I can't wait to show you my reverse plank!

(That's what she said.)

Part of NoWhine09/wedding to myself means workin' on my fitness.* In addition to the gym going and dog walking/running, I've now thrown yoga into the weekly mix. I'm super excited about this because I am a woman in my mid (fine, late) twenties and my goals in life are to eat Activia, get the morning after pill, serve in wedding parties and prance around in expensive yoga clothes (see below):

There is one problem with this, though. Actually two problems. You see, yoga was developed in the mid 90s by Madonna and that chick's flat as her songs. I, however, am not. How do I put this? I've got some serious fun bags. I'm not trying to brag, but I've been bustier than necessary since about fourth grade. Middle school was a delight. Let me tell you. Anyway, yoga is hard when you got a lot goin' on up top. When I lower my head over my legs, the girls hit the ground first. Plow is life threatening. This supposedly calming activity becomes stressful. You're damn right I have tension in my back and shoulders! There's prenatal yoga, how come no yoga for ladies with somewhat substantial knockers? Perhaps I'll just take up another trendy fitness craze - rock climbing. Here I come Rocktown!**

*Fergie reference. I know.

**P.S. your new name is stupid.

Yay!

OMG. Are we there yet?

Bono. Will.i.am (or however the fuck he's imagined his name). The Boss. Beyonce/Sasha Fierce. Mary J. Seriously, we're at critical mass here. Beyond saturation. Supersaturation. I am so over this. Mainly because Bono is involved. For fuck's sake. The only thing left to look forward to is the new administration's policies on fashion. I think it's safe to say that Michelle won't pull a Hillary a la 1993, but her election night dress was a bit wonky.

Never forget.

ZHMMM: New York, I love you but you're bringing me down - LCD Soundsystem

I might be a dog murderer and other stories.

Recently, I was dining out with the BF (no, this doesn't bode well for impending nuptials to myself, but Mexican food is my kryptonite). We left the restaurant and I noticed a dog chilling at the corner of the street where we parked. I moved in to take a closer look and noticed that he was wearing a collar, but no tags. Also, he was dragging a "leash" made from tying to shoestrings together. Sadness abounded. He seemed happy and healthy, so I thought I'd pick up the end of the leash to see if he led me anywhere useful. No. I tried knocking on the doors of the surrounding homes to see if he belonged to them or if they knew him. No answer. I walked him to the end of the street while I tried to figure out what to do. I opened the car door because it was literally below freezing, and he hopped right in on the front seat, like he'd always done that. HEARTBREAK CITY! I kept thinking about how if the dog that now lives at my folk's house escaped, I'd want people to leave her alone, because she knows her way home. But then I kept glancing at the makeshift leash and no tag.

The boyfriend urged me to take him back to the other end of the street where he was originally, so he could find his way home. So, I led him back, although what I wanted to do was close the car door and take him to my place for a new life with nail trimmings, tags and leashes. I turned around and walked back to the car, leaving him where I found him. Of course, he followed me. I wanted/still want to die. I know I should've either taken him or brought him to a shelter, but Norman Animal Control is awful - he might've been better off.

I need a dog in my life. A real dog of my own. The pain I feel from losing Zealand in the breakup is still amazingly palpable, even though I know he's happy where he is, if nothing else, the exbf is a good dog owner. Also, he'd never remember me in a million jillion years. But, that doesn't stop me from sobbing about it every now and then.

RIP Zealand. I mean, you're not dead, you're just not and will never be in my life again. Sadness.

In other news, know what tonight is? It's the returns of Riggins and co. That's right, Friday Night Lights returns to NBC for its third season. There is nothing else on. NOTHING. Greys blows. American Idol is played out. Howie Mandel has another show, which truly signals the end of television as we know it. Except for FNL. Watch it, fools.

Well, when the hell did this happen?

I'm now addicted to yet another Bravo show. I held my own against Top Chef for years, years! But alas, I am hooked. Team Carla!*

*I have not watched the end of tonight's episode, so please do not tell me what happens unless it involves Jamie packing up her bitch knives and heading back to asshole land.

I am so awesome at my job, it hurts.

Have you ever received a document at work and looked at it and are like, WTF? Did Paris Hilton and LiLo write this together or something? What the hell is this shwords?* So, you take it to your boss, not your supervisor that you're chummy with, but you know, the VP of your department, and relay your concern about the clarity if not veracity of said document. And then your kind boss looks at you with her wise eyes and drops the bomb that she was in fact the author. FUCKSTICKS! Sweet Lincoln's mullet, I am a fucktard. I mumbled something about my public school education failing me in terms of reading comprehension and backed my butt out of her office. Now what?

*For the love of all things fashion, watch the fucking videos already. I would like to make jokes about this stuff for the rest of my life or at least through the next couple of weeks.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: So last year edition.

I am behind the times. We all know this about me. While I've been aware of Lykke Li (I've Dance Dance Danced a time or two), the video for Little Bit puts me in a trance. I a little bit like it.

Lykke Li - Little bit
Uploaded by deserteaglez

Also worth a listen is the rebroadcast of This American Life's Numbers episode. In the words of Oprah, love it! I listened to it during my super exciting stint at both the laundromat yesterday (which reminds me - none of you have offered to either purchase me a washing machine and dryer or offer to do my laundry - just sayin') and was riveted by the story about painting and music by polling information. It'll make sense once you listen to it. Trust me.

Boringsville: Population Me.

I have nothing to say, and I am saying it.

-John Cage

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.

Why hello, and welcome to my snacketeria.

Mr. Shain's blogassignment:

1. Read THIS.

2. Visit www.brendadickson.com. Just follow the link and stick with it. Yes, watch all of it.

3. Watch this:



4. And now this:



5. And finally, this:



For further reference, see HERE.

(It's a HUGE vageene!)

Tragicomedic attempt to get reader(s) to boost my self esteem

Guess what time it is? 2008 Okie Blog Awards time, that's what time it is. Okiedoke.com did this last year, and I was actually nominated! And not by myself, since that's against the rules. However, I don't think it's against the rules to pay someone to start a blog so that they can then nominate you so that you can later be beaten and console yourself with porn, ice cream and barbecue. At least, I hope it's not. So, go ahead. Nominate away.

Suck it, Texas

Yes, the game is not over. Yes, it's not particularly good for OU should Texas lose to OSU, however, I just want Texas to bite it. Hard.

Hi 2009. Let's be friends. Also, I'm getting married. To myself.

Alright, so I think I've clawed my way out of my holiday induced sadness spiral. It was touch and go there for a bit, but I'm optimistic. Sort of. It's my new thing. No whine 09.


Rereading some of the posts from 2008, you'd think I'd had the worst year of my life. Not so! That was a combination of fourth grade when I got this terrible perm and June through December 2006. Last year was actually not too shabby, minus all the global events. I got a promotion. It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia was pretty funny this past season (Watch them all! Do it! Day Man! Night Man! Need I say more?). I discovered slickdeals.net. See, not too shabby. The bad thing is, I let stress or even the mere possibility of stress, overtake mind and body, leaving me more neurotic and second helping prone than ever. Well, that too shall come to an end. However, I have no willpower. I think the only thing that would ever really convince me is the impending pressure of nuptials. I've seen it work for other people. I mean, really work. Therefore, I am marrying myself. I've set the date for June 1. If I can fit into my summer of 2006 jeans, I am purchasing myself one of two things I have been lusting after for probably four years.

Option 1: Tiffany & Co Peridot Ring



Option 2: Le Creuset 5 1/2 quart round dutch oven. Yes, I said dutch oven. Heh.


I'm totally serious about this. I think I'll start a tumblr a la b-squared if anyone's interested in following along or can offer useful advice. I will call it Fat Girl Slim.

If you need me, I will be reading Buff Brides. I'm so totally 100% serious.

Dear World,

I have finally seen Slumdog Millionaire. And it was pretty, pretty, pretty good. And also, yes, I cried. Fortunately, the theater was packed and my co-moviegoers and I had to split up, so I shed tears in anonymity.

Happy New Year and all that shit.

At least I got to wear my terribly tacky, yet endearing gold wedges last night.


Here's to 2009. May it not suck so much.

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.

HEY EVERYBODY, COME AND SEE HOW GOOD I LOOK.

actually, just vote for me! my picture made it to the failblog vote! vote like you're voting for obama all over again. vote now!

VOTE NOW!

more fail, owned and pwned pics and videos

Ok, this really improved my mood. Thanks BWE.

*This is probably only funny if you had a mixed tape in high school (made by Zack Harrison of ZHMMM fame) featuring "Both Hands" by Ani DiFranco and several Indigo Girls songs, including your favorite schmaltzy piece of c called "Power of Two." Also, it's funny if you later attended an all ladies college and found yourself surrounded by "women" exactly like this, but who were totally serious.

"Leibya Spells Freedom" by Leibya Rogers - watch more funny videos

S.A.D.

I have a confession. I have serious asshole disease (SAD). I'm not sure where it all starts, maybe with holiday decorations going up at major retailers in August, or perhaps the 24 hour stream of Christmas muzak perpetrated by Magic 104.1 that started the day after T-day. Maybe it's because my blood sugar's been hijacked by 100 kinds of cookies and ribbon candies. Maybe it's because everyone I know is already done with work and I still have one more day to slog through (the least they could do is visit me, am I right? - See? Asshole!). It might be my mom (most definitely my mom - Shain reminded me of this time last year when she had called me with an emergency wrapping situation, which included schlepping across town at 10pm to buy envelopes to put gift cards in, things have not improved). It might be that my roommate finally got married, half moved out (conveniently forgot to clean his bathroom...), but took the cat. I miss having another living, breathing thing padding around the apartment when I'm all alone. Maybe it's the stinging cold that slaps you in the face then kicks you in the nuts every time you venture outside. It could be all the fucking reruns on TV. TV seasons are retarded. This isn't the southern hemisphere. Winter is when it's all cold and shit and you don't want to go outside, put some new shows on! It's possibly my static infused body. I could kill someone if I touch my fleece, hair, and the car door in the right order. It certainly doesn't help the my evening commute is in complete darkness. Sweet Jesus, I still have the Christmas cards I bought last year to send out. Maybe it's the constant flurry of irritating Facebook status messages detailing the various levels of holiday preparedness everyone feels the need to constantly report. Whatever it is makes me want to pool all my money set aside for gifts, buy an expensive bottle of scotch, order a Snuggie and hibernate till at least after New Years.



*I am currently tearing up at the last SATC epi when Big finds Carrie in the hotel in Paris, I'm not sure if this means I have emotions or am an even bigger asshole.

ZHMMM - It's the most wonderful time of the year edition.

Just a little marketing scam warning.

Yes, I perspire. It's true. Actually, I sweat. Like a lot sometimes. Even though my sweat smells like freshly baked sugar cookies, I decided to check out all of the new "clinical" deodorants out there and test drive one. "Clinical" is code for $7 deodorant. Anyway, I settled on Secret and have been applying at night, as per the instructions. While I think that the product is working as advertised, it's doing a little extra work, too, e.g. growing an overnight pit forest. Seriously, a week's worth of growth crops up overnight! My razor's been working overtime, when I remember. When I don't, sorry. The point of my story is that clearly, Secret is in bed with Gilette to mastermind this whole scheme. So, now I'm left to weigh the severity of the lesser of these two evils, smelly pits or hairy pits. Date me!

I am concerned about my brain. Deeply, deeply concerned.

My dreams have become, as of late, quite disturbing. They range from the supremely absurd to the heartbreaking, leaving me a bewildered mess when I wake up. Let's take last night:

Brain clip 1:

I'm having lunch with my exboyfriend (who has all but forgotten me, but not my friends who he seeks out on Facebook, anyway...) poolside. Next to us, Lauren Conrad and Brody Jenner are squeezed into a chaise lawn chair thingy talking and pointing at us. I'm not sure why, until I notice that the exbf is wearing a Christian Siriano designed short, puffy sleeved, fitted dark denim jacket with Carhartts. It gets fuzzy at that point, but I'm pretty sure I got up and left upon this realization.

Brain clip 2:

I'm living in Northampton and want to go to Fairway to buy groceries in NYC. I also want my favorite dumplings at the Cottage on 77th and Amsterdam. I go online to reserve a Zipcar, because now I'm suddenly in Boston, but decide to take the Fung-Wah bus to avoid driving myself in traffic. I ultimately decide that since I have a car, neither of the aforementioned would be necessary. Needless to say, I woke up very sad when I realized I'm not only more than a two to four hour drive away, but hundreds of dollars and connecting flights stand between Fairway and me.

If my brain matter could sing, it would sound like Nina Simone.

ZHMMM 12/15/08

Blogger took down my post because it was illegal. Sorry guys. Not that anyone read it. I only posted Youtube videos or songs credited to other blogs, but I guess someone didn't like that.

Um...

is it wrong that I want this?

Preventing my demise due to icy roads aka heading to work a wee bit late.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. You think congress could've approved a TARP few dollars for some acting lessons for the blond one. Good lord. Money well spent, Bushes.



I had a dream last night that I took a train to Ireland. Weird. I'm fuzzy on the details, but later, I was back home and wanting to go to Greece, but my passport had expired. So, I got online and researched how to get an emergency passport at the closest State Department issuing authority in Houston. I actually dreamed about emailing my boss asking time off for work to go get a passport. My dreams need to get a life.

Congratulations me! You are addicted to Etsy! I see it on sites all the time, but since I owe my soul to the company store (Department of Education), I try not to look at things I can lust after that are reasonably priced and support the notion of a collection of artists hocking their handmade best. Dudes, you can skip this one, probably, but ladies, Etsy's a treasure trove of delightful trinkets.

Ok, almost time to brave the OKC's highways. Wish me luck.

Bars that suck/Bradford!/Marriage/Facebook/Smith is weird/Things to come

Bars that suck

I made a horrible mistake Friday night. First, I went to Opies. If you're a Normanite, you know the gravity of this poor decision. After narrowly escaping the lure of the mirrored dance floor, the gang headed to Seven47, a popular bar on campus corner. Actually, it's really a haven for Shain and I to drink Hendricks and tonic and confuse the waitress when we ask for cucumbers because we are pretentious pricks. Last time Shain and I were there (last week, so?) we couldn't stop commenting on the amazing number of bartenders, barbacks, and waitstaff that kept pouring out of the clown car of a bar. They were hydrating and caffeinating as if preparing for an exam or something. Now I know why. Seven was a fucking shit show Friday night. That place blows serious balls. Fucked up drunk chicks + retardedly high heels = a hot, clumsy mess. It smelled like a frat basement, piss and all. You couldn't walk without your feet sticking to the floor, if you could walk at all. Sure, they have $2 Pabst, but I drew the line when I had to wait 20 minutes in the longest bathroom line ever only to be cut off by two drunk bitches who literally pushed me. PUSHED ME. I flipped my shit in the only way I know how. I yelled something sarcastic and got the girl behind me on my side who pulled them out of the stall. I stole their TP in the meantime.

Bradford!

Yay Sam! As I awaited the announcement from ESPN, I couldn't help but notice the difference in quality in the little bios prepared for each candidate. Colt's from small town America, but with a big heart. Sam played all kinds of sports and was a cute kid. Tim performs surgical procedures on orphans in Manila. Oh, blow me. Also, Sam won, so suck it. Gators are goners.

Marriage

My roomate is getting married on Saturday. His bachelor party was Saturday night. I was told the after party would take place at our place (the only evidence that I can find that even a modicum of fun was had is a blow up doll that's currently staring at me - I'm not sure that's a good sign), so I vacated to the 'rents house for the night so they could party in peace (e.g. without me trying to drink all their shit and DJ). It was weird sleeping in my old bed. And far more comfortable. Which leads me to this landmark decision. I want to get married. Considering the recession, I'm pretty sure it's the only way I'll ever get anything I need to, you know, live life. Roommate is taking his washer and dryer to the new place on Thursday. WTF! I have to buy my own now? Is it cool to handwash everything in the kitchen sink? They're like more than $100, which is my limit for any expediture. He's also taking the coffee table. And a lot of other shit. Blast! I got rid of almost everything in a bizarre personal belongings holocaust back in the MA, so I really don't have much, nor do I need much, except, you know a bed that works and a washer and dryer. If anyone has one they're looking to sell, let me know! I'm in a funk about this. Why isn't it kosher to register when you get out of school, get a real job and realize how fucking broke you are? That's when you need shit. Not 10 years from now when I've bullied someone into a shotgun wedding.

Facebook

I know it's stupid, but I don't want any of my friends to be friends with the ex boyfriend, especially since he's yet to respond to the card that I sent on his b-day in my effort to be mature and adult and all that shit. Petty, yes. Rational, no. I would really like to not be reminded of his existence if possible. And now I am. Blech.

Smith is weird

I caught wind of Smith's reveal of the new mascot/spirit mark/I'm not really sure via Facebook. I headed over to the college website to encounter this video. I just don't get it. I don't think I'm impressed. I know that much. Also, I know that when Smith does weird shit, or drops in rankings, I want to call them and ask for my money back. I feel like* I went to a different Smith.

Watch this.

*Trademarked Smithie talk.

Things to come

My top eight songs of 2008. Excited yet? You should be.

In which frigid weather awakens a dormant sense of forlorn introspection.

I'm in my PJs, beneath the down comforter, listening to the wind press hard against the windows, thinking about all kinds of things, but mostly about how this song is really speaking to me right now.

Jamie Lidell - All I Wanna Do

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Falling prey to trends edition.

I hate myself a little bit more than usual today. Two things: 1. I bought 808s and Heartbreak, and 2. I am wearing a dress over footless legging thingies. So you understand the self loathing.


1. I have heard only good things about K-West's new album*, so when I was at Target and needed to fill the void where my soul should be, I decided to drop it in the basket. I popped it in on the way home and almost crashed a million times because I was lulled into an involuntary boring coma. WTF, dude? A drum machine and an auto-tuner does not an album make. I was obsessed all summer long with Flashing Lights, which is a pretty sweet song. Love Lockdown premiered recently, and I thought it was catchy and that I could stand more of where that came from, but I was duped into hypnotoadism. The song is the equivalent of going to the grocery store and staring at all of the different types of whole grain breads. The point of Kanye is his ability to cleverly articulate the many aspects of his life, helped by some pretty sweet beats. I understand that his life has been marred by heartbreak, but really it's no excuse to become a lazy lyricist and even lazier arranger. Whatever Kanye is, he's not a singer. I think that's the bottom line. Thumbs down.

*Ok, I kind of like Paranoid.


2. It's getting colder out. Every other day or so. Today it's going to be 60. Tomorrow 30. Ah, Oklahoma. It's tough to keep up with schizo weather and what to wear in such strange atmospheric conditions. It's tougher to keep up with what the young kids are wearing in this kind of weather when you spend weekends leafing through LL Bean catalogs, filling prescriptions and are in bed by 9.30pm. So fine, I bought a dress that I thought would make me feel young again. And fine, it might not actually be a dress. It hovers somewhere between blousy tunic and short dress. Do I wear it over pants? Skinny jeans (ha!)? Footed tights? Leggings? I DON'T KNOW AND IT STRESSES ME OUT. I went with ribbed footless tights and black flats (it's a purple dress, yes, I'm seven). I feel a fool. I hope I don't see anyone I know today.

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(not me)

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The H is O

Attempt at humor FAIL!

Surely, you have been all over FAIL blog, surely. It's a good time, trust me. In an effort to prevent my premature death from extreme ultimate boredom disease, I went on the hunt for a FAIL in my own flickr account, which was hard because I only have like three pictures and one of them is of a chinchilla I would name Bobby Flay. I captioned, clicked and submitted! What do we think? Not doing it for you?



I took this photo when I was subbing for an AP/remedial English class at Noble High School when I first returned to the OK. For realz.

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.

It's on.

We got it.

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.

Goulet Wednesday News Round Up: Oh No They Didn't Edition

Oh for fuck's sake. Really? The Hills is my only guilty pleasure amidst a sea of critically acclaimed TV (the oft aforementioned Mad Men and The Wire to name a couple). I thought for sure Spencer would put douchesquared out of its misery by requiring Heidi get even bigger titplants resulting in a fatal defiance of physics, but alas, they have tied the knot. We did not need this with all of the economy and war bullshit, kids.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Equation Edition.

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=

?

Oh snap!

It's on.

Hate this! Thursdays

Dear NPR,

I just wanted to congratulate you on a story aired All Things Considered last night. Jon Kalish's "piece" about the 1968 Harvard vs. Yale game succeeded in sucking more than the bottleneck at I-40 and I-235 at rush hour. Seriously, what could be more riveting than a bunch of Ivy League dudes recalling the glory days of a football game that no one cared about even then (but Tommy Lee Jones was on the team! I know, I know.)? In this day and age of economic deterioration, there's nothing more heartwarming than an old fashioned tale of priviliged leatherheads fighting it out on the Harvard gridiron. So relatable! Maybe I'll play this story for my children, who will most certainly attend the prestigious University of Phoenix. Perhaps they'll play Capella in a tense Second Life game of pigskin in a similar spirited tradition.

I went to a Harvard game or two. There's only one crimson team that's worth freezing your ass off (literally). And it's not Harvard. Don't know if I was clear about that.

Love in Christ,

B

Quantum of Stupid

Last night, I went to see the latest Bond flick with my dad and brother. Because I am a poor jerk, and they happened to be on my side of town, I made them pick me up. I would not have done this had I realized by brother is a huge pussy by refusing to take the highway to the fancy schmancy theater in Moore (a side note - Moore people scare me - what's with the teeny boppers and their trucker hat/giant diamond earring/printed hoodies/guido hair thing?) making us 10 minutes late.

We bought our tickets and headed into the darkened theater and settled in. A fast paced, action filled opening scene appeared to have already started. I was surprised, approving on the theater's wise, but unusual decision to eschew 30 minutes of previews and get right to the heart of the matter. The small cinemas in Northampton that I used to frequent would show maybe one trailer, so it didn't seem too out of the ordinary to catch the opening of the film 15 minutes past the movie start time.

As I continued to watch, I experienced an intellectual unraveling worse than some of the roughest finals I endured in college. Why couldn't I remember the ending of the last movie? How, specifically, had Vespa betrayed Bond? What's the deal with returning character Mathis? Why does Daniel Craig's mouth bother me so much, especially when he's drinking something, with all those little sucking noises? Why is none of this fitting together? Am I really so stupid as to not be able to follow a fucking Bond movie? It's not like Syriana or some shit. Come to think of it, did I really understand Syriana? Well, maybe it was confusing, but I totally got Babel. Totally. Right? Was that the one with the deaf naked chick where Cate Blanchett peed on herself then Brad Pitt banged her? How come all I can recall of an Oscar nominated film is the nudity, pee and banging? Conclusion: I should quit life because I am an idiot.

Then I knew what had happened. I silently rose from my seat and returned to the lobby to confront the d-bag (Moore) kid who'd directed my trio to the auditorium. I asked him which auditorium was showing the 8:10 Bond. He told me number 13. Well fuck me. We were in number two. Better yet, it was now 45 minutes into the meat of the movie. Jesus H. Christ on a stick. I asked when the next show started. 8:50.

I went back and retrieved Dad and the bro (those people already watching must've enjoyed feeling superior for a few minutes there) and made our way to the correct auditorium. Between us, we have two BA's, one Master's, one PhD and some National Merit business, not to mention and Eagle Scout and the unparalleled honor of Oklahoma's Greatest 75 Websites. I am afraid for our future. Also, Casino Royale was better.

Check it, yo:

M-W's word of the day: blithesome. Heedless. Yup, that's pretty much it. There are varying stories regarding the genesis of my name, one involves a random pick from the baby name book, another an unusual preoccupation with Blythe Danner. In either case, it's a bitch to place an order at Panera.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Migraine Edition

I have a migraine (in my head, I pretend to be all Britishy and say "meegraine" - try it!). This is bad news because migraines suck. A lot. I'm trying to tough it out, but it's hard to explain why your office light is off, yet you're sitting at your desk, not to mention the whispering only policy. Also, I might or might not puke on you. Blech city.

Here's some random music crap.

West of Her Spine - Bell X1

Taxi on Vermont - Old Canes

Cathedrals - Jump Little Children

The Kid is Gone - The Gravy

Something About Us - Daft Punk

Yam, King of the Crops - The Mountain Goats

The Future Hangs - Cuff The Duke

Baby James - Casey Dienel

I'm going to go crawl under my desk now.

Hate this! Thursday

I would rather be forced to attend a Nickleback concert, while wearing Crocs and drinking a Diet Pepsi than endure car trouble. After two attempts at jumping, one resulting in a small fire, the dolphin gray, old lady mobile sits in a garage awaiting a new alternator. Not cheap! When you are on a budget of $0, this sucks. Let me tell you.

UPDATE: Veterans Day

So... I'm 99.9999999999999% sure that the exbf no longer recalls my name, let alone reads this blog, but I have yet to receive a response from the actual card I sent yesterday, which was in much better taste than the aforementioned. Hmm. Well, you can't burn bridges that have already been fire bombed, right? This is what I went with. Too much?





Also, to all of those trolling this blog for nude pics of a hot chick playing Twister as suggested by the boys of TLO, sorry! I had to take them down for professional reasons. But believe me, they were h.o.t. Instead, this is me eating some cheese toast.*



*Not really me.

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!