Cringesday: Remember when we were young?

My darling little 9 or 11 year old cousin (There are so many, I forget exact ages, ok? Sue me.) just sent this to me. She discovered email a few weeks back and I've been bombarded with little snippets into her world ever since. Her missives sometimes crack me up, sometimes break my heart, but always make me glad I've grown up (theoretically). I've drafted about 300 responses and none of them seem to convey anything useful, including instead helpful advice like "you'd better quit band now if you ever want a boyfriend" or "stressed out!? try a pregnancy scare then call me back about 'stressed out'" and "definitely keep playing basketball even if your teammates hate you and you're on a losing team because no one likes a fatty." So you see, I need your help. What do I say?

Hey Blythe, Whats up? We had to play our instruments for a bonfire a couple of days ago. It was so much fun! How are things going at your place? Hope your having fun at your school. Speaking of school, we had a couple of b-ball games over the past couple of days. Out of three games,we only lost both. But then yesterday we had another game: The 5 and 6 grade girls won, the 5 and 6 grade boys won, and the high school girls lost.[ aww man!] Enough about me, what about you? I'm so stressed out! There is so many things going on at our school. Your friends all reject you, then you are told that you're not a starter, and there is so many things to be mad about! Well, I gotta go and do my laundry. Talk to you later! Love you!

The one where I post sporadically and poorly at best.

Hey there. Long time, no write. Lame. Let me start over.

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!

Do you like Harry Potter? No... I LOVE him.

Live blogging the HPVII.

10:57 Scene of the Crime.

11:03 Pre-game.

12:48 (after quick trip to book store) Success!

No sleep till Brooklyn!

I am rarely surprised by geography, and other stories.

There are a lot of things I should be thinking about - e.g. should I up my employee contribution to my TIAA Creff biznass to .5%? Did I remember to turn off my flat iron (ha! j/k - I don't even own a hairbrush - sexy!)? Do I need to have an intervention for Mr. Shain's meth habit that he continues to publicly deny? Am I contributing to the slow death of Lauryn Hill's children because I am listening to The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill all the way through for the third time tonight? But no. I'm not thinking of that stuff. Instead:

• I am 94.28%* sure I could school most people in the World Series of Pop Culture extravaganza currently dominating the Video Hits 1 line up in the absence of a show featuring the Monique, Brooke Hogan or some stupid breaking news segment urging me to check out new and upcoming artist Amy Winehouse - yeah, got that memo years ago. Ok, fine. Today I learned that there are a lot more Val Kilmer movies I'd need to brush up on, but other than that, I'm all set. What I am not so sure about is that I could come up with a suitable name for my team. So far, I'm all about The Moops. Maybe it's already a name, maybe it's not, I don't really care, I think it's pretty solid.
  

*this number is actually more like 3%

• Speaking of pop culture, why is Doug Benson, the Pop Culture Bachelor, on America's Next Top Chef/Model/Comic/Posh Beckham/Bret Michael's Charm School of Survivor Pirates Who Think They Can Dance Idol? The Benson's (me, Doug, Brendan, George, and Lloyd, although he was a Bentsen [but it's ok, oh, and he's dead] gotta stick together!
  

• A girl has needs, right? Right now, mine include fantasizing about Colin Meloy and Ben Gibbard fighting it out for the last pair black rimmed glasses while Rivers Cuomo and I make out.

• I spend a lot of time in my car these days. I need a stellar commute mix. I've been almost killing myself and many others daily in the greater OKC metro by trying to both drive and work the iPod because I am tired of every other song I've got at the moment. While I am driving, I also think about how much I hate driving and wish I could have some sort of excuse to not leave right at 5.30 so as to avoid road rage inducing rush hour in which I watch bike riders move faster than me - no, there are no cyclists in OK. I see four options, all improbable:

1. Go to the university gym and like run or something, I guess.
   
2. Create my own happy hour or crash another. But I'd have to have friends in the OKC area for this one. Not happening so far. Actually, I drink at home alone, so what's wrong with drinking alone at a bar in downtown OKC, right? It's fine...
   
3. Go to the rock gym. This doesn't necessarily require friends and it's quite close to my place of employment, however, it does require me to get up off my ass, dig out my harness, dust off my shoes that only bring back memories of Chinese foot binding-esque pain*, and whore myself out for a belay partner.
4. Find someone to sleep with, as suggested by C-tina, near said place of employment. She requires that they have at least 600 thread count sheets. Let me know.
   

*I can say this because I was an East Asian Studies major - whatever that means.

• And finally, my 26th b-day is quickly approaching. What does one do at this age in celebration? This time last year, I'd just been dumped and spent my actual day of birth curled up, sobbing on my bathroom floor while on the phone with the exbf who was pleading with me to let him come to my birthday dinner because he would feel left out otherwise. I'd rather not do something like that again. Maybe I'd rather do nothing. Do I have to do something? I've been having extravagant birthdays since, well, birth and I'm kind of over it. Of course, I only say this because I know someone is planning a HUGE surprise party for me! No, I know. I've got a business card, health insurance, a dog, soft hair, car, one nice pair of shoes, and a couple of friends I haven't completely alienated. What more could I ask for? A pony.