off the boat because we've come to a stop at whatever hotel/monstrosity in Vegas has the "Venetian" canals and gondoliers.

I wake up thinking that Sideshow Bob's hair really isn't all that much unlike my mom's.

*Listen to "Armchairs." This was the only version I could find. I don't know who or what this is, but it's decidedly less weird than my dreams. Also, this song is good.

Oh you

Eldridge, English and Jones out for OU

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