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

t-day aftermath

I was searching for images to accurately capture my current state of T-day overload and came across this, which doesn't really accomplish my goal, but is sufficiently weird, so there. I came, I saw, I ate Paula Deen's pumpkin gooey butter cake*. I'm now relegated to sweat pants. Marry me.

More later, you know, when I have enough energy to type.

*Not only did I partake on T-day, I definitely liked the mixer clean when making them. OHMYGODSOGOODFUCKYOUPAULADEENFORMAKINGMEFAT.ER.

Stuffity Stuff Stuff

I am at home, lazing about on mismatched sheets (my new thing is mixing up striped sheets with floral pillow cases - I know, crazy!) enjoying the remainder of my morning before T-day preparations commence. Last year, I pretty much made everything for my fam plus the BF and a stray uncle, but this year, we're headed to the homeland (Woodward, OK) so I'm not responsible for it all, just a few items. Crudite with lowfat yogurt dip, gooey pumpkin butter cake, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and corn pudding.

But before that, here's what caught my eye and I thought I would share because, well, I'm nice like that.

NPR did one of those last minute bits on this blog, My Parents Were Awesome. It's endearing.



The Muppets are blowing up. And Rocking out.




Shoes. I like to live vicariously through those who can both afford and manage heels like these: Elle Shoe Blog.


Duh news of the day: Junk Food Turns Rats Into Addicts.

Listening to: How Long Has This Been Going On? - Ella Fitzgerald

RIP BreakUp 06

Well, it finally happened. The exbf and I engaged in exchanging pleasantries at birthday time for the past few years. Last year, it took him almost a year to respond to my fab ecard. He did, though, and wished me a good one on my 28th this year. So, I followed suit earlier this month, but nothing. No acknowledgement, no nothing. I think that means we can officially stop doing that. Which is great!*

*I would not suggest listening to Nick Cave while thinking about past relationships as I am now. Just trust me.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Amazon Black Friday $5 Special! Edition

Dudes, Amazon is selling all kinds of good shit for only $5! As if my iPod has room to store everything. Oh well. Maybe someone will get me a new one with more capacity for Jesus' b-day, but I doubt it. In any case, here's what I've downloaded so far:

A Charlie Brown Christmas - Vince Guaraldi Trio (This is a new one with more stuff. Yes, I have the old one. And the record too.

Odyssey and Oracle - The Zombies

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes - Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes

The Definitive Rarities Collection - Nina Simone

And I have plans for many more. I just need time and $$.

Also, I downloaded "Bad Romance" (Lady Caca) and "I Can Transform Ya" (Chris "Ladybeater" Brown) for the ol' work out mix. Helpful tip: if you are trying not to be such a lard ass, do not, I repeat, do not get it into your head that it's ok to eat at Greek House even if it's the first time in many months and you've been good all week. JUST DON'T.

Currently, I'm laid up on the couch like a beached gyrowhale, fending off impending heartburn from the massive amounts of garlic and onion consumed watching my favorite movie on the CW (34 local) Home for the Holidays. It's about dysfunctional families eating gross food wearing terrible coats yadda yadda yadda Holly Hunter's character makes out with Dylan McDermott's. And it got me to thinking about how awesome making out can be. Just making out. Sometimes, I think it's kind of weird, because we're adults and can get down to business if we want, etc. But there's something about making out. And the final scene of the movie.

FU TLC (or I am not unlike Andy Rooney in my hatred of all things)

Saturday mornings, when the BF is out serving the public volunteering or other productive pursuits, I like to laze about in bed, swaddled in the down comforter, space heater pointed directly at my feet, and fire up some TLC so that I can catch what I missed Friday night, namely Say Yes to the Dress. There. Now you know my dirty secret. Right, so this bright Saturday morn, I click on the new flat screen and sure enough, there's Randy*, sobbing! And all is right with the world, except for one thing. We all know that Jon and Kate Plus has hit the skids and apparently Monday night is their final show (year right). TLC has chosen to inform everyone of this with a fucking annoying countdown at the bottom right of the screen. Great! Just what I want on a Saturday, something that tells me exactly how many hours, minutes and seconds until the weekend is over and then some. Thanks TLC dudes!

And then OU got punked by Texas Tech. In a related story, does anyone want my OU/OSU tickets for next weekend?

Also, I went to see 2012 with the BF and my mom because she wanted to go as part of her b-day weekend. OH MY SWEET LORD. I really have no words to express how ridonk this movie is. Worse than Bird on a Wire and Beverly Hills Cop III combined. It was a fucking insult. Good thing my mom paid. I'll leave you with three (one hyphenated) words: No more Pull-Ups™!

But, in a related story, Amanda Peet is my new (although I've suspected it for some time now) celebrity chick crush. Girlfriend went to Columbia, was in a Seinfeld episode, starred in a movie with Steve Zahn, has an adorable bebé, and can rock bangs like nobody's business.

Some good news: only two days of work this week! Yeehaw!


*This makes sense if you watch, like me. Oh, you don't? Because you're cool and have a life? Oh. Ok.

Great story as for me.

November is known for its holiday, no? Not t-day, but Liz day. Mom declares the entire month her birthday month. Basically, she just talks about how it's her birthday month and none of us do anything until her actual birthday, which happened to be yesterday. The family (plus my lil bro's GF and my BF) gathered at her favorite restaurant in town (which also happens to arguably be the nicest restaurant in town) to commemorate her umpteenth 35th birthday. [Brief back story: my brother worked at this restaurant for three years or so and knows most people who still work there, including the bartender, which also happens to be the youngest brother of L-Ma.]

While awaiting our entrees, we decided to think of the most awful drink one could order to be jerks. Dad busts out his iPhone and finds an article that says Manhattans, cosmopolitans, mojitos and lemon drops are the worst, but the BF pipes up that maybe we should order a Cleveland steamer. I had a personal record scratch moment, but everyone else just kept talking. About Cleveland steamers. Because they had no idea what they were saying. Until Dad looked it up. But not before practically screaming Cleveland steamer several times within earshot of small children (not that they would know, but kids sure do grow up fast these days). Soon, Dad is showing Mom the definition from Urban Dictionary on his iPhone. They're both laughing and Dad is compelled to mention dirty Sanchez.

SWEET JEBUS! Who are these people?

I'm not sure if the BF was trying to find a way to embarrass me or my family into ending things or what.

Help me internets (please).

How do you know it's the right time, or at least a relatively ok time, to get a dog?



I really, really, really, really, really, really, reallyreallyreallyreally want a dog. Like bad. However, there's always an excuse not to commit to the whole thing. Like, they're expensive, messy, smelly, poopy, peey, furry, sheddingy, dirty, disobedient and potential relationship enders. All kinds of relationships. Ones with shoes, yards, fences, corners of couches, landlords and more.

On the minus side, I work about 20 minutes (with no traffic) from where I live, leaving me little time at home mornings and evenings. My typical schedule has me leaving the house about 7.20am and returning about 7.30 - 8pm. That's a lot of time away from a pup. However, I do have BF who offices at home, so it could be doable...

On the plus side, I am sure that I was more active without even trying when I had Zealand (dog lost to breakup '06). He was a big, goofy guy who needed lots and lots of walking and interaction with other folks and animals. So, there I was, day after day, him dragging me through the two mile loop at the dog park. Two miles a day, rain or shine, winter or summer adds up to a healthier me.

And yes, dogs are pricey, but I think the act of financial restraint and saving for something other than yourself is a worthwhile pursuit.

I feel like if I wait for everything to properly align, the soonest I'd get an animal is when they bring kittens to the old folks home.

So, in closing, I'd like one of these please.

Dear boots, now that I have you, I have no idea how to wear you.

Congratulations, me! I am now the proud owner of two pair of boots. The aforementioned black heeled boots, and now a pair of flatish brown boots. I literally have no idea how to properly wear either pair. I had grand visions of pairing them with stylish skinny jeans and dresses with unique tights, but at the end of the day, skinny jeans involve the word skinny and tights are, well tights. So, yet another trend fail.




For more on trend fails, see my battles with skinny jeans, dresses and leggings, dresses over jeans, flowy tops, ironic Converse, dark nail polish, and sideswept bangs.

Things I hate #83

Pumping gas when it's colder than a witch's titty out there. HATE IT. I pumped approximately 0.98 gallons just so I could get home. I'll deal with tomorrow's commute tomorrow. When it's still just as cold. BALLS!

Goodnight, Sunday.

Yesterday, I was watching TV on the local NBC affiliate when Linda Cavaneck started talking about some sort of supermarket sweepstakes thing. Not sure what the rules are, but you could win either a $200 gift card or a grocery grab shopping spree! Whee! So, I started thinking, what's the best strategy for one of those things? As if I would win. Anyway, I decided I'd hit up the spices aisle, rake all of the olive oils and expensive vinegars into my cart, grab up all of the nuts, hit the specialty cheese case and then sprint over to the health and beauty section to stock up on razors (they're fucking expensive and only four blades, nothing like these bad boys) and then snatch up all of the Excedrin I can find. The whole scenario would be choreographed to mimic the season five, episode four of Designing Women, "Miss Trial", where Julia serves on a retarded jury, but more aptly, Charlene wins a free for all shopping spree at a record store and invites Suzanne to be her partner. Pastel sweatsuits are deployed. Brill.

Love you ladies!

And that's what I'm thinking about this Sunday evening.

Seriously, what is up brain?

Last night, I went to sleep. All normal like and stuff. But, my night brain went to work creating a truly bizarre sleep movie that I can only remember bits of.

Andrew Bird is my tour guide on a night cruise of famous swimming pools. He drops a tiny boat into still, black celebrity pools (the first was one from a movie I could recognize in my dream, but can't remember now) and we paddle in a circle while he narrates the history. And he talks exactly like he sings. Here's a sample from the song "Sovay."

I was getting ready to consider my next plan of attack
I think I'm gonna sack
the whole board of trustees
all those Don Quixotes un their B-17s
and I swear this time
yeah this time
they'll blow us back to the 70's
and this time
they're playin Ride of the Valkyries
with no semblance of grace or ease
and they're acting on vagaries
with their violent proclivities
and they're playing ride
Ride of the Valkyries
sovay,sovay,sovay
all along the day

Right, so, he paddles about, using newly created words to expound upon water and whistling. Very AB*. Suddenly, my mom is there, but she's a cartoon version and looks like Meg Griffin with Sideshow Bob hair. She wants to get off the boat because we've come to a stop at whatever hotel/monstrosity in Vegas has the "Venetian" canals and gondoliers.

I wake up thinking that Sideshow Bob's hair really isn't all that much unlike my mom's.

*Listen to "Armchairs." This was the only version I could find. I don't know who or what this is, but it's decidedly less weird than my dreams. Also, this song is good.

Oh you

Eldridge, English and Jones out for OU

=

+

Do you want your heart ripped out by a song?

Then listen to this. It's been haunting me.

I Love You, But Goodbye - Langhorne Slim

Things I've been thinking about

• What are the dudes doing that just chill at the gym? You know, the ones that just pace around machines with their workout clothes, but absolutely no intention of working out except to adjust a seat, sit down, then get up again? Are they just scoping people out? The problem is, I stare at them and all their weirdness, which I'm sure they take as me staring at them because I'm into them. What I'm really doing is desperately trying to do anything besides think about how many minutes are left.

• My seriously fucked up dreams. Ones in which my mom gives birth to a kitten. One in which my boss's daughter has progeria. One where my boyfriend is pregnant and I'm super pissed because I thought he was on birth control. Another one with Philip Seymour Hoffman on a boat. One where the spider from Charlotte's web turned evil and promised to kill me, someday, so I spend the rest of the dream scared shitless that a talking spider is trying to murder me. What is up, sleeping brain?

• I've decided that "Modern Family" and "Park and Recreation" are, in fact, worth watching. Also, let me profess my secret love for "Castle." Imagine this in my Oprah voice - LOVE IT! It's truly terrible. Bad acting, stupid stories, a horribly appointed apartment, but still, fuck me if I'm not watching Monday nights at 9.

• The $8 car wash is definitely better than the $5 car wash. Worth all 300 extra pennies. The black 'trix is still shining.

• I'm enjoying September in November. It's been sunny and 70sish all week. Had I not had a vomit inducing, brain melting migraine for two days of it, I forgot where I was going with that. Migraines suck (but are always better when referred to as meegraines).

• I'm afraid of watching and not liking "Precious."

• I like to listen to these songs:

Bitter Heart - Zee Avi

I Don't Know What To Do - Pete Yorn and Scarlett Johansson

And It Spread - Avett Brothers

Horchata - Vampire Weekend

Johnny Got A Boom Boom - Imelda May

Home - Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes

Roots of The Industry - Hoots and Hellmouth

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: The madness continues edition.

Right, so, I've been really, really, really trying to incorporate at least 30 minutes, if not an hour of cardio daily in my effort to not be such a lard ass. The up side is less jigglyness and realized value of super-expensive running shoes. The downside is a continued proclivity for TERRIBLE FUCKING music. I mean, craptastically awful. Check this shit out.


I'll be honest, I don't know who half of these people are or how I hear them. Except the old school Shakira. I heard new school Shakira and she was talking about being a wolf or something retarded and I flashed back to awesome Spanish class era Shakira and took an iTunes trip down memory lane (expensive). But, turns out "Estoy Aqui" good running music. So, there you go. Also, if there's anyone left out there who reads this (I know there are at least two and one is my mom), PLEASE HELP ME!

In a related story, I went to the OU/K State game Halloween. I dressed up as an OU fan e.g. I actually bought an $11 OU t-shirt and wore it public. Something I swore I'd never do. I rarely even wear Smith garb (mostly because people think it's a made up school). Basically, I have no school spirit for any school. I'm so much fun! Hang out with me! Anyway, it was a lovely evening, OU played perfectly for about 47 seconds, the band did Thriller, I got in some cardio climbing up and down the stadium stairs ten thousand times (we're up on row 67), and then we met some friends for a beer at Brother's on campus corner. They have cheap pitchers. Woo hoo! Since I'm trying to not be so lardassy, I'm trying to drink less. So, I actually only had about 1.5 solo cups of beer over two hours, which equals not even tipsy. You hear me? Good. I'm looking around, taking in the scene of oldsters (it was homecoming weekend) drinking it up and eyeing all the coeds in their retarded sexy anything getups. Two grey dudes are walking arm in arm toward the door. One tells the other to hold on, there's a big step here. I smile and think, someday, I hope I have a friend who will still hit the bars with me when I'm 80. Cut to us leaving. Our booth was directly in front of the front door, next to the big step. Cut to me falling off the big step and slow motion rolling onto the cold, brick floor, laying at the feet of ID checkers/bouncers and the owner of the bar. The moral of this story is, had I known that was going to happen, I'd have just said fuck it and had a pitcher. DAMN!