v-day FAIL

why, oh why must i be in a relationship with someone who goes all liz lemon on v-day. yeah, i went to a ladies only college and should want to observe anna howard shaw day, but excuse me if i don't like a little attention and some lovin'. i got up bright and early (9) to trudge through the snow (again with this? i might as well have stayed in mass) to get him some old fashioned and blueberry cake donuts to at least do a tiny out of the ordinary thing for him. so, i did my part. i also bought myself a gift since as whitney houston sang, "learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all."

in a related story, on the whole, i have a pretty rad bf, so i should probably shut up and remember my inner smithie. also, zeb is a pretty sweet valentine.

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.

let the parties begin!

Larger version here.

Stuffity Stuff Stuff

I am at home, lazing about on mismatched sheets (my new thing is mixing up striped sheets with floral pillow cases - I know, crazy!) enjoying the remainder of my morning before T-day preparations commence. Last year, I pretty much made everything for my fam plus the BF and a stray uncle, but this year, we're headed to the homeland (Woodward, OK) so I'm not responsible for it all, just a few items. Crudite with lowfat yogurt dip, gooey pumpkin butter cake, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and corn pudding.

But before that, here's what caught my eye and I thought I would share because, well, I'm nice like that.

NPR did one of those last minute bits on this blog, My Parents Were Awesome. It's endearing.



The Muppets are blowing up. And Rocking out.




Shoes. I like to live vicariously through those who can both afford and manage heels like these: Elle Shoe Blog.


Duh news of the day: Junk Food Turns Rats Into Addicts.

Listening to: How Long Has This Been Going On? - Ella Fitzgerald

Christmas blows jingle balls.

An Oklahoma Christmas

Why is the most wonderful time of year the least? As I've mentioned, the season puts me in a severely foul mood, which can only be remedied by online shopping and the promise of days off from work. It was a rather dull holiday, which is all the more depressing, since I'm obviously a heartless robot incapable of feeling any joy.

1. A few weeks ago, one of my g-pas offered me a rather new 42" TV as he and g-ma had replaced their set recently for a new HD model. Sign me up! The fam crammed our overfed asses into my mom's Matrix to ensure we had trunk (hatch) space to accomodate the TV, which we intended to pick up on our annual pilgrimage to a place that might even be worse the Worcestor, MA, Woodward, OK. Upon arrival, I was greeted by said g-pa, who led me to a closet with an old, decrepit, maybe 25" set encased in what appeared to be fake wood panelling. I accepted it graciously and tossed it in the cavernous trunk of the car. I noticed that they had clearly reallocated the TV in question to the playroom where my little cousins had set up Christmas camp. Bah.

2. Part two of the same trip, with the same g-parents (it's confusing because my parents share the same hometown, which means two birds, one stone when it comes to holidays), all hell breaks loose because of a four year old girl. The grandparents have a spacious house clearly built with the intention of holding extended family over holidays. However, there's simply not enough room for all of the family members who arrive from all over the southern US. This year, the assortment included my step grandmother's daughter, husband, and four year old daughter (oh yeah, I forgot to mention she's the step 'ma - it's been over 20 years, so sometimes I forget, but it's important). Christmas Eve, four year old girl gets a room, the parents get a room, and my uncle (not step) gets a room. Christmas day, uncle is informed that he will be sleeping on the couch because step g-ma's number one son is arriving with his wife. So, now we have four year old girl in one room, parents in one room, newly arriving couple in one room, 48 year old uncle with bad back on couch in living room. Uncle says oh hell no. They think he is kidding because what sensible adult doesn't understand that a small child needs their very own queen size bed? I mean, really. He's not. He's driven in from Houston (not a quick jaunt, you see) and decides to hightail it back to Norman for a real bed at my house. Ok. Makes sense. We're heading out (after Christmas number three at the OTHER grandparents house complete with assorted cousins, aunts and uncles), and are about 45 miles outside of Woodward, when uncle's beamer starts spewing smoke. After leaving him on the highway and a trip to the Seiling, OK gas station that is thankfully open on Christmas Day night at about 11pm, we determine that he's got a cracked radiator. Guess where he's headed. Oh snap.

3. Ex-boyfriend sightings. Boo. It's still so strange to me that a) he's never responded to what I thought was a clever b-day card that said, hey, we're over all the weird crap, let's put it behind us and laugh, and b) that someone whom I shared almost everyday with for seven years is wandering the streets of my town with no inclination at all to inquire about how I am, what I am, all that stuff. Baffling. Current boyfriend drama. NSFB. (Not safe for blogs.) We'll see!

4. Recession is the new economy. I usually rely on making bank at Christmas to get me through the winter or allow me to buy something much needed (washer and dryer!!!), but it was a super stingy Christmas this year, understandably. So, I apologize for wearing either the same smelly thing over and over again, or for showing up ridiculousy under or overdressed because I'm down to the formal or loungewear portion of the ol' wordrobe.

My life without a washer and dryer. Sad, isn't it?

5. NYE! Go fuck yourself. I give up on this. $10 says you can find me with a bottle of scotch and a self imposed SATC marathon on my shitty, not 42" TV.

6. Happy holidays. More later.

Holy neon green snotballs!

So, my Tuesday post makes no sense because I was delirious with fever, but so focused on wrapping up work for the week that I thought I was just a little tired. However, my fire throat, nasty cough, bloodshot eyes and all over body ache did not prevent me from attending my first Thunder game against Phoenix that night (Shaq is HUGE!). I think Port Authority is a little bit classier than the Ford Center, but it was a good try. We had a good time, from what I remember. Wednesday was spent in various levels of consciousness dictated by shots of NyQuil, CVS brand Tussin, Mucinex and wine. Also, somehow, although completely unethical, I was drug to my parent's house to whip up the stuffing and spinach gratin for t-day dinner. On the big day, I woke from my 'Quil coma to rush over to the parent's house to do the turkey, then back to my house to bake the bread, spinach, and stuffing, which I then schlepped back over to the parent's where I made the mashed potatoes, threw some crudites on the coffee table and hoped for the best. All in all, everything was ok, except the extremely overdone turkey, which was by design since my family thinks they will all die from salmonella. Basically, I just wanted to list out a few things for which I'm thankful right now.

I'm thankful...

that I don't work at the Valley Stream, NY Wal-Mart
for the G4 Arrested Development marathon (and impending movie??)
for 24 hour pharmacies
that Britney really seems to be getting her shit together
for the Travel Channel's No Reservations marathon
that I wasn't invited to Heidi and Spencer's nuptials
for my job
for Archer Farms egg nog yogurt
my boobs
that Barack Obama won
for Amazon's 50 albums for $5!
for Ina Garten
for the shuffle setting on my iPod
I would say for readers, but there aren't any
that I didn't have to suffer through another Steak and Ale Thankshitting
for fevers, Mother Nature's acid
that I missed Rosie's variety show thing
PUPPIES!!
that I'm not knocked up
for Spanx
that there are "black Friday" sales at liquor stores
for leftovers
that my snot has turned from neon green to clear, I think that's a good sign

and lots of other stuff probably.

It's Veterans Day!

And you know what that means. Actually, you don't. Because today is the 2X anniversary of the exbf's expulsion from his momsters uterus. He's managed to wish me a happy birthday via text or email over the last two years, so I've determined it's time to take it up a notch, now that my heart has gone from robot to slightly less robot status. Here's what I'm thinking:

Fine. I will just send an email.

I suppose it's Valentine's Day or some crap.

I was sent home from work today. Asked to leave. No kidding. It appears that somewhere between about 12am and 6am this morning, I totally lost my voice. I can only eek out a barely audible whisper, sometimes accompanied by an errant croak. It's very sexy, trust me. A large portion of my daily work includes talking on the phone and meeting with people face to face (a large percentage of them international students), which proved to be quite difficult by hour three and due to my poor coordination resulting in gesticulations that were probably inappropriate to most cultures. I was sent packing. I arrived home to flop in bed and watch Knotting Hill, Sliding Doors AND Raising Helen (with chocolates sent to work by a software company). Valentine's Day complete. I guess. I was informed last week the the BF doesn't celebrate V-Day, instead choosing to participate in "Meat Week" which maybe means he's gay, I don't know. It also might mean he reads College Humor* or this website. I'm just hoping I get a steak tomorrow night or something.

I'm not going to lie, I was kind of bummed about this. My past V-Days have always been shitty (one includes pink eye, another when I got someone the worst gift ever - a beta fish, another - actually, I can't remember them anymore, must've blocked them out), so not having one is probably best for me. Also, I reviewed the state of my mental last year and have decided that I'm ahead this time around, so all is well even if there are no flowers and crap. So, have a good one. Or don't have one. Or have a crappy one. It all evens out in the end.

*The other weekend, I was playing this retarded (sorry, no other word will suffice) made up drinking game and I had this great, what I would think College Humor worthy idea (if College Humor sucked, well, sometimes it does). Picture this, beercreditreport.com. You know, for all of your friends that abandon wounded soldiers all over your place. Or drink your Stella and replace it with Natty. Or totally cheat during pong by making their partner drink or by being a girl. You know, that kind of shit. If this already exists (because I am clearly too lazy to use Google), just humor me, ok?