Friday, August 31, 2007
UPDATE: T - 1 hour till departure for Gaylord sponsored OU - I don't know what the field's called anymore - Nokia Mountain Dew Taco Bell Stadium. Whatever. It's almost time. I'm feeling pretty good about things, except for this: Applecrap State trounced Michigan. If it can happen to them, it can happen to us. Humility is the name of the game. Well, until we run up the score so high I leave for the bars in the third quarter, then I will mercilessly taunt Michiganers. Ha! I've got my camera and am focusing on #s 2, 8 and 9. Later bitches!
And so it begins. Tomorrow marks the first game of what promises to be a roller coaster of a season. I will laugh, I will cry, it will be better than Cats. I'm going to let you in on a little secret, though. I really don't know all that much about college football. I grew up in Norman, took classes at OU during high school, my brother might or might not be attending and my parents got all of their 1400 degrees there, so you know, I'm a fan. Plus, Smith didn't have a football team (although, the rugby/softball/soccer teams kicked some serious super small obscure conference ass) and, sorry New England, but you guys just don't get college ball. I'd rather watch a high school game. In fact, once, at the Dartmouth homecoming game against Columbia, I actually saw a kid from high school playing a keg as part of the marching band. Huh? I don't think so. That's no way to treat the season. Where was I? Oh yes. So, I'm excited about tomorrow. When I last lived in Norman, my games were spent watching the disasters that were the Gibbs, Schnellencrapper and Blake regimes. As soon as I leave, Stoops swoops in and works miracles. Figures. Oh, and then the extended fam attacked us for our season tickets, which meant even if I happend to be randomly home for a game between 2001 and 2006, I couldn't go. Except the one where we got our ass handed to us by OSU. Sad day. Blah blah blah, now I get to go and am psyched! I've talked Lacey into being my specator-partner. It's gonna rock. Except it will be hot. I don't mind sweating and smelling, but I'm worried for the people around me. But hey, blow me. It's football season.
Goals for the season (in no particular order):
1. Crash a random tailgate party with my awesomeness.
2. Get on the field.
3. Not spill my drink all over someone as I precariously climb the 6,421.3 stairs up to our absolultely horrible, but traditional seats.
4. BEAT TEXAS!
5. Get hit on.
6. Hear my mom swear like a sailor.
7. BEAT OSU!
8. See my face on TV!
9. Actually know what's going on this season instead of just being happy with wins and saddened by losses. (It was hard to follow in the MA because games were never shown.)
10. Learn to make better/funnier goal lists (as you know, my limit is three, which was exceeded last night, making this morning not so much fun).
So, let the games begin. Pictures to follow after tomorrow, surely.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Joshua (c. 1998/1999)
against the mossgreen tundra,
back arched like the neighbor's cat,
in the cathedral of the afternoon.
Not afraid of the truth (that will be like a blanket
that won't cover your feet), just
bumble bees, wasps, and the little girl next door.
And you're glowing, springsweet,
like a thousand white candles, your
seeping through the caked mud and grass stains,
illuminating flushed cheeks,
through breath and perspiration,
and I want to be your catcher in the rye.
OMG. I want to die. First of all, I suspect "springsweet" is from a Dave Matthews' song, which is pretty much all I listened to back in those days. Second of all, I'd rather show a shitty picture of me than reveal the inner sanctum of my high school brain any day. This looks easier than it is. So why are you doing it then, Blythe? Cheaper than therapy. Cheaper than therapy.
So, come on. You know you want to add one to the pile. It feels good. Catharsis baby!
Monday, August 27, 2007
In no particular order:
Now. Now. - St. Vincent
Fake Empire - The National
Intelligentactile 101 - Jesca Hoop
Golden Skans - Klaxons
Nighttiming - Coconut Records
Heart It Races - Architecture In Helsinki
I Was A Daughter - Basia Bulat
Kid On My Shoulders - White Rabbits
The Magic Position - Patrick Wolf
Four Winds - Bright Eyes
Sea Lion Woman - Feist
What Light - Wilco
Heimdalsgate Like A Promethean Curse - Of Montreal
These Girls - Ryan Adams
Open Your Heart - Lavendar Diamond
Instead - Ola Podrida
Icky Thump - White Stripes
Comfy In Nautica - Panda Bear
My Rights Versus Yours - The New Pornographers
Sight Lines - Rogue Wave
Die. Die. Die. - Avett Brothers
Elephant Gun - Beirut
Steven - Voxtrot
Heart It Races - Dr. Dog
Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa - Vampire Weekend
Time Bomb - The Format
Heretics - Andrew Bird
The Underdog - Spoon
Questions? Comments? Concerns? Silence?
Sunday, August 26, 2007
2. Ultimate extreme tragedy struck. My cell phone finally bit it. Bitch snapped in half. I, of course, followed suit. I had a total and utter meltdown Friday night that resulted in me drinking margaritas at Chili's. In a related story, I have lost everyone's numbers. To most, this would be absolutely devastating, but for me, it's ok, since I only have like three friends. But if you want me to call you or not screen your call since I won't recognize your number, send me an email with your digits, yo.
3. My dad runs on bacon. Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, my dad somehow managed to incorporate bacon into every meal prepared at the old homestead (no, Shain, I wasn't eating it - jerk didn't ask me if I wanted any). Now, don't get me wrong, I love me some bacon, but it's not really all that sexy to go out smelling like Waffle House.
4. See ya C-tina! C-tina made her brief, but triumphant return to Nompton before she departed for Slovakia for 10 months. We ate quiche at La Baguette just like the old days. We bought too much food at Forward Foods. We wandered around Guest Room Records for an hour. I bought Whatever and Ever Amen and was amazed that I still know every word to every song. We had ninth grade in my bedroom. It was wonderful.
5. I saw a movie. And a good one. I think. I might be the only one, though. Eagle vs. Shark played at the Oklahoma City Museum of Art. I was obligated to like it because Jemaine Clement is in it, so. Also, there were shark and eagle costumes. And most importantly, a supremely awkward relationship. All of those things are near and dear to my heart. The theater was really quiet, so I had to stifle my laughter quite a bit. That, plus my desperate need to pee, but refusal to get up proved to be a multi-media viewing experience. I'm fairly certain my viewing companion thought I was having a seizure. Which is cute right? No? If you can, see this movie. You'll like it. Oh, and then I went to this bar you'd also like. It's called Edna's. You can drink something called a Lunchbox. At first, I thought Edna's Lunchbox was akin to the Houston Ham Sandwich or Cincinnati Bow-Tie and was quite skeptical of the suggestion (but hey - I'll try anything once), but it's actually a delicious, yet cheap drink. That and other beverages required a trip to the bathroom. Which was fun, since there was only one stall and it had no door. Nothing like having to ask a random girl to guard your front. I did get felt up, though. I somehow always do in the ladies room. I dunno.
6. I bought a book. It's by Anthony Bourdain, of course. Is it weird I only read it before bed so I can dream of not (only) him, but the food?
7. I am contemplating the end of this blog. I am either depressed or thinking about being happy. I am no longer wallowing in abject misery, which seemed to be what worked best. What do you think?
1. He brought me figs from his fig tree in Cali. So sweet! The figs, not Shain. He's generally an assface. We ate them while drinking at The Library. Our waitress thought we were crazy. Look at how much fun we had!
2. He sent me a color-coded PDF of our potential yoga schedule with the instructions to print two copies, one for my office and one for home. He knows me too well.
Hi. Sorry I didn't call. I lost your number and I've been really "busy" with "work" and "stuff." So, be prepared for a barrage of posts chronicling the craptastic life of Blythe. For all four(4) of you who are still reading. Three comments is the new 24!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Who's this little dude (besides Mr. Adorable, of course)? Hint: he's a part-time commenter. First person to guess wins, um, nothing. Yay!
Reminder: send in your pics if you want to be included in the party. That was for you, JHC.
Speaking of cringesday, last night, I decided to take a bath. Which, when you're a single chick like me with no life, is kind of a big deal. I lit some candles, poured some Shiraz, and fired up the ol' iPod. Then I sang my little heart out because, hand to God, my tub is better than any studio out there. I sound like a rock star. Or so I thought. My bathtub performance repertoire is strictly Mariah Carey's first album. You love it too. Don't even pretend. Anyway, after sufficient prunage, I get out to discover that my whole house is completely silent, as in, my parents had been listening to my concert. I ran to my room, a la 7th grade. Totally sweet and awesome. This only caused me to drown my embarrassment in the rest of the bottle. Which caused me to be a little tipsy, alone, on a Tuesday night. Which caused some rather silly conversations and r*tarded text messages. Apologies all around. I love me! Mostly because I have to.
Oh! I almost forgot the best part! When I finally went to bed, I cried while watching the Sex and the City finale rerun on channel 16, whatever that is. Feel free to hate on me. I would.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
This is me sitting down on the stairs because I am approximately 800 years old and get tired in spite of Coke and my lesbina Chacos.
Lacey and I have been spending a lot of time together. A lot. So much so, that last night, as she was kicking my ass at scrabble (are you jealous of my life yet?), I noticed we were wearing the same underwear. Oh come on. You look too.
In other news, I am pleased with the state of Oklahoma. Not only did we experience a mini/inland hurricane Saturday night/Sunday morning, but there are some pretty rad shows coming to the metro. Check it:
9.14 - Blonde Redhead @ Bricktown Ballroom: 23
9.23 - Animal Collective @ Bricktown Ballroom: Derek
10.9 - COLD WAR KIDS!!! @ The Opolis: We Used To Vacation
10.17 - Black Mountain @ The Opolis: Druganaut
10.21 - Caribou & Born Ruffians @ The Opolis: Melody Day
10.23 - Dr. Dog, Apollo Sunshine, Delta Spirit @ The Opolis: My Old Ways
11.12 - Architecture in Helsinki @ The Opolis: Owls Go
I'll be there! Come with me!
*This might be a mistake of a post title. We'll see.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Notice Bee-Spot frequents Lacey and C-tina. This was good ol' fourth grade. L's mom choreographed a totally sweet talent show baton routine to You Can Call Me Al. You can call it awesome.
P.S. Holy Crap! Look at those outfits! I am physically in cringe mode right now.
- This week, I am absolutely and completely Britney Spears crazy for Vampire Weekend. I am an elitist at heart, so as Columbia kids making weird music around campus, they have stolen my heart. Or what is left of it. Because I am so obsessed, I haven't listened to much else. LISTEN! It's crack. (And not ass crack.)
Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa - this song sounds like a bastardized Graceland, which of course makes me want to dance around like an idiot, but with diamonds on the soles of my shoes.
- I think I put White Rabbits on a list in the recent past (maybe even as recent as last week - it's not like I read this thing), but it whenever it was, it was kind of without having completely appreciated, or maybe even listening to the song. Upon, oh, I don't know, 10,000 listenings, I pretty much love it. So, hear it again:
- Summer is for Swedish music.
- Hey, guess what's Monday? The Ben Kweller show at the Bricktown Ballroom. As usual, I've been listening up on my subject. Sha sha shawesome.
- Turns out I am a bigger J Dilla fan than I ever knew.
- Some of you folks mentioned The Avett Brothers a few weeks back and I was all, yeah, I'll download me some of that and I did, but then I forgot to listen. But I did this week. Did I ever.
- Hey, guess who's playing the Bricktown Ballroom on Wednesday? As Tall As Lions. I've posted it before, but for some reason, this song get me totally hot (come on kids, because it's 103 in the evening here), so natch, I've got to see it live.
See you next week. If I really loved you, I would figure out how to embed stuff from next week's shows, but I don't think I'm going to, so...
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Last Saturday night I went out with my roommate, her boyfriend, and two of her co-workers. Normally I go for dive bars with Smithwick's on tap, Skynyrd a permanent feature on the juke box, and there is no less than 3 alcoholics missing 40% of their teeth belly up to the bar at all hours of the night (and day). However, this time I was dragged out the the black hole of all Manhattan neighborhoods. Where nice Midwestern guys transform into Guido's with waxed pecs and hair so sharp you can impale yourself on it, and girls wear $500 4 inch open-toed heels to walk on cobblestone streets until 4 am in the dead of winter. Oh yeah, and did I mention the men in that area rape you, shove you in a suitcase and leave you in a dumpster in New Jersey? It's safe to say that every time someone drags me to that part of town, I really do fear for my life. This quaint part of town is known as the Meatpacking District (no, not a euphemism for gay sex. Sorry). You know, where you can get your fabulous couture Alexander McQueen dress next to a rotten dead bovine carcass. So there we are at this bar, and there is no air conditioning, and it's fucking hot. My roommate's boyfriend likes to complain. Yeah he is one of those. He was wearing shorts and Reef sandals which normally is a no-go in a "swanky" establishment like this, but considering he just entered the bar with three smoking hot chicks, they let him in. I'm wearing jeans, so dude has no right to complain to me about how hot he is. I don't want to hear it. So we sit down, I order my $7 Amstel (I just snapped a #2 pencil in half thinking about how ridiculous that price is for such a shitty beer. And yes, I still use #2 pencils), and we begin talking. After about 3 or so beers, my roommate's boyfriend notes about the black people standing around us (I got some junk in the trunk, so sometimes the brothas like me), "I wonder why black people don't have a lot of hair." Now let me give you a little background on yours truly before I divulge the rest of my tale. When I first arrived at the tender age of 17 (I'm young for my grade!) at the fine institution of the University of Iowa (go Hawks!), I was originally a microbiology major. However, once I realized organic chemistry was going to get in my way of Tuesday night dollar steins at Malone's, I switched my major to anthropology with a focus on human evolution/osteology. I even wrote a 50 page paper on Neandertal (no "h" for us anthropologists) mitochondrial DNA and its impact on the classification of Neandertals as a separate species or subspecies to Homo sapiens that I'm pretty sure my Human Origins professor jerked off to and used as a nut rag. So do we agree that I might know a little more about the subject than some guy who works at an insurance company and has seen Jurassic Park? I think so. So back to the douchey bar. We're staring at the black people in front of us (please no comments regarding whitey staring at the po' black folk. Wasn't like that at all), and I suggest the reason for their lack of hair was probably because their race evolved in Africa, you know, where it is hot. I think he just about shit his pants when I said this. "HOW CAN YOU FUCKING SAY THAT?!" he screamed, "ARE YOU FUCKING DUMB?" Whoa, there buddy. I go into my thing regarding why certain "races" look the way they do, from skin color (Africans have darker skin as to not burn from sub-Saharan sun) to noses, (those of us of European origins have a narrower nose which helps to warm the air we respirate from colder European air), etc. I don't need to go on. Are you asleep yet? WAKE UP! I try to explain that the first true humans appeared on this earth approximately 40,000 years ago, and the deviation of races from Africa occurred when our ancient ancestors all began to migrate out of the continent. And he raises his voice, "DO YOU THINK EVOLUTION BEGAN 40,000 YEARS AGO? WHAT ABOUT THE DINOSAURS? DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE JURASSIC PERIOD?" Oh no he di-int. Now I'm starting to get pissed. I don't respond well to people I don't know very well implying I am dumb (that pleasure is reserved distinctly for my friends), especially when they sound like talking gorillas. Actually, I take that back. That would be an insult to the gorilla. Oh, but he keeps going. "WHAT ABOUT AUSTRALIANS THEN? THEY LOOK WHITE, AND IT'S HOT THERE TOO." With clenched teeth I, as calmly as I can, respond that white people did not originate in Australia, the Aborigines did, and they are in fact, darker skinned. To argue how white people evolved in Australia is the same idiotic logic that one would try to use to explain the evolution of white people in America. He was insistent that it was all about "genetics," which if actually listened to what I said, is directly related to my point. I calmly put my beer down, shushed him, and said I had to leave. I was going to get nasty, and being that this was my roommate's boyfriend, that was a luxury I just didn't have.
On my way out, he slides in, "YOU STUDIED THIS FOR 3 YEARS? I THINK YOU NEED ANOTHER YEAR."
Buddy, you know what you need? A fucking roundhouse kick right right to the jugular. And maybe some sterilization. Just sayin'. So that's it. Thanks Blythe for letting me use her forum for a stupid rant about a subject no one cares about. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Between work life and real life, the Bee-Spot is functioning on about 9 hours of sleep out of the past 72. It's not pretty. I am almost always incoherent to begin with, so now it's just sad. In the meantime, there's a hurricane? MC Rove resigned? What day is it? I'll get back in the saddle again, I promise. Don't miss me too much. Oh, you didn't even notice the lack of posting? Ok.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Later: [Hey, watch out, TMI city here.] So, I wore a thong today because I had to get all gussied up (read I am in a dress!) for a work event and didn't want any VPL action in front of the VIPs and now I have thong burn or something. Whatever it is, my crack kind of hurts a little. Suffer for fashion.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Let's get the beach ball rolling with a summertime guilty pleasure:
How Bizarre - OMC
Songs explicitly referencing summer:
Summertime - The Sundays
Summertime Cowboy - Husky Rescue
July, July! - Decemberists
Summersong - DecemberistsSummer Day - Coconut Records
Let's makeout outside and get sweaty and sticky with grass:
Wordless Chorus - My Morning Jacket
Can You Come For Me - The Poems
Butterfly Nets - Bishop Allen
Tender - Blur
Sundress - Ben Kweller
Sightlines - Rogue Wave
These are my dancing flip-flops:
Boyz - M.I.A.
Stop Me - Mark Ronson
Bounce That - Girl Talk
Stick your feet in the pool!
Clarity - Furu ft. Common
She Moves In Her Own Way - The Kooks
Work It Out - RJD2
Corndog - Mike Hosty *not the song, I can't find it. iTunes people. It's about corndogs and state fairs.
The Underdog - Spoon
Heart It Races - Dr. Dog
Oxford Comma - Vampire Weekend
Screendoor - Illinois
My Rights Versus Yours - The New Pornographers
Here Comes The Meter Man - Metric
Solta O Frango - Bonde Do Role
Monday, August 06, 2007
I've never really been on the receiving end of a digital gift before, but this year, I got four! I will share three with you because one was deeply personal and quite filthy. One is cringe-worthy, one is a direct Cringesday contribution, and one is, well, I need your help with the last thing.
* Click here for more. You'll have to download it (it's a power point). This is as blog savvy as I get and I had to have help.
* This was sent to me by someone that I don't know all that well, yet he somehow managed to distill my entire personality into 30 seconds and some graphics. So, do I marry him or file a restraining order because he's clearly stalking me? Which is sexy, of course.
Friday, August 03, 2007
D.A.N.C.E. - Justice: A few weeks ago, I very inaccurately predicted I would become less than enamored with this song almost instantly. I listen to it every morning, rocking out to the sights and sounds of OKC, cruising at a whopping 25mph for an hour. I dance in the car (well as much as one can dance wearing a seatbelt, which isn't unlike the way I dance when not wearing a seatbelt) like no one's watching™. An unstoppable smile spreads across my face like the first time I heard Motown Philly back in sixth grade. It's A.W.E.S.O.M.E.
Hot Fuzz - It's even better the second time. Rent it.
The Darjeeling Limited:
What are your favorite movies, Blythe? Well, aside from Breakfast at Tiffany's...
Wait, that's so clichéd, that's really your favorite movie?
Uh, hello, she's dressed in Givenchy for the entire movie? Anyway, my others are Bottle Rocket (my next pet will be named Dignan), The Royal Tenenbaums and Rushmore. I love The Life Aquatic, but it's not at the top of the list. But this might be someday:
It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia - just watch it. Hi-larious. And, I'm in love with Charlie.
My Boys - I've been told it's for chicks. Turns out I'm a chick, so I get to watch it. But you should too.
Chacos. After nine hours of heels and office bullshit (although, yesterday, I wore a tiara for the better part of the day that I found secreted in a filing cabinet, but no one got my meta-ironical point including myself), there's nothing I love more than coming home, sliding into my little shoes made of heaven's pillows, cracking open a Miller Lite and internetting me some porn (this might be the only true thing on this entire blog). OMG - so comfortable. Also, they make me feel all outdoorsy and shit when really the most outdoorsy thing I do these days is take the bags of wine and beer bottles to the curb.
Any girl worth her weight in salads with no dressing, well, maybe fat free Italian on the side - on the side! knows that Urban Outfitters is the poor man's Anthropologie. I can't afford either, which is why literally every stitch of clothing I own comes from Hookers R Us. But a girl can dream, right? This little guys all sold out at the Hipster Factory, but I still covet it. Would I wear it? Certainly not.
Speaking of clothing, since when did maternity stuff become the new trend? And who's loving it? Me! I always might be a little bit pregnant, so this whole new look is awesome. I've decided to take it to the x-treme and drink all the beer I want (ok, was going to anyway) because I can just hide the ol' spare tire under something like this:
So, I've decided to take full advantage of the ambiguity of this contentious trend. Maybe people offer up their seat at the bar because I'm looking a little tired. Ok. Maybe I get a gift or two. Ok. You can totally return a Diaper Genie to Bed Bath and Beyond for a blender.
I had a make out dream with Michael Cera last night. For reals. What? He's like 18. My inappropriate crush habit is getting out of control.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Also, the b-day is depressing because it marks another year of things I meant to do, but didn't (oh please, you are no better than me in this endeavor - don't even pretend). Well, things are going to be different this year. I vow to think about doing the following:
8. Not suck.
(Cake I wish I was getting, but stupid Jackson got it instead.)
(Eternally single Cathy, my hero. Oh, she finally got married or died? Hmm.)
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Julie says: So this picture was taken in 6th grade and my gym teacher who was also the yearbook in charge lady made me wear that shirt and hang on the monkey bars. Unfortunately that is my shirt. I think it had something to do with basketball. I never played basketball. I just stole it from my Aunt. My friends still tease me about it. It's really a good time. I can't wait to be embarrassed. Yea!
p.s. blogger and i.e. are not friends (i am work where they've never heard of firefox or something), hence this post now looks like it rode the short bus today.
Hey folks. I told you it'd be back. Lest you forget, last week I posted what I thought was a horrifying picture of myself with a mullet. I realize now that this was a mistake because any picture of a five year old girl with a mullet is intrinsically cute. It's a law or something. So, friends (this term is used very loosely, of course), this week, I have decided to kill two birds while stoned. I will both embarrass myself and shed a little light on the weird relationship between Mr. Shain and I (which has been requested several times by many people, or once, or never - I don't really pay attention).
The year is 1996. The music is "Who Will Save Your Soul" by snaggle tooth Jewel and "Wonderwall" by Oasis. The movie is the re-release of Star Wars. The jeans are Guess. Awesomeness all around.
Mr. Shain and I find ourselves attending West Mid High in Norman, Oklahoma. We are in Mrs. Barse's yearbook class. I have no idea what compelled me to sign up for yearbook the previous spring, but apparently I did and there I was and Shain was the editor. I have no idea how that happened either - we've all (well, five of us) seen his typo riddled excuse of a blog. Anyway, I hate to speak ill of the dead (fine, these people aren't dead, but I haven't seen the majority of them for years), but they were mostly kind of re re (thanks Julie!). Shain and I, sensing that we were bound for the greatness we are currently living (oh, we're not?) bonded over, I don't know what, being a-holes, I guess. Bottom line, Shain has been giving me shit since 1996 and I can't seem to get enough of it.
Ah. The yearbook staff in all its glory. Oh, look at that girl in the striped shirt with the horrible bangs and terrible posture. Clearly, she will grow out of that ugly duckling stage and into a beautiful swan. No? She doesn't? That's unfortunate.
Now it's your turn. Send in a school picture, seventh grade journal entry, high school poem, etc. You'll feel better. I'm here for you. To laugh at you. I mean with you.