So... there's a motherfucking blizzard, y'all.

Dude. For once, the high lords of plains weather got it totally fucking wrong. Three to five inches? I don't think so. Let's try 12 to 14. And wind! Blowing snow everywhere! The state has gone apeshit. The governor closed all the roads. Every.Single.Road.In.The.State. They're setting up shelters along the major highways for stranded travelers. Boo. If I lived close enough to the highway, I'd go invite people to stay the night in my cozy wozy house in exchange for beer. That's right. While my genius mother stocked up on TP, water and pasta, I forgot the golden rule of potential natural disasters. GET BOOZE! The BF and I are draining a bottle of some sort of German fortified wine that you heat (delicious!!!), but soon it will be gone and we will be left with our personalities or four bottles of apple flavored Smirnoff Ice. I want to walk to the gas station about a mile away for a rack of 'stones, but K says no. It's Christmas Eve, so maybe there will be a Christmas beericle, but I doubt it.

In the meantime, we bundled up like retarded yetis (no we didn't, I left my snow boots, real winter coat and gloves at my folks house, so I'm wearing pajama pants and old gym shoes with some awesome knee high wool socks and a hat some cousin left one time) and bounded about our pristine street. We walked up and down the street, unable to retrace our own footprints because of the blowing snow. Yay! Is it weird that this makes me totally happy? I don't like the part about being away from family this eve, or all of the car carnage out there, but I love snow and cold and white and sparkling and condensation on the windows and rocking legwarmers and drinking mulled wine and snuggling in my new Snuggie and wearing out my Netflix subscription. K is frying corn tortillas he found in the fridge (we literally have nothing else - we had planned to be house sitting and cleaned out our food) and has declared them the Christmas chips. I don't know what that means, but the smell of corn and salt is beckoning. Merry Christmas.

P.S. Gary England has been suspiciously absent today. Hmm.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. Please. So I don't have to go to Woodward, OK on x-mas day.

Word on the local news weather street is that there's a big ass storm headed to the OK. By big ass I mean 3 - 6 inches. WOO! Kids play in my book, but everyone's fucking flipping their shit around here. My mom made my dad go buy TP, bottled water and the makings for lasagna in case we get snowed in tomorrow night and can't enjoy our ceremonial Christmas Eve dinner at Outback. I am dead fucking serious. This has been going on for like 10 years now. My brother gets two orders of cheese fries. It's disgusting.

Right, so I wish I had a fireplace. And I wish it would really snow a shit ton. I miss waking up to the sound of plows beeping and scraping up and down the streets foretelling the glorious white mounds of winter wonder.

Christmas brings out the worst in me, but this year I managed to purchase a relatively relevant gift for those in my immediate life as well as string up some ornaments (no tree) and a couple of lights from a window. I know, right?

Also, I'm now even lamer and older than ever before. My parents asked me what I wanted this year, which is retarded since they bought me a car and probably shouldn't purchase anything for me for about the rest of my life (although, I still pay a pretty penny each month for my student loans...), but I obliged and provided them with the most boring, sensible list of old person stuff ever.

Cook's Illustrated recommended toaster

Nike Triax +12 running shoes

matching flatware

comforter cover

Cuisinart hand mixer

I know, right? LAMEST CRAP EVER. What I really wanted was this, these, this bad ass, these guys for my living room, and a weekend trip here with the BF. Being old and sensible sucks. And poor. Being poor sucks too.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

If you need me, I'll flatironing my hair in the tanning bed.

Surely, you've heard about Jersey Shore. It's truly miraculous. Mostly because it's on now that IASIP and The League are kaput for the season. Even the BF is mesmerized by the the awesomeness that is Jersey Shore. I can't really say anything without sounding like a total ass, so I won't. I will say that I'm jealous that all the kids have nicknames. I always wanted a nickname. I never got one. When you have a weirdo first name, I think you're precluded from a nickname since everyone's still trying to figure out how to say your first name. But no more! Behold, the Jersey Shore Nickname Generator. Enjoy.

This was my first result, I shit you not.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Handbellz Rule Edition.

Yes, I'll admit it. From sixth grade through my senior year in high school, I was a handbell playing fool, yo. I even went with my group to competitions and stuff. For realz. I've long thought handbell choirs are one of the greatest mechanisms for teaching people to be a team out there. Basically, a choir consists of a multi-octave human keyboard with one person accounting for maybe four notes total. So, every single person is crucial. There's rarely doubling, so when you're not there or sucking, it stands out, hence the terrific opportunity bells create for group work and commitment. Also, yes, I am lame. I wish I could write music. I would arrange "I Will" for handbells because it's my favorite song AND handbells, well, rule. Anywho, check out this installment from Improve Everywhere featuring some handi (not that kind) action. Agent Davis is a childhood friend. Awesome!

Jean Visitation Hours Saturdays, 1 - 4 PM

Immediately post breakup 06, I dropped like 25 el bees fucking overnight. Like snap your finger and bam! Best.Diet.Ever. When that happened, obviously, I had to get some new threads. I still find all of this mystical and amazing since I was drinking more alcohol than I can remember, which equals some serious calories, but anywho. Now that's been over for a long time and I'm happy again, which means the poundage has creeped up a bit rendering those old jeans useless (I refuse to sport a noticeable muffin top while standing, at least). But just by a little. So, every time I go to my parents house to walk my/their dog, put up Christmas crap, or help them with anything involving the internet, I sneak in to the closet of my old bedroom where I stash the crap I don't want at my house and am too cheap to pay for storage and pull out my old jeans. And try them on. I think one more trip and they're all going to fit again! So, yes, I visit my former jeans once a week. Weird, I know.

let the parties begin!

Larger version here.

Well, I did it people.

I recently conquered two, count 'em two fashion fears. The ever present skinny jean and boots over jeans combo. I'm hesitant since I'm what I like to call voluptuous (others might call it, well, something else) and rather vertically challenged. I can hear Trinny and Susannah, Clinton and Stacey telling me no. Really loudly. But I did it anyway! Kudos, me.

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me catching on to a trend that surely almost over.

blergh

i have the wintertime sadfaces. big time. for no apparent reason. i'm a joy to be around. ask anyone.

All I do is watch 30 Rock, Parks & Recreation and IASIP. I am awesome, I know.

Well, it's official.

Parks and Recreation is actually good now. Really good. Well done, Poehler. Well done.

I'll stuff your stocking, I'll tell you what.

I tried to do some x-mas shopping yesterday, until I realized I was poor. And besides, what is there that we don't already have? It's insane, really. I find myself making up problems so that I can buy the solution. It's ridiculous, really. And also, I'm flat broke. All. The. Time.

Which brings me to this: Tips 4 Poor People.