BREAKING NEWS:

I think I'm bored with the internet. Like, I've looked at all I can think of to look at and I either get sad because I didn't think of it, didn't understand it, or want to buy it then remember I sold my soul to the Department of Education. It's a sad, sad day when my most visited sites are gmail, weather.com and msnbc.com. WTF, self?

I'm a one-two punch of awesome.

For those of you that (don't) care, I went ahead and got that haircut last week. Or whenever that was. The days run together when you work in a windowless basement.* I went to a fancy-pants salon in Edmond (the snooty suburb of OKC) to have my head massaged and drink wine and shit while they cut my hair at 7pm, because that's the only time I have to take care of these things (I've left clothes at the dry cleaner for almost two months now because I never make it home in time to pick them up, can they mail them to me?). I said to the chick, it's been since August, so I'm going to need my ends trimmed, also, I'd like more layering, and can we talk about bangs? She responded by giving me what appears to be the same haircut I had in second grade. Blunt shoulder length. Thanks. I paid my money, including a good tip, for no apparent reason and haven't stopped bitching about it because that's how I do. I am hopeless at communicating my hair desires to hair professionals. I'm eternally unhappy with the results, which is sad since my soft hair is probably the best feature I have going for me, which leads me to punch number two.

Have you ever been 27 and the puberty fairy visits you and plops a gigantic bindi like zit smack dab in the middle of your forehead? No? Lucky you. Not that you were going to invite me anyway, but I'm hiding out till this sucker's a goner.

Thanks life!**

*In all honesty, my jobs is quite all right. It can be challenging and sometimes I feel like I'm essentially volunteering, but I doubt I'll ever have bosses this awesome ever again.

**Yes, things could be worse, but I'd rather obsess over my hair than read about how sad the world is.

Top Ten Signs You're Not Ready to Procreate.

When I was in the NYC, I saw lots and lots of babies and preggers chicks. They're fucking everywhere. And then there's octomom and her litter. And, of course, Brangelina. And those Duggers. Also, FaceBook reveals news of knocked up high school mates left and right. I don't really feel the ol' biological clock ticking, but I do know that my body makes horrible cracking noises during yoga and one time last week I got a cramp in my hip during naughty time = I'm getting old. But among the thousands of reasons I'm aware of (there are surely more I am not) that would make me an unfit mother, I think the most telling is what I'd consider naming spawn. Here are my top favorite bebe names in no particular order:

Charlotte

Valentina

Savannah

Simon

Anouk

Sebastian

Clementine

Evangeline

Annabelle

Liam

Ruby

Tabitha

Oscar

Can you imagine being named Ruby Valentina?

Oh snap.

I kinda knew this would happen. Deep in my heart of sports prediction hearts. Does it make it any easier? No. Now, the SEC will be all we'reawesomethebig12isforpussyteamsthatscuck. And also, Texas and Utah will be all thiswouldneverhavehappened to us. Well, guess what kids, it would've. Know why? Because, in spite of it all, Oklahoma is a kickass team that succeeded at not losing to Florida, but to itself this evening. Also, we are destined to lose all bowl games presided over by our dear St. Stoops. There I said it. So sue me. Finally, I am terribly drunk, so I will surely either regret or forget what I have said. In the meantime: boomer sooner. We will prevail! In 2018. Or something near that.

Hamburgers.

Please, just put me out of my misery.

Somehow, and I'm not sure it's possible, my life is even more boring than this blog. I know you all no one will not believe it. The most exciting thing that has happened to me of late is that I found a $.97 loofah at Wal-Mart with a suction cup that I can adhere to my shower wall. Make it stop.

Weekend to end all weekends.

Holy crap. I had an effing INSANE weekend. Seriously. Out. Of. Control. Big time. Let's count it down:

• 1 trip to Super Target to buy crock pot*

• 1 lunch at Chili's

• $20 to see Role Models. Totally worth it. Paul Rudd crush surges.

• 11pm Saturday night bedtime

• 2 hours reading Real Simple, Gourmet, Bon Apetit, Living, and Cooks Illustrated for T-day recipes

• 3 loads of laundry

• 4 miles of dog walks

• 3 hour trip to Harold's outlet to look for bargain work shirts and ties for the BF

• 1 kitchen session to make chili for a work pot luck and a baked pasta dish to be warmed up tomorrow night after the BF and I get home from the gym

• 483 Diet Cokes

Jealous much? I thought so.

*The BF accurately pointed out that the crock pot purchase (necessary for the making of and transportation for the work chili) would render a blog search for slow cooker recipes for my demographic (e.g. Whole Foods loving food snobs) named something clever like crockofchic.blogspot.com. Let me know if you find anything.