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.

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.

Amy Winehouse Wednesday

Hey guys, I feel like I need to level with you. You all have One of you has probably noticed my sporadic, at best, attempts at blogging lately. The truth is, I've been grappling with some pretty tough "issues" that consume most of my time. It probably started in earnest about last January and has dominated my waking life since, crescendoing into what I'm about to tell you. In confidence, of course. They say you have to hit rock bottom before you realize you want help, and I finally hit that bottom harder than the Dow yesterday. It wasn't pretty, but I'm ready to take my first steps down the road to recovery. That's right. I'm going to rehab.

It started off innocently enough. I'd spend a little bit of time here. Then a minute or two here, you know, just to try it out. Before long, as the spring progressed, I'd take a little of this, just to keep up with everything. Summer came and went in a blur of this, these and that. Things get kind of hazy come September - I couldn't tell if I was coming or going, just that I wanted more. By October, I would do anything to get it anywhere. Even here.

It's going to be tough, but I think with professional help I can get through this. At least I can expect to be relapse free until 2010.

BREAKING ELECTION NEWS!

Psych! I know there's an election and all or whatever, but I think the following newsflash wins out. I don't want to sound like a douche or anything, but...

I'm kind of a big deal.

Check it: 75 Great Oklahoma Websites via Oklahoma Magazine. *Turn to page 76. I think/have it memorized.

I know, right! The TLO boys were also mentioned among many others actually deserving of making the list. I don't know if you've noticed, but... I kind of don't blog so much these days. When I let the BF know that he had the opportunity/obligation to buy a local celebrity a drink Friday night, he immediately asked whom I was sleeping with to secure such an honor. I'm 96% sure my parents paid for my mention as penance for this haircut.

**UPDATE** The dorkiest of all dorks, M5K has even noted this momentous, albeit undeserving and decidedly mysterious development. Recognize.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Election Eve Edition

During the 2000 election (my first), I was attending school for an ill-fated semester at Rhodes College in Memphis with a dorm full of WASPs of the first degree - fish out of water city. Gore won Shelby county, but he lost his home state. I was crushed, but I still had no idea what were were getting into. Round two, I was up in the MA, Kerry's home turf, ensconced in a liberal enclave, confident that Amurkuh had learned from its mistake and would rectify the situation. I had a little election watch party. By 3am, everyone was gone. I sat on my big blue couch, numb. I've already done my voting, and this time, in a state that will go my way (obvs, not OK), but I'm still not holding out any hope. As wonderful as this country is, it still has a long way to go.

Not election related songs, just things I've been listening to on repeat:

Trying My Best To Love You - Jenny Lewis (from Acid Tongue)

She Came In Through The Bathroom Window - The Beatles

True Affection - The Blow

Where Do You Go To (My Lovely) - Peter Sarstedt

Papers In Order - The Old Ceremony

All Night - Sam Phillips

Sweet Lorraine - Patty Griffin

Sun Will Shine Again - Slackstring

Bag Lady - Erykah Badu

I Want Candy*

If you were to call me right now, and our discussion somehow devolved into "hey, what are you wearing?" (as it so often does), I would respond as such:

Hey baby, I hope you like pre-shrunk cotton, cause I've got on a t-shirt. It's more than just a t-shirt, it's an over sized, traffic cone orange frock with delightfully whimsical black felt shapes placed strategically to resemble a carved pumpkin. Oh yeah. My boxy tee, lovingly and expertly crafted by the youngsters in my office to celebrate the holiday, sits atop a pair of ill conceived J. Crew jeans. They seemed like a steal at the time, but months later, after an unfortunate brush with a full length mirror, I've discovered these jeans are more mom than MILF. That's cool, though, cause I rock my Chuck's that used to be cream colored but now are closer to asphalt. Hello? Are you there? Hello?

*

Otis Redding Wednesday

Sometimes, there is nothing that describes one's mental state better than an Otis Redding song.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Actual Music Edition

Sometimes, I have these moments where I revert to my seventh grade self, where the most important thing was hovering near my stereo late at night, while the rest of the house was silent, absorbing, then reabsorbing a newly discovered song. My room had a window that got enough of a street light to cast a long rectangle over the carpet next to my bed. I'd lay on the floor in the middle of the lighted outline with my ear pressed to the speaker, pressing repeat until I couldn't lift my arm any longer.

TV on the Radio - Family Tree*

*Not the official video, but oh well.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Hamm Sandwish Edition

I have no music for you. Apologies. It all sucks anyway.

In a related story, I love Jon Hamm. L.O.V.E. love. He brilliantly hosted SNL Saturday night (and no, I didn't TiVo it, I was actually at home watching). I think my favorite thing, besides the kick ass extra sets performed by Coldplay (not!) was the introduction of Jon Hamm's John Ham.



I can't find a clip of that, so instead, enjoy Don Draper's Guide to Picking Up Women.



Also, if you're not watching Mad Men, you are nuts. The season finale aired last night, so you have ample time to Netflix seasons one and two in preparation for the new season beginning in what feels like forever. Get your gimlets and cigs ready and just do it! I'd say more, but I don't want to spoil it for anyone since I know you're all going to watch. Right?

Hey look, we're in the paper! The NY Times Magazine, no less.

Get a load of this. (For those not in the know, Oklahoma City is the location of Oklahoma's only professional sports franchise, the newly transplanted Seattle SuperSonics, now known as the Thunder - probably not on the radar of most NBA fans.)

Where the Thunder Comes Dribbling Down the Plains

Here is a highlight:

With Seattle on a roll — it’s home to Microsoft, Amazon.com, Starbucks, Costco, Nordstrom — it is difficult to fathom why any team (or business, for that matter) would leave the city and its famous quality of life for a metropolitan area one-third its size. And why Oklahoma City? Even in its own state, Tulsa would seem to have greater national prospects, with its rolling hills, mansion-filled neighborhoods and cultural accouterments of a serious place, as opposed to flat, brown, insular Oklahoma City, where unseemly oil wells blight even the Capitol grounds.

Ok, fine. It ends up being somewhat fair in the end. And, it was the best written piece about Oklahoma I've seen in a long, long time since we're usually stuck with The Oklahoman. In any case, I gotta find me some tickets.

Food politics. It's a lot more interesting than the other kind.

I've had a little crush on Michael Pollan since I read The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals back in 2006. It got worse when I followed that with his 2001 book, The Botany of Desire: A Plant's Eye View of the World. I devoured his most recent book, In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto, in about five minutes earlier in the summer (I had to wait till it went on sale since I spend all my income on trips to Whole Foods). He makes me want to swear off Sonic and Chick-Fil-A forever. He makes me want to quit my job and return to the land. I actually do make an effort to avoid high fructose corn syrup at all costs. He recently wrote an article in the New York Times Magazine that eloquently sums up the importance of the oft overlooked and problematic American food system.

READ: An Open Letter to the Next Farmer In Chief.

LISTEN: Terry Gross and Michael talk food as a national security issue on Fresh Air.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Sunday: No one reads so I don't have to follow a schedule edition.

This week, I was inspired by the boys over at TLO (The Lost Ogle, for the non-Okies) who have managed over the last few weeks to cobble together the beginnings of a videotrack of some supersweet, cringeworthy musical moments of my youth.  Seventh grade school dance montage! Yeah!  You can check it out here.  Pretty sweet, no?  

Hold On - Wilson Phillips

Here Comes The Hotstepper - Ini Kamoze

Motown Philly - Boyz II Men

Rico Suave - Gerardo

Black Velvet - Alannah Myles

More Than Words - Extreme

I'd Die Without You - PM Dawn

This one's just for fun since I couldn't find a video for All-4-One's (She's Got) Skillz and embedding is disabled for Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover (Sophie B. Hawkins).

Oh, how I wish I was lying,

but unfortunately, I have terminal dorkitis. It's hereditary, you see. Here's my belated submission for DorkFest.

1. When I was a young girl growing up in Norman, Oklahoma, I went through a phase that I assume most girls enjoyed; Victorian decoration obsession. Essentially, I pressed a lot of flowers, covered things in ribbon and doilies, developed topiaries, collected an astounding number of hatboxes, silver plated trays and leaded glass. It looked like I lived in a nursing home, except, you know, I was 12 or whatever.

2. I know all the words to this song:

3. Currently, there are three kinds of tahini in my kitchen, because I am conducting a taste test. The early lead goes to Joyva.

4. There was this little incident: Live blogging the HPVII.

5. I've made it a point to memorize the phonetic alphabet.

6. I learned to drive a standard, even though I've never owned one, just in case there's a terrible emergency and the only car is manual.

7. I used to blog regularly.

8. At the end of the tax year when I was little, before my parents would shred all of the bills, receipts, etc that had outlived the seven year retention rule, I would invite a lucky friend to come over and bring her stapler, tape, pens and paper clips - it was time to play office!

9. The voice of StarDate is Sandy Wood.

10. My pet fish was named Rimsky-Korsakov.

Boomer Sooner!

Out of office reply:

I will be out of the office from Monday, October 13 through Wednesday, October 15. I will return to the office Thursday, October 16. Should you require assistance, please contact shitoutof@luck.edu.

-Blythe

blowing donkey balls

well, that just happened.

hamburgers.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: One political song in honor of the impending presidential debate edition.

When The President Talks to God - Bright Eyes

Nice Day - Persephone's Bees

Heartstopper - Emiliana Torrini

New Kicks - Magic Bullets

Mockingbirds - Grant Lee Buffalo

Ambulance - TV on the Radio

Id Engager - Of Montreal

He Doesn't Know Why - Fleet Foxes

Acid Tongue - Jenny Lewis

A Family Affair - Sly and the Family Stone

Shain, this could've been us!

The one where I didn't get to go to ACL,

but the BF did. You can read his about it here. I stayed behind to slave away for the greater good. Boo.

Boomer Sooner

a-hem

I have a big announcement to make. This is embarrassing, but is required as part of, you guessed it, a 12 step program for AA*. Here goes.

I DO NOT HAVE AN iPHONE.

*Apple Anonymous, obvs.

I'm so peternal, it hurts.

So, I think that instead of lady ovaries, I have lady dog ovaries. Seriously, I cannot watch that Sarah Mclaighskdjan ASPCA commercial without sobbing (I'm not kidding - do not look directly into their eyes!). I have to be dragged away from the open box full of wriggling puppies at the farmer's market. When I am sad and lonely, I log onto petfinder.com and get sadder and lonlier because none of those pups will be mine. It's not like I don't have (or have had) a dog. Claire is kickass in her own way, but belongs more to my parents now than me. There was also Zealand, who was tragically lost to BreakUp06. And yeah, this is probably not the best time to have a dog. I work 60 hours a week. My relationship is only a year old and probably isn't dogproof yet. My landlord kind of said no dogs in the lease. That said, I want a puppy, damnit! Clearly, I've forgotten all of the literal shit that goes along with raising a dog and what little assholes they can be. I've lost countless shoes and undergarments, but I still want one. Bad. So bad my heart hurts. Ouch.

I

Love

You,

Puppies!

I'm in love. Again.

It's been almost two years since my last relationship abruptly ended. During that time, I've moved from MA to the OK, upgraded from a Corolla to a Camry, worked for a candle conglomerate and a university, lived back with the 'rents and in my own place, all the while still unable to finish reading Salt, but that's neither here nor there. My relationship status has also run the gamut. I kind of went nuts there for a bit, seeking the company of whatever was new and exciting or around, then I settled into a relationship of convenience and even had a little fling at work. But, that's all in the past now, because I'm finally in love again. I honestly didn't think it would happen, that I was destined to long for what I had, knowing it was just out of reach. However, I'm happy to report that I'm no longer heartbroken and in a wonderful relationship. It's even better than what I remember.

This is me using the Photo Booth application on my brand new MacBook. Love at first site!

You complete me.

A message from my Oklahoma relatives:

This is a small sampling of the forwards I receive daily. For some reason, my immediate family has decided to hide our political and religious leanings around the more conservative segments of the extended fam. I guess my parents don't want their parents and siblings to know that they've raised a couple of Godless, bleeding heart liberal children that are in favor of legalizing pot, prostitution, gay marriage and don't give a shit that John McCain was a POW. If I get one more email telling me that Obama is a Muslim, I'm telling all of my little cousins that Santa isn't real.

A playlist for Grace: no emo edition.

This is hard to write, as I am sitting here in my skinny jeans, hoodie and checked slip ons, but I will do my best.

Dance Dance Dance - Lykke Li

Carmensita - Davendra Banhart

No Sex For Ben - Rapture

Paper Planes - MIA

Someone Great - LCD Soundsystem

Bonafied Lovin - Chromeo

Fluorescent Adolescent - Arctic Monkeys

Bathroom Gurgle - Late of Pier

I hate 24 hour "news" channels.

Hurricanes schmuricanes. Gustav? Hannah? Ike? When Barack is the celebrity president, I hope he installs new heads over at the National Hurricane Center that use the wealth of bizarro baby names of celebs for future storms. I think Gustav might've gotten more coverage than the Jolie-Pitt twins, but barely.

Apple
Banjo
Coco
Diva Thin Muffin
Ella Bleu
Fifi Trixibelle
Georges I-VII
Hopper
I.P. Freely
Jermajesty
Kal-el
Losel
Moxie Crimefighter
Nayib
Ocean
Pilot Inspektor
Rocket
Sage Moonbloog
Tu
Willow
Violet
Yamma
Zuma Nesta

Pop Quiz

Where have I been?

a. Working security at the DNC.

b. Winning like 5,000 gold medals in field hockey. *I did go to a college for ladies...

c. Welcoming baby Bee-Spot into the world!

d. In a room at 900 E. Main St., Norman, OK.

e. Washing my hair.

f. Two words. Gender reassignment.

g. I'm now Mrs. Bee-Spot!

h. Preparing for ACL by immersing myself in thousands upon thousands of mp3s and irony.

i. Filming with the rest of the new cast of Real World: OKC.

j. Waiting in line at Wal-Mart to pay for just one tube of toothpaste.

k. First month of medical school!

l. Boycotting all things blog.

m. Watching every possible Lost episode and webisode in preparation for the impending season.

n. Hospitalized for Diet Coke OD.

o. Totally sweet and awesome vacay!

p. Preparing for the US Open, only to be knocked out in the first round.

q. On the campaign trail with McCain.

r. Lost in Forever 21.

s. Knocker reduction surgery.

t. Drinking.

u. Drinking.

v. Painting my face and body crimson and cream for tomorrow's opening game!

w. Hosting the eighth hour of the Today Show.

x. Just watching the Today show (full time occupation).

y. I predict no one makes it this far down the list.

z. Wallowing in self pity, despair, laziness, beer, wine, and Taco Bell.

Baby, I'm going to sine your pitty on the runny kine!

Do you sometimes look at your inbox and want to ctr + a and delete? I do. There's nothing particularly awful about the content of my inbox, there's just a shit ton. And most of it consists of absolutely crucial pieces of information like "thanks" and "ok" and "ok, thanks" and "thanks again, ok." Those messages infuriate me. I've kind of stopped responding to all of the thanking and other such bullshit at the risk of coming off like an asshole. I think of it as my tacit way to help minimize inbox clutter and that all who email me should be grateful. Also, it prevents me from responding with Pootie language, like "cole me on the panny sty". I assume you've all seen "Pootie Tang," but if not, I implore you to give yourself over to the surreal combination of Chris Rock, Louis CK and Bob Costas. Trust me. It's pretty much totally baddy daddy lamatai tebbie chai, my damies.

Sa da tay!

I hate the radio more than fraternities and hippie dancing: A post in two parts.

Occasionally, I accidentally hit the preset and lead myself away from the safe confines of Michelle Norris's lovely voice. Usually, I end up at 98.9, where they play the top 40 drivel of the day. Sometimes, I really slip up and hit the band and find myself listening to the Sports Animal. Always, I want to maneuver my car into oncoming traffic.

I. I Kissed a Girl - Katy Perry

If your ears work, chances are, you've been aurally assaulted by this song. It's caught fire faster than California. It's freaking everywhere and every time I witness someone rocking out to the popish bigotry, a little piece of my liberal Smith attending bleeding heart dies. On the surface, one might think that this song of purported sexual exploration is actually a validation that being a lesbian isn't so taboo these days and that the young kids don't really give a crap who you're screwing, just as long as you're on Facebook and at least one article of clothing comes from Abercrombie. However, under its semblance of innocent curiosity lies the same old shit. Katy sings (barely audible over Britney Spears worthy production noise) "It's not what good girls do / Not how they should behave." Really? It's fucking 2008. I would argue that while some might deem these lyrics as harmless without real impact to the perception of homosexuality in America, these dumbass lyrics and so many others that spread through the earbuds of so many are absolutely culturally lethal. Say what you will. I'll think what I want.

II. The Sports Manimals

I won't bore you with the spectacular disaster that is The Sports Animal. Basically, it's a local sports show featuring people I don't really know or care about. The Lost Ogle does an excellent job of distilling just why these turds are so ridic* so I won't say much. I was driving back from Texas last week, and TSA was the only station that would come in clearly. Also, my mom needs to know what's happening with the OU football team in the dead of summer at all times. So I listened for a bit before I drifted off due to extreme boredom. When I awoke, somewhere in the Arbuckles, I was plunged into a 20 minute long melee about what the score of some game was last season. There are like 1200 people in the studio or on the phone. It's not like they were trying to recall the score of the Paoli/Wayne 1A championship football game of October 1967, it was the score of OU/Missouri or some shit. Even Dean Blevins didn't know. WHAT THEY HELL IS THEIR JOB THEN I ask you? Do they not have computers that can access espn.com? WTF! They make more than I'll ever make for knowing less than my mom about football (she was furiously screaming the answer into the windshield). Seriously, I would rather hippie dance at a frat formal to the Bird on a Wire soundtrack than listen to that show in its entirety.



*Julie Gongism #13

In which I am a horrible person with a completely unfunny sense of humor.

The other day, I ventured onto Facebook, my official nemesis, for the first time in some time. It's absolutely terrifying to see your social world fit onto one screen. Everyone is literally connected to everyone and I don't like it. I need to befriend some oldies without computers besides my parents. I am apparently friends with the workstudies in my office. They are adorable. They're roommates and also work for one of our performing arts camps, which means they sing songs and wear funny costumes as they work. I thought it would be hi-larious to make a comment on S's wall that said simply, 'less facebook, more work.' HILARIOUS! I thought, by now, she had picked up on my inappropriate abuse of nuanced sarcasm bordering on cruelty. But alas, I guess she didn't. I should've noticed when I asked her if everything was ok and she tried to murder me with her stare. Today, she pops her head into my office and asks if we can talk. Then, almost teary eyed, she asks why I wrote that on her FB wall, and furthermore, clearly I was on FB myself during the day - she checked the time. I screamed at her, 'that's why it's funny!' She was not laughing. Finally, we hugged, a real one, not a FB application one. I think we're good now.

7-17 through 7-21

on lamecation. Will write more soon.

Love in Christ,
B.

Monsturd!*

I work in a basement. We call it the Garden Level. However, it's still a basement. The bathroom in this basement is cold, dank and has terrible lighting, I hope. God, I hope. It also has a scary drain in the middle of the floor, under which, I imagine lives a monster. A smelly monster. Not smelly in a poo way, per se, but in a moldy, generally icky way. I brought in some Glade products earlier in the year, but turns out they were stinkier than the drain monster. Point is, I don't go in there unless I absolutely have to, but that's a lot since I have a bladder the size of something very small [will insert comparison later]. Every few trips or so, I notice that there's an interloper in our mole midst. What are these women doing, wandering about the bowels of the building? Crapping. It's got to be. They totally go downstairs to the monster bathroom to poo out of shame. Well, I'm totally onto them. I could go on about how women are weird about pooing, but we're all familiar with that song and dance, so I will let it be and give them the evil eye.

*I actually watched this movie on purpose one time. For real.

Zack Harrison Memorial Monday: Wedding Edition

Hey y'all. I was in the TX this weekend. More specifically, the DFW. The BF's college BFF got hitched to a chick from TX A&M. Mostly, this meant lots of driving. Did you know that from any one point in the greater Dallas area, you are exactly and approximately 35 - 98 minutes from where you want to be? It's amazing, really. We made it into town Friday night just in time for the rehearsal dinner. It was lovely. I knew no one. When I know no one, I turn to the one thing that never stares at me awkwardly fumbling for the words to respond to my totally inappropriate comment, red wine. And lots of it. By the end of the night, the table knew more about me than I know.

Saturday was spent in various states of recovery and included a trip to Taco Delite prior to gussying up for the wedding. It was hot as balls outside and in the church, but overall a lovely ceremony in spite of the reverend repeating that marriage is only for a man and a woman and that if you are single you suck. Well, anyway, the bride looked beautiful.

We bailed on the reception (it's complicated) and went to the Angelika to see War, Inc. It's so nice to have a theater that isn't afraid of to show the potentially unpopular. Here in the OK, your choices usually range from five or six screens of the latest blockbuster. Yay. Right, so, the movie was meh. Until I was reviewing the credits and noticed that it was co-authored by Mark Leyner. If you've never read Mark Leyner, you probably should. Just a little. Start with the short stories like Tooth Imprints on a Corn Dog. It's hard to concisely describe the reading experience. Oddly enough, it was the namesake of this post that turned me on to this guy. RIP.

Speaking of which, songs not to play at a reception:

Song for the Dumped - Ben Folds Five
Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover - Paul Simon
D-I-V-O-R-C-E - Tammy Wynette
Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For - U2
Single Again - Fiery Furnaces
Love The One You're With - CSNY

Songs I would play that everyone would hate:

Two of Us - Beatles
Our Way to Fall - Yo la Tengo
Harvest Moon - Neil Young

What would/did you play? You know, just in case I plan someone's wedding.

Hate this! Thursday: They've got a devil's haircut on their heads.

Have you ever accidentally watched mtvU? I was recently flipping through the channels, probably toggling between Good Eats and Family Guy wishing that new episodes of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia were airing, when I happened upon a music video featuring some prepubescent dudes whining to unimaginative music sporting the dumbest haircut yet. Now, I'm sure this 'do has been out there for some time, but remember, I spend most of my time in a basement working or watching Battlestar Galactica, so I'm not really in the know. Also, complaining about this means I am officially old. Like not haha I'm getting close to old old, but real old. OLD.

Exhibit A

Maybe there was a sale on tight-ass lady jeans? And perms.

Exhibit B

Maybe there's a whole generation of boys born with hair that has no part?


Exhibit C

Notice how there's always one dude who just can't grow it.

Exhibit D

There's a lot to not say about this picture. What I will say is that Chi is making a fortune off of these douches.

Exhibit E

Make it stop.

Ah haz no readerz/America's barfday/Songs I like/Fancy Feat, etc.

I haz no readerz

I see how it is. I actually have fewer readers now than I did when I initially started blogging. Amazing, isn't it? On the upside, I've decided this means I have free reign to post whaeverthefuck I want. Watch out!

America's barfday

Oh, Fourth of July, New Year's Eve of the summer. I never have the right plans. There were no hotdogs, no lake, no beer even this year. I did watch Norman's abysmal fireworks show from the roof of the stadium parking lot where some hipster tweens were blasting My Morning Jacket. Turns out, MMJ is a good soundtrack for loving America. Next, I found myself at a river lighting far too large fireworks in darkness. So maybe it wasn't so bad.

Songs I like

These two diddies have caught my ear as the ethereal, ephemeral, euphoric sounds of summer:

Happiness - Goldfrapp
Lights Out - Santogold

Fancy Feat

I have a roommate. He has a cat. Zatara and I get along ok, when he is not trying to put his sphincter in my face. What I have a problem with is the fact that the roommate refuses to stop feeding Fancy Feast to Zatara in spite of the rancid butt volcano it inspires. Last night, I made a delightful shrimp curry accompanied by a potato/garam masala/onion/garlic/pea concoction not unlike the innerds of a samosa because I had no basmati rice. Needless to say, the place stunk. Like a lot. But not as much as when roommate makes tuna helper. As I was sitting on the couch trying to figure out why I was actually laughing at moments of Drillbit Taylor, I had a rare stroke of brilliance. I'm not sure how I knew this, but I was suddenly aware that a small can of Sunkist is exactly the same size as a can of Fancy Feast. Moments later, the BF was removing with surgical precision, the labels from each can. He then adhered the Starkist label to the Fancy Feast can with perfection.

Observation #78

The other night, I made the comment to a coworker that my blog has died because all I can come up with are dumbass musings that no one cares about. I then realized that is pretty much the basis for any blog and that I should just go for it. Here's what I'd come up with: there are two kinds of people in this world. The kind who buy soda in liter bottles, and the kind who are sensible and don't. The advantages of the three liter have always been a mystery to me. If you want to drink brown, flat liquid, why not just drink what's left in your coffee pot or a Guinness. Seriously, unless you are chaperoning a seventh grade dance and need to fill a bucket with ginger ale and orange juice, there is simply no need for liter bottles. Later that night, I came home to a three liter of Diet Coke sitting on my kitchen table proferred by the BF. I'm not sure where to go from here.

Vacation

There are lots of kinds of vacations, I am learning. A staycation is where you stay home from work, but go nowhere interesting, instead preferring to catch up on laundry and Maury. A mancation is where dudebros go to Vegas and get lap dances and STDs. There are probably other kinds, but I'd rather talk about my upcoming lamecation. I am going to Galveston, TX with my mother next weekend. The "resorts" and "hotels" actually provide you with wipes for tar removal.

Confession

I am hopelessly addicted to Battlestar Galactica. Please don't judge.

Read it:

http://menwholooklikezachbraff.blogspot.com/


Extras

I am reading In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto. Read it before you go to the grocery store.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Stolen Edition.

Since I have an apparent aversion to blogging, and since my coworker, let's call him Bor has almost identical musical taste to mine, which is scary, for him, I present you with a stolen list of stuff that he's selected to which you should listen. Try it. You'll like it. Thanks Bor!

1. "Mardy Bum" by Arctic Monkeys
2. "My Struggle" by The Black Lips
3. "Futures & Folly" by Blitzen Trapper
4. "Magazines" by The Hold Steady
5. "Torture" by King Khan and The Shrines
6. "Rage in the Plague Age" by Les Savy Fav
7. "Drop It Doe Eyes" by Los Campesinos!
8. "There She Goes, My Beautiful World" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
9. "Song For Today" by Pete & The Pirates
10. "Bros" by Panda Bear
11. "Do the Panic" by Phantom Planet
12. "Old Friend" by Rancid
13. "Money in the Afterlife" by Saturday Looks Good to Me
14. "Mountains" by The Spinto Band
15. "Vans Song" by The Suicide Machines
16. "Trouble" by The Rakes
17. "This Is How We Kiss" by Throw Me the Statue
18. "My Time Outside of the Womb" by Titus Andronicus
19. "Right Hand On My Heart" by The Whigs
20. "Soldier's Grin" by Wolf Parade

The internet is the best!

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: WTF? Edition.

Summerteeth is my go to Wilco album. When I'm feeling weary, I like to listen to "She's a Jar" very loudly and ruminate. On what I'm not sure. Probably mostly about how my life would be so much better if I had TiVo or something. In any case, what the fuck is that song about? Anyone?


She's a jar
With a heavy lid
My pop quiz kid
A sleepy kisser
A pretty war
With feelings hid
She begs me not to miss her

She says forever
To light a fuse
We could use
A handful of wheel
And a day off
And a bruised road
However, you might feel
Tonight is real

When I forget how to talk, I sing
Won't you please
Bring that flash to shine
And turn my eyes red
Unless they close
When you click
And my face gets sick
Stuck, like a question unposed

Just climb aboard
The tracks of a train's arm
In my fragile family tree
And watch me floating inches above
The people underneath

Please beware the quiet front yard
I warned you
Before there were water skies
I warned you not to drive
Dry your eyes, you poor devil

Are there really ones like these?
The ones I dream
Float like leaves
And freeze to spread skeleton wings
I passed through before I knew you

I believe it's just because
Daddy's payday is not enough
Oh I believe it's all because
Daddy's payday is not enough

Just climb aboard
The tracks of a train's arm
In my fragile family tree

And watch me floating inches above
The people underneath

She's a jar
With a heavy lid
My pop quiz kid
A sleepy kisser
A pretty war
With feelings hid

You know she begs me
Not to hit her

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Foie Gras Edition.

Once upon a time, when I lived in a land far far away that had stores like Trader Joe's and Whole Foods, I ate far better, albeit far more expensive food. I rarely ate out. That is a lie. When I did eat out, there was a plethora of ethnic restaurants from which I could choose to stuff my face with relatively healthy morsels. Now, back in the heartland, I have stuffed my face with five kinds of fried. For a couple of months I was in the making-up-for-lost-time mode, easily justifying gorging on Oklahoma delicacies like fried pickles and free chips and queso (with extra salt!) several times a week. After that excuse wore off, I moved onto oh-man-I'm-so-tired-from-working-so-hard-and-also-I'm-still-somewhat-healthy-
from-my-previous-eating-habits-so-it's-ok-to-still-eat-like-this mode. Now I'm in lazy asshole mode.It's not good. I've effectively turned myself into foie gras. Seriously. My honeymoon with Oklahoma cuisine is over. It's time to get back on the bandwagon of healthy eating (I see a few trips to Central Market in my future, and yes, I could find food here, but not all in one location - by the time I've driven all over Norman and OKC looking for the good stuff I could've been to Dallas and back, plus it's part of my inevitable future to become a yuppy/hippie) and leave my keys at home. It's time to suck it up and become a bike person. The BF has made the leap and I will follow his lead. Maybe you'll see us out and about Norman, almost getting hit by cars because the heartland is not a place for cyclists. The point of my story is, I need work out music.

In the earbuds now:

Superstition - Stevie Wonder
Crazy in Love - Beyonce
Love Me or Hate Me - Lady Sovereign
Love Fool - Cardigans
Move Your Feet - Junior Senior
Toxic - Britney Spears
Work It - Missy Elliot
Black Betty - Ram Jam
Don't Stop Till You Get Enough - Michael Jackson
Around the World - Daft Punk
Don't Call Me Baby - Madison Avenue
SOS - Rihanna
Sexyback - Justin Timberlake
Ooh La La - Goldfrapp

Help! What do the cool kids work it to?

Hate this! Thursdays

I need to share the hate.

This Thursday features the worst radio "show" known to radiokind, Jack and Ron: The Best DAMN Morning Show on KYIS 98.9 here in the metro. I don't know much about radio broadcasting (nor do I really need to know since it's surely on the same path to demise as Polaroids and the Walkman - hand held cassette player, not dance), but I do know if my potential audience was 500,000+ I'd have a website that didn't look to be a homework assignment for a third grader. I can't really judge the lameness of their MySpace page because MySpace pages are inherently lame (and yes, I have one). I would rather watch a Two and a Half Men marathon than listen to their daily bullshit. I don't listen on purpose - just sometimes, when I'm slamming on my breaks because some asshole decides to go 40 in the passing lane on I-35, I lurch forward and accidentally hit the preset. Today I was thinking that maybe the nature of morning shows is ultimate douchiness, but remembered my old radio station back in Noho, The River. It was totally sweet and awesome. I can't really articulate their terribleness other than equating it to the same feeling one gets when watching Dennis Miller laugh at one of his 13 minute long jokes. Do not believe the hype, people. It is not the best DAMN morning show.

R.S.V.P.

There are several things that happen when you move. Some of these things include noticing that you no longer have a bathtub (sadcakes), acquiring a cat (sneezecakes), and losing your mail (wherearemybills?cakes). Actually, it's not so much losing it as my former roommate hording it and not telling me about it. Needless to say, both Lacey and I missed the invitation and subsequent date of our friend's wedding shower. We suck. To atone for our oversight, Lacey has taken it upon herself to organize another shower/bachelorette thingy. We will be taking pole dancing class. Stripper themed fitness classes are nothing new, I know, however, it's new to me. You would think the obvious question is, what will I wear? Or not wear? But, you would be wrong. The real question is, what does one bring as hors d' oeuvres to such a gathering? Apparently, the facility allows for and encourages outside food and especially drink to create more of a party environment as you work the pole. Personally, I don't see how you could need anything more than some Mad Dog, a can of Easy Cheeze and a box of ranch flavored Wheat Thins. However, I've perused several recipe and party planning websites hoping for inspiration, but none of them have "pole party" listed as an occasion. So, since Sandra Lee has failed me, anyone out there have any ideas?

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Commute playlist #47

Over the weekend, I was told that perhaps some of you do read this blog and actually look forward to don't actively avoid ZHMMM. Since I can't seem to get my shit together enough to do much of anything else, I will strive to provide you with what I'm listening to most. It's not good or anything, just what I like. I don't think I'll try to provide links - that always seems to get me into trouble with one blog or another. I suggest elbo.ws. Happy listening.

Flashing Lights - Kanye West: Summer without Kanye is like Gina without Martin.




Pumpkin Soup - Kate Nash: It's girly bullcrap. I know.

Que Onda Guero - Beck: It sounds like riding bikes in the city.

Shut Up and Let Me Go - The Ting Tings: Ubiquitous summer song.

The Israelites - Desmond Dekker: Old school fun.

Be Be Your Love - Rachael Yamagata: I will!

Got to Give it Up - Marvin Gaye: This song actually physically relaxes me.

Ramblin' Woman - Cat Power: She always sounds like she's recording in a bathtub.

Fighter Girl - Mason Jennings: Usually, I find his whole thing cloying, but this one, I like.

You Don't Know What Love Is - Sonny Rollins: Good for Sunday mornings.

Hello Brooklyn - Jay-Z (feat. Lil Wayne): I dunno. Because.

Littlest Birds - The Be Good Tanyas: Darling, just darling!

Nobody's Baby - Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings: I cannot say enough good things about 100 Days, 100 Nights.

Rattlesnake Charm - Sean Hayes: it might seem monotonous, but really it's quite something.

Shades of Black - The Raconteurs: I'm a sucker for Brendan Benson. I'm a sucker for a horn section. I'm a sucker for songs that are Billy Joelesque. Ergo, I am a sucker. For this song.

Valerie - Amy Winehouse: Sometimes I think that there are no original songs left. Good thing there are covers.

OMG! SATC!

This evening, I accompanied Shain, Lacey, her mom and my mother to Sex and the City (finally, I know - it has been out for over 48 hours!). After I blanched at the completely unoriginal plot, made fun of the cerulean bird that apparently flew into and became part of Carrie's veil, and determined that Samantha's wardrobe was merely suits that didn't make the cut for the third season of Designing Women, I began to reminisce about episodes from the past that didn't suck like the majority of the movie.

I thought back to the episode where Samantha got something stuck in her vadge and Carrie had to fish it out. And then to the one where Charlotte hands over her massive, but defunct engagement ring to Carrie so that she could make a down payment on her apartment. And then to the one where they all hang out together, eating, drinking, and engaging in general merriment bullshit. I started to think: why is it so hard to make good friends when you're old like me*?

In my experience, it's not too difficult to find a gentleman caller who will rummage around your lady business, drop some money, or call you all the time, but it's exceptionally hard to find and keep a good friend. It seems that once you're out of school, you're only option is work (unless you go to church, which I don't, or participate in a club sport, which I won't). If your work environment isn't the perfect storm of people your own age who don't completely suck, you're up shit creek. I just want some kids to hang out with, that are interested in the same things as me, or, who will tolerate me without making fun of me to my face. Where's the match.com for friends?

bee-spot
I am unimpressed with your Utne subscription

2*-year-old woman
Norman, Oklacoma, United States
seeking friends 25 - 35
within driving distance that's not too annoying

Relationships - Mostly old high school friends since I moved back to the Sooner state
Smoke - Only when tipsy
Drink - Social drinker, maybe one or eight (plus six)

About me and who I'm looking for:

I am bad with birthdays and rarely remember to return what I've borrowed. I'm not looking for much, mainly someone who won't screen all of my calls.

for fun:
Arguing, putting down your music choices, talking about stories on NPR last week, eating, drinking, eating and drinking outside, eating and drinking while watching TV, cooking while drinking then eating, concerts, talking about concerts, beer pong, shopping, swearing never to eat or drink again, pedicures/spa treatments, bitching, board games.

favorite hot spots:
Bars. Bars where you can sit outside. Couches. Fancy unaffordable restaurants. Hole in the wall restaurants. Places where you can listen to music. Blogosphere. Spas where they give you wine while they scrape last summer off your feet.

favorite things:
See above plus going to garage sales. And brunch. I like brunch. And you need friends for that.

last read:
thelostogle.com

About me:

Awesome.

About my friend:

Education: not dumbass
Job: produces entertaining stories and/or discounts/hookups for shit, other potential friends
Income: enough to hang out, not enough to make me want to hang myself
Drink: by the case
Relationships: some good friends
Turn-ons:
indecisiveness
poor judgement at times
mozzarella cheesesticks
Turn-offs:
Facebook

Send me a wink. In the meantime, I am still trying to figure out this. It's a lot of look, Carrie.

*Shain and Lacey don't count. They're on to bigger and better things than the OKC metro area can offer.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Memorialize this, bitches.

Lacey and I went to see the documentary Young@Heart, featuring a chorus comprised of darling elderly folks rocking out to Coldplay, Sonic Youth and The Clash among others. Turns out, the chorus practiced in the community center not half a mile from my apartment in Florence/Northampton, MA. I walked Zealand (dog stolen by ex) daily around those parts, but I never knew such things were happening inside. I am now, of course, terribly homesick. I long for a burger at the Northampton Brewery, a trip to Pop's package store, a walk at the dog park, shopping in Thornes, parties on Eastern Ave, beers at the Dirty Truth, debauchery at Hugo's, and taking naps on the boathouse deck at Paradise Pond. Oh, to be young again. But I'll never be young again. Instead, I can only hope to be as kick ass as these folks as I go gray. The film follows the group through their rehearsals for a performance at the Academy of Music in Northampton, interspersed with snippets of chorus members' lives. Lenny can't sing his way out of a paper bag (not to mention drive on the highway), Joe faces cancer with astounding honesty, and Eileen is a 92 year old sex pot. In spite of the inevitable heartbreak, it's quite inspiring. And so it goes. Below, a tribute to Joe who passed before the concert by his former duet partner:





In the spirit of summer music, take a listen to these:

Jamie Lidell - Multiply



Coconut Records


The New Pornographers - Electric Version

More powerful than two Cleopatras

There is only one person who can get me through the five plus hours I still have left at work tonight (the end of the academic year brings peace to some at a university, but not to my department). And that definitely crazy, possibly racist, certainly reclusive, once in Sister Act II: Back in the Habit person is none other than former Fugee herself, Lauryn Hill. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is kind of the perfect album for anything whether it's slumping to the floor of your bedroom when you accidentally find an old picture you and your old boyfriend looking so young and stupid ("Ex-Factor"), sexytime ("Nothing Even Matters"), or windows down afternoon driving ("Doo Wop - That Thing"). Hell, I'll even consider religion when "Tell Him" comes on. It's truly applicable to any situation, except stalking people on Facebook. That should be done in silence. I would say, without hesitation, that it's a musical staple (you will find a small sampling below, but seriously, click your way to a copy).

Ex-Factor

To Shain:

Starting with this one.

Love,

Blythe

The one where no one cares about my blog.

Man, if only I'd kept the genius coming instead of succumbing to the man.

This could've been me!

Hey Clinton, blogbuddy of ZFS, did that ramen come from Chinatown? Zing! Oh, no? Not a zing!? Ok.

Or this!

Lost Ogles, I met you at the NMF and you snubbed me. Then no mention in your 15 minutes of Oklahoma metro fame (which is equal to -25.8 seconds of national fame)? Ok, fair enough.

But, instead, it's just this:

Zach Harrison Memorial Music Monday*

Since I don't have time to keep up with music this year, I went through the ol' iTunes list to see what I downloaded this time last year...

thunderstruck - ac/dc

i'll never leave you - lumidee

and it stoned me - van morrison

hilarious misunderstanding - flight of the conchords

piazza, ny catcher - belle and sebastian

push the little daisies - ween

single again - fiery furnaces

the great idea - we are scientists

dilaudid - mountain goats

what's the use - jamie lidell

naive - the kooks

care of cell 44 - zombies

honesty - billy joel

if looks could kill - camera obscura

alaska - dr. dog

telephone - page france

tulips - fancy trash

solta of frango - bonde do rolo

*I am seriously going to feel like a total jerk when I find out that the real Zack Harrison bit it.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

It's 10.21 CST on a Friday night and I have left the bar. Why? So I can clean my goddamn kitchen. Do you know what's worse than living with one boy? Living with two. And a cat. That eats Fancy Feast. And therefore farts Fancy Feast. I just finished giving my friend a hard time for staying in tonight to clean for a little brother visit and a mere minutes later, here I am, in my pajamas, mopping to Feist while drinking Leaping Horse shiraz from a magnum with the dishwasher purring in the background. Even more disturbing is that I am really enjoying this. Is it because I work with all women? Who are all at some point in menopause city? Is it because my mother was and is a domestic dictator, requiring hotel sterility at all times? Is it because it's undeniably disgusting to leave half empty glasses, half finished dessert plates, empty beer bottles, fancy feast caked plates, and other bullshit all over the common spaces? I dunno. I've sprayed the place down with Mrs. Meyer's geranium scented room freshener and am hoping for the best. Guess what just came on TBS? Sex and the City. What could be better? Ah. Friday.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday

Below you will find a list of music to which I have taken a recent shining. I'm not saying it's good, or not going to show up on an episode of The Hills, or hasn't been in an iPod commercial, I'm just saying I like it.

Lex - Ratatat

The Step and the Walk - The Duke Spirit

Time to Pretend - MGMT

Kids - MGMT

Coleen - The Heavy

Psychotic Girl - The Black Keys

Why Do You Let Me Stay Here - She and Him

Koop Islands -Koop

Take Me to the Riot - Stars

The Bones of You - Elbow

Oh Mojave - The Ruby Suns

Young Bride - Midlake

Polite Dance Song - The Bird and the Bee

Mykonos - Fleet Foxes

Now tell me what I should be listening to.

Back to Basics/I will fix my header someday/It's Friday I'm in Love

Dear Bee-Spot reader(s),

Due to the overwhelming response to the recent lack of quality posts, or any posts, not that any post was ever quality, actually, there has been no response really, but that's neither here nor there, do you think I blog for you? Blog is art. Or something. Right, so I'm returning to my old schedule of posts to ensure that I bring you the contents of my Diet Coke addled brain thrice weekly - ZHMMM, Cringesday/Robert Goulet Wednesday News Round Up/IFIIL, in case you forgot.

It's Friday, I'm in Love with:

The Thymes. My first semester at Smith was pretty rough. Classes were actually difficult! The then boyfriend was a total asshole. Three feet of snow! To make it through, I practiced some serious retail therapy. Since there's no point of dressing nicely in -14 degrees or at a women's college, I opted for beauty products. This little store called the Cedar Chest was rife with all kinds of smelly goodness and remains one of my all-time favorite stores. It's where I first discovered Thymes products and we've been in love ever since. I've tried every scent, every format, everything. I think I even applied for a job at their company (I have. Please hire me!). If you have a lady in your life, or a dude that likes to smell like a lady, get yourself online and snap up this stuff, stat (unless you're lucky enough to live near a store that doesn't suck - they have a surprising amount of products at Central Market in TX)! The not too floral Olive Leaf is probably my favorite smell. Besides things that are deep fried. The rollerball cologne fits perfectly in your purse for those times when you've been at a bar all night and you smell like a frat basement and you're pretty sure you're going home with someone and you don't want to scare them off. Just roll it on. I suggest Filigree.

Here's to happier times at the bee-spot!

b

Things I hate: #4

I hate a lot of things. The idea of chewing on wet paper towels. People who don't accelerate immediately at green lights. Samoa Girl Scout cookies. Weddings with no alcohol. White tights. My Chemical Romance. Uni nigiri. But last night, a previously overlooked (or blocked out) transgression forced itself upon me. I attended Zanzibarfest (you can find it on MyFriendSpaceBook) to benefit a local recording studio that works with many of Norman's bands, including the roommate's. I saw some old school Norman kids, had a free beer, watched toddlers fall over in a community garden, listened to some local music and was subjected to hippie dancing. Holy hairy chai scented balls does this annoy me! I just don't understand. The amount of unrhythmic flailing was dangerous. You could've put an eye out with that. Just because you have on several long layers of non-matching billowing fabrics doesn't mean that twirling and contorting in them is actually conveying some sort of transcendent experience. Also, you're all doing the same dumbass dance, you non-conformists. And finally, you pretend it's all spontaneous expressions of your surroundings, but you totally practice in front of your mirror every night.

I want to trip them. I want to dress them in GAP from head to toe. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against hippies really, it's just their dancing. It's worst than the skankiest of sorostitute grinding. I'd rather do the electric slide on hot coals than watch this shit. I thought my own personal hell was a place with no Diet Coke, but apparently it's a Phish concert.

I bite their heads off first.

Have you ever been at work, enjoying a nice snack of animal crackers while returning emails, finishing super fun reports, etc when you drop one of the crackers down into your cleavage? And then you push back your head to see how deep the little monkey has fallen, then pull your shirt from your chest and reach into to the depths to retrieve it? And then a new faculty member pops into your office to learn about health insurance options while your hand is very conspicuously rooting around between your boobs? Awesome.