with lovin.' Sweet, sweet lovin.' It doesn't take much to get a girl like me into bed e.g. a (1) PBR, kind(ish) glance, the promise of cheese flavored corn chips, etc, but it takes a lot almost nothing to keep me there. Hey, a girl has needs. I am a girl. Ergo needs. Or whatever. My needs are best met in the presence of the following albums. In the words of Ron Burgundy, my hero: "that's baby making music that's what that is."
1. Astral Weeks - Van Morrison: Need I say more? This is a sure way into my pants. I mean heart. The heart of my pants.
2. Kind of Blue - Miles Davis: Again, not much to be said here. Fuckin' genius.
3. Lovers Rock - Sade: It's freakin' Sade. She's the definition of sexytime music. Come on. Seriously.
4. Heartbreaker - Ryan Adams: Because I'll always have a little indie rocker in me. Well, hopefully not too little. ZING! (God, I hope my mother - or anyone for that matter - isn't reading this.)
5. Mutations - Beck: Perfect for space sex.
6. Between The Lines - Janis Ian: Weird choice, I know. That is all.
Happy long weekend y'all! Or at least to me. Guess who doesn't have to work till Monday? I'll give you a hint. It's probably not you. No Goulet Wednesday News Round Up this week, folks, so stop emailing me about it (I wish). I've only been checking TMZ about 300 times a day instead of 3,000 lately. I haven't even read Gawker today. I'm just not feeling it. I've also been listening to a lot of Sia, which I'm pretty sure means that I'm depressed. While I wait for someone to score me some Klonopin....
In which I am killing my brain cells one by one. Fuck you mini keg of Heineken. Normally, I wouldn't clean my toilet with you, but somehow, last night you got me drunk and took advantage of me. Just how I like it.
Mother, Mother. Why are you watching Madea's Family Reunion (You were right, Clinton. I am a tard at spelling. I fixed it.) ? Furthermore, why are you watching it again? I just don't get Tyler Perry. God awful.
Sickho. Saw it yesterday. It was pretty, pretty, pretty good. If you know my dad, you know he resembles a slightly skinnier Michael Moore. He's actually a perfect composite of Michael and Stephen Root. And I look just like him. Date me!
Dream on. I dreamed that my mom in I got in a fight about what kind of potatoes to bake and which kind to mash. I think my life has reached (God willing) its apex of boringness if this is as imaginative my subconscious can muster. It can only get better from here. Right?
Summer Declaration. "Heart It Races" is my song of the summer. I implore you to take a listen. Architecture in Helsinki is kind of an acquired taste [joke for Oklahomans only: that is how I describe Cherokee Ballard], and if they aren't doing it for you, like 10,000 groups have covered/remixed it.
Also in music news uninteresting to everyone but me: M.I.A. is the new Lady Sovereign. And I like it.
Best. Meal. For. $5. Ever.
Greek House is a small, family run establishment in Norman that has been serving up the best value in the whole town for as long as I can remember. It's run by the sweetest Greek couple in existence (even if your Greek grandparents have been faithfully married for 78 years, volunteer for Meals on Wheels, save puppies from kill shelters, and send you Halloween cards, they are still nothing compared to these people) . I'll take you there when you come visit me. In the meantime, feast your eyes on my lunch. Bwahahaha to those of you who know, but are far away... If it makes you feel any better, even this delightful pile of grease couldn't rid me of my vicious hangover.
Blog stealer. Sorry in advance, but this blew my mind too much (hang in there for the first minute). Also, I frickin' love Daft Punk. Say what you will. UPDATE: There's a Kanye West version? Huh? Also, Neptunes remix.
Speaking of blogs. I am jealous. Somehow, I've gotten myself addicted to reading about the livesofahandfulofNewYorkers (a sampling). Which makes me jealous to begin with since they are living my dream of being a poorish workingish 20-30ish in NY. Whatevs. Then I read that they all go out drinking with each other! Damn them! Now, if I actually did live in Brooklyn or where ever, chances are I wouldn't be invited by this group or there might be restraining orders or what have you (oh, and I think Gawker needs a Blogger Stalker), but that's really neither here nor there. The point is, where my Oklahoma bloggers is at? A mini-meeting was held last night, but it was very informal and I already know those kids. Don't let the NY kids show us up! Commenters welcome also.
And now. I think it's time to head over to Lacey's to convince her to let me watch old episodes of SYTYCD on her TiVo. Now who's jealous? Oh. Still me.
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.
Still feeling shitty, but I just watched probably six (I'm not so good with numbers) episodes of Weeds on demand. Holy shit that show is awesome! I can't believe I've been fucking around with How I Met Your Mother when this show has been available. Not only is Mary Louise Parker the hottest MILF (sorry Brit) around and will now serve as my fashion icon, but the music is pretty rad too. Check it. This might be the cough syrup talking, but I think this show is the real deal (even if I am coming to the party two years late). Can't wait for season 3. In the meantime, listen to Holland by Sufjan Stevens and drain that bottle of tussin. You know you want to.
In an unrelated story, Shain just sent me a link to this (hint: it involves My Little Ponies). As he put it, "they really want to be free. had you not thrown it, it would have jumped." This is what he's talking about.
