Hold onto your M-Fing hats, y'all.

There's gonna be a blizznado. Lord Gary must be creaming his wrinkle-resistant JC Penny pleat front slacks like nobody's business. I predict that all the hype of this freak storm will amount to about -.347 inches of snow in the metro.



I secretly hope I'm wrong and will have ample excuse to watch the Battlestar Galactica finale again tonight. Yeah, I said it.

While you were totally bored by the utter predictability of March Madness...

nothing else really happened.

I declare today Rick James Monday. I suggest closing your office door, cranking up the volume, and dancing like Morris Day and/or The Time.

Oh yes.*

Last night, Shain and I trekked to Tulsa to see the Andrew Bird show at Cain's. It was face melting, to say the least. We met L-Ma there, for her first Bird watching, but I don't think she left impressed. I think it takes a certain kind of dork to really appreciate Andrew Bird. There are lots of large words stuffed into spare songs, an obession with science and snacks, a violin with a classical bent, and a glockenspiel. Dork City, USA. I get off on his clearly ridiculous musical ability that he's not ashamed to flaunt as it's unapologetically innate.

The crowd was low key and our group bellied up to the side speaker region for a close look at the show without waging war with the front rows. It was a good vantage point, although I am officially old since the bass hurt my ears. He played lots of the new album, some of the middle albums and a few of my older favorites. His performances have the rare ability to make me totally forget what my face looks like or what my body's doing. I completely lose control over how my brain makes my face compute a reaction. I just stand there, bouncing along with this goofy gaze, absolutely consumed lurching toward eargasm. His live shows are really something. Shain said he likes the recordings better, but I couldn't disagree more. Watching him loop, listening to his compositions (because they're really pieces, not just songs) translate to the other musicians, hearing his sleepy, easy but strong voice ring out makes up for all crap music out there. Maybe not all of it, Katy Perry.

A Nervous Tic

Sovay

Heretics

Not a Robot, But a Ghost

Anonanimal

Masterswarm


It's not music for the masses, but music for the nerdy.

*I am in no way qualified to blabber on about music.

Are they fucking serious with this shit?

This afternoon, I was greeted by an email from my beloved Anthropologie (I don't actually buy anything since the expensive wares are made for people with real jobs and style and stuff) touting the newest rage in stuck up lady fashion land - the harem. Fucking harem pants. I'm not smelling what they're cooking. I refuse to pick up what they're putting down. Technically, I should like this forerunner of the Zubaz pant because of the roomy leg, crotch, butt, hips, whole-pant-except-ankle regions. I could eat whatever the fuck I want and possibly shoplift without worry. In fact, I have liked it. In first grade. For Halloween. Maybe it's a joke. Maybe Anthropologie teams with universities to perpetrate sociological studies to figure out if women are lemur enough to fall off the cliff wearing the harem because a trendy store says so. I don't know. What I do know is that they're $178.

Whine City USA/Food Dork Alert/Product Review

Whine City USA

Riddle me this. Why do people forget how to drive when it rains? It's really not any different than when it's not raining aside from flipping on a gadget in your car. People can drive while on their phone, eating a Big Mac, applying makeup, receiving head, completely turned around disciplining children, singing with eyes closed to top 40 radios and on drugs. Why not when there's a little bit of moisture in the air and on the ground. Really? I left at 7.15am this morning to drive 17 miles on a major highway. I got in at 8.20. Boo.



Food Dork Alert



Orangette. You want to go to there if you like cooking, food, recipes, sumptuous pictures of food and Oklahomans. And guess what? There's a book signing at Full Circle in OKC for her new book on Saturday! Yay!



Product Review



I don't smell good naturally. You know how some people smell good no matter what? Like they have natural fabric softener in their pores or something? I am not one of those people. So I like to douse myself in things that smell well. I've been using Angel for the winter, but it's time to kick into spring (even though it's now starting to sleet and it's all dark and crud). Fortunately, a former coworker popped in for a visit the other afternoon and smelled up my office with the dreamy scent of Be Delicious, a DKNY springsweet fragrance of loveliness. Sniff me.

I'm a one-two punch of awesome.

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

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

Thanks life!**

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

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

Sabado Gigante

Apparently, the BF has one more exam type thing for law licensing, which required him to wake up before the rooster (literally, somehow, in central Norman, there is a rooster living across the street from me - fortunately, he is as lazy as I am and rarely crows before 9am) this morning. And so, I too awoke at 6.10 and couldn't get back to sleep. I relish my weekend sleep. It is more dear to me than 99.98% of what I love. But I will forgive him for two reasons. One, yesterday, he met me at the gym and since I'd forgotten to pack, brought me my clothes - including a ponytail holder. Ladies and gentlemen, remembering, without being asked, the most crucial component of workout attire for a lady with longish hair, is the sign of a good boyfriend. Two, early morning boredom got the best of me and I tackled the week's worth of detriment cluttering up my house. More importantly, I was inspired to download King Khan and The Shrines* The Supreme Genius of King Khan and The Shrines for cleaning music. And it's awesome. I'm especially enjoying the prescient Welfare Bread.

::early morning sad music::

Never As Tired As When I'm Waking Up - LCD Soundsystem

::recession song::

Welfare Bread - King Khan and The Shrines

::more King Khan::

Torture

Sweet Tooth

*I wish I could take credit for discovering this band, but I can't.

Everybody's Working for the Weekend

Say ah.

So, this pretty much happened today.

I'd like the crap sandwich with a side of extra crap sandwich.

Have you ever woken up one morning and realized that you haven't had a haircut since August? And then you check your mail and there's a letter from the IRS that insinuates that maybe you forgot to report some of your income from 2007 and now you owe lots of money?* And then you realize that your attempt at political humor was so pedantic that even your six year old cousin made the Kenneth/Bobby connection? And work blows serious donkey balls, but you can't talk about it because it's all confidential and shit? And then you check your 403(b) just for shits and giggles, but end up sobbing? And your deadbeat, college dropout brother has been MIA for weeks causing your mother to have a slow, drawn out series of mini nervous breakdowns punctuated by terrible cell phone reception? Also, you have a denti$t appointment in the morning, which will undoubtedly lead to a crown and public drooling.

All I've managed to do to mitigate any of this is to make an appointment to get my hair cut that I can't afford because of the taxes I owe.

*The best part about this is that I forgot to report severance pay. It's not like it was anything exciting like a salary or lottery winnings.

Not to get all political and shit, but...

I had to watch Obama's speech and Bobby Jindal's rebuttal online after I got home from work last night. At midnight. You don't think that when you go into higher education, that you'll be working from 6am to midnight, but oh well. Anyway, I'm not sure if it was because I was barely lucid or if there is a real similarity, but... Bobby Jindal = Kenneth from 30 Rock.

Let's compare photos:

Kenneth

Bobby

Here are some clips. I especially appreciate the "oh God" courtesy of MSNBC. That Matthews.

Bobby

Here's the full speech.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Kenneth




Seriously? Really? Seriously?

Today's the day!

Good luck, BF!

Live Blogging the Oscars

Ok, not really. It's 10.13pm, CST. So far, I'm underwhelmed. I'm also confused by the "musical" numbers. Especially this one where Queen Latifah sings for the dead people. It's morbid, but the dead people montage is my favorite part of the show. It reminds me of high school graduation. Some people get respectable amounts of polite applause (Paul Newman), while others (Mort Dillman, craft services on the set of Bird on a Wire) get sporadic hand slapping sounds from seat fillers who have no idea who the poor schmuck was. I'm half surprised Jake Gyllenhaal didn't bust out an airhorn for Heath Ledger.

Check out the goods.

Also, is it just me, or do most presenters need to enroll at the Derek Zoolander School for Kids Who Can't Read Good? Seriously.

I am a bar exam widow.

The BF is days away from the bar, which means that he's studying at warp speed, creating a permanent butt imprint in his spot at the library. I can barely remember what he looks like. I do know what BarBri books look like. In any case, it's left a lot of "me time," which isn't really a great idea. Things I've been doing to pass the time so I don't drink and shop online...

• Watching copious amounts of TLC and Bravo. The BF hates these channels. Shocking, I know. I however, cannot get enough of the Real Housewives of Orange Cunty. I love to hate this show. Bitches can't say no to tanning beds, bad hair and bedazzled boob shirts. Love it. Also, I've never followed Top Chef, but now I'm in it to win it. Hootie hoo! Team Carla will prevail! And yes, I needed to watch the oldest Duggar spawn wed his virgin bride. It's anthropoligical.

• "Writing" terrible blog posts.

• Reading online snark, then feel guilty about said snark. Dlisted is my favorite source for celebrity snark. I check it more than Kate Moss has nip slips. Everything was all well and good till I was listening to Morning Edition or some shit and David Denby was talking up his new book about how snark is ruining America. Way to make me feel guilty, turd.

• Learning how to become a perfect woman. Sarah Haskins is brilliant.

• Reading about yogi warfare.

• Lusting over other blogs. Specifically Design*Sponge and Orangette and Brooklyn Bride (no, I'm not getting married, it's part of practicing to be a perfect woman.)
  

• Memorizing the lyrics to Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog

• Misunderstanding Twitter.

Save me.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Tuesday edition.

Let me tell you a secret. I don't like any new music right now. None of it. Yeah, sure I bought the new Andrew Bird album (he's coming to Cain's in March!!!*) and The Bird And The Bee, but they're not really doing all that much for me. It's kind of like getting the Guiltless™ Chicken Pita at Chili's when what you really want is the Awesome Blossom (p.s. have you seen this website yet?). Everything that's out there is a big fat meh. Here's what's stuck in my head:

You Left the Water Running - Otis Redding

Erotic City - Prince

Train Song - Vashti Bunyan (but all I can find is the new Feist/Ben Gibbard version)

Got To Get You Into My Life - Earth Wind and Fire version (I know, I know)




What the eff is wrong with me?

I think I'm going to turn things over from now on to some locals who know what they're talking about. Check out Salad Days Music.*

*Salad Days, be prepared for your traffic to soar by 0.

New York: The city that never pees.

That's the trouble with New York, no public restrooms. I blew my budget on soy chai lattes (chosen over what I'd normally drink because the state has the audacity of making consumers aware of the calories they are set to consume - gasp!) just so I could take a piss at a Starbucks (it was a vicious cycle). Such is life in the big city. Here it is, photo essay style:

This is my favorite grocery store of all time. I putzed around for quite some time, imagining a cart stuffed with delectable morsels. I actually contemplated shipping groceries home, but snapped out of it. While I was in the neighborhood, I found my way to my dumplings and stuffed my face with Sichuan goodness. Ah.


So (friend from college visiting NY by way of Germany), K (her sister) and I joined gpulp for a symposium she organized for her school. It made my brain work, which hurt.


Look! It's Harpoon UFO! Thank the Lord! I can now die happy.



I can't remember which evening it was, but gpulp checked her mail and lo and behold, there was a package from none other than M5K. It's true! It all makes sense if you read this. Even though it makes sense, it doesn't make it any less surreal that real life friends and blog peeps have intersected all over the place.


My first Pinkberry. It was pretty good. Not gonna lie.


$240 worth of pudding, try $960 worth of Mexican food, mostly pitchers of 'ritas.

I wish there were lots of funny stories to tell, but mostly it was just a nice retreat from daily life involving lots of walking, subway riding, store gawking, coat wearing, bagel eating (finally!) and sleeping in. Delightful.

Happy VD! Tomorrow!

You all know no one cares that some years ago, my heart was callously tossed into the deep freeze, eventually rendered as a lump of cyborg. Fortunately, soon after, I conned someone into hanging out with me, and my robot heart started to thaw a bit. Well, I might be fully recovered (as much as one can be) because my heart melted into a puddle at my feet when I saw this. Read about it here.

Top Ten Signs You're Not Ready to Procreate.

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

Charlotte

Valentina

Savannah

Simon

Anouk

Sebastian

Clementine

Evangeline

Annabelle

Liam

Ruby

Tabitha

Oscar

Can you imagine being named Ruby Valentina?

I'm back.

But there's a tornado in my office. More later.



I'll regale you all with tales of Awesomefest09 tomorrow.

See you next Tuesday!

I'm leaving. On a jet plane. I suppose I'll be back again. In the meantime, I'd suggest watching this. Fucking. Brilliant.



Boom! Roasted.