You know how I know I'm old?

Two ways:

1. Went to slickdeals.net to look at coupons on a Saturday morning. Yeah. Believe it. Found coupon for 10 pair of Victoria's Secret Pink underwear for a mere $25. Almost creamed my current underwear at the prospect of so much panty for so little $$. Went to mall to purchase.

2. Did underwear fashion show (for myself, I would never subject others) and promptly turned into my mother. The bargain drawers were simply too low cut in the front and high cut in the back. I thought barely covering your ass market had been cornered by the thong, but I guess not. I actually uttered these thoughts aloud, sealing my fate as an oldie.

So, if you need to reach me, I'll be living the dream.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Commute Edition

Here's what I've been listening to in the car. Boring, no? Yes, a little. I especially love "Tiny Apocalypse" and "Fear." Good stuff.




*Click to enlarge.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Oh, Mimi Edition

I do love me some Mariah Carey. But like old school Mariah. Size 10 shoe, crazy curly hair, rope swinging, roller coaster riding Mariah. I don't like post "Honey" Hello Kitty, let me slip out of yet another ensemble and into my bathtub with a towel on, butterfly chasing, straighhairweirdface Mariah. I'd kind of written her off my music radar. Which really saddens me. I spent many an afternoon after school singing along to Vision of Love full blast on the living room stereo until my parents got home (I sounded just like her! true story!). The other night, I was driving home from work at, you know, probably 11pm, which is totally normal, and needed to stay awake. Instead of listening to my carefully cultivated CD collection (RIP listening to iPod in the car since new car doesn't have the right equipment and I will NOT fuck around with the FM transmitter bullshit thing) of indie lady drivel, I ventured to the dial. Did you know that KJ103 still exists? It does! And some more stations too! It was wonderful! Until I heard this one song. "Obsessed" by traitor Mariah. The lyrics are so fucktarded, fucktastic, fuckified that I have to share them. Behold, the lyrical genius that is Mimi, well partially. She's 1/3 responsible for this mess. I've highlighted the best parts.

OBSESSED
(Mariah Carey - C. Tricky Stewart - Terius “The-Dream” Nash)

I was like, “Why are you so obsessed with me?”
So oh oh oh oh
So oh oh oh oh
So oh oh oh oh
So oh oh oh oh
Will the real MC please, step to the mike?
So oh oh oh oh
So oh oh oh oh
So oh oh oh oh
So oh oh oh oh
All up in the blogs
Saying we met at the bar
When I don’t even know who you are
Saying we up in your house
Saying I’m up in your car
But you in LA and I’m out at Jermaine’s.
I’m up in the A
You so so lame
and no one here even mentions your name
It must be the weed. It must be the E
Cause you be popping hood
You get it popping, Oh
Why you so obsessed with me (Boy I wanna know)
Lying that you’re sexing me (when everybody knows)
It’s clear that you’re upset with me
Finally found a girl that you couldn’t impress
Last man on the earth still couldn’t hit this
You’re delusional, you’re delusional
Boy you’re losing your mind
It’s confusing yo, you’re confused you know
Why you wasting your time
Got you all fired up with your Napoleon complex
Seeing right through you like you’re bathing in Windex
Boy why you so obsessed with me?
You on your job
You hating hard
Ain’t gon’ feed you
I’m gonna let you starve
Gasping for air
I’m ventilation
You out of breath
Hope you ain’t waiting
Telling the world how much you miss me
But we never were
So why you trippin’
You a mom and pop
I’m a corporation
I’m the press conference
and you a conversation
Why you so obsessed with me (Boy I wanna know)
Lying that you’re sexing me (when everybody knows)
It’s clear that you’re upset with me
Finally found a girl that you couldn’t impress
Last man on the earth still couldn’t hit this
You’re delusional, you’re delusional
Boy you’re losing your mind
It’s confusing yo, you’re confused you know
Why you wasting your time
Got you all fired up with your Napoleon complex
Seeing right through you like you’re bathing in Windex

Oh, how I long for the days of yore. Maybe "Someday" she'll come around. Single tear.

And so the summer of celebrity death continues...

RIP

Not that I care. I'm an All My Children kind of girl.

Gmail report: cloudy with a chance of SPAM.

I've been all down in the dumps lately. Maybe it's dumbasses who won't let the President speak to the school kids of America. Maybe it's gay fish/Kanye's outburst toward dear, sweet Taylor Swift. Maybe it's how fucking terrible Norman tap water tastes this time of year. Maybe it's that my iPod is full, but I have like one kajillion songs I'd like to add to it. Maybe it's knowing that this season of Mad Men is almost half over. But, probably, it's the theme I choose for Gmail. I picked the tree one, which somehow means it's always rainy or storming in my inbox. I'm switching to planets. Wish me luck.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Rain rain go away edition.

I suppose I shouldn't complain. There was a stretch this summer when I had forgotten rain. When the OK was more dried up than a joke about Joan Rivers' vajayjay. Anywho, now it won't stop raining. Rained all day Saturday. I actually had tickets to the OU/Idaho St. game, but pussied out. Neither wet t-shirt nor pancho is a good look for me. Instead, I let my parents purchase the game on Pay-Per-View and watched my mom down Keystone Light out of a pilsner glass. Surreal. It rained again all day Sunday. ALL DAY! I remember many rainy days in Mass, but here it seems to storm and be done with it, so this hovering rain put me in a mood. It also made my hair crazy. Like lion's mane crazy. Girlfriend needs a haircut, which costs $$... but this is about music.

Rainy days and mondays always get me down. Not really. Rain gives me an excuse to indulge my inner (and sometimes outer) sad bastard.

Billie Holiday
You Go To My Head

Air
Ce Matin La

Ella Fitzgerald
How Long Has This Been Going On

Edith Piaf
Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

Carla Bruni
Quelqu'un M'a Dit

Nina Simone
I Got It Bad And That Ain't Good

Astrud Gilberto
Corcovado

Otis Redding
My Lover's Prayer

Tom Waits
Ol' 55

Serge Gainsbourg
Les loups das la bergerie

Hope Sandoval
On the Low

Jeff Buckley
Everybody Here Wants You

Miles Davis
Freddie Freeloader

Well, it's official.

2% pay cut, among other things (e.g. no retirement contribution match) for at least nine months. When you're as poor as I am, 2% is a big deal (like a student loan payment and/or rent). More than that, there's the idea that working your way up and through a complicated job with a huge personnel issue is rewarded by the expectation of more work for less money. Yes, I still have my job, which is good, because the Department of Education and Citibank would be pretty sad if I found myself unemployed, but what am I working for? Another round of salary reductions? Constant fear of a reduction in force? Working in HR is difficult, since I catch wind, but not details of these decisions and have ample time to obsess. Also, there will surely be exceptions to the official rules to wrangle our budget, and I will have to process them, all the while living on less myself. Life isn't fair. I know this. But I was so hopeful. So hopeful.

Right, so, do I use this as impetus to see what else is out there? Do I seriously look at grad school now that I know I'll be just as poor working as I would in school? Do I look into selling my eggs? Do I hang out at retirement centers and befriend oldies who will add me to their life insurance policies? Do I move back in with my parents and save as much as I can to fund some sort of real change? Or, do I just tread water and hope for the best since I do actually like my job, the people I work with, and am not through learning what I'd need to know to be marketable in this area. I could do other stuff, sure, but I just invested over two years learning benefits and compensation.

Ugh. Sad panda. I don't know what that means, Shain says it, so I repeat it.

In which I have two family related stories.

Oh, hi there. It's been a rough beginning of the semester. Shit has hit the fan at work. Turns out higher education in Oklahoma is not, in fact, recession proof. Employment is the new poverty. Also, I've obviously been in mourning since OU's ridonk performance the other day. And I ate at Cheesecake Factory and fell into a coma. Oh, and I've been trying to follow both Top Chef and Project Runway. So yeah, I've been pretty preoccupied. Apologies. To my imaginary fans. However, in the past two weeks, two moderately entertaining things happened involving the fam.

::Story #1::

Flash back to the summer of 1999. A young Bee-spot is head over heels in love with high school boyfriend who has earned a dork award that requires him to travel to DC for two weeks. Two weeks without seeing each other! Oh the agony. Right, so you no one might or might not know care that my old bedroom window was essentially used a door for parent forbidden shenanigans throughout my tenure. I was quite used to late night visits from high school boyfriend. Sometimes, we would watch taped episodes of Jeopardy!, sometimes we would stare into each others eyes, professing our tiny love, and sometimes we'd, well. You know. Do it. Anyway, the night before HSBF leaves for DC, I hear a knock on the ol' window. There he is, out in my yard, brandishing a curious red gift bag. He thrusts the bag through my window and tells me that he's purchased a few items for me to help me withstand his absence. Aw. I peer inside to discover a treasure trove of very naughty items. It was the first time I'd seen anything of the like. I could've stocked my own Christie's Toybox.* I honestly didn't know what to say or do. I kissed him goodbye, opened the bag and shoved the vibrator between my mattress and box spring. I hid it because it was the only thing I recognized and knew I needed a safe place for it. The other things had no meaning to me at the time, so I shoved them deep in the depths of my bottomless closet thinking that even if someone found them, they too would be unclear of their purpose.

Flash forward to 10 years later. My brother rarely texts me. When he does, it's usually to tell me to leave him alone or he confuses me with someone who can sell him drugs. I joke. Sort of. I receive a text that says something like you'll never guess what Dad found. That's right. While my brother and dad were attempting to repair my old bed (it's a 100+ year old four poster monstrosity that's very fragile), they pulled off the mattress to uncover, yes, a 10 year old dormant vibrator. Awesome! I asked my brother what Dad did with it. Apparently, it's waiting for me in the desk drawer.

::Story #2::

Oh moms. And the internets. Hilarity always ensues. Mom's school district refused to show Obama's don't quit school speech (big surprise/Oklahoma is awesome!), but she was determined to have the text available for herself and any interested student and wanted to print it out as soon as it was published. Cut to me showing her the magic of cut and paste and word and font size and printing. It was a miracle. Now she wants to email the link to her super conservative brother. Ok. She frequently emails me, so I don't see why she'd need my help for this, but she thinks she does. I watch her close every open window and application on her computer. Weird, but ok. Then she opens Internet Explorer. Um, ok. Then she types yahoo.com into the browser. I think to myself, weird, since I set her up with a Gmail account. Next she types Google into the Yahoo search field. Yeah, it's true. She Yahoo's Google. Then she proceeds to Google Gmail. I died a little. Also, if you know me, I think this explains a lot about me.