FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT (and other things).

The Big Move 07 is in phase II, you know, the one where I'm writing this from Norman, Oklahoma. But let's back it up a minute:

1) Awesome. I ended up leaving a shit ton of stuff on the sidewalk outside of my apartment. Most of it was picked up within an hour. Northampton is a weird, weird place. Who knew someone needed bamboo place mats, a hairdryer and a old National Geographics? (Which, honestly, I wanted to take with me, but couldn't justify the expense of shipping them. There's something oddly pleasing about a pile of smallish yellow magazines filled with the potential of boobs and baboon asses.) Last night, I realized that I HAD A BASEMENT. WHICH I LEFT STUFF IN. DAMNIT TO HELL!

2) Awesomer. Several dinners, nights out, hanging out with various groups of kids has been occurring for the past two weeks, but Monday was the last hurrah. Which wasn't much of one, because I was fucking exhausted. The ex even showed up and finally relented about the best dog ever. He agreed to drop him off at my apartment for my last night. After a complete breakdown outside of the bar where I buried my face into Margreat's coat, sobbing on the sidewalk for all to see, I went home and suffered another complete breakdown at the site of my bare apartment and dog. I pretty much fell on the floor, ugly crying till my eyes felt like they were bleeding (not unlike Beyonce's video for "Listen" or that stupid video where Mariah Carey's riding a horse in a field in a nightgown screaming about butterflies). I haven't cried like that in a long, long time. Blah.

3) Awesomost. I still needed to ship three boxes of my shit home before I headed to the airport. My car is being used by Alabra, so I had to use Margreat's. I load it up with the boxes, bags and the dog (I was tempted to go buy a crate, take him to the airport and never speak to [redacted] again, but somehow worked through that). I get to the UPS store, haul two boxes out of the backseat and take them in. I come back to the car to open the trunk. WHICH DOESN'T OPEN. I then plead with the UPS store employees to see if I'm just being an idiot (never). No one can open the trunk. I call Margreat in a panic asking if there are any tricks. No. I pick her up. She can't open it either. There's no time to fuck with it because I have to get to the airport. I ship the two boxes I can, drive to [redacted's] house to drop the dog off (his roommate lets me in. I peek around the house for a second. He's already got pictures of my 21 year old, lazy eyed, lame-college attending replacement on his fucking walls. It's been a few months and she gets wall status? Fucking shit.) I arrive at the airport in a huff, cry some more, and then check my one bag. Which is full of shoes. And make-up. I was going to take a picture to explain the gravity of my clothesless, underwearless situation (which was remedied with one of the handy Wal-Mart gift cards that are in abundance at my house, but, of course, my cord thingy is in my bag with my clothes.)

4) FUCKING BALLS.

5) PE(*%HJKFD)(U. The parents took me out to dinner (henceforth, they will be referred to as "the roommates"), but I couldn't really eat or talk because I was flipping the fuck out. I was so confident in this decision, but I also permed my hair once, so, you know. Is this my biggest mistake yet (aside from a seven year "relationship" with [redacted] and that perm)? I spent the rest of the evening drinking wine with an old friend, expounding on my fear that I will never have sex again.

6) They say flattery is, blah blah, cliche. Check this out. Oh how I will miss you all. My heart hurts.

The Big Move 07 Update

This is what happens when you have packed most of your clothes. This is what happens when you leave packing up an entire apartment to the two days before you leave. This is what happens when you spend money meant for Windex on beer. This is 2.24 am.

Not Pictured: Me dancing around to "I Wanna Rock With You" (old school Michael Jackson) and "Cure for Pain" (Morphine) and tripping over shit.

Oh Good Lord: a photo essay.

Friday Night/Saturday:

In a cab. G-race is eating Margreat's head.

Waiting for the train. G-race is talking to someone more interesting than me.

Brunching at Bubby's. I win the prize for the fattest face.

We made a special stop for these dumplings, which I cannot stop talking about. I'm serious. When in NY, go to The Cottage and order the seafood dumplings. They are heaven.


Saturday Night:

Alabra trying to literally keep her head on straight. Didn't work. But that's another story for another time.

Sarah joined us at Hugo's after work. If it's after 6, she's in a tux. Natch.

Went across the street to hear OUCH, my favorite localish band (listen to "Juanita"). I can't get enough. Sarah can't get enough Rolling Rock - they were out of Pabst.

Vacuuming at a bar? What?

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with Chris Parnell, unsung hero of Saturday Night Live.

CP and I have a lot in common. He grew up in Memphis, Tennessee. I went to college in Memphis. [For one semester. But that's a story for another time. It mainly involves drinking Everclear in the boys' dorm and watching Passions.] We have both been overlooked by Lorne Michaels as the brightest comedic talent of our respective generations. We both like cupcakes. I kinda look like Kirsten Dunst. He raps about Kirsten Dunst. We both performed with Blue Oyster Cult, but hate cowbells. I suspect we are both underwhelmed by Horatio Sanz. It's uncanny, really.

The beauty of CP is that he is kind of a comedic ninja. He sneaks into scene after scene and nunchuks it into awesome. Case in point, his appearances in Anchorman (pretty much one of the best movies ever) and in a recent episode of 30 Rock as Dr. Leo Spaceman. Check them out.

Basically, Lorne Michaels is a tard. You kept the guy from Good Burger, but fired Merv the Perve? Come on.

I love you, Chris.

And now I'm headed for my last weekend in NYC before the big move. Maybe I'll see him and tip off the Gawker Stalker Map. Then my life would be complete. Gawker and Chris Parnell. Ahhh.

Goulet Wednesday News Round Up

It's that time again:

- Team Aniston! Fifty points from Angelinador. [Popsugar]

- This happened. All I really care about is watching Salma Hayek in action. I wish I were Penelope.

- Breaking Obvious News: [CNN]. In a related story, I was bored by the State of the Union. I preferred to eat a left over Grilled Stufft Burrito and watch Party Cat play with a stuffed monkey.

- Congratulations universe. You win. Psych! Rainn Wilson is awesome. [Popwatch]

- Whatever happened to Gary Busey? [WWTDD]

- Oh Rachael. So not "yummo" or even remotely "delish." [MollyGood]

- Found this one some website, but I can't remember which. Sorry. Read on: Caring For Your Pet Lohan.

To Do: Add to (nonexistent) iPod

[in no particular order]

1. F*cking Boyfriend - The Bird and the Bee

2. Cheated Hearts - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

3. Over and Over - Hot Chip

4. Club Action - Yo Majesty

5. Ketto - Bonobo

6. Photocopier - Fujiya and Miyagi

7. Love Me or Hate Me - Lady Sovereign

8. Young Folks - Peter Bjorn And John

9. Cay's Crays - Fat Freddy's Drop

10. Sea Legs - The Shins


[that should do it for now]

Second consecutive post of local interest only

So, as you now know, I am moving from this humble village of Northampton, MA which requires me to you know, pack and shit. I am a confessed shopoholic, clotheshorse, pack rat, etc. I seriously have clothes from 1999 bumping around my closet, even though I haven't been a size 2 since then. Whatevs. I'm still hot shit (please ignore the photo below...). Perhaps you remember this. That was actually AFTER I cleared six (6) lawn and leaf bags of clothing from my former basement/closet. Clothing holocaust #2 has resulted in this pile (this was taken before the pile grew another two feet):


Sarah and I, at midnight, half drunk and/or high on diet coke decided to play a game with my remainders (the giant pile of clothes pictured) called, "what would someone working at the Haymarket wear?" Again, this is of local interest only. If you are a resident of Northampton, or the surrounding area, you know what I'm talking about. Only hipsters of the finest quality (well, for Western Mass) avail themselves of employment at this establishment. Speaking of establishment, the name of the game is to dress as antiestablishment, while remaining as fashionably relevant as possible. Sarah and I have not quite captured this, but we tried.

Are those red cowboy boots, Sarah? Yup, I think so.

Is this the ugliest outfit you have possibly ever worn besides what you're wearing right now, Blythe? Yup. I think so. Also, what's wrong with your face?

Awww

So, my good friend Margreat lives with, well, let's just say an interesting group of kids. They're a family of sorts. There's the creepy grandpa, the lascivious uncle, the drunk stepbrother, the matriarch and, of course, Pit Pat. I love them because they actually went to Sears and had a family portrait made.

Behold the Eastern Ave. Fam:

cat-tastrophe/wrist warmers/liver preservation/sadness/laundry war

Cat Crap Fever:

Life with Party Cat is not always, in fact, a party. This morning Sarah and I awoke (to be honest, it was more like this afternoon) to find our precious cat with a really not precious problem. You remember this, I'm sure. The fallacy of the audio tape holding this "sculpture" together is that cats like shit like that. So much that they eat it. Then can't digest it. Then have it coming out of their ass. I would like to say I spent the day doing productive things - packing, making home made yogurt, having sex dreams about Wentworth Miller*, but instead, Sarah and I followed Party Cat's sphincter around the apartment checking for any action. I am of the wait-till-she-craps-it-out school, but Sarah is leaning toward the paying-an-obscene-amount-of money-for-a-cranky-emergency-vet-to-tell-her-to-wait-till-PC-shits school. We will see. Updates to follow.

(can you see it? if i were rich, i'd have photo shop and could some sort of clever circling thing.)

Siobhlogger is my hero:

She made me dinner tonight and finished my wrist warmers for me! Thanks, yo! I realized that wrist warmers are the perfect thing for this lame Massachusetts winter since it hasn't snowed or even really been cold. Then I remembered that I'm moving to the land of skating rink parking lots and downed power lines. Fantastic!

(ignore the ragged manicure.)

Jeremy Piven reached his peak in PCU:

I'm on a rotating schedule with my liver, therefore, I am watching SNL this evening. Ha! Someone is getting fired. J-Piv's mic wasn't on.

"Where is my freaking phone?"

I truly love The Office more with each episode I watch. This week's show was rife with wonderful moments including:

Andy: I forgot to tell you the plan for this Saturday: you, me, bar, beers, buzzed. Wings, shots, drunk. Waitresses, hot. Football, Cornell/Hofstra, slaughter. Then quick nap at my place, and we hit the tiz-own.
Michael: No. I don’t want to do any of that.

Incidentally, those were my plans until the cat thing happened. The point of my story is that I usually watch episodes online for free because I'm a sucker and am watching Grey's Anatomy while The Office is on, but my site disappeared! I just don't know what to do. It's like Sophie's Choice but without having to choose which of your children to save.

I'm not wearing any underwear:

I am at war with my laundry. I haven't done any since returning on New Years Day - so this is day 20 of the stand off. If you have seen me about town recently, you know that I've been wearing some weird shit. Case in point: I went to a dance party at a bar wearing a button down blue oxford under a North Face pullover fleece topped off with orange Nikes and jeans that I haven't worn since my sophomore year of college. It was hot. Somehow, this little number still got the job done, so now I'm intrigued. Just how long can I go, rifling through the bottom of my closet for sweaters of days past, and just how successful will I be? The roommate has twice complimented me on my recent ensembles. I could get used to that. Right now I'm wearing gym shorts, leg warmers, a bra from five years ago, and a ragged sweatshirt. And I'm alone. Time to count my quarters.


*I totally had a dirty dream starring Wentworth Miller. He's the super hot guy on Prison Break (kinda lame, on Fox). I was following him up a snowy mountain, which quickly turned into a steep brick wallish thing, which I quickly rolled down. He was at the bottom, cupped my face in his hands and told me I was beautiful and that he wanted to kiss me. It was pretty awesome.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with other people's blogs. This is kind of a cop out as this post could also fall under
Posts from other blogs I read that I think are pretty funny or something that maybe you should read except that then you'll think they're better than me and will stop reading this piece of crap, but since only four people read this pile (including my mom), it doesn't really matter.

This lady is really funny. Don't know who she is, but read her at the suggestion of Everything is Wrong With Me. Hopefully, you will enjoy: Rubber Buns and Liquor.

Lots of good stuff here, mainly the fact that he enjoyed Idiocracy as much as me: The Passion of the Weiss.

I like him too, probably because he says nice things about his girlfriend - a novelty to me. Zombie Fights Shark!

This is all in a heartfelt effort to help all of you (3 - my mom hasn't been reading lately) procrastinate at the office as well as possible. I do what I can.

My New York Boyfriend

I have kept this under my hat thus far - I have a New York Boyfriend. We have a perfect relationship based on drunken voicemails, text messages and booty calls. He is everything I want at the moment including, but not limited to well educated, good looking, glasses wearing, snappy dresser, champion drinker, dirty talker, Abercrombie & Fitch smelling, well appointed apartment dweller, etc. The only problem is that he lives in New York. Therefore, I am submitting my resignation as a resident of Northampton, MA effective almost immediately. It's time to move on from this happy, but kind of nutty valley. While some of you are probably thinking, wow, she's really going to move to NY! No, no I'm not. I'm going to move to ... wait for it...

Yup. You see, my friends, in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to go back, or some shit. I would refer to my background in East Asian philosophy for a better explanation, but most of you tired of listening to me ramble on about Lao Zi years ago. I have given myself until August 5, 2007 (my birthday - go ahead and add that to your Google calendar) to a) move to NYC with a real job*, b) apply to grad school (which means I actually have to take the GRE. Eek!), or c) teach English in China.

While I love Northampton, New England, my friends and former dog, I've been here since college, which, it turns out, was a while ago as I am getting old. So, I feel completely justified in throwing in the towel on this phase of my life. Also, there is always the chance that d) move back to Noho with my head on straight (after I've convinced NYB to come with me) will happen.

Notes:
1. If you live in Norman, OK, I'm coming back! Be my friend! Please? No, seriously, please?
2. You can take the girl out of Northampton, but you can't take the blog out of the girl, so keep reading. Please?
3. If you want to be my roommate in NY or travel companion to China, please contact me for an application as I am scared shitless of doing either alone.

*i.e. corporate sell out type of thing so i can pay the ever looming student loans. lemme know if you got any connex.

Goulet Wednesday News Round Up

Sorry kids, phoning this one in. Rough night. You know.

-Freaking finally. [perezhilton]

-OH MY GOD, please tell me this isn't true. Oh good, it's not.

-Dr. McCrappy. [TMZ]

The Epic Nap

I just took an epic nap. This was some serious, hard core napping. The real deal. The kind you have to brush your teeth after. The kind where you wake up and can't remember what state you live in. The kind where you dream about trying out for American Idol wearing your best friend's dinosaur costume singing "send in the clowns." The kind where you wake up to ABC's nightly news to see Charlie Gibson doing a story on the comeback of the Rubik's cube. Makes you want to go right back to sleep.

Uh, Gem Sweater?

As I've mentioned before, I'm a latecomer to almost every aspect of anything, so the cool kids probably already know about this, but I happened to come across this, uh, stuff today while reviewing the GGs with my (virtual) friend, Manolo.



There's more here.

I don't get it, but maybe I'm not meant to. Also, Mom, don't be offended that she's wearing some of your sweaters. Just kidding. If anyone's wearing oversized sweaters and stirrup pants, it's me.

The Golden Globes, and I'm not talking about Warren Beatty's balls, Tom Hanks

I was going to live blog the GG. That's a lie - I didn't think of that till right now. But I am watching them. Chris, Matt, Alabra and I all tucked into a smorgasboard of paella, Coke(acola), coffee, ginger cookies from Stop & Shop, beer and Caramellos as we watched Ryan Seacrest awkwardly harass stars on the red carpet.

*Yeah, yeah. We all knew Jennifer Hudson was going to win. Did B come in costume?

*And Eddie Murphy won too. For worst babydaddy. Poor Scary Spice.

*Helen Mirren rawks! And looks pretty goddamn hot. I would love to age so gracefully. And her boobs look nicer than mine. Jerk.

*Cameron Diaz's dress wasn't too cute, but JT awesomely saved a weird moment when Prince won an award for best song (what? he wrote a song for Happy Monster Feet Cars House?), but wasn't around to receive it. Stuck in traffic? I don't think so. He was probably making pancakes or playing basketball.

*Tom Hanks should never talk about anyone's balls again.

*Meryl Streep is a fucking genius. I don't care what you say, Chris. Matt is right. Don't pretend your Meryl phase is over. It's never over.

*Sacha Baron Cohen is, um, really funny. Borat should be nominated for best picture. For real.

*How come everyone was crying when Ugly Betty won? Geez people. If we have learned anything, it's that women who play ugly chicks always win. (Nicole Kidman, Charlize Theron, etc - this is nothing new. Also not new, Selma Hayek is still really effing hot.) P.S. America, 1998 called and wants its bridesmaid dress back. P.P.S. 1997 called and wants that joke back.

*Jeremy Irons and Hugh Laurie are some seriously sexy, funny, British (oldish) men.

In the words of Meryl Streep, "that's all."

Yup. I'm a nerd.

In spite of constantly regaling you with my tales of TV, I actually don't watch that much having suffered the heart wrenching loss of my TIVO. I watch a few shows here and there, and sometimes catch up online, because there are no commercials and there is nothing I hate more than commercials. Except Uggs. Especially on someone skinnier and more attractive than me. In the meantime, I have been reading, what I would consider, a lot. Check this out:

(The Omnivore's Dilemma, The Corrections, I'm a Stranger Here Myself, Assassination Vacation, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, The Santa Land Diaries, Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, Jitterbug Perfume, Cat's Cradle, Random Families, No Safe Place and a couple I forgot. Not pictured: People, US Weekly, In Touch, Martha Stewart Living.)

I have read all of these since November. When I was in 5th grade, I got to attend some sort of dorkfest for super readers. Students at Cleveland Elementary were required by Mrs. Dansby to read 1,000 pages per quarter. I must've thought she said 10,000 (I've never been good with numbers) because I really went to town and read approximately 30,000. I don't remember much other than that C-tina and I got medals or something, then we got to go to Oklahoma City to sit in a giant arena with a bunch of literate nerds and their teachers. I wanna say Shannon Miller spoke, but I could be making that up.

Music of the day: Paper Tiger - Spoon. Care of Cell 44 - Zombies. Se que no Vas a Volver - Gaby Kerpel. Moonlight Mile - Rolling Stones. Waltz #2 - Elliot Smith.

Food of the day: Leftover mu shu pork from The Great Wall, the best Chinese restaurant ever! Besides The Cottage on 76th and Amsterdam in New York. Get the seafood dumplings. Trust me.

Old School VHS of the day: If you live in Northampton or the Valley, get yourself to Pleasant Street Video and rent Hands on a Hard Body. I would suggest setting the mood before popping this one in with perhaps some pork rinds, Bud Light, and a cigarette. Prepare yourself for Texas-sized mullets.

It is what it is and it was buh-rilliant.

Things in my life have been kinda Schrutesville lately. Until I saw this:



Now I feel better.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with never having to attend another fraternity formal in my life. I'm not sure what made me think of this, perhaps the pile of slutty, sparkly dresses lurking in the depths of my closet that I dug up the other night on the hunt for a much more pratical sweater.

Did you ever (have to) go to one of these elitist, drunken puke fests? In my college career, in spite of attending a women's college, I managed to grace four of these events with my presence - all at a smallish, heavily fraternized Ivy League college nearby... I even subjected my best friends to these homoerotic danceoffs.

Somehow, slutting yourself up seemed a fair exchange for free booze (except I know those boys were putting Popov in the Skye bottles - what, you each have an x-box, Audi, iPod, Jamaican spring break, Broooks Brothers suit, expensive gambling and drug habits, but can't ante up for a bottle of Kettle One?) and a chance to mingle with future lawyers, hedge fund managers and ibankers.

A formal was not complete without:

1. Mandatory pre-party held, most likely, at the frat - the smell of last night's pong tourney still heavy in the air, the table laden with handles of the finest liquor dues can buy, or not, as previously mentioned. The name of the game is to drink as much as possible, as quickly as possible. These boys aren't going to be captains of industry for nothin', they've got some good ideas.

2. Because everyone is smashed before they even leave campus, bright and shiny school buses come to take you away. Now that's class! It is always cold. You are always wearing (beautiful) strappy heels in two feet of snow and are at risk for frostbite. On said bus, countless bottles of champagne which I believe are specifically made for such occassions (and I think cost maybe $3.99 per bottle) flow freely - down the throats of passengers, down the aisles, rolling dangerously close to the drivers feet and clattering to the ground when the doors finally open.

3. Someone always pukes on your shoes before you even make it into the mediocre steakhouse that has agreed to host this debacle. You love explaining this to your drycleaner.

4. The food is worse than the what the dining hall would've offered on a regular Tuesday night. But it doesn't matter. You're date's rolling three deep in bottles of champagne and food is just something to focus on as he tries to remember your name.

5. Commence the dance! But, you can only dance to 80's hair bands or mid 90's hip hop. And someone's gonna clear the floor to take off their tie and wrap it around their head, unstuff their shirt, and do the worm much to the horror of their date, who will still probably hook up with them in the bathroom later. Later, a moshpit is formed in response to a Bon Jovi song and later still, someone break dances to Ludacris. Awesome.

6. Later, when your boyfrind has passed out at a table, eighth rum and coke still in hand, his "brother," reeking like the inside of GQ, drags you onto the dance floor because his date has become a casualty of the bathroom - her girlfriends holding back her hair while seeing double themselves. You can almost see your reflection in his shiny tie. Inevitably, he tries to shove his tongue down your throat just as the BF comes to and is making a run for the nearest boot receptacle.

7. You then have an incoherent fight that starts while waiting outside in subzero temperatures (because the venue has kicked you out for obvious reasons) for the goddamned bus and continues on board as the only other person not passedout has discovered their cell takes pictures and is blinding the driver on the slow drive back.

8. When you arrive back at the house, your date asks who you are. You put him to bed, brush your teeth in the grossest bathroom of all time, and pray he doesn't pee on you in his sleep - or worse, wants sex. You find a couch.

My TV boyfriends.

Now, when will I meet you in real life? Or a reasonable facsimile. Now? Wait... now?

Now?


Also, don't know why, but I'm really into this video. Perhaps it has something to do with being the alternate on Mrs. Madole's 4th grade coed relay team for field day at Cleveland Elementary School, watching my classmates speed past me from the sidelines. L-Ma, you know what I'm talking about. oh, also, the song kinda rocks.



Now?

Because I am in charge

of this here blog, I can post as much as I want and whatever I want. Therefore, I am instituting a new, recurring post, which will initially occur today, and then maybe never again or perhaps only when I feel like it. I present to you:

Posts from other blogs I read that I think are pretty funny or something that maybe you should read except that then you'll think they're better than me and will stop reading this piece of crap, but since only four people read this pile (including my mom), it doesn't really matter.

Internet dating is hard, trust me, I have "friends" that know. [123 I Love You]

Sometimes, or all the time, I wish I'd had the foresight to keep one, just one, Barbie in her box. Then I could've paid for college. [indexed]

I failed skipping in kindergarten. My mom can comment to confirm. [Leezer]

Goulet Wednesday News Roundup

- OH MY GOOD LORD. Still with this? [TMZ]



- Barak Obama is the new Matthew McConaughey. [Gawker]

- iSeriously need this.

- Alright already. Jeez. [Junkiness]

- I just don't get how Marilyn Manson gets dumped, then gets a new underage GF is 2 seconds. Wha? Doesn't she have parents? [WWTDD]

- Duh.

- BREAKING who gives a crap news: [dlisted]

- How come no one cares when I gain 3 pounds? [Best Week Ever]

- Too cute.

- And finally, this gem via Best Week Ever:

Uh huh.

Thought you had it in the bag, didn't you Ohio... well, now you know how it feels.

Heavy underdog Florida annihilates Ohio State 41-14 [SI]

Instant classic: Boise State's trick plays repel OU's miraculous rally [ESPN]

At least our humiliation led to a mushy love story.



No, it doesn't get any better than that.

The one where Rosie compares Donald to Lord Voldemort

Seriously, this is still going on? Here's a recap:



There's so much sexual tension between those two, you could cut it with a really unsharp Wusthof that can be found in my kitchen drawer since I lost the good knives in the "settlement." She's gay? Oh right. Whatevs. They so want to make sweet, sweet love to each other. I can tell.

I watched a lot of TV Friday night

because it was my liver's night off and am filing the following report:

Knights of Prosperity: pretty funny*. Not sure how this premise is going to be sustained. But I said the same thing about Lost. And Prison Break. And 60 Minutes. So, there you go.

In Case of Emergency: eh, ok. Although, I now find myself strangely attracted to David Arquette's squirrel-like cuteness. I dunno.

According to Jim: This blog is funnier than that show and that's not saying much. Or anything, really.

That Ghost Show with Jennifer Tits Hewitt: I can't even talk about the terribleness of this horrid show. Tits and all, J.Hew is in one shitty, shitty show.

Numb3rs (or some silly thing): I fucking love Northern Exposure.

Song of the Day: "God Only Knows" - The Beach Boys. In fact, Pet Sounds is a pretty great album.

Food of the Day: the quesadilla at Bueno y Sano. It's really, really good.

Will Ferrell Moment of the Day:



*You know what was really funny? Sons and Daughters. For those (6) of us that watched the show, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout. I was hoping that Brothers and Sisters was a spin-off, but I was very, very wrong.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with myself. That's all I got. Ok, wait. How about some belated New Years resolutions?

1. Admit that I actually like the Greg Behrendt Show.

2. Refuse to see any sequals this year. Except for maybe Rocky. That one looks real good.

3. Floss more.

4. Not watch any more shows set in or around hospitals.

5. Eat more vegetables.

6. Stop thinking that sometimes, only sometimes, Dane Cook actually is funny.

That's pretty much it. Have a good one.

Holla!

It's gonna be a movie?! Suh-weet!

Goulet Wednesday News Roundup

- I met this kid on Martha's Vineyard this summer! Not Jake, the other. Friends w/Siobhlogger. And he's not gay, Perez. He's just hot and you're jealous. [PerezHilton]

- The truly disturbing thing about this lovely picture of Greasy Bear is that he's got nicer brows than me (but I suppose that's not so hard). [TMZ]

- If I were Catholic, and I'm not saying that I'm not, I would pick Angelina as my saint. [dlisted]

- People still care about this? Whatever. [Defamer]

- I knew it! Maybe that whole creepy "Daughters" song was about Jess and Joe. [TMZ]

- Oh Britney. Do you really need more waxing? [MollyGood]

- This is gossip/observation that only a Food Network whore could love or understand. Don't read if you don't watch. But if you do, it's delicious. [Snarkywood]

- Just for good measure:

And the hits just keep on comin'

1) I made it back! And I must say, it was kind of hard to leave my little red state in the end. I had a really great time in spite of my bitching. On the flight back, I sat next to a guy from Kansas who is now living on the East Coast as well. It was good to talk to someone who understands the charm of the Heartland, but needs the ideals of the East. Then he offered me his email address (Notre Dame grad with a real job! Good looking too!), then I ran off without taking it. Yup.

2) Oklahoma pride! You know, until we LOST last night to BOISE STATE. Boise State... The game almost gave me a heart attack. It was either that or all of the fried food I've consumed in the past two weeks. I really can't say anymore about it without getting ridiculously morose/crying/throwing things.

3) Mother bee-spot has found this blog and won't stop reading it. So, I guess that's that.

4) But before I stop talking about anything unpleasant/revealing about myself or others, New Years turned out to not be so bad despite the sudden change in plans/location (So sorry JS! I was really looking forward to it!). Went to a party with a bunch of old high school folks. I was told my hair was soft (in fact, the softest ever), that I'd been someone's first kiss a few New Years before, that someone had been in love with me, that no one really likes/ever liked the ex, thinks I can do better, etc. A good time. I had to awkwardly (literally) wriggle out of a proposition by a friend's visiting roommate (although he did meet my education requirements - Rice, no less). But, it's always nice to have a fan. Then I decided to do something totally awesome. It's really hard to go from living on your own to extended stays at home - there are all kinds of rules and whatnot. A friend heading toward my side of town dropped myself and another friend off at my house (since the friend lives on the other side of town). I was going to regroup and then take the friend home. Ok, it's 4 something am and the friend is male. Not the best idea, I suppose, to have him in my room. On the other hand, I'm old and who cares. I can be in his room at his house, but not in mine? Yeah, yeah. Girl/boy double standard thing. And I guess we made more noise than I thought we would while we were trying to gather our wits about us. In any case, woke the parents up, got yelled at, got angry that I'm so old and these things still matter, took the friend home. However, a make out partner and not waking up alone isn't such a bad way to start off the year.

5) 2007 is going to be the shit! Or else.