Hold onto your M-Fing hats, y'all.

There's gonna be a blizznado. Lord Gary must be creaming his wrinkle-resistant JC Penny pleat front slacks like nobody's business. I predict that all the hype of this freak storm will amount to about -.347 inches of snow in the metro.



I secretly hope I'm wrong and will have ample excuse to watch the Battlestar Galactica finale again tonight. Yeah, I said it.

While you were totally bored by the utter predictability of March Madness...

nothing else really happened.

I declare today Rick James Monday. I suggest closing your office door, cranking up the volume, and dancing like Morris Day and/or The Time.

Oh yes.*

Last night, Shain and I trekked to Tulsa to see the Andrew Bird show at Cain's. It was face melting, to say the least. We met L-Ma there, for her first Bird watching, but I don't think she left impressed. I think it takes a certain kind of dork to really appreciate Andrew Bird. There are lots of large words stuffed into spare songs, an obession with science and snacks, a violin with a classical bent, and a glockenspiel. Dork City, USA. I get off on his clearly ridiculous musical ability that he's not ashamed to flaunt as it's unapologetically innate.

The crowd was low key and our group bellied up to the side speaker region for a close look at the show without waging war with the front rows. It was a good vantage point, although I am officially old since the bass hurt my ears. He played lots of the new album, some of the middle albums and a few of my older favorites. His performances have the rare ability to make me totally forget what my face looks like or what my body's doing. I completely lose control over how my brain makes my face compute a reaction. I just stand there, bouncing along with this goofy gaze, absolutely consumed lurching toward eargasm. His live shows are really something. Shain said he likes the recordings better, but I couldn't disagree more. Watching him loop, listening to his compositions (because they're really pieces, not just songs) translate to the other musicians, hearing his sleepy, easy but strong voice ring out makes up for all crap music out there. Maybe not all of it, Katy Perry.

A Nervous Tic

Sovay

Heretics

Not a Robot, But a Ghost

Anonanimal

Masterswarm


It's not music for the masses, but music for the nerdy.

*I am in no way qualified to blabber on about music.

Are they fucking serious with this shit?

This afternoon, I was greeted by an email from my beloved Anthropologie (I don't actually buy anything since the expensive wares are made for people with real jobs and style and stuff) touting the newest rage in stuck up lady fashion land - the harem. Fucking harem pants. I'm not smelling what they're cooking. I refuse to pick up what they're putting down. Technically, I should like this forerunner of the Zubaz pant because of the roomy leg, crotch, butt, hips, whole-pant-except-ankle regions. I could eat whatever the fuck I want and possibly shoplift without worry. In fact, I have liked it. In first grade. For Halloween. Maybe it's a joke. Maybe Anthropologie teams with universities to perpetrate sociological studies to figure out if women are lemur enough to fall off the cliff wearing the harem because a trendy store says so. I don't know. What I do know is that they're $178.

Whine City USA/Food Dork Alert/Product Review

Whine City USA

Riddle me this. Why do people forget how to drive when it rains? It's really not any different than when it's not raining aside from flipping on a gadget in your car. People can drive while on their phone, eating a Big Mac, applying makeup, receiving head, completely turned around disciplining children, singing with eyes closed to top 40 radios and on drugs. Why not when there's a little bit of moisture in the air and on the ground. Really? I left at 7.15am this morning to drive 17 miles on a major highway. I got in at 8.20. Boo.



Food Dork Alert



Orangette. You want to go to there if you like cooking, food, recipes, sumptuous pictures of food and Oklahomans. And guess what? There's a book signing at Full Circle in OKC for her new book on Saturday! Yay!



Product Review



I don't smell good naturally. You know how some people smell good no matter what? Like they have natural fabric softener in their pores or something? I am not one of those people. So I like to douse myself in things that smell well. I've been using Angel for the winter, but it's time to kick into spring (even though it's now starting to sleet and it's all dark and crud). Fortunately, a former coworker popped in for a visit the other afternoon and smelled up my office with the dreamy scent of Be Delicious, a DKNY springsweet fragrance of loveliness. Sniff me.

I'm a one-two punch of awesome.

For those of you that (don't) care, I went ahead and got that haircut last week. Or whenever that was. The days run together when you work in a windowless basement.* I went to a fancy-pants salon in Edmond (the snooty suburb of OKC) to have my head massaged and drink wine and shit while they cut my hair at 7pm, because that's the only time I have to take care of these things (I've left clothes at the dry cleaner for almost two months now because I never make it home in time to pick them up, can they mail them to me?). I said to the chick, it's been since August, so I'm going to need my ends trimmed, also, I'd like more layering, and can we talk about bangs? She responded by giving me what appears to be the same haircut I had in second grade. Blunt shoulder length. Thanks. I paid my money, including a good tip, for no apparent reason and haven't stopped bitching about it because that's how I do. I am hopeless at communicating my hair desires to hair professionals. I'm eternally unhappy with the results, which is sad since my soft hair is probably the best feature I have going for me, which leads me to punch number two.

Have you ever been 27 and the puberty fairy visits you and plops a gigantic bindi like zit smack dab in the middle of your forehead? No? Lucky you. Not that you were going to invite me anyway, but I'm hiding out till this sucker's a goner.

Thanks life!**

*In all honesty, my jobs is quite all right. It can be challenging and sometimes I feel like I'm essentially volunteering, but I doubt I'll ever have bosses this awesome ever again.

**Yes, things could be worse, but I'd rather obsess over my hair than read about how sad the world is.

Sabado Gigante

Apparently, the BF has one more exam type thing for law licensing, which required him to wake up before the rooster (literally, somehow, in central Norman, there is a rooster living across the street from me - fortunately, he is as lazy as I am and rarely crows before 9am) this morning. And so, I too awoke at 6.10 and couldn't get back to sleep. I relish my weekend sleep. It is more dear to me than 99.98% of what I love. But I will forgive him for two reasons. One, yesterday, he met me at the gym and since I'd forgotten to pack, brought me my clothes - including a ponytail holder. Ladies and gentlemen, remembering, without being asked, the most crucial component of workout attire for a lady with longish hair, is the sign of a good boyfriend. Two, early morning boredom got the best of me and I tackled the week's worth of detriment cluttering up my house. More importantly, I was inspired to download King Khan and The Shrines* The Supreme Genius of King Khan and The Shrines for cleaning music. And it's awesome. I'm especially enjoying the prescient Welfare Bread.

::early morning sad music::

Never As Tired As When I'm Waking Up - LCD Soundsystem

::recession song::

Welfare Bread - King Khan and The Shrines

::more King Khan::

Torture

Sweet Tooth

*I wish I could take credit for discovering this band, but I can't.

Everybody's Working for the Weekend

Say ah.

So, this pretty much happened today.

I'd like the crap sandwich with a side of extra crap sandwich.

Have you ever woken up one morning and realized that you haven't had a haircut since August? And then you check your mail and there's a letter from the IRS that insinuates that maybe you forgot to report some of your income from 2007 and now you owe lots of money?* And then you realize that your attempt at political humor was so pedantic that even your six year old cousin made the Kenneth/Bobby connection? And work blows serious donkey balls, but you can't talk about it because it's all confidential and shit? And then you check your 403(b) just for shits and giggles, but end up sobbing? And your deadbeat, college dropout brother has been MIA for weeks causing your mother to have a slow, drawn out series of mini nervous breakdowns punctuated by terrible cell phone reception? Also, you have a denti$t appointment in the morning, which will undoubtedly lead to a crown and public drooling.

All I've managed to do to mitigate any of this is to make an appointment to get my hair cut that I can't afford because of the taxes I owe.

*The best part about this is that I forgot to report severance pay. It's not like it was anything exciting like a salary or lottery winnings.