Boring Is The New Awesome!

Friday:

After a grueling day of lunching on Mexican food (probably the best benefit of Big Move 07) with L-Ma and perusing the racks of Charlotte Russe as Norman, Oklahoma doesn't have a Forever 21 and I needed a slutty shirt for the weekend (in fact, there isn't one in the entire state! Gasp! Until this summer! Gasp! At my mall!), I convinced Mr. Shain to have dinner with me at the best little Greek restaurant this side of, well, Greece in exchange for me attending an OU gymnastics meet (don't ask, I didn't). It's literally little more than a hole in the wall. The same old Greek couple has run the restaurant since I can remember and I'm never able to eat there because they go back to the homeland for Christmas - when I'm usually in town. There are three choices: a gyro, a gyro plate thing (comes with a bit of salad) and french fries fried in lamb juice. Nothing was going sour the experience of sinking my teeth into a giant pile of steaming lamb covered in yogurt, except for two things. 1) I am still carless and had to have my roommate drop me off at the restaurant a la seventh grade. 2) Shain and I are enjoying our meal when suddenly, a look of horror, pain and confusion spreads across Shain's face. The food at Greek House doesn't not produce anything besides pure joy (and the stink of herbed lamb meat on your clothes, hair, pores for days and days), so something was seriously wrong. He miraculously managed to chip a molar on a gryo. A fucking gyro. Seriously, who does that? What is the proper etiquette in this situation? I mean, were this to happen if he were chewing on bricks, I could call him a dumbass or something, but he was eating the same food as myself. So I kind of just laughed and feigned concern - in fact, I kinda thought he was being a baby about it - teeth are totally overrated*. On to the gymnastics meet. What? Why would I go to a gymnastics meet? [I would like to take this opportunity to point out that the ex practiced gymnastics, which I'm sure he'd like to forget. Heh.] Turns out there was no meet since Shain can't read a calendar, he will deny that he was wrong, but clearly, there's no other option. We ended the night with L-Ma at the Library where I was made fun of for my love of Forever 21 and one night stands, you know, the usual.

*Shain will almost certainly provide a more humorous and accurate account of this situation. Whatevs. His should be better. I'm not the one getting a Ph.D.

Saturday:

My house is full of sick people. Everyone has this terrible flu/cold thing going around. I've actually been pretty sick for the past week, but not enough to keep me from bringing you the latest in my eternally fascinating life. Since Wednesday, I've had that super sexy croaky phlegm voice thing going on. Actually, today it's pretty hot. I've gone from sounding like Harvey Fierstein to, well, I like to think Scarlett Johansson. Call me. You'll see. The point is, I escaped the land of the dead (aka reclining in La-Z-Boys while watching basketball games) to see Music and Lyrics, the new Hugh Grant/Drew Berrymore disaster. It was kinda funny, but not really. I'd have rather bought a six pack with that $7.

Saturday Night:

What is more fun than spending Saturday night grading introduction to philosophy exams? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Shain lured me to his office with promises of a free dinner in exchange for helping him grade his exams. He read me a few samples of what the kids these days call "essays" which sealed the deal. Sweet Jeebus are these kids fucking morons. That's somewhat of an overstatement as I didn't completely understand what the question was either (Teleological? Cosmological? Just kidding. I remember that stuff. Psych!), but I would've at least BS'd my way out with proper grammar. Rather than deciphering what these students meant with their incoherent strings of "therefore because there could be there is a universe with things and maybe a God" Shain had me literally translate/transcribe a student's essay, which was almost completely illegible. It was amazing. It's like he wrote in a combination of Windings and Cuneiform. Anyway, it was a challenge. And I'm always up to a challenge. Until I got bored.

And went to meet Alex at a little bar called The Deli. No offense New York, specifically you, East Village, but this bar has you beat in the odd mixture of frat boys, professionals and regulars in a spectacularly trendy dive setting with fantastic underground music. It's got an unparalleled authenticity and I predict I will spend much time there. I was treated to a couple of Red Stripes, a smorgasbord of drunk people making out and the musical stylings of The Hosty Duo. I met the main guy over Christmas with my friend Mike who guaranteed I'd like him and he was right. Listen to Oklahoma Breakdown. When this was played, the whole bar started singing along. I wish I'd known the words. Pride in your home state is a good thing and these guys manage to praise every aspect of the sooner state (remember, they don't have much to work with). Most importantly, The Hosty Duo sings a song about Linda Cavanaugh, the illustrious anchor of KFOR TV Channel 4. I don't know why, but I have harbored a hate for this woman since I was a small child. Maybe it's her shellacked hair helmet, maybe it's her irrepressible Republicanism she brings to every newscast. I dunno, but my disgust runs deep.

And now it's Sunday:

Liquor stores are closed. I can't download porn on the family computer. What am I gonna do all day?

Song of the day: Feeling Good - Nina Simone
Dumb Video of the day: