They're heeere (Poltergeist reference - get it? No? Ok.)

I went out for a drink last night at The Mont, a Norman mainstay and home of the "Sooner Swirl" a frosty, purple concoction with Everclear that I will not be enjoying again for quite some time. From my perch at the bar, I noticed something. Coinciding with the most wonderful time of the year (college football season) is its most horrifying byproduct - the infestation of frat rats in the lovely hamlet of Norman, Oklahoma. Now, this is the first summer I've spent in good ol' Norman since 2002, and damn, things have changed (or I've forgotten how they were because I'm getting old - I will go with change). Now, not all sorority sisters are of the sorostitute persuasion (this whole post is a bit of a gross generalization), but based on my completely unscientific research, it seems like more and more fall into this category. It appears to be an epidemic. A sexy epidemic. No, not sexy. Trashy. Ok, sometimes sexy. In spite of my palpable hatred of their vapid existence, some of them are fucking hot. And the others try real hard. Basically, I detest them because they lead the boys of Norman to believe that all girls should look and behave like these chicks. Not so, I say. I'm quite a catch (if you have no standards whatsoever) even if I do dress like a lesbina sometimes (yeah, I wore Chacos to the bar last night - that's how I roll).

The natural habitat of the sorostitute is the bar, fraternity or local Jamba Juice location. In off hours, they can be seen driving about town in Range Rovers, 4-Runners, or Lexus SUVs (those less fortunate 'tutes are often seen in Jeeps and Explorers) wearing Dior sunglasses larger than a small breed dog, carrying an oversized Coach bag (stocked with, I imagine, condoms and lip gloss) in shorts that barely cover their ass, a tank top emblazoned with Greek letters and Nike shocks. Chances are, you will catch a peek of Victoria Secret's PINK line of underwear where most normal people would be sporting a muffin top. During peak hours, they gather at local bars clad in BCBG heels, Miss Sixty cleavage baring dresses displaying a store bought tan, freshly highlighted hair, a (real) Prada purse, Chanel eye liner and saucer sized earrings. During the winter, they wear sorority issued black ass-pants, puffy North Face coats, and pointy toed boots that are more expensive than everything in my closet combined. Their diet consists of Keystone Light, lettuce, Coke (diet and Colombian) and semen. While they have evolved to develop a highly sensitive popped collar radar to detect potential husbands, they have been unable to increase their capacity to drink more than two beers without whipping out their pink Razr to drunk dial other sisters or make out with the button downed douche that bought their drinks.

God love 'em.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with lovin.' Sweet, sweet lovin.' It doesn't take much to get a girl like me into bed e.g. a (1) PBR, kind(ish) glance, the promise of cheese flavored corn chips, etc, but it takes a lot almost nothing to keep me there. Hey, a girl has needs. I am a girl. Ergo needs. Or whatever. My needs are best met in the presence of the following albums. In the words of Ron Burgundy, my hero: "that's baby making music that's what that is."

1. Astral Weeks - Van Morrison: Need I say more? This is a sure way into my pants. I mean heart. The heart of my pants.

2. Kind of Blue - Miles Davis: Again, not much to be said here. Fuckin' genius.

3. Lovers Rock - Sade: It's freakin' Sade. She's the definition of sexytime music. Come on. Seriously.

4. Heartbreaker - Ryan Adams: Because I'll always have a little indie rocker in me. Well, hopefully not too little. ZING! (God, I hope my mother - or anyone for that matter - isn't reading this.)

5. Mutations - Beck: Perfect for space sex.

6. Between The Lines - Janis Ian: Weird choice, I know. That is all.

I'm cured! (SEMI SPOILER ALERT - literary, not near nudity)

of the HPV(VII)!! You may now speak to me about it.

On a side note, I want to get married sooo badly that I actually almost want to get married. Like to the first person that asks. And name my kiddos Lily, James, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Albus and Voldemort. I laughed, I cried, it was better than the Da Vinci Code.

Oh Harry! How I will miss you! Until the sixth movie or until JK most certainly begins to pen a lengthy prequel.

Dear Shain (letter #3 in a series):

Why did you have to post this picture on your blog? Although we communicate all day via email, gmail chat, (other people's) blog comments sections, telephone and telepathy, I still find myself checking *The Life & Times hundreds (4) of times a day. Lately, I have been greeted by this mesmerizing image. 9.5 times out of 10, I find myself pulling a Super Troopers muttering "enhance, enhance, enhance" while enlarging the image on my screen much to the dismay and concern of my coworkers. What does this mean? I can't look away.

Love in Christ,

Blythe

UPDATED! Cringesday!

UPDATE: Annie wins the prize for actual participation (the prize is, of course, nothing). This will catch on. It will. Just wait for next week.

It's more embarrassing for my sister (she's the one wiht the tragic hair on the bottom), but it was definitely my idea to pose like this. I was always convincing her to put on pointless "shows" that ended with her on the floor and me looking easy-breezy-beautiful on top of the world. That's definietly cringe-y.

***********************************************************************************

Due to the most recent event in the life of LiLo that actually makes Katie Holmes glad she's a drugged, Scientologist mother of an alien, I am discontinuing Goulet Wednesday News Round Up. I'm no longer challenged. Between LaLohan's antics, Britney's downward spiral into the mere footnotes of Shar Jackson's biography, Nicole's babybulemic, and Paris' post prison extension emergency, quite frankly, I'm disgusted. With Perez Hilton.

So, instead, because I like the idea of blog features because I don't like the idea of actually writing anything because I'm pretty horrible at it, I've come up with Cringesday. What is Cringesday you ask and how do you stand being so beautiful and deal with all of those marriage proposals? Well, Cringesday is where I post a horrifying story, picture, piece of writing, or other memento from my youth and expect you to do the same (fine - I just made that other part up). It's like free therapy but without the credentials, drugs and results (but hopefully with the shame, tears and copays - for me). Come on! You might like it. (For serious, I'm almost 100% sure that no one will take me up on this, but seriously, send me a pic/story/scan something mortifying and I'll throw it up here. It'll be fun fun fun! We're all friends. Except you, Shain. Lacey, I know for a fact you have something to share.)

Cringenesday #1: The Five Year Old Mullet.

Yup, that's me, circa 1986ish. Let me tell you about kindergarten. I failed skipping in P.E. Fucking failed it like LiLo's field sobriety test. The best part about having a mullet when you're 5 or 6 or whatever, is that it can't get worse, right? Oh, yes it can and it's called a perm + mall bangs. Stay tuned.

Your turn! So, who's with me? This is my Jerry Maguire moment except even Renee Zellweger's squinty eyes aren't even following me out of the building.

Something has gone terribly wrong*

Case #1: This morning, at the fine institution of higher education in which I work, we had a little power outage. Actually, lightning struck a substation or some such nonsense so it was kind of a big outage. I don't really understand how electricity works. Blah blah blah. So, I have to pee because all I do at work is Wikipedia shit (well, not literally shit, but things like Martika (you know, from Kids Incorporated?) and the history of Sunny D) and drink Diet Coke. It is pretty, pretty, pretty dark in the "garden level" (read basement) where my office is located. Needless to say, the ladies room is pitch black. A coworker graciously offers her key chain that has one of those handy micro flashlights on it. I take it into the bathroom and light my way, till it's time for some flushing action. It all happened so fast, I can't really explain it, but the keys of the coworker ended up in the toilet. They were on a lanyard, so I caught that part before it was submerged, but the keys themselves definitely took a swim in Lake Toilet. I fished them out, banged into shit while Stevie Wondering it to the sink, and gave them a good wash. I didn't tell anyone. Does this make me a bad person?

Case #2: Monday night is Benson Family Dinner Night, since the little bro doesn't have to work. I've been having a spot of trouble with him as he has decided to live at home for his first year of college to save money (for what? I honestly don't see how the kid could spend more than he already does on various unnamed vices). I think this is a terrible idea for a multitude of reasons that I won't bore you with, but mainly I've been waiting 18 years to feel like an only child again. No sharing! So, Mother Bee-Spot outlines her concerns, chief of which is the fact that she feels that she and my father need more warning as to his comings and goings so they can best utilize the privacy. I throw up my pork chop a little (mostly because I don't like pork chops). She goes on to say that perhaps she and my father want to walk around nekkid, play loud music or even smoke pot. WHAT? My mother wouldn't know what pot smoke smelled like if it was billowing out from under my closed door stuffed with a towel. I ask her if she as promised my brother's room to Matthew McConaughey, to which she responded with something about bongos. Well done Mother Bee-Spot!

Case #3: Lacey and I went to Starfucks this evening in an effort to get some work done. She's going to be a doctor, so she has to, like, do important stuff or something. I don't know. I have to do the important work of finishing Harry Potter, which I just can't bring myself to do. I really don't want to talk about it. After we've alienated everyone in the place by laughing/snorting, ridiculing their outfits, declaring the new Paul McCartney album for old, deaf people in front of old, deaf people, examining our hair for split ends, singing Ain't No Mountain High Enough (I take the Tammi Terrell part, Lacey does her best Marvin Gaye), talking extensively about reflexive urination and ranking our best birthday experiences from 15 till present, Lacey shows me the masterpiece she's been fiddling with the whole time I've been reading one word of HPVII between snippets of convo. Behold:


Song of the day: A Change Is Gonna Come - Sam Cooke.
Funny business of the day: Business Time. Seriously kids, if you're not watching Flight of the Conchords, well, I just don't get it.

*most likely, this post.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Accidental Suicide

Do not, I repeat, do not play the following in any combination or it might prove deadly:

We Rule The School - Belle and Sebastian
Fade Into You - Mazzy Star
More Adventurous - Rilo Kiley
Both Hands - Ani DiFrancoA Case Of You - Joni Mitchell
And No More Shall We Part - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Just Like Heaven - Katie Melua
Together - William Shatner
I'm In Love With A Girl - Bigstar
Don't Leave - Faithless
Mad World - Gary JulesJust One Thing - My Morning Jacket
Tender - BlurDamn, Sam - Ryan Adams
We've Only Just Begun - Grant Lee Buffalo
I'll Be Yr Bird - M. Ward
Samson - Regina Spektor
Someday You Will Be Loved - Death Cab For Cutie
The Blowers Daughter - Damien Rice
Our Way To Fall - Yo La Tengo
Plans - Ben Folds
The Stranger Song - Leonard Cohen
I Thought We Had - The Family Stand
One More Robot - The Flaming Lips


Also, last night, L-Ma and I made our way to the Hosty Family Picnic at Lyons Park. Seriously, guys, if you're a Normanite (or even a MetroOKCite) and you haven't been to a Hosty show, you're an idiot (how many times do I have to go over this - he's got a song about KFOR's LINDA CAVANAUGH! He did a bit about Chewbacca participating in a spelling bee - genius.) - and my b-day's on a Sunday, so you can guess where I'll be - he sings special birthday songs. We had a great time hanging out on our blanket. I had to pee. There were only porta thingies. It was traumatic. While waiting in line, I saw my ninth grade boyfriend (of three weeks - he wrote me a poem and gave it to me on V-day - I think that's when I broke up with him because I'm an asshole), point is, after a million years or however long it's been, still can't say anything to him. Then, I stepped it up a notch and followed the Hosty crowd to the Deli for the continuation of the fun, but with 6 point beer. I made friends with Wanda, the bar tender at a dive on Main Street. I think the key to life is making friends with bartenders. I helped her drink her drink. I hope I don't get the hep.

L-Ma!

Dear Stewpid: I went to take pictures of orange bejeweled skanks at Forever 21, but instead bought this shirt. DAMN IT!

Supercrappy5000 picture of the back of people watching Hosty.

Hey, I just noticed something. This post kinda blows.

Do you like Harry Potter? No... I LOVE him.

Live blogging the HPVII.

10:57 Scene of the Crime.

11:03 Pre-game.

12:48 (after quick trip to book store) Success!

No sleep till Brooklyn!

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with love.

Perhaps it is the alignment of HPV [the movie, people - and yes, I saw it for a second time last night and yes, I spent a fair bit of the remaining night rereading HPVI in a red and gold scarf I knitted for the occasion and no, I don't have a boyfriend] and HPVII (the book). Perhaps it is the fact that my mother's cell went dead on her week long trip to visit relatives in the "resort" town of Galveston, Texas. Perhaps it is because the first OU game's like a month away or something and I've got tickets. Perhaps it is hearing from long lost friends. Perhaps it is sleeping with my windows wide open. Perhaps it is because I had a dream where I was actually on Red Eye. Perhaps it's knowing someone else loves to hate on Dean Blevins as much as me. Perhaps it is the impending visit of my great aunt and uncle who are driving down from Tulsa to distribute their emu oil, because yeah, my relatives run an emu ranch, to Dodson's Health Foods. Perhaps it is the word "incontrovertible," which I am really enjoying right now. Perhaps it is because I have pretty decent eyebrows that require little plucking (although, I do none) because I have enough other things to worry about. Perhaps it is the grand opening of Sooner Mall's Forever 21 (aka Hooker's R Us - or in my case, me). Perhaps it is tomorrow's farmers market. Perhaps it's tonight's drink that I will get all by myself like an adult at a bar after work because I am a grown up and can do things like that if I want.

But mostly, it's this fucking song that is making my robot heart leak oil like Lohan leaks drool when she passes out in Samantha Ronson's car. Fuck you Old 97's and your Zach Braffian ways into my heart.

Question - Old 97's

I am rarely surprised by geography, and other stories.

There are a lot of things I should be thinking about - e.g. should I up my employee contribution to my TIAA Creff biznass to .5%? Did I remember to turn off my flat iron (ha! j/k - I don't even own a hairbrush - sexy!)? Do I need to have an intervention for Mr. Shain's meth habit that he continues to publicly deny? Am I contributing to the slow death of Lauryn Hill's children because I am listening to The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill all the way through for the third time tonight? But no. I'm not thinking of that stuff. Instead:

• I am 94.28%* sure I could school most people in the World Series of Pop Culture extravaganza currently dominating the Video Hits 1 line up in the absence of a show featuring the Monique, Brooke Hogan or some stupid breaking news segment urging me to check out new and upcoming artist Amy Winehouse - yeah, got that memo years ago. Ok, fine. Today I learned that there are a lot more Val Kilmer movies I'd need to brush up on, but other than that, I'm all set. What I am not so sure about is that I could come up with a suitable name for my team. So far, I'm all about The Moops. Maybe it's already a name, maybe it's not, I don't really care, I think it's pretty solid.
  

*this number is actually more like 3%

• Speaking of pop culture, why is Doug Benson, the Pop Culture Bachelor, on America's Next Top Chef/Model/Comic/Posh Beckham/Bret Michael's Charm School of Survivor Pirates Who Think They Can Dance Idol? The Benson's (me, Doug, Brendan, George, and Lloyd, although he was a Bentsen [but it's ok, oh, and he's dead] gotta stick together!
  

• A girl has needs, right? Right now, mine include fantasizing about Colin Meloy and Ben Gibbard fighting it out for the last pair black rimmed glasses while Rivers Cuomo and I make out.

• I spend a lot of time in my car these days. I need a stellar commute mix. I've been almost killing myself and many others daily in the greater OKC metro by trying to both drive and work the iPod because I am tired of every other song I've got at the moment. While I am driving, I also think about how much I hate driving and wish I could have some sort of excuse to not leave right at 5.30 so as to avoid road rage inducing rush hour in which I watch bike riders move faster than me - no, there are no cyclists in OK. I see four options, all improbable:

1. Go to the university gym and like run or something, I guess.
   
2. Create my own happy hour or crash another. But I'd have to have friends in the OKC area for this one. Not happening so far. Actually, I drink at home alone, so what's wrong with drinking alone at a bar in downtown OKC, right? It's fine...
   
3. Go to the rock gym. This doesn't necessarily require friends and it's quite close to my place of employment, however, it does require me to get up off my ass, dig out my harness, dust off my shoes that only bring back memories of Chinese foot binding-esque pain*, and whore myself out for a belay partner.
4. Find someone to sleep with, as suggested by C-tina, near said place of employment. She requires that they have at least 600 thread count sheets. Let me know.
   

*I can say this because I was an East Asian Studies major - whatever that means.

• And finally, my 26th b-day is quickly approaching. What does one do at this age in celebration? This time last year, I'd just been dumped and spent my actual day of birth curled up, sobbing on my bathroom floor while on the phone with the exbf who was pleading with me to let him come to my birthday dinner because he would feel left out otherwise. I'd rather not do something like that again. Maybe I'd rather do nothing. Do I have to do something? I've been having extravagant birthdays since, well, birth and I'm kind of over it. Of course, I only say this because I know someone is planning a HUGE surprise party for me! No, I know. I've got a business card, health insurance, a dog, soft hair, car, one nice pair of shoes, and a couple of friends I haven't completely alienated. What more could I ask for? A pony.

Whole Addiction

Since I have made my triumphant return to Oklahoma, I have done little more than enjoy the cheap beer and bitch about the lack of Whole Foods (and watch an alarming amount of HBO and dollar movies - hang out with me, I am so fun!). I just couldn't fathom how people here lived without an olive bar, stinky cheese case, patchoulied check out kids, and the possibility of buying in bulk. In fact, when friends visit places that do have a Whole Foods, they know to provide immediate documentation for fear of retribution.


This was snapped by Lacey on a recent trip to Beantown (although, I don't know which one this is - I always went to the one in Cambridge). She also picked up some lovely organic soap and two lip balms (vanilla with honey and tengerine!) of the Whole Foods brand - which I immediately used to replace my current soap and lip balm. Now, why would I replace perfectly good products? Because I am addicted to Whole Foods. I am conditioned to the idea of a Subaru driving, bike rack sporting, large breed dog walking, Costa Rica vacationing, luxury food item buying, self employed husband loving, and eventual Baby Bjorn wearing kind of life. I'm not proud of this. I blame Massachusetts. However, as Whole Foods continues to ignore it's northern neighbor (WF is headquartered in Austin) and as it was revealed that the CEO is a serious tool, I am over it. Turns out, Forward Foods, right here in Norman, can provide me with all the Boylan Seltzer and FAGE Total 0% yogurt that I need to sustain my ailing liver. Also, they have tons of cheeses and will give you samples! I bought some delightful Gouda yesterday. Delightful! Seriously, what is better than cheese? Olives (well, close second). They have olives. And pasta in bulk. And Mrs. Meyer's products so my whole life can smell like geraniums! I could have spent a lot of time in this tiny shop, but people were starting to look at me funny. Also, it's right next to the local record store, so I can feed all of my addictions (well, the legal ones anyway) in one stop. So, basically, screw you Whole Foods. I don't need you anymore. However, I wouldn't turn down a Trader Joe's. Not gonna lie. I could survive on an IV of the Roasted Corn Tortilla Chowder.

Hipster music types that I spoke ill of,

you have failed me. How come no one told me about the Dirty Projectors? I just find out about this tonight? What do I pay you for?

No More
Jolly Jolly Jolly Ego

Question: Do I On Demand last night's episode of Entourage (Which, quite frankly, I'm losing interest in. Lloyd's not in it enough, Drama annoys the shit out of me, I just want Turtle to get some, Sloan's boobs are out of the picture, Medellin sucks, etc) or dig up the ol' one hitter and try to teach myself Portuguese by listening to Joao Gilberto? This is what happens when you move home to Oklahoma. I do not recommend it. No comments, please, Shain.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday (except it's Sunday, but I am bored - hard to imagine, I know, what with the exciting life I lead.)

I am absolutely exhausted from trying keep up with what the hipsters are listening to these days. I'm taking a week off to buy a new pair of Chucks, get new lenses for my tortoise shell glasses, finish reading Che Guevara's biography, lament my useless degree from my liberal arts college, purchase a new Manhattan Portage bag, invest in PBR, have a sex dream about Chuck Klosterman, practice being ironic, practice meta-irony, listen to NPR, alphabetize my Bukowski books, update my MySpace profile, and go to a dive bar to play trivia. In the meantime, listen to this old shit. Although, this weekend, I totally bought Spoon's Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga and Ryan Adams' Easy Tiger and they are definitely living up to their hype.

Suite: Judy Blue Eyes - Crosby Stills & Nash
And It Stoned Me - Van Morrison
Band on the Run - Wings
Fool in the Rain - Led Zeppelin
Wouldn't It Be Nice - The Beach Boys
Killer Queen - Queen
Wild Horses - Rolling Stones
Sweet Baby James - James Taylor
Under Pressure - Queen and David Bowie
Two Of Us - The Beatles
Walk on the Wild Side - Lou Reed
Waterloo Sunset - The Kinks
Admiral Halsey/Uncle Albert - Wings
Just Like A Woman - Bob Dylan
Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin
Let's Stay Together - Al Green
Harvest Moon - Neil Diamond
Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley
Tom Petty - American Girl
Rocket Man - Elton John
On The Road Again - Willie Nelson
Alone Again, Or - Love
Cecilia - Simon & Garfunkle
Romeo & Juliet - Dire Straits
The Passenger - Iggy Pop
Is This Love - Bob Marley
Superstition - Stevie Wonder
No Woman No Cry - Bob Marley
Caravan - Van Morrison
All Of My Love - Led Zeppling
God Only Knows - The Beach Boys
Got To Give It Up - Marvin Gaye
The Weight - The Band

Friday th 13th

I know it's lame, but I kind of believe in this stuff. And something dreadful has happened.

Could NO ONE have told me that my shirt is completely see through today? You all really made me wait till I took my pee break 30 minutes before I'm out of here? Thanks folks. I met the president of the university today. AWESOME 5000.

Dear Shain, I just don't think this relationship is working out anymore.

today's gmail chat:

me: worst. lunch. ever.
sloppy joes in the cafeteria.
mr.shain: how many did you have?
me: ...
mr.shain: can't remember
?
that many eh?
me: um

It's Friday, I'm In Love

with Anthony Bourdain.

I am a food junkie.

[I refuse to say "foodie" because then I just feel fat and/or like I should own cats and/or live with my husband on the outskirts of a large city, whom I met in grad school (I am studying 18th century French poetry, he is an engineer, natch) in the cookbook section (he is wearing Tevas with socks, I am sporting a scrunchie) of a local bookstore on a Friday night because we're both too nerdy to be invited out, well, sometimes we're invited out, but it's to another grad school friend's house and we're going to watch a foreign film then take one hit from someone's old roommate's (whom they hated, obvs) bong and pretend we're stoned, but really go home and read Kafka. Now that we're married, we go to Whole Foods to purchase overpriced salmon and wines we read about Married Grad Students Monthly and have our friends over for a night of Cranium and slide show of our pics from our honeymoon/research trip to Ecuador. Yes, I am jealous of you people. And I love Cranium.]

Right, so I'll eat anything. The exbf, for better or worse, ingrained this in me - well, demanded it of me, if I didn't, we'd have GINORMOUS fights (in restaurants/international markets/where ever, but always in public) that resulted in me crying AND eating chocolate dipped pickled tripe, or how I learned to stop crying and love the food. I have eaten a lot of stuff most would classify as "not fit for a toilet," but I really get off on it. Actually, I get off on it to the point of being a total snob in the face of normal things like Kraft Dinner or Lil ' Smokies. I'd rather eat an insect than a not all beef hot dog. Mind you, I'm not saying this makes me better than you, in fact, it makes me worse than you. As usual. This whole thing worked pretty well for me until I made the move back to OK. Now there is limited sushi, no credible Indian food and negligible Thai cuisine (well, that I can find), no fish monger or butcher shop, one gigantimous Asian market, but no one who will eat soft shell crab with me.

Anyway, I was a fan of food shows before (ask me anything about Ina Garten, Bobby Flay or gray salt), but now I am obsessed. No Reservations totally gets my rocks off. Anthony, with his unruly, graying hair and skin tight threadbare shirts clinging to a body that belies the chef in him leads the viewer through culinary calling cards and delicacies from Paris to cook smoke filled shacks in China - all while smoking 8,592 cigarettes and mildly toasted. It is only natural that I should be in love. Watch it. You'll see.

Also, he wrote Kitchen Confidential (one of my favorite memoirs) which unabashedly describes his ascension into culinary society through a haze of booze, drugs and rotten fish (you will rethink the idea of brunch - for a while anyway), but not in a way that leaves you thinking he knows he's too cool for school. The chaotic and nomadic lives of those who make up the underbelly of America's kitchens is better than any reality TV show. But of course, someone tried to make the book into a TV show starring my beloved Bradley Cooper, and of course, it failed. Boo.

Maybe someday I will see you at the Siberia Bar, but until then, I will watch you on my tiny TV. Alone. Oh so alone.

This is sooo typical Oklahoma

UPDATE TO THE UPDATE: So, last night I go out for a tiny drink at the only bar on the west side of Norman. I'm sitting, enjoying my Flying Dog whatever because OK has no decent beer (I would have preferred a Harpoon UFO or perhaps a Magic Hat #9) when a man clad in a red polo makes his way out onto the patio. He begins trying to move two heavy tables together at the same time. He starts cursing at the umbrellas (eh eh eh). I offer him my help. Bob Stoops looks up at me and says, I've got it. Wait, can you move this chair? And I do. Then he sits, a waitress brings him a huge glass of red wine and I'm 94% sure he shared a cigar with some old guy who comes to join him with a bunch of drunkish middle aged men. We totally made eye contact at least once. Oh yeah. Looks like he's not taking this whole thing too hard.

UPDATE: I've been thinking about this and I think something new. Which is a big step considering my drug and internet addled brain. It's not Oklahoma that's fucktarded, it's the NCAA. Who the hell cares if these kids did or didn't do work for a few thousand bucks - perhaps the rule itself needs examination. Chances are the OU cheerleaders have made more than that on Girls Gone Wild or at least at some frat party for a triple kiss™. There are worse things, for sure. HOWEVER, the thing is, games are games because of rules and rules were broken (regardless of rationality), therefore punishment. Also, what do you expect when you name your kid Rhett?

This actually has nothing to do with Allen Iverson, but it is sports related. OU is fucktarded.

NCAA: Oklahoma must vacate 2005 season; Sooners to appeal

Seriously dudes, did we learn nothing from the Switzer years? I did and I was 8.

Thanks buddy.

Things I Don't Like, But Feel I Should.

As the workload increases, I've found myself hard up for new material. Also, I am leading an exceedingly boring life minus some minor excitement over TV shows, overly indie music and deep fried food items (jalepeno poppers!!!). Goulet Wednesday is on hiatus because I am boycotting Nicole Rchie's pregnancy. I would like to see the Harry Potter movie today, but I don't think I can convince anyone to go with me. This got me to thinking about how if I wanted to see Transformers, I could round up some people easily, but the thing is, I don't want to see Transformers, and a small part of me feels badly about that. A small part of me also enjoys dipping bacon in ranch dressing, but that's not the point. The point is, I actually feel culturally guilty for not appreciating the following:

Transformers
Yup. Another shitty live action movie denegrating my memory of the toys of my youth. There have been posts ad nauseum, so I will spare you, but have we forgotten The Flintstones? I do not want to see this, yet I feel compelled to pretend that I do. But I don't and you can't make me.**

The Doors
Listening to The Doors makes me want to kill myself, and not in a good way. Randy would say Jim's pitchy and I would say he flat out sucks. Val Kilmer makes the whole thing worse. But, much like The Who, I feel as if I should revere them.

Dane Cook
Wearing bedazzled True Religion jeans while spitting into a microphone does not make you funny. I dunno. There's something so douche about this douche.

College Basketball
I would love to be all up in that shit, but I just don't have it in me. I am spent from college football, which I only half love.

That Bowl Thingy from KFC
It combines all of my favorite things in the world, yet together, totally nasty.

** This movie does make me think about how I wish everyday things had the power to transform. e.g. when my mom busts into my room my one hitter turns into a high paying job.

WARNING: This post is neither funny (not that they ever are) nor informational (which, I would argue they sometimes are).

This morning, before work, my dad made me an egg sandwich on a whole grain English muffin with fat free cheese. I was running late and he brought it to me on a little plate with a napkin in the bathroom as I was negotiating whether or not I would brush my hair today. My family is not good at doing nice things for each other, in fact, we excel at doing meanish things to each other or just ignorning each other, so this broke off a tiny piece of my frozen heart. And it made me think back to one afternoon, many summers ago (e.g. 20) when I wanted to swim in my newly inflated kiddie pool, but it was simply too chilly out for the sun to heat the water. Know what Dad did? He got out every pot and pan and started heating water on the stove to dump into the pool. Then he loaded up a bucket with hot water from the bathtub. Heartbreak city.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday

It turns out I am a fan of both The National and Rogue Wave. Surprising, I know.

Here's some of what I've been listening to.

Fake Empire - The National
I now can understand some of the hype.
Intelligentactile 101 - Jesca Hoop
She was Tom Waits' nanny!
Apeman - The Format
Who doesn't love the Kinks? Waterloo Sunset...
Lighten Up - MorcheebaI just love saying Morcheeba.
Candylion - Gruff Rhys
Candy!
Goodnight Goodnight - Hot Hot Heat
This song was on the John Tucker Must Die soundtrack, and therefore, I should dislike it, yet I find myself liking both the song and the movie.

Minding My Own Business - Coconut Records
Dear Jason Schwartzman, turns out you put out a pretty good record. Also, your brother is the singer for Rooney? Whoa. Listen to this one too: Nighttiming. Plus, you are dreamy.

Red River - The Walkmen
So, the Spiderman 3 soundtrack has had some pretty surprisingly sweet stuff on it.
Somewhere Down The Road - Feist
I am obligated to listen to all things Feist.
Sight Lines - Rogue Wave
See? More good stuff from Spiderman. Whoda thought?
Technologic - Daft Punk

Race For The Prize - The Flaming Lips
They're playing in Tulsa in August, I think. Must work on that.
Magnolia - Apollo Sunshine
I dunno. Just something different.
Lil' King Kong - Simple Kid
Hmm. I foresee this song being played a lot.

Because

[If you know me, then you know that I am currently residing with the 'rents while I seek out housing and save a bit of lettuce (due to "Glamorous" by Fergie, I now exclusively refer to money as lettuce). This has afforded me literally billions of opportunities to wallow in self pity, eat free food, spend time with the 'rents and lil bro, withstand friends making fun of me, free laundry, cry myself to sleep, watch lots of HBO, etc.]

This weekend, as my brother was making a sandwich for himself that consisted of bacon, mayo, 1/2 pound of turkey, 1/4 pound ham, swiss cheese, provolone, mustard, and more bacon with extra mayo (and somehow he's still a bean pole) he revealed to me that he had never listened to a record before. I was aghast, much like the admission that he was unfamiliar with the (I would say ubiquitous, but I say a lot of things) Trapper Keeper. My father, being a musician and music education professional has quite the collection that I frequently pillaged as a middle schooler/high schooler. I mean, good stuff. He always says that when he dies, my mother is to absolutely not get the record collection. He pretends like he's joking, but I know better. There's a clause in the will. I can't figure out why I'd never made my brother listen to the weird shit I listened to back in the day, then realize, it was because he was a small child. Sometimes, I forget that there is a seven year age gap between us. Until this year, we've kind of lived separate lives, but with the same parents and in the same house, maybe you understand, but probably not. I don't know where to start in terms of breaking him into the world of vinyl (and I am NOT one of those people who are vinyl obsessed blah blah blah, I just think there's something special about a record every now and then and it should be listened to along with other mediums of music and yes, I have a reel to reel, so suck it), so I start with the Beatles. Now friends, there two kinds of people in this world: Stones people, Beatles people and people who divide the world into two groups of people, which is three groups, so there's really a fourth which consists of people who cannot count. I am firmly in the Beatles camp. I'll be friends with you if you're a Stones kinda kid, but I will never date you (probably for many reasons which are my fault, but let's not get into that). And if you've no opinion one way or another, that's a total deal breaker except right now I don't have a lot of friends, so I'd probably let it slide. For now. I just played him Abbey Road. Damn. It's good shit. He said the sound quality sucked. I ate half his sandwich to spite him. Also, because I like bacon. So, I present to you a list of my favorite Beatles songs, which, I am guessing, will be uninteresting to everyone but me, but I suspect everyone has theirs (I mean, who can pick just one?).

I Will (The White Album)
Here, There and Everywhere (Revolver)
She's Leaving Home (Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band)
And I Love Her (A Hard Day's Night)
Golden Slumbers (Abbey Road)
Oh Darling! (Abbey Road)
The Fool On The Hill (Magical Mystery Tour)
Two Of Us (Let It Be)

Of course, every song is fantastic and I will forever be a Beatles kind of girl and they will always rank at the top of any great bands list I might or might not create. And for the record, my favorite Stones song is Moonlight Mile.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with nothing. (Well, maybe myself, just a little bit.) I do know what I am not in love with, and one of those things is this "feature." I've been working on upgrading IFIIL to Casual Porn Friday, but I always get so sidetracked when I do research that I just don't think it's going to work out. For you. It's working pretty well for me. Anyhoo, I'm stealing Mr. Shain's Friday Confessional. The following five things I wouldn't reveal to anyone, except you, dear reader(s), and of course Google searchers.

1. Once, I had a sex dream about Patton Oswalt. And it was effing hot. I mean, hot enough that years later I still remember it. Hang on a second. Ok.

2. I will eat yogurt months past the expiration date. Don't give me that shit. It's fucking disgusting to begin with. Who cares how old it is.

3. Speaking of music, I literally tear up every time I hear Danny's Song by Loggins and Messina. I think I want it played at my wedding right after Don't Stop Believin. If you are ok with these song selections and my inability to love, I will marry you immediately.




4. While at Smith, on the way home from Quad parties, I would pee in the bushes outside of Cutter/Ziskind house because I didn't like those girls.

2000-2004 Smith Quad Dance Party Mix Sampling

Digital Love - Daft Punk
Rock Your Body - Justin Timberlake
I'm a Slave 4U - Britney Spears
Boom, Boom, Boom - Venga Boys
Move Your Feet - Junior Senior
Crazy In Love - Beyonce
Waiting for Tonight - Jennifer Lopez
Dirrty - Christina Aguilera
Get Yer Freak On - Missy Elliot
Always on Time - Ja Rule

5. This is perhaps the most shocking revelation yet. Notice how you have never seen a picture of Mr. Shain's face. That is because he doesn't exist. I began running *The Life & Times as a sort of blogging experiment. I just wanted to see what it would be like to blog as a man from Oklahoma living in LA. It wasn't as exciting as I had hoped.

Stuffity stuff.

Happy long weekend y'all! Or at least to me. Guess who doesn't have to work till Monday? I'll give you a hint. It's probably not you. No Goulet Wednesday News Round Up this week, folks, so stop emailing me about it (I wish). I've only been checking TMZ about 300 times a day instead of 3,000 lately. I haven't even read Gawker today. I'm just not feeling it. I've also been listening to a lot of Sia, which I'm pretty sure means that I'm depressed. While I wait for someone to score me some Klonopin....

In which I am killing my brain cells one by one.
Fuck you mini keg of Heineken. Normally, I wouldn't clean my toilet with you, but somehow, last night you got me drunk and took advantage of me. Just how I like it.

Mother, Mother.
Why are you watching Madea's Family Reunion (You were right, Clinton. I am a tard at spelling. I fixed it.) ? Furthermore, why are you watching it again? I just don't get Tyler Perry. God awful.

Sickho.
Saw it yesterday. It was pretty, pretty, pretty good. If you know my dad, you know he resembles a slightly skinnier Michael Moore. He's actually a perfect composite of Michael and Stephen Root. And I look just like him. Date me!

Dream on.
I dreamed that my mom in I got in a fight about what kind of potatoes to bake and which kind to mash. I think my life has reached (God willing) its apex of boringness if this is as imaginative my subconscious can muster. It can only get better from here. Right?

Summer Declaration.
"Heart It Races" is my song of the summer. I implore you to take a listen. Architecture in Helsinki is kind of an acquired taste [joke for Oklahomans only: that is how I describe Cherokee Ballard], and if they aren't doing it for you, like 10,000 groups have covered/remixed it.

AIH / Dr. Dog / Yacht / Trizzy's Rusty Tincan / Pink Skull

Also in music news uninteresting to everyone but me: M.I.A. is the new Lady Sovereign. And I like it.

Best. Meal. For. $5. Ever.

Greek House is a small, family run establishment in Norman that has been serving up the best value in the whole town for as long as I can remember. It's run by the sweetest Greek couple in existence (even if your Greek grandparents have been faithfully married for 78 years, volunteer for Meals on Wheels, save puppies from kill shelters, and send you Halloween cards, they are still nothing compared to these people) . I'll take you there when you come visit me. In the meantime, feast your eyes on my lunch. Bwahahaha to those of you who know, but are far away... If it makes you feel any better, even this delightful pile of grease couldn't rid me of my vicious hangover.



Blog stealer.
Sorry in advance, but this blew my mind too much (hang in there for the first minute). Also, I frickin' love Daft Punk. Say what you will. UPDATE: There's a Kanye West version? Huh? Also, Neptunes remix.



Speaking of blogs.
I am jealous. Somehow, I've gotten myself addicted to reading about the lives of a handful of New Yorkers (a sampling). Which makes me jealous to begin with since they are living my dream of being a poorish workingish 20-30ish in NY. Whatevs. Then I read that they all go out drinking with each other! Damn them! Now, if I actually did live in Brooklyn or where ever, chances are I wouldn't be invited by this group or there might be restraining orders or what have you (oh, and I think Gawker needs a Blogger Stalker), but that's really neither here nor there. The point is, where my Oklahoma bloggers is at? A mini-meeting was held last night, but it was very informal and I already know those kids. Don't let the NY kids show us up! Commenters welcome also.

And now.
I think it's time to head over to Lacey's to convince her to let me watch old episodes of SYTYCD on her TiVo. Now who's jealous? Oh. Still me.

Whoa is me.

*SPOILER ALERT - WHINING*

Do you ever feel like a poo sandwich? I feel like a poo sandwich on rye with extra Limburger cheese.


1. I am really hoping the mirror in the bathroom at work is broken, or something. Humidity is 2000% here these days and my hair goes from super soft (not my words) to something not unlike the Friends episode where Monica plays ping pong in Hawaii. Normally, I wouldn't care since I'm not one to fuss with such things, but I'm at least trying to make a good impression at work for the first few days anyway. Shit pisses me off. Also, someone could tell me my mascara has melted down my face after I return from scurrying about campus. Jeez.

2. I just want to sit outside and drink beers on a patio. I just want to drive around in my car with the windows down. I just want to watch a movie in my bed. I want to go on a real date with dinner and everything. But, I don't really know anyone who's into that (maybe including myself). Whine, whine whine.

3. Tonight (or last night, whatever, I don't know what time it is), I was walking my dog - wait, let me back up, today marked day 20 out of 20 consecutive days of rain (or something like that - ask Gary England), so every surface is water logged. The area where my driveway meets the street is covered in a mossy, wattery goo that I promptly slid in and landed on my ass much to the dismay of Claire. Being the strong breed that she is, she dragged me about two feet before I figured out how to get up (lightning fast reflexes!!). My whole right side was covered in this kind of stinky slime. I scraped my elbow. Ow.

4. Until right now, I had forgotten that Oklahoma declared the watermelon to be the state vegetable.

5. My Monday night consisted of a trip to heaven (Super Target), a failed dog walk, reading New York Magazine, the warm glow of my computer screen and a slush from Classic 50s.

6. The 4th is as bad as New Years. I always feel pressured to be at some fantastic party/barbecue having the best time of the summer knowing that it's halfway over. Half the time I end up spending a paycheck on fireworks, then almost blowing myself up or at least starting a small grass fire. The other half of the time I bitch about the parking at the fireworks venue and wish I was there with anyone but who I'm there with.

7. Mr. Shain will undoubtedly hail this post the worst yet of my dismal, but thankfully brief (much like my love life) blogging career. I might agree, but first I will listen to enough M. Ward to tranquilize a hippo.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: The Usual Suspects Edition.

I am slacking off in the music department. Totally asleep at the wheel. This is all I got this week:

Diamond Ring - Joseph Arthur and the Lonely Astronauts
Somewhat new to me.

Heart it Races - Architecture in Helsinki
I always forget about the awesomeness of this group. This is a pretty fantastic song that is only made better by Dr. Dog's cover.

Heart it Races - Dr. Dog
Dr. Dog is quintessential summer music.

The Ruby Ring Man - Page France
Coming to Hailey's in Denton with Bishop Allen. Wanna come with me?

Wild Mountain Nation - Blitzen Trapper
It's like they're caught in the wrong decade.

Trouble - Voxtrot
Standard indie pop, but good.

Crown Victoria - Robbers on High Street
I forget about these guys too. Reliable.

Missing a Piece - Illinois
I like this band more and more with every listen.

Everybody Knows - Ryan Adams
Oh Ryan.

Oh Yeah - The Cliks
I think this lady means business.

The Magic Position - Patrick Wolf
Good fun.

Crooked Lines - M. Ward*
Lovely.

Rotten Hell - Menomena
Overrated, but enjoyable.



Not that anyone will answer me, but what's everyone (all four of you) else listening to?

*Thanks d.

Because I am totally obsessed with Journey and blogs,

I happened on something pretty special via Stewpid Thoughts. There are no words.

Enjoy.

Jazz in June but now it's July.

Norman, Oklahoma has its very own little jazz festival every June. It's true. We are so cultured out here on the plains. L, X-tina and I would go pretty much every summer growing up. I think I might have gone with Mr. Shain at one point. It was always an event. There were glow sticks. You know. My dad would often chaperon when we were much younger (elementary school). I was always terrified that he'd end up on stage as he's a trumpeter and knows half the people performing. I think that only happened once. It was quite the hot spot to show off summer tans, summer flings, stuff like that and I guess it still is. As L and I walked from our parking spot to the stage area, we passed through a gaggle of high schoolers/under 21ers. Kids these days! Sweet Jesus! Girls in Oklahoma are image professionals. How do they do it? How do they afford it? Short shorts over toned and tanned legs. Perfectly blond, blown out hair. Coach bags. BCBG tops. Michael Kors heels. Mani/pedis to the max. Sexily arched eyebrows. Sorostitues in training. The boys wear vintage t-shirts, shorts, retro-ish sneakers, and lots of Polo Sport. I was about to be intimidated until I got a beer. Ha. None of you can drink. L and I planted ourselves on a patch of grass and listened to the show. Pretty good. I surveyed the scene and came across several little pods of people I could imagine being friends with. [Why aren't I? Where are the people like me in this town and how do I meet them?] There's really not much better than a beer and outdoor music. This guy came and sat down sorta close to us. He kept looking over, but never really said anything. Of course, we didn't say anything either. And then I found $5.

L (in the hat) and I enjoying the moon, beer, music, judging people and mosquitoes.