Welcome, The Lost Ogle Readers!

hi. disappointed yet? keep reading.

Blythe's Recession Tip #46: Have an ice storm!

When unable to scrape and snap the layers of ice from your car, you can't go anywhere to spend dollar dollar bills y'all, and voila, you save money! I'm already up like $400 from not buying stamps to mail my bills. Best. Ice. Storm. Ever. I suggest you put on some old school winter brooding music, and stare out your window. 100% free!

I highly recommend Van Morrison - Astral Weeks (because, this can lead to, you know... also, usually, free).

and/or Janis Ian - Between the Lines (this won't lead anywhere but self loathing).

This might also be a good time to get some pre-spring cleaning done. I'd suggest starting with your liquor cabinet.

Happy Ice Day!

Last thing, if you have half an hour on hand and want a lifetime of jokes, just watch THESE.

Oklahoma! Where the wind comes sweeping down the plains.

Except replace "wind" with sleet and "plains" with asphalt of death. It only took me an hour and a half to get from 23rd and 235 to Nompton. In the middle of the afternoon.

I blame you, Gary England.

I can't wait to show you my reverse plank!

(That's what she said.)

Part of NoWhine09/wedding to myself means workin' on my fitness.* In addition to the gym going and dog walking/running, I've now thrown yoga into the weekly mix. I'm super excited about this because I am a woman in my mid (fine, late) twenties and my goals in life are to eat Activia, get the morning after pill, serve in wedding parties and prance around in expensive yoga clothes (see below):

There is one problem with this, though. Actually two problems. You see, yoga was developed in the mid 90s by Madonna and that chick's flat as her songs. I, however, am not. How do I put this? I've got some serious fun bags. I'm not trying to brag, but I've been bustier than necessary since about fourth grade. Middle school was a delight. Let me tell you. Anyway, yoga is hard when you got a lot goin' on up top. When I lower my head over my legs, the girls hit the ground first. Plow is life threatening. This supposedly calming activity becomes stressful. You're damn right I have tension in my back and shoulders! There's prenatal yoga, how come no yoga for ladies with somewhat substantial knockers? Perhaps I'll just take up another trendy fitness craze - rock climbing. Here I come Rocktown!**

*Fergie reference. I know.

**P.S. your new name is stupid.

Yay!

OMG. Are we there yet?

Bono. Will.i.am (or however the fuck he's imagined his name). The Boss. Beyonce/Sasha Fierce. Mary J. Seriously, we're at critical mass here. Beyond saturation. Supersaturation. I am so over this. Mainly because Bono is involved. For fuck's sake. The only thing left to look forward to is the new administration's policies on fashion. I think it's safe to say that Michelle won't pull a Hillary a la 1993, but her election night dress was a bit wonky.

Never forget.

ZHMMM: New York, I love you but you're bringing me down - LCD Soundsystem

I might be a dog murderer and other stories.

Recently, I was dining out with the BF (no, this doesn't bode well for impending nuptials to myself, but Mexican food is my kryptonite). We left the restaurant and I noticed a dog chilling at the corner of the street where we parked. I moved in to take a closer look and noticed that he was wearing a collar, but no tags. Also, he was dragging a "leash" made from tying to shoestrings together. Sadness abounded. He seemed happy and healthy, so I thought I'd pick up the end of the leash to see if he led me anywhere useful. No. I tried knocking on the doors of the surrounding homes to see if he belonged to them or if they knew him. No answer. I walked him to the end of the street while I tried to figure out what to do. I opened the car door because it was literally below freezing, and he hopped right in on the front seat, like he'd always done that. HEARTBREAK CITY! I kept thinking about how if the dog that now lives at my folk's house escaped, I'd want people to leave her alone, because she knows her way home. But then I kept glancing at the makeshift leash and no tag.

The boyfriend urged me to take him back to the other end of the street where he was originally, so he could find his way home. So, I led him back, although what I wanted to do was close the car door and take him to my place for a new life with nail trimmings, tags and leashes. I turned around and walked back to the car, leaving him where I found him. Of course, he followed me. I wanted/still want to die. I know I should've either taken him or brought him to a shelter, but Norman Animal Control is awful - he might've been better off.

I need a dog in my life. A real dog of my own. The pain I feel from losing Zealand in the breakup is still amazingly palpable, even though I know he's happy where he is, if nothing else, the exbf is a good dog owner. Also, he'd never remember me in a million jillion years. But, that doesn't stop me from sobbing about it every now and then.

RIP Zealand. I mean, you're not dead, you're just not and will never be in my life again. Sadness.

In other news, know what tonight is? It's the returns of Riggins and co. That's right, Friday Night Lights returns to NBC for its third season. There is nothing else on. NOTHING. Greys blows. American Idol is played out. Howie Mandel has another show, which truly signals the end of television as we know it. Except for FNL. Watch it, fools.

Well, when the hell did this happen?

I'm now addicted to yet another Bravo show. I held my own against Top Chef for years, years! But alas, I am hooked. Team Carla!*

*I have not watched the end of tonight's episode, so please do not tell me what happens unless it involves Jamie packing up her bitch knives and heading back to asshole land.

I am so awesome at my job, it hurts.

Have you ever received a document at work and looked at it and are like, WTF? Did Paris Hilton and LiLo write this together or something? What the hell is this shwords?* So, you take it to your boss, not your supervisor that you're chummy with, but you know, the VP of your department, and relay your concern about the clarity if not veracity of said document. And then your kind boss looks at you with her wise eyes and drops the bomb that she was in fact the author. FUCKSTICKS! Sweet Lincoln's mullet, I am a fucktard. I mumbled something about my public school education failing me in terms of reading comprehension and backed my butt out of her office. Now what?

*For the love of all things fashion, watch the fucking videos already. I would like to make jokes about this stuff for the rest of my life or at least through the next couple of weeks.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: So last year edition.

I am behind the times. We all know this about me. While I've been aware of Lykke Li (I've Dance Dance Danced a time or two), the video for Little Bit puts me in a trance. I a little bit like it.

Lykke Li - Little bit
Uploaded by deserteaglez

Also worth a listen is the rebroadcast of This American Life's Numbers episode. In the words of Oprah, love it! I listened to it during my super exciting stint at both the laundromat yesterday (which reminds me - none of you have offered to either purchase me a washing machine and dryer or offer to do my laundry - just sayin') and was riveted by the story about painting and music by polling information. It'll make sense once you listen to it. Trust me.

Boringsville: Population Me.

I have nothing to say, and I am saying it.

-John Cage

Oh snap.

I kinda knew this would happen. Deep in my heart of sports prediction hearts. Does it make it any easier? No. Now, the SEC will be all we'reawesomethebig12isforpussyteamsthatscuck. And also, Texas and Utah will be all thiswouldneverhavehappened to us. Well, guess what kids, it would've. Know why? Because, in spite of it all, Oklahoma is a kickass team that succeeded at not losing to Florida, but to itself this evening. Also, we are destined to lose all bowl games presided over by our dear St. Stoops. There I said it. So sue me. Finally, I am terribly drunk, so I will surely either regret or forget what I have said. In the meantime: boomer sooner. We will prevail! In 2018. Or something near that.

Hamburgers.

Why hello, and welcome to my snacketeria.

Mr. Shain's blogassignment:

1. Read THIS.

2. Visit www.brendadickson.com. Just follow the link and stick with it. Yes, watch all of it.

3. Watch this:



4. And now this:



5. And finally, this:



For further reference, see HERE.

(It's a HUGE vageene!)

Tragicomedic attempt to get reader(s) to boost my self esteem

Guess what time it is? 2008 Okie Blog Awards time, that's what time it is. Okiedoke.com did this last year, and I was actually nominated! And not by myself, since that's against the rules. However, I don't think it's against the rules to pay someone to start a blog so that they can then nominate you so that you can later be beaten and console yourself with porn, ice cream and barbecue. At least, I hope it's not. So, go ahead. Nominate away.

Suck it, Texas

Yes, the game is not over. Yes, it's not particularly good for OU should Texas lose to OSU, however, I just want Texas to bite it. Hard.

Hi 2009. Let's be friends. Also, I'm getting married. To myself.

Alright, so I think I've clawed my way out of my holiday induced sadness spiral. It was touch and go there for a bit, but I'm optimistic. Sort of. It's my new thing. No whine 09.


Rereading some of the posts from 2008, you'd think I'd had the worst year of my life. Not so! That was a combination of fourth grade when I got this terrible perm and June through December 2006. Last year was actually not too shabby, minus all the global events. I got a promotion. It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia was pretty funny this past season (Watch them all! Do it! Day Man! Night Man! Need I say more?). I discovered slickdeals.net. See, not too shabby. The bad thing is, I let stress or even the mere possibility of stress, overtake mind and body, leaving me more neurotic and second helping prone than ever. Well, that too shall come to an end. However, I have no willpower. I think the only thing that would ever really convince me is the impending pressure of nuptials. I've seen it work for other people. I mean, really work. Therefore, I am marrying myself. I've set the date for June 1. If I can fit into my summer of 2006 jeans, I am purchasing myself one of two things I have been lusting after for probably four years.

Option 1: Tiffany & Co Peridot Ring



Option 2: Le Creuset 5 1/2 quart round dutch oven. Yes, I said dutch oven. Heh.


I'm totally serious about this. I think I'll start a tumblr a la b-squared if anyone's interested in following along or can offer useful advice. I will call it Fat Girl Slim.

If you need me, I will be reading Buff Brides. I'm so totally 100% serious.

Dear World,

I have finally seen Slumdog Millionaire. And it was pretty, pretty, pretty good. And also, yes, I cried. Fortunately, the theater was packed and my co-moviegoers and I had to split up, so I shed tears in anonymity.

Happy New Year and all that shit.

At least I got to wear my terribly tacky, yet endearing gold wedges last night.


Here's to 2009. May it not suck so much.