It's really not funny,

but what if Hollywood and Malibu and the OC or wherever the rich and famous people that don't live in New York or on a ranch in Taos or Whistler and drive a Prius except to premiers when they take private jets and ride in Hummer limos totally burned down? What if there were celebrity refugees like displaced Katrina victims? See, I told you, not funny. But sort of. Like what if Lauren Conrad had to come live at my house while she waits for FEMA money to replace her Louboutin shoe and wide headband collection? Obvs, hilarity would ensue. Or what if Jennifer Aniston came to reside in the Benson household. She'd have to eat my mom's hashbrown casserole and she couldn't throw it up because of our faulty plumbing. Ha. But seriously, fire isn't funny. I'll admit something. It was high school before I could light a candle (and shuffle cards, I'm a late bloomer, so sue me). Once, I remember my dad was trying to make his own tortilla chips in our battered toaster oven. As the flames licked the underside of our kitchen cabinets and with the fire alarm blaring, I gathered up my pet mouse in her traveling cage, an assortment of clothes and stack of R.L Stine books and headed out into the yard awaiting the fire trucks. I would not go back inside for hours.

I am aged.

Jeebus. I am getting old. As of August this year, I should be completing my quarter life crisis, if things remain on schedule, when I turn 26. We'll see. At this point, I'm not hopeful. In the meantime, sometimes I forget that I'm not 18 anymore. Mostly when people yell at me and tell me I'm not 18 anymore when I am doing something absolutely retarded or trying to hit on college freshmen. But also when my brother drops a bomb of a question on me like the following. We're checking out Robot Chicken clips online because that's how we bond when he says, "Hey Blythe, what's a Trapper Keeper?" It's like I was smacked with a thousand leopard print and/or zebra striped slap bracelets. I suppose he doesn't know what pogs are either. Sweet Oden's Raven, I felt old. I don't know what the kiddies do these days to stay organized at school (my recent experience in public schools would suggest that they, in fact, do nothing to stay organized), but the TK was essential to keeping track of my assignments and most importantly, notes from my friend(s) and ones I wrote to myself from imaginary boyfriends. Unfortunately, I didn't keep any of my many Trapper Keepers and their accessories (all of which were mostly likely covered in stickers ranging from unicorns to STP) so I had no evidence to offer. I did, however, remember a South Park episode featuring this behemoth of organization.

The TK picture above totally sucks, but I couldn't find a better image. I remember mine being pretty sweet. But we all know my memory's not the best.

Cheers.

-b

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with Bear Grylls. Yes, it's true. I know I've been on the Les Stroud side of this battle, but I happened to catch a bit of the Bear on Oprah last night (yes, I was watching an Oprah rerun on KOCO Channel 5, which is actually channel 8 at 11pm last night) and had a little epiphany, or maybe indigestion, but I felt something. I think seeing him choke up a bit while talking about his fallen Everest co-climbers melted a little piece of my glacier heart that, so far, Les has been unable to survive by starting a fire with his underwear, a coconut and his own boogers (oh, plus his name is Bear! Bear beats Les). I do have a few qualms with Man vs. Wild, like his camera man should be recognized for his kickassedness since he braves the same treacherous conditions as Bear (likewise, the Survivorman should be praised since he lugs his shit around all by his lonesome) and there's the fact that this dude's bat shit crazy for pulling the stunts he does - but I guess that just makes me love him more. Everyone knows I love the crazies. Maybe Bear and Les should get together and do a little something (Les can run the camera). I'd like to see them survive a Friday night in the Homeland parking lot in Norman, OK where all of the rednecks circle their trucks for a night of what I imagine is Skoal, Kenny Chesney, and statutory rape punctuated with cries of "git 'er done."

Photo-off:

Bear vs.

Canadian

What this is telling you is that I am a huge dork. Yes, I stay home and sit around the house watching Survivorman and Man vs. Wild, but it doesn't end there. I love Jamie and Adam on Mythbusters with all of my useless heart (especially Jamie - did you know he has a degree in Russian Language and Literature?). I have almost every episode of Modern Marvels memorized (but I still don't know how anything works). It's a sickness. Date me!