Things I hate #1,348,073.46

Elaborate engagement photo sessions. They're just weird. Sorry marrieds or about to be marrieds, but no one wants to see overly saturated pics of you in a dress from Anthropologie with cankle creating wedges and your betrothed standing hand in hand in front of a barn. Or train tracks. Or the shitty part of town trying to be some kind of rustic authenticity. Or spread out on a "vintage" quilt in a grassy field. Or a shot of your engagement shoes. Or a black and white of a somber embrace in front of a bookstore because you're literate and cool, we get it. Anyway, that is all. For today.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: So predictable edition.

I am spectacularly lazy on most fronts, but my recent lack of willpower to find new music is shocking even me. Does it all suck? It seems like it all sucks. In any case, I've found a few songs I like, but they're kind of all milquetoast, which I guess is kind of what I'm into, I just don't like to admit it. Here they are in no particular order:

Better Things - Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings: Did you just break up with someone? Still think hateful thoughts about someone you broke up with years ago? Then this song is for you.

1977 - Ana Tijoux: Spanish class!

Release Me - The Like: Since I like Camera Obscura, I'm contractually obligated.

American Troglodyte - David Byrne: American David Byrne fan.

Shadow People - Dr. Dog: Sometimes, I just need to be reminded of Dr. Dog.

Do You Love Me - Guster: Sometimes, I just need to be reminded of college.


On Your Way Down - Trombone Shorty: Dude! The name says it all.

Rains Came - Shelby Lynne: Typical Saturday morning...

Numbers Don't Lie - Mynabirds: Amen. They don't. Also, I'm looking forward to what else this chick does. Should be good.

The Suburbs - Arcade Fire: Required.

Beg Steal or Borrow - Ray Lamontagne & The Pariah Dogs: Ray at his melancholic best.

If I were you, I'd go to elbo.ws for a listen, just in case you might like something. I'm telling you, though, I think I've turned a corner into boring musicville.

Dear boyfriend,

I love you and all that crap, but damn, I wish you ate normal food. You don't like shrimp, mushrooms, beans of any kind, lentils, arborio rice, cabbage, sweet potatoes, peppers, cereal, butter, pork chops, polenta, oatmeal, goat cheese, quinoa, sandwiches, ricotta cheese, cottage cheese, bulgher, squash, most fruits, corn, meatloaf, mashed potatoes and the list goes on and on.

Basically, he survives on tacos and peanut butter, which is all well and good, except that I am hopelessly addicted to about a billion food websites that make me want to cook insane meals all the time. So, what happens is, I read a lot and we eat out a lot. I've got to figure out ways to introduce grown up ingredients without scaring him off. I guess if he doesn't like them, he doesn't like them, but who doesn't like lasagne? Risotto? MASHED POTATOES? Seriously.

I read these every day and lots others when I remember. Don't read if you're even remotely hungry.

Smitten Kitchen
Alexandra's Kitchen
Framed
The Kitchn
Serious Eats
Slashfood
La Tartine Gourmande
Orangette

This is why I love Emma Thompson

So, I turned 29 and all that shit.

Yup. Last week. The night before, the BF told me that he'd gotten us a hotel room in town for a night of luxury because my favorite thing to do is bitch about the poor quality of our mattress while refusing to do anything sensible about it, like, oh, purchase a new one. Because then what would I blame my intrinsic lethargy on, myself? No. Anyway, hotel room, yay! (Forgetting to make arrangements for dog, not so yay. So, Zeb came with us.) I was happy to fall asleep old and wake up older without back pain and with free breakfast! Woot!

I spent the rest of the day lazing about at home as I took the day off from work (we're not really allowed time in August since it's the start of the semester, so I played the birthday card) and went to dinner with the fam at Cheesecake Factory, a totally out of character choice for myself, but I dunno, it's what I wanted.

Which leads me to this terrible revelation. I have eaten out for eight (8) consecutive meals. At restaurants. Like full blown meals. There are several reasons for this, last four day work week Wednesday lunch celebration, pre-birthday dinner, all day birthday gluttony, and then the unexpected day trip (not good reasons, more on this later) which resulted in another all day eating binge. All of this leads me to this. I need these.

I'm like a rare B-side

I've managed to get this song stuck in my head for a few weeks now. Not sure where I came across it, but it's been downloaded and added to the iPod and is in heavy rotation.

Mixtape - Tift Merritt via FiftyCentLighter

Oh, mixtapes. What a wonderful thing. I, of course, remember actually making tapes. Countless Maxells or whatever my dad bought that I would help myself to, holed up in my bedroom, painstakingly planning playlists and gathering resources (records, tapes, cds and now MP3s). I'm pretty confident that the mix tapes and cds I've cobbled together for others over the years are pretty horrible, but, I think that's what has resulted in me being the recipient of totally awesome mix masterpieces. I think people felt sorry for me.

When you're the child of two music dorks (one a high school band/orchestra director and the other an elementary music teacher), you listen to a lot of stuff that a typical child of the 80s/90s might have been spared. Like, do you know all of the words to every musical (stage and screen) from 1940 on? I do. Pippin anyone? Like, can you hum most of the parts to Sibelius' Finlandia? Maybe you can, but I would say that most of my contemporaries were studying different classics, e.g the Stones and the Dead.

Enter friends who don't let friends listen exclusively to KOMA (local oldies station) when they're 16. Into my life came many a wonderful cassette, each with its handwritten track list. I learned about non Brown Eyed Girl Van Morrison, The Specials, De La Soul, Indigo Girls and Ani (before I knew I would go to lesbian central college), The Breeders, Joni Mitchell, Sonic Youth, Handsome Boy Modeling School, Chuck Prophet, Brian Eno, Portishead, and a lot more I can't think of at the moment. There's nothing quite like the first listen, anticipating the next track, hearing the tape click over and over and over. I suppose CDs are good too, but there was something about the pause of the tape as it flipped sides -a very pleasant suspense.

Sounds nerdy, but mix tape creation is so intimate and scary. It's a unique intersection of perceived familiarity with the intended and musical taste. Sometimes the results are magical, sometimes disastrous, but always musical (at least).

Now, excuse me while I try to track down Taj Mahal's (Clara) St. Kitt's Woman.

We're liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiving in a den of thieves

Dear indie world,

I am currently watching 500 Days of Summer. I know I'm like a year late, but better later than never. I'm really looking forward to inevitably regretting my decision to cut bangs a la Zooey.

puppy love

Can I just take a moment to say how much I love my puppy? Which is fortunate, because he's cost me a shit ton in the last six months. Little dude is sweet, goofy, floppy, clumsy, snorey, snorty, clompy on the wood and tile floors, curious, inquisitive, protective (but not too much) and all around lovey. And, when he climbs up onto my chest when I get into bed, I can breathe in his delightful puppy smell and it just makes my whole everything so happy. I will not mention that he has selective listening and behavioral skills, chews up towels like it's his job, cries like a maniac when we leave him, barks at a bird flying across the front yard from inside, sheds like all get out, inflicts massive welts with his nails when he jumps on you (even if you've only been out to check the mail), pees on his own paws, hogs the covers and it goes on.

But, overall, dear Zeb, you are a gem of a dog. Right now, you're sleeping on the (super ugly, but we can't bear to get rid of it since you are so attached) rug, roughly two times the size you were just a few months ago. Your little body heaves with each breath, your tail twitching, your tiny snores. Love.

Have you had one of those days when

you just need a nice glass of red (box) wine to take the edge off (before you take something a little more serious to take the edge off/slip into unconsciousness) while you make (microwave Lean Cuisine) dinner for one while tuning into The Bachelorette? Then you need this:

Giant Wine Glass - Holds a Full Bottle of Wine!

Only $11.97!*

*Plus shipping.

Someone has a birthday coming up... hint: its me!

Sick Day

I'm not sure what's up, but it's like my body is revolting against me. (Note, I did not say that my body is revolting, Shain.) I only slept about three hours last night, am all headachey and blechy today. Blech, blech, blech. I made some toast and went to spread my Great Value brand strawberry preserves and fished out a strawberry with stems and leaves attached. It almost made me cry. Typically, I buy Bonne Maman, but not on my current budget. Sadness. Right, so, my plans for the day include crying over food, reading a Tami Hoag novel and willing myself to go to work at some point. We're on 10 hour per day, four day weeks for summer, so I feel super guilty missing a whole day since they're soooooo long.

In the meantime, it seems like the kind of day to listen to this on repeat.

Well, it's official. Life is kind of sucking balls right now.

Work is simply out of control. So many things I neither can nor should enumerate, but needless to say, I'm committed to exploring other employment opportunities. Pretty much anywhere. Pretty much either in higher education human resources (specifically benefits administration) or general kickassedness. I keep waiting to get a book deal like every other blogger out there, but alas, no dice.

It's about 100 degrees here daily + 1000% humidity which leaves everyone sweaty zombies. Thank the lord for central air, but even that doesn't zap the sapping nature of excessive heat (They keep saying that on the news - excessive compared to what? It's Oklahoma in July. Duh.). To keep my brain and body cool, I've been holing up under the vents perusing blogs with people who have their shit together. I want to be one of those people. I just want to get my poops in a group. It's not that bad, I just think (hope) it could be better. It being my sense of accomplishment when compared to an imaginary bar contrived by me, which is never a good thing.

Right, so, I've been reading Hither and Thither from start to finish. It's lovely and inspirational and confirms my contention that a regular brunch can cure anything. Unfortunately, there's literally nowhere to brunch that's worth a damn in Norman.

keeping it all in perspective

Disclaimer - I'm sure none of these feelings have anything to do with the fact that I turn the big 2-9 in mere weeks. It's totally cool that I've accomplished very little aside from a sizable collection of sale shoes in my 29 years. I've still got all of next year to tick off the things I'd planned before 30... house, real, actual vacation, permanent partner in crime, iPhone, six months of savings, my last killer hangover, twice daily flossing, the ability to tell my family no, etc.

Nice to see you too, dick.

Last night, the BF and I headed up to the Diamond Ballroom in OKC to see my beloved The Hold Steady (yes, that sounds weird). All was well as we sipped $5 24os Modelo (not too bad) until I saw a familiar sight. Or shape, more specifically. This dude off in the distance had an enormous melon. Like huge. I thought to myself, dang! That looks like the ex-boyfriend's head. Poor guy! Then I noticed another dude with a similarly outrageous head. And then I knew. The exbf (and older brother) had descended upon OK from on high (aka New Hampshire) to grace the Sooner state with his presence. Yippee. I have not seen him in about three, three and a half years. In fact, just last month I celebrated four years of break up (thanks!).

Yet still, I totally panicked. Mainly because they had this relatively good looking chick with them. And I am superficial and insecure, so you can see how this goes. After observing the group for a couple minutes I deduced that she was the older bro's date and that she's only dating him for his money (he makes bank). I immediately texted (yeah, I just used that as a verb, shoot me) those who would understand and tried to drink my gigantic beer with shaking hands. This kid rocked me to my core and left me for dead, essentially. And now, here he is, pretending to be cool and like THS (yeah, right). In any case, I calmed down, finished my beer, and enjoyed the show.

I kept urging the current BF to move closer to the stage with me, but he refused because he's super tall, so I scooted up and wouldn't you know it, I wound up about three people behind him. So, I steeled myself and moved forward to tap him on the shoulder. He turned around and I waved. We couldn't hear anything, obvs, so we couldn't say anything. He looked stoned out of his mind, so maybe he didn't recognize me or hates me so much that he pretended not to know who I was. In either case, it was awful. Seriously, dude. We were together for seven years, lived together for three of it and you pretend you don't know who I am?

Oh, for fuck's sake. I don't even know what to say about this other than, damn! But I hope he's happy and all that bullshit. I guess.

OH HELLS NO!

Dudes, seriously. I was sitting at my desk pushing my (very soft and shiny) hair out of my face, brushing my hand across my beck in the process. That's when I felt it. A HAIR. GROWING OUT OF MY NECK. Like it got lost on its way to my head. FOR REALS. What I'm feeling can only be described in all caps and ameliorated with liquor. Hello 29 (although, you're still technically a month away).

Current Obsessions

It's all rainy and crappy today. Buckets and buckets of rain soaking through the roof, the yard, the dog park, my motivation to do anything remotely productive. So, instead, I troll the interwebs looking for distraction/inspiration, which leads to a desire for things.

Like I need this album: Anais Mitchell / Hadestown.

Listen to "Wedding Song"* and tell me it's not perfect for listening to on repeat on a rainy Saturday during a recession. I dare you.

Also, I need these shoes.

What are these adorable creations, you ask? Well, they're Biviel BV2525 and if they didn't cost like $160, they'd be mine. ALL MINE.

In the meantime, I will read my library books. Which are free. Except I probably owe fines.

*via Direct Current

Summersummersummertime

Ah. It's officially summer. Not that we needed a date to tell us that. It's been 90+ degrees everyday for weeks now. The heat is really mucking things up for me. A) I want to drink waaaay too much cold beer. B) Since I sweat every time I step outdoors, I figure that suffices as a work out. Needless to say, this is not a good combo. Know what is a good combo? The Fresh Prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff.

If you are contemplating your 10 year high school reunion*

don't go. Let me tell you why. Basically, unless you are 1000.5% happy with the trajectory of your post high school life, it's not all that much fun. First, if you left town to go to college, one that was 2000 miles away, and come back to live here again sans super awesome job or adorable family, people will look at you with failure. Two, everyone is married, pregnant or nursing, so you're the only person who gets tanked on the free beer. Finally, if you graduated in 2000, reunion organizers think it's cute to play late 90s/early 2000s music, and we all know that era blew balls. Hard. Don't get me wrong, everyone I blathered to was perfectly nice and well adjusted, but it just wasn't inspiring or even the least bit fun. I'm hoping that at the 30 year mark, we're all rich as fuck and know how to actually throw a kick ass party (still with free beer). In the meantime, must begin scheme to evacuate the OK. I think it's time.

*sounds like a Belle & Sebastian song title, no?

holy flooded downtown metro!

This morning, when I got in my car at 6.45am (yes, 6.45am) to travel to work, I had no idea that three hours later, I would still not be at work and could've been to Dallas. Sure, the commute's a bitch, but not like this! It was smooth sailing for most of the trip north until torrential rain came down making every slow down to about four mph. Then the shit really hit the fan. Every exit I could take to get to work was closed by the highway patrol due to high water. So, I headed downtown to take an alternate route and shit just got worse. Hours later, after driving through many of ill-advised puddles, taking a break in a parking lot, turning around on closed roads, scooting around abandoned, submerged cars, I finally thought I'd schemed a way out of of the mess by heading west then north. But, turns out I headed west then south, because I am awesome at directions. South means home, so home I am. I only have one car. If it gets effed , I'm effed. Now I'm at home, safe and sound, catching up on work, Glee and Jezebel.com. Ah, Oklahoma weather.

This is from msnbc.com, but it's pretty much what it looked like this morning. For realz.

In a related story, doesn't Helen Mirren look stunning (as seen by my fortuitous perusal of Jezebel). On that note, I would like to marry both Ryan Reynolds and ScarJo.
Holy crap are they hot.

It's starting to storm again. What the face, OK?

Question:

I accidentally bought a straw fedora last week to celebrate my staycation (which, in all likelihood, I will never, ever wear). Does this make me:

A) 33.3% douchey

B) 69% douchey , or

C) 100% douchey

I cannot stay away, yet cannot pull off trends - not only because I look like poo, but also because I end up feeling like a huge tool. I mean, really, who wears a straw fedora except UrbanOutfitters models. Enjoy my closet, hat.

(Not to mention I have a super weirdly shaped head, among other things. Date me!)

Anthnooooooooooo!

Boy howdy. I have a new (unhealthy) obsession (is there any other kind?). It's a blog. Or, rather, a new genre of blogs. Blogs completely dedicated to the 20/30 something girl heaven known as Anthropologie. I first discovered Anthro when I lived in New York for a summer (way back in 2000) and wandered into one in Soho. I bought a ton of stuff because it was so unique (read not from the Gap or Banana, which is all we have in OK - this was before we got a JCrew) and cheap! Well, cheap when you have a credit card and no student loans. I was very well heeled for about six months (which is when I moved to Mass and looking cute was not really a priority to anyone, anywhere).

Right, so, there's this whole world out there of Anthrophiles. It's simultaneously inspiring and depressing. I wish I had a million dollars and somewhere to wear all of this stuff. On the bright side, I was inspired to edit my closet and toss out the crap I can't, won't or don't wear and drag all of it to a trendy clothing resale shop (Daisy Exchange) to make some moolah to purchase a few items from Anthro. I walked in and immediately felt out of place because everyone was literally at least 10 years younger than me, but I could hear the girls rifle through my piles and piles (and piles) of clothes without laughing, so I took that as a good sign. I ended up making bank AND the youngin's said I had good taste and super cute clothes. Kudos, me. And then I spent my earnings on awesome things like a teeth cleaning, wrapping paper for wedding gifts, getting Zeb neutered, gas, etc. Needless to say, Anthro items are not in my immediate future, but a girl can dream. And get help styling what I have from living vicariously through the closets of others.

Read 'em and weep.

Anthroholic (as mentioned before and what got this ball rolling)
Infinite Whimsy
Love at First Shop
In Pursuit of Pretty Things
Little Girl Big Closet

And there's like a thousand more. I. Can't. Stop. Also, how do these people afford this habit? I can barely keep up with my Target and Forever 21 addictions. Dang! Finally, I obviously need more belts in my life.

I wanna be a yuppieaire so frickin' bad

Sometimes, I am overcome with feelings of yuppieism. I can't stop myself from imagining my life as a proper yuppie, rather than my current existence as an overgrown college student (although, in a related story, I now sleep on a bed as of yesterday, instead of mattresses piled on the floor!).

The yuppie life of my dreams includes, but is not limited to the following:

Subaru, obvs. Although, the 'trix is close.

Duh.


No duh.

Wardrobe from here

and here.

Trendy exercise a la Bikram. Also, rock climbing.

Compulsory Costa Rica vacation.

West Elm parsons desk from which I produce wildly popular blog.

Dinner parties replete with locally sourced ingredients, brilliant pictures, stylish/worldly friends. Via Sunday Suppers.

iTampon

Unique engagement jewelry (assuming adoring, successful beau). Via St. Kilda.

DIY wedding. Via a backyard wedding.

And much more, obviously. I'm not really this kind of person, per se, but somewhere between style blogs and Facebook, I feel like I should be. Hmm.

The one where I won't hold your baby.

via A Cup of Jo

Yesterday, the BF and I went to his dad's house for a Memorial Day cook out. The BF's dad is recently remarried to a lovely woman with two grown daughters, one of whom just popped out a kid (like six weeks ago). The whole fam, blood, in-laws, steps, halfsies, everyone was there, including the baby. I don't do babies. That came out wrong. What I mean is, I don't know what to do or say to your baby. I don't know what to say to you about your baby. It's not that I don't like babies or kids and whatnot, I'm just not around them that often and don't know what to do. Plus, babies have that soft spot on their head and I don't want to be the one that ruins them because I don't know how to hold them properly. So, when K's dad asked if I wanted to hold little Nate-dog, I said I was all set. He looked at me like I'd just run over a unicorn. I started explaining how I'm just not a baby person and that I'd even texted Lacey (the baby-whisperer) to find out what to say, when I realized I sounded totally selfish and insane. So I went to get a brownie and left him there, probably thinking that at least he won't have to shell out for baby gifts for me anytime soon. So, that's good.

In the meantime, am I supposed to wake up one day feeling all maternal? I'm coming up on 30 and the baby fever hasn't hit me yet. Should I be worried?

In a related story 10 Ways to Avoid Hipster Baby Names.

i don't like doing anything i don't like to do

because that sucks. doesn't it? however, sometimes, external forces dictate that i must. i keep not making any more money, so i'm always a little strapped for cizzash, mainly because what little i do make i spend here. and here. and here. and here. funny story - i still look like crap in spite of dropping serious scrill on the fancy(ier than old navy and ross) brands. anywho, this month, june 2010, i am imposing a moratorium on apparel purchases. i have several pair of shoes that have gone unworn for years. dresses with price tags still attached. skirts i wore once then never ironed to wear again (because i am both lazy and afraid of hot things). well, june is the month when i reclaim my own wardrobe. i was going to do a thing where i wear a different pair of shoes each day, but i chickened out because i'm still super wobbly on heels. but maybe. we shall see. won't we won't see are bags from forever 21 stuffed with crap clothes (that i love, but still, they're crap) and scary credit card bills and bank statements. i can do it!

ghosts of closets past - i clearly have a problem. yes, it's weird because, yes, i still always look a little homeless even in my best outfit. it's a gift. marry me!

exhibit a:




i swear there was an exhibit b, but i can't find it. trust me. it was worse.

Link Love

I'd like to just take a moment to share all of the sites I visit on a regular basis in hopes that someone will talk about them with me. Please? Anyone? ANYONE?

My Year Of Everything - Dave Holmes does all those other books and blogs doing shit for a year. Crockpotting, wearing one outfit, living biblically, cooking Julia Child recipes, you get the picture.

Anthroholic - someone shows how to not make Anthropologie pretties look like your gram's castoffs.

Selleck Waterfall Sandwich - exactly what it sounds like.

Mrs. Lilien - sumptuous, well sourced arrangements of things I can't afford (but shouldn't buy if I could. I mean really, a $1000 mint julep?)

What Would Emma Pillsbury Wear? - I can't get that into Glee, but I can get into cardigans.

Heat Eat Review - Update this piece, bitches! But, in the meantime, very useful if you work in an office with a microwave.

Fed Up with Lunch: The School Lunch Project - ew ew ew. This is why I packed my lunch everyday during school (Mom wouldn't do it). Also, the kids don't stand a chance.

what i wore today... in drawings - aw, cute.

denise hearts jasper - click on soundtrack. Start downloading.

How is it

that I look totally awesome when I check myself out at home before I leave for work, but by the time I get to work I'm a rumpled, homely mess? It's like that episode of Seinfeld when he has the simultaneously hot and ugly girlfriend depending on the lighting, etc. Good thing I work in a basement so no one can see me. Hooray for mole people!

Dear Gary England,

You owe me $140.

Yesterday, you got on the tube and starting creaming your pleated front Dockers about "weather events" running amock around the state. And I listened. Like a 'tard. Your incessant screeching about baseball sized hail ripping through Noble heading toward Norman compelled me to seek shelter for my new (to me) car.

Now, I don't have a garage, per se, but a detachable old-timey garage-shed-type-thing at the end of the long gravel driveway. Classy, yes? So, the BF and I make a run for it into blinding rain to open the doors to this thing and jockey the cars around so I can pull in. Which I do. It's when I get out that I hear a hissing sound. The sound of a punctured tire. AWESOME! Soaking wet, the BF and I head back inside to wait out the impending weather armageddon before surveying the damage. We wait. And wait. And wait. Guess what? No hail. No straight line winds. No tornado (in spite of the screaming sirens all night). NO FUCKING ANYTHING! After the rain ended, skies cleared and the sun shined. And my heart closed forever to the Oklahoman in me that reveres all things Gary England. He is dead to me.

Much like my tire. The BF put on his man pants and put on the spare. I got the new tire put on this morning. Yes, $140 is cheaper than hail damage, surely. But still, Gary, you can make the check out to I am an idiot.

RIP (in my heart) Lord Gary

p.s. This is why I was motivated to move my car and attempted to believe these weather jokers.

Yay for Smith!

Although I love to hate on Smith sometimes, I still love it. Like you love something like this. This year, Rachel Maddow was the commencement speaker, much better than my year's whoever it was... Anywho. Listen to her address. It's pretty rad.

Watch her speech here.

Check out these super awesome graduate's shoes here.*

*Smith has a thing where you have to wear white and black shoes, which makes me want to die, but these are some pretty awesome shoes to offset the unnatural, virginal white they encourage.

Things I Hate # 4,739:

couples with joint Facebook or email accounts. Seriously? Do these people understand the purpose of social networking and untraceable email accounts? Duh.

Want to know how awesome I am?

I wish I could stay up late enough to watch the new Adult Swim show featuring Dr. Steve Brule of Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job. But I can't. Because I'm old. Did you know that I'll be 29 in something like less than 80 days? I know, right. I have a lot to show for my 29 years, though, so that's cool. Mainly that I've watched every episode of seasons one through five of TAEASGJ. Marry me.

Question:

is it wrong that I prune the lady garden more for my gyno than my bf?

OMG! There was totally a tornado

down the street from my house last night. I definitely had the interior most closet prepped with some pillows and a battery powered radio. Thankfully, the tornado hit The Commons aka apartment complex packed with annoying college kids. They were all fine. Whatever. In any case, 'tis the season! Tornado season.

Lord Gary:



Get on down to your fraidy hole:

in which i am lame

I like blogs. I like reading blogs. I like commenting on blogs. I like reading comments on blogs. I like blogging. Sort of. I can't seem to get my act together keeping up with this thing, but I think that I need to try. Lately, I've become more boring than myself circa 2007, which is shocking, really. I didn't think it was actually possible. In any case, no one reads this, which is cool, so I'm just going to start posting for myself. Because it's always been all about me anyway.



And on that note, have you ever gone to get a hair cut, your first in say, six months (not cool, I know) and then left the salon with the midwestern news anchor? I just can't win in the hair department. I either need to go Crystal Gale or go home.

oh for fuck's sake

I love me some Smith College. I really do. But sometimes, I want to take its whatever it is, radical liberalism, something, I don't really know, and shove it up its cunt. Except I can't say that because that's gender specific. Except Smith's a college for women. So I want to shove it up its reconstructed peen hole.

Love you Smith!

Bath Tub Time Machine

Did you know that my house has two full baths? Well, it does. One has a shower, the other a tub. Since ghosts of roommates past always used the bath with the tub, I've always been skeeved out by it. But, yesterday, after deciding I'd sufficiently cleaned it (again), I went for it. And it was awesome. I listened to This American Life. I opened the window so it was kinda like a hot tub outside thing happening. I used an entire thing of bubble bath and kept refilling the tub with more hot water (we have two hot water tanks for some reason). Seeing as how my vacation budget has been eaten up by the dog, this is probably as good as it's going to get this year.

Awesome picture, no?

I should've been a vet

Dang! We had to take Zeb to the vet last night. I had to take out a small loan this morning. I joke, sort of. Little dude got his guts in a twist and was puking et al yesterday. So, we take him in and he's examined (for $41) and then probed (for $26) and then tested (for $100) and then diagnosed and finally treated (for $1,000,000.00). He had a high itestinal (lunch anyone?) bacteria count and was given injections of antibiotics and other stuff to get him back on track. I also paid for doggie Imodium, more antibiotics and had to cook him rice and chicken for dinner (more than I do for most people). Long story short, I'm out a lot of money for a dog that completely rebounded by midnight last night.

If Zeb were a kid, I'd totally have just pumped him full of Pedialyte and some saltines and plopped him in front of Sponge Bob while I mixed up some G&Ts for myself with the money I saved from not taking him to the doctor. Does this make me a bad person? How come I care more about my dog than a kid (Not that I have one. That I know of. There were some crazy times.)?

The bottom line is I should've been a vet.

P.S. Happy tax day! (Dear OK, you will get mine tomorrow. Love in Christ, B)

In which I kind of want to bomb this blog and start over.

Or maybe it's that I use up all of my (very small) wit on FaceDevilbook. In any case, this thing needs an extreme blog makeover for all one zero of you still reading.

In the meantime, do you ever get a song so lodged in your head you justify listening to it 10 times in a row on your way to work? I thank you, Arcade Fire. I was completely sullen and wanting to learn to play the organ (not that one, get your mind out of the gutter) when I arrived at work this morning.

I have no idea where this video came from. I'm tool lame to figure out how to acutally post my music.


Arcade Fire - My body is a cage
Uploaded by TonyT0482. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

Riddle me this:

I am almost twenty fucking nine years old. Now, why do I have a zit nearish my chin? WHY? For fuck's sake. Good thing Zeb prevents me from leaving the house other than work. Soon, soon he will be able to stay in his crate alone and I will again be antisocial for different reasons. Soon.

Happy Sunday, y'all.

i want to go to there

via Gawker

v-day FAIL

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

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

Look at what I got!

Sorry I've been MIA. I've been busy not eating, being grumpy, suffering from SAD, surviving ice storms and local weather media, complaining about the gym, crying over my bank balance, having more dental work and ...

Glamour shot.

chilling with this little dude! His name is Zeb. As in Zebulon. Like Pike. Except we call him all kinds of things. Like Zebron James, Merriam-Zebster, zebutante, zebulator(! - you have to yell that one), Zebbie, zeptic tank, etc. Basically, he has no idea who he is.

Treats. Treats. Treats.

A dude at work brought him in because baby Zeb had followed his wife home. The BF and I discussed adding him to the household, but by the time we'd decided, someone else had offered to give Zeb a home. So, naturally, I was heartbroken for a week, but that's ok because there was an ice storm, so I had lots of things to distract me from checking out every.single.dog on petfinder.com. Not. Cut to Monday of last week when I learned that Zeb was still available! His interim owner wasn't sure Zeb was the right fit since he already had four grown Rotts and Zeb, was, well, a tiny puppy. So, I brought him home Monday night!

Give me some m-effing treats!

Naturally, he's adorable. I have no idea what breed, though. The vet put him at maybe 10 - 12 weeks last week and he weighed in at 11 pounds. I don't think he's gonna get that big, but who knows. What I do know is that he's had one accident inside in six days, chews the hell out of a stuffed toy, is a Kong addict, sleeps through the night, loves cheddar and freeze dried liver. I'm in lurv.

Thank you.

Right, so, thus far, training is going well. It's kind of exhausting, but in a good kind of way when he masters a command or we get a little snuggle time. Right now, he's sleeping in his crate next to me, making precious puppy snoring sounds that will surely be replaced by puppy destruction sounds in the coming months, so I'm signing off to enjoy his innocence.

Super spoon.

BREAKING NEWS:

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

oh dear.

What I know about Haiti I (well, I mean I knew basic geographical, historical and political information) I learned from reading Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder about Paul Farmer and his work on cultural understandings of disease and medicine in Haiti and other countries plagued by infectious diseases. I read the book for a medical anthropology class in college, which turned out to be one of my favorite classes*, in spite of making probably a B- because I inexplicably refused to turn anything in on time. Tracy Kidder's writing and Paul Farmer's super human efforts really made an impact on me. I even donated to Partners In Health when I was still in school. So, not that Haiti is any more or less important than any other area struck by any kind of disaster, but it holds one of the few soft spots in my heart. I implore you to read the book. If you're going to donate to anything, consider a donation to Partners In Health.


*Thanks Dr. Joralemon. I sucked in your class, but you were a kickass professor and I shockingly retained and carry with me much that I learned that semester. Sorry for being an unresponsive jerk.

It's 2010 Bitches

I realize it's now 1/10/10, but whatevs. I've been busy (lie). The point is, it's time to make some nutless declarations. Remember last year? I purchased both items while failing to return to my high school weight. However, I did develop a gym habit, quit caffeine for six whole months, can run several minutes without stopping, completed a boot camp, and dropped 12 pounds and a couple sizes without decreasing my boob size. So, halfway to awesome.

This year, I intend to work on the following:

• Read books besides Real Simple, Living, New York Magazine, TV Guide, Cooking Light and Lucy, which are not technically books. I mean, real literature and shit. Not JD Robb and Patricia Cornwell. Recommendations?
• Organize all of my music; digital, vinyl and and CDs. The gym has thrown me into a terrible shame spiral of popular music. Must climb out and reclaim my musical self.
• Stop hitting the snooze button for hours. HOURS people. The BF loves this. Just ask him. I started a streak of getting to work not on time, but early before break and I intend to keep this up for the rest of the year, mainly so I can get to the gym, commute home, make dinner and get to bed before 1 am. Mornings will be mine!
• Go on a real live vacation. I took a little staycation in October to burn some time off as well as regain my sanity after a difficult spell at work, which was wonderful, but I haven't been on a plane in almost a year. What the what? I need to get out of here. Fortunately, the NY Times has done my research for me. Now, I just need to come into some serious money.
• Deep clean my house. Like Pledge the baseboards clean. I realize that I don't own this home, but it doesn't look like I'm going anywhere anytime soon, so I should just bite the bullet to make it a real home, which means clearing and cleaning the debris of a couple of years and a couple of roommates.
• Change my hair! I've had the same essential hair cut since my page boy grew out in '85. I don't know if that means go lighter, go darker, go shorter, go longer, try side sweeping bangs again, but good Lord, I need to change something.
• Watch less TV. There's nothing I love more than reading gossip blogs and having first hand knowledge of everything mentioned, but sweet Jesus, it takes a lot of TV time. I'm gonna turn in the remote.
• Convince the BF to get dogs (yes, two, because I will never go through the heartbreak of losing a dog through a break up ever again). 2010 is the year!
• Get the Jeff Dunham show canceled. Oh, sweet. Check.
• Dress up at least once a week. I own probably 15 pair of heels that have never seen the pavement. I feel like an ass when I'm gussied up, but as a 28 year old woman, I'm certainly old enough to dress up whenever I Goddamn well please. So, I will.
• Polish off the ol' resume and see what's out there. Let me know if you want to hire me. I'm good at general all around awesomeness.
• Do everything I'm supposed to when I'm supposed to. Like teeth cleaned exactly every six months. Library books returned on time. Birthday cards sent out in at least the correct month. That sort of thing.
• Stop sucking at blogging. My life has become super routine, super boring, super blah, which is probably a good thing, considering how things were a few years ago. But, this year, I need to kick it up a notch. Surely there's something left in my brain, right?
• Try not to cry every time I see the ASPCA commercials.
• Cook from recipes instead of my head. I can make a handful of meals pretty fucking well, but my repertoire is pretty limited. So, this year, I will put my cookbook library (seriously, I have like 30 and haven't even read through half of them, it's an addiction) to work and learn some new tricks.

So, pretty mundane shit, I know.

x-treme ultimate sadness

Yesterday, I was leaving work around lunch and totally backed into a parked car behind me. I just threw it in reverse, looked behind me, didn't see anything that second, and started moving. It was only when I could feel the car meeting some kind of resistance and see the horrified look of the woman whose car door I was crushing before I realized something wasn't normal. BLAST! I haven't been in any sort of incident for over 10 years. 10 years! And now, my rate's gonna get jacked, I can't afford the deductible to fix the damaget my (new!) car, and my parents are disappointed in me for being a 'tard. The moral of this story is, Toyota Matrix's have fucking huge blind spots, so beware. Also, don't sit in your parked car along a no parking yellow lined curb unless you want someone to hit you.

brief letter

Dear Words With Friends,

Please give me my boyfriend back.

Thanks,
Bee

So... there's a motherfucking blizzard, y'all.

Dude. For once, the high lords of plains weather got it totally fucking wrong. Three to five inches? I don't think so. Let's try 12 to 14. And wind! Blowing snow everywhere! The state has gone apeshit. The governor closed all the roads. Every.Single.Road.In.The.State. They're setting up shelters along the major highways for stranded travelers. Boo. If I lived close enough to the highway, I'd go invite people to stay the night in my cozy wozy house in exchange for beer. That's right. While my genius mother stocked up on TP, water and pasta, I forgot the golden rule of potential natural disasters. GET BOOZE! The BF and I are draining a bottle of some sort of German fortified wine that you heat (delicious!!!), but soon it will be gone and we will be left with our personalities or four bottles of apple flavored Smirnoff Ice. I want to walk to the gas station about a mile away for a rack of 'stones, but K says no. It's Christmas Eve, so maybe there will be a Christmas beericle, but I doubt it.

In the meantime, we bundled up like retarded yetis (no we didn't, I left my snow boots, real winter coat and gloves at my folks house, so I'm wearing pajama pants and old gym shoes with some awesome knee high wool socks and a hat some cousin left one time) and bounded about our pristine street. We walked up and down the street, unable to retrace our own footprints because of the blowing snow. Yay! Is it weird that this makes me totally happy? I don't like the part about being away from family this eve, or all of the car carnage out there, but I love snow and cold and white and sparkling and condensation on the windows and rocking legwarmers and drinking mulled wine and snuggling in my new Snuggie and wearing out my Netflix subscription. K is frying corn tortillas he found in the fridge (we literally have nothing else - we had planned to be house sitting and cleaned out our food) and has declared them the Christmas chips. I don't know what that means, but the smell of corn and salt is beckoning. Merry Christmas.

P.S. Gary England has been suspiciously absent today. Hmm.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. Please. So I don't have to go to Woodward, OK on x-mas day.

Word on the local news weather street is that there's a big ass storm headed to the OK. By big ass I mean 3 - 6 inches. WOO! Kids play in my book, but everyone's fucking flipping their shit around here. My mom made my dad go buy TP, bottled water and the makings for lasagna in case we get snowed in tomorrow night and can't enjoy our ceremonial Christmas Eve dinner at Outback. I am dead fucking serious. This has been going on for like 10 years now. My brother gets two orders of cheese fries. It's disgusting.

Right, so I wish I had a fireplace. And I wish it would really snow a shit ton. I miss waking up to the sound of plows beeping and scraping up and down the streets foretelling the glorious white mounds of winter wonder.

Christmas brings out the worst in me, but this year I managed to purchase a relatively relevant gift for those in my immediate life as well as string up some ornaments (no tree) and a couple of lights from a window. I know, right?

Also, I'm now even lamer and older than ever before. My parents asked me what I wanted this year, which is retarded since they bought me a car and probably shouldn't purchase anything for me for about the rest of my life (although, I still pay a pretty penny each month for my student loans...), but I obliged and provided them with the most boring, sensible list of old person stuff ever.

Cook's Illustrated recommended toaster

Nike Triax +12 running shoes

matching flatware

comforter cover

Cuisinart hand mixer

I know, right? LAMEST CRAP EVER. What I really wanted was this, these, this bad ass, these guys for my living room, and a weekend trip here with the BF. Being old and sensible sucks. And poor. Being poor sucks too.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

If you need me, I'll flatironing my hair in the tanning bed.

Surely, you've heard about Jersey Shore. It's truly miraculous. Mostly because it's on now that IASIP and The League are kaput for the season. Even the BF is mesmerized by the the awesomeness that is Jersey Shore. I can't really say anything without sounding like a total ass, so I won't. I will say that I'm jealous that all the kids have nicknames. I always wanted a nickname. I never got one. When you have a weirdo first name, I think you're precluded from a nickname since everyone's still trying to figure out how to say your first name. But no more! Behold, the Jersey Shore Nickname Generator. Enjoy.

This was my first result, I shit you not.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Handbellz Rule Edition.

Yes, I'll admit it. From sixth grade through my senior year in high school, I was a handbell playing fool, yo. I even went with my group to competitions and stuff. For realz. I've long thought handbell choirs are one of the greatest mechanisms for teaching people to be a team out there. Basically, a choir consists of a multi-octave human keyboard with one person accounting for maybe four notes total. So, every single person is crucial. There's rarely doubling, so when you're not there or sucking, it stands out, hence the terrific opportunity bells create for group work and commitment. Also, yes, I am lame. I wish I could write music. I would arrange "I Will" for handbells because it's my favorite song AND handbells, well, rule. Anywho, check out this installment from Improve Everywhere featuring some handi (not that kind) action. Agent Davis is a childhood friend. Awesome!

Jean Visitation Hours Saturdays, 1 - 4 PM

Immediately post breakup 06, I dropped like 25 el bees fucking overnight. Like snap your finger and bam! Best.Diet.Ever. When that happened, obviously, I had to get some new threads. I still find all of this mystical and amazing since I was drinking more alcohol than I can remember, which equals some serious calories, but anywho. Now that's been over for a long time and I'm happy again, which means the poundage has creeped up a bit rendering those old jeans useless (I refuse to sport a noticeable muffin top while standing, at least). But just by a little. So, every time I go to my parents house to walk my/their dog, put up Christmas crap, or help them with anything involving the internet, I sneak in to the closet of my old bedroom where I stash the crap I don't want at my house and am too cheap to pay for storage and pull out my old jeans. And try them on. I think one more trip and they're all going to fit again! So, yes, I visit my former jeans once a week. Weird, I know.

let the parties begin!

Larger version here.

Well, I did it people.

I recently conquered two, count 'em two fashion fears. The ever present skinny jean and boots over jeans combo. I'm hesitant since I'm what I like to call voluptuous (others might call it, well, something else) and rather vertically challenged. I can hear Trinny and Susannah, Clinton and Stacey telling me no. Really loudly. But I did it anyway! Kudos, me.

+

+

=

me catching on to a trend that surely almost over.

blergh

i have the wintertime sadfaces. big time. for no apparent reason. i'm a joy to be around. ask anyone.

All I do is watch 30 Rock, Parks & Recreation and IASIP. I am awesome, I know.

Well, it's official.

Parks and Recreation is actually good now. Really good. Well done, Poehler. Well done.

I'll stuff your stocking, I'll tell you what.

I tried to do some x-mas shopping yesterday, until I realized I was poor. And besides, what is there that we don't already have? It's insane, really. I find myself making up problems so that I can buy the solution. It's ridiculous, really. And also, I'm flat broke. All. The. Time.

Which brings me to this: Tips 4 Poor People.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: BF edition.

BF came across this - it's on sale for $5 on Amazon - and it rulez!

Tall Boy



Body Request



Power Lunch



DUI