Well, it's official.

2% pay cut, among other things (e.g. no retirement contribution match) for at least nine months. When you're as poor as I am, 2% is a big deal (like a student loan payment and/or rent). More than that, there's the idea that working your way up and through a complicated job with a huge personnel issue is rewarded by the expectation of more work for less money. Yes, I still have my job, which is good, because the Department of Education and Citibank would be pretty sad if I found myself unemployed, but what am I working for? Another round of salary reductions? Constant fear of a reduction in force? Working in HR is difficult, since I catch wind, but not details of these decisions and have ample time to obsess. Also, there will surely be exceptions to the official rules to wrangle our budget, and I will have to process them, all the while living on less myself. Life isn't fair. I know this. But I was so hopeful. So hopeful.

Right, so, do I use this as impetus to see what else is out there? Do I seriously look at grad school now that I know I'll be just as poor working as I would in school? Do I look into selling my eggs? Do I hang out at retirement centers and befriend oldies who will add me to their life insurance policies? Do I move back in with my parents and save as much as I can to fund some sort of real change? Or, do I just tread water and hope for the best since I do actually like my job, the people I work with, and am not through learning what I'd need to know to be marketable in this area. I could do other stuff, sure, but I just invested over two years learning benefits and compensation.

Ugh. Sad panda. I don't know what that means, Shain says it, so I repeat it.

a-hem

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

I DO NOT HAVE AN iPHONE.

*Apple Anonymous, obvs.

To Shain:

Starting with this one.

Love,

Blythe

Guess what, homeskillet(s)?

I finally watched Juno. It took me longer than baby Juno's gestation, but I finally did it. And it wasn't easy, either. It was late, like 9.45pm on Monday night, which is about 45 minutes past my third grade bedtime, which is also my current bedtime. I didn't think I'd make it, but fortunately, my 184 Diet Cokes per day habit made it possible. I won't bother anyone with a review because it's old news, I just wanted it known that I finally bent to the will of Ellen Page and Michael Cera. And that stripper/writer chick. Or whatever.

Believe me, you don't have to be a pregnant teen to eat like that.

In other news, I spent almost all weekend thinking up terrible recipes that Sandra Lee (busty, blond "Semi-Homemade" chick on the Food Network) would perpetrate in any given situation. It's a wonderful way to pass the time when Shain goes shopping with you and hates everything that you show interest in whether you express it aloud or not. Let's say you've rented Juno and have decided to invite a few friends over to watch. Sandra would suggest dumping several cans of peas into a blender with onion soup mix for a special babyfoodesque treat to be served in adorable sippy cups. For the main course, abortion stew is started by dumping a bag of frozen, chopped onions, canned tomatoes, brown gravy mix, one bottle of beer, six quarts of the highest sodium beef broth you can find, 8 ounces shame, two cups of relief, and three pounds stew beef into a crockpot. Let the ingredients heat on low in the crockpot for no more than a trimester - you might want to complete this step in advance. In fact, why not pop in an Arrested Development DVD while you cook. The aborted series features two of the film's stars! To finish, top each heaping serving with a mixture of one jar mayonnaise, one container sour cream, one package taco seasoning mix, two tablespoons of bottled lemon juice and a dash of MSG. Sunny D cocktails - two ounces Sunny D, three shots of McCormick's tequila, ice, two tablespoons bottled lime juice, a dash each of A-1 and Tabasco - should be served in chilled baby bottles. To create a great tablescape, you need look no further than local resources! Simply stop by Planned Parenthood for condoms to toss down the center of the table, as a reminder. Check your own medicine cabinet for extra pregnancy tests from that last scare and line them up and down the center of the table to create a faux table runner. Cloth diapers will make wonderful napkins! Start up the movie and join your companions as they watch the witty banter fly faster than the Gilmore Girls without their Adderall on the bullet train.

Mmmmmmyeeeech.

Actual Sandra Lee recipe: Italian Beef

Reason number 4,612πrˆ2 that I have to move out, like yesterday.

Yeah, I might still live at home a little bit. Let me tell you a story. There once was a beautiful little girl. Me.

I was a driven child, mostly due to fear of terrible retribution which might or might not have included grounding me from my Pocket Rocker™

or old school NES if I brought home anything less than an A to my school teaching parents. I grew up to repeatedly take the SAT, have nightmares about the ACT science section and busy myself with every AP class imaginable at my high school, all the while supplementing my CV with activities like Teen Volunteers, Mu Alpha Theta and National Forensics League. I did everything I was supposed to do, including dropping $1000million on application fees and even a couple of college visits. And then, the culmination of all of that hard work and unreasonable expectations was upon me. It was time to choose a college. It was then, after 18 years of grooming me for this expected achievement, that my parents let me in on a little secret. They were simply unprepared to pay for me to go to a college that cost $800,000 plus shipping and handling or any college really. The nerve. Therefore, as I attended this little school

(be sure to calculate this year's tuition, it is, most likely, more than your salary, ok, fine, just mine) I racked up more student loans than the GNP of most central African nations.

What is the moral of this tale? Because my student loan lenders (including the US Department of Education) fuck me in the ass daily, and not in the way I like, I still live with my 'rents while I save up. I would also like to blame George Bush, either of them really, the state of the US economy, the unreasonableness of private college tuition and my unwavering inability to accept employment that nudges me above the poverty level (I have a big heart boobs).

I was about to tell you the moral of this amazing story. So, tonight, I arrive home after a grueling day of potentially hiring and firing employees at random because I don't quite understand our new HR software, to a totally unappealing smell in the kitchen. It appears that my mother, in all of her culinary wisdom, had prepared a dinner of frozen chicken breasts stewed in a crockpot, covered with Prego pasta sauce. She was preparing boil in bag Minute rice as an accompaniament as well as canned peas. I would have included a picture, but it actually looked like tantalizing Indian food. But it was not. Not at all.

+ + + + =

I looked for, but couldn't find an image of Gremlin puke.

Let me know if you have any leads on places where poor ex-students can live safely or boxes or extra cash.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with math. Check out this equation:

+

=

Why, you ask? Well, through some sort of unholy convergence and confluence of unspeakable events not unlike the appearance, disappearance and reappearance of the McRib™® sandwich, these two lovely people (Mr. Shain - high school friend and G, college friend currently residing in NYExpensive) ate lunch together. In LA. Without me. Which can only mean they spent the entire meal psychoanalyzing my psychosis. Yay! If this world gets any smaller, I might actually have to finally go on that diet.

More later. I will finally reveal to you my recent preoccupation and whereabouts. It's top secret. It's also called Rock Band.

Cringesday: D.O.R.K.

Guess what's even worse than OKC morning traffic? (And it's really not bad because of congestion, it's bad because people in OK think the left lane is for trucks and minivans going 63 through a 70 uphill with Jesus fish stickers plastered to the rear bumber.) OKC traffic with no stop lights. I left extra early this morning to account for this possibility, but alas, I ended up tacking on an extra 20 minutes from sitting at 4-way stops as dumbasses tried to figure out how they work. WTF!? Anyway, to quash my road ragicidal tendencies, I took my morning routine to the extreme.

DearJustice (pron. justeece according to Shain),

Your hit single, D.A.N.C.E. is personally responsible for the remaining modicum of sanity I have during this time of state-wide emergency. Listening on repeat for an hour somehow really calmed my already threadbare nerves. I refuse to tire of this song, even though they played it on MTVu. Thanks weird French dudes.

As strong as you might
Working day and night
Whatever happens
Do the DANCE (do the dance)

48 hours of pure hell and an ice storm.

Hey there. Perhaps you have read of my plight. I think it's been a leading story on cnn.com, so that means it's a big deal. Yesterday, I awoke to the strange combination of snapping trees, thunder and sizzling power lines. A veritable winter symphony that Dickens himself couldn't have better written. Or something. A few hours later, the power finally went out. You were right Mike Mitchell England (only funny to native Oklahomans, apologies, also, it might not be funny to them either). Shain (for his version, click HERE) forged a path across town amidst tree debris and stoplightless traffic (what's so tough to understand about a four-way stop people?) to pick me up so we could do important things like seek out coffee, pastry and toilet paper. Shain chose to dress for the occasion by wearing a freshly pressed white button down oxford, pin-striped mid-weight pants and shined dress shoes. With no real coat - some puffy thing he claims he got in Prague or some bullshit. Business homeless chic, I say. (I had on fleece upon fleece, mittens, scarf, heavy coat, etc - like a normal person.) Anyway, we make our way to SuperTarget where in addition to toilet paper, I remember my mom has requested hot dogs in the event she was able to start a fire in our fireplace. I left her as she was frantically tearing pages out of our second copy of The Riverside Shakespeare to use as kindling, so I was skeptical. Turns out it didn't matter as all that was left on the shelves turned out to be pepperoni. Mmm. After my superhappyfuntime with Shain, I spent some superhappyfuntime with my fam in the dark. We only had scented candles. Our living room rivaled my brief stint trapped in a ventless office at Yankee Candle Co. headquarters. Ugh. However, power was returned and I finally succumbed to the migraine graciously supplied by my mother and went to bed retardedly early beneath a pile of quilts and a dog. I awoke this morning to a bevy of texts from my workstudies happily alerting me that XXX had no power. No school! Yay! I went back to sleep and continued to drool while dreaming about appearing on The Barefoot Contessa. I wish I were kidding. Work's back on for tomorrow, but after almost 48 solid hours of family time, I couldn't be happier.

That's the sadness that is my backyard and a tree that used to be more complete. It continued cracking and breaking all day till there's not a lot left.

Close up of crunchy, frozen grass. But I finally got to break out my Montrails and clomp around just like the old days of New England!

More tree sadness. And my neighborhood was pretty fortunate in that it's a cheap, newish subdivision with no real trees, just crap Bradford pears that snap like my mom when she misses her 4pm snack.

Hey, yeah, I'll just run out and grab something from the store. NOT! That's probably 1.5 inches of ice encasing my car, folks.

Hmm. Pepperoni or pepperoni? I just don't know!

Ice encapsulated holly. Pretty. Sort of.

Music for winter misery:
All That I Want - The Weepies
Cold December - Matt Costa
Sister Winter - Sufjan Stevens

It's Friday, I'm in Love

actually, more like toleration in this case. Christmas blows on a lot of levels. Last night, I had settled in for 30 Rock and a rerun of The Office, not to mention a new Scrubs (and yes, I realize I am the only person who likes and watches this show) when Mother Bee-Spot called in a panic. Yesterday morning, she awoke me to let me know I needed to be home that night to help her wrap gifts. I asked her which gifts she had recently purchased, because the shopping I had done included only gift cards. Five of them. But it was the gift cards she was stressing over. Wrapping effing gift cards. I ignored her. Back to the emergency phone call. She wants me to go to Wal-Mart (during my shows!) to pick up more ribbon so she can finish her wrapping effort. WHAT? Naturally, Shain and I head to Super Target at 10pm. Naturally, afterward, we head to Sonic where Shain orders the following: Sonic Blast with Butterfinger, no whipped cream; small vanilla Coke; five piece Cheesecake Bites (read fried cheesecake cubes). That's right. He also suggested that if anyone ever tries to assault me, all I need to do is put on a headband a la our super rere video and it will thwart any attackers. You're the best Shain. Really. I'll see you tonight. In the meantime, here's a little number that always helps me tolerate this terrible time of year. This is for you, far-flung Oklahomans. Sing it.

In which this blog is not unlike the Sooners: A post in three or some number of parts.

Act I: The season started out so promising. We had a little bit of trouble with a little bit of Colorado. But then, good news! Everyone started sucking balls! Now, including us. WTF, man. Sam! Halzle! Jesus Christ on a stick. Or whatever. I can't even talk about it. Really, I can't. Except, WTF are we paying you for, Stoops? To lose to effing Texas Tech? I don't think so. Kansas, ok, maybe because, ostensibly, they are as good as we are. Tech?!?@$*(@ You might have led us to a championship, but you've also presided over some of our worst losses. Nut up, dude. De-red shirt someone. Ask someone from the crowd to be the quarterback - like the guy who throws it through the target to win $1000 from Jason White's dealership. I can't wait to lose to OSU this week. If you don't hear from me by Wednesday of next week... A malaise fell over Norman Saturday night that not even $2.50 Shiners could and L's dad's Grateful Dead (The Jamminators!) cover band could cure. Oh, how the mighty will fall. Like this blog. One minute I'm nominted for an Oklahoma Blogger award™, the next, Sitemeter reveals that only five people read. And by people I mean Google searches for "Zach Braff's tight pants."

Part II: I can't believe I forgot to mention this! Last weekend, I left my neighborhood at about 7 to grab coffee at Starfucks before Shain and I headed of to judge a high school debate tourney (suck it). I should mention, it was exceptionally foggy this morning. Like, can't see anything. I approach the intersection where I need to make a right. I have a green light. As I'm gently nudging the gas, suddenly, this bike flies across through the intersection causing me to slam on my brakes (I wasn't going that fast, but still) and I come eye to eye with - guess! Wait for it, the exbf's mom! I almost ran her over! Ha! I mean, oops.

C) I have a habit of singing in the bathroom at work because, well, the acoustics are fucking fantastic in there. The lighting makes me look like old school Courtney Love, but the tiles make me sound like Kelly Clarkson. I wasn't really aware that my voice carried beyond the bathroom till I walked out and was greeted by a coworker who suggested, humorously, I choose to believe, that I save it for karaoke night. I'll show you karaoke.

4: Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday! - This is my latest commute mix.

Oh My God - Mark Ronson and Lily Allen: Oh my God I can't believe I like this song.
A Baby For Pree - Neutral Milk Hotel: What does it even mean?
The Anglo-Saxons - The Mountain Goats: Remember that cartoon show about history? I can't remember the name, but it was pretty much awesome.
I'd Love You - Sonya Kitchell: I would.
Superstar - Lupe Fiasco: I am.
Scattered Leaves - The Be Good Tanyas: This chick sounds like Shakira. But I like it anyway.
Mornington Crescent - Belle & Sebastian: This one's for you, Shain. Thanks for abandoning me. No, really.
The Temptation of Adam - Josh Ritter: Seriously! Why am I just getting into this guy now?
Blue Eleanor - Old Canes: I dunno. Just like it.
Needles in My Eyes - Beta Band: Puts me in a happy trance.
Oh Lately It's So Quiet - Ok Go: These guys are more than just a treadmill dance troupe.
Arcade Precinct - 1990s: What? Yeah, it's kind of awful.
Mansard Root - Vampire Weekend: Surprise! I'm in love with this! And they're coming to Norman!
Hold On - KT Tunstall: Yes. This has been or will be used in a comical montage featuring McDreamy, George, Izzie, and/or Addison. Blow me.

Section 5.1.3: The WGA and corporate TV America have got us by the balls. And we are letting them. Did you know that The Office is probably over for the season? The last new episode aired last week. Scrubs might not finish the series (Will JD and Elliot end up together? Will we ever meet Kelso's Edith? I just have to know!). And so on and so on with shows from Comedy Central to the CW. And we are letting them. So, I propose a strike against TV in general. Fuck them! We can read! Knit! Ride bikes! Smoke weed and look at fish tanks! Poetry readings! Concerts! Shows! Blogs! TV? We don't need no stinkin' TV. I'm totally serious. Until The Real Housewives of Orange Cunty are on. I love that show.

Act VI: Happy Birthday Mom! You said you don't read, but I know you do. I'm glad you were born so you could bear me.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday Except On A Tuesday & About TV Instead Of Music

Yeah, so this blog has been sucking hard core lately (and not in a good way). I know. You don't have to humor me (Shain). It turns out I'm quite terrible at balancing more than a couple of things in my life that require more than the attention span of your average Hills character. Also, my writer's off striking for the WGA and has been preparing for about a month. In support, I thought I'd come up with a list of TV shows to watch as the reruns will most likely begin at some point. Unfortunately, this blog will go into reruns too, so get ready for that post about how thongs make my butt hurt any day now. Or should I say fortunately? Semantics. Anyway, so clear out the old episodes of Law & Order:SVU and Good Eats, then get to your Netflix queue before the rest of America does. I think we're in this for the long haul.

Friday Night Lights - Duh! This show rocks my figurative balls off. Catch up and catch on.

Freaks and Geeks - Duh squared.

Arrested Development - Yeah, I've seen each season about four times each, but maybe this I won't be so stoned and/or buzzed that I'll remember. That I've made a huge mistake. By watching without being, well, you know.

The Wire - Maybe it's time to see what all the fuss is about.

The War - Dear Ken Burns, you went to Hampshire, so I feel compelled to be in your corner. For 15 hours.

Weeds - Mary Louise Parker is smoldering. Conrad is just ridiculous. Elizabeth Perkins is the best. Kevin Nealon isn't just for Weekend Update.

The British Office - And for good luck, Extras. Kate Winslet dressed up like a nun trying to lick her own nipple gets me every time.

My So Called Life - Mrs. Jordan Catalano. Someday, someday... I wish my hair smelled like oranges.

49 Up, etc. - Who doesn't love a good British documentary?

Well, it's a start. Questions? Comments? Concerns? Contributions? I think I might have to upgrade my Netflix account. The last strike went on for 22 weeks, or the amount of time I go between hair cuts. Date me! If you need me, I'll be buried under my comforter with my remote.

Oldie McBoringson

Guess what I am? Old and boring. How do I know this? The following is a list of things I either endeavor to do, or have done recently:

• shopped for two ply file folders at Office Max with Shain after we ate a sensible meal at BJs before going to Braum's for dessert
  
• got t-rashed off of three (3) watered down mojitos
• did work at home
• sat in my car to finish an All Things Considered story
• use some sort of fancy Clinique product under my eyes
• made a back up copy of my health insurance card
• got a new air filter and rotated my tires on a Saturday morning
• drove to work with the windows down instead of blow drying my hair
• watched a documentary - in a theater, then actually thought and talked about it
• took a (12) nap(s)
• drove to more than one gas station to comparison shop
• take flax seed pills (3 a day)
• bought the Blue Album (Weezer) and listened to it oh, 47 times in a row
• spent all Sundayevening grocery shopping and cooking dinner for the fam
• went to bed at 9.38pm on a Monday night

The thing that is disturbing is that I'm quite content with this. In fact, these are things I could do more of. Listen to NPR while hanging out in my bed Sunday morning? Sure. Read/drink coffee for hours at a book store? Sign me up. Alphabetize my old textbooks? Why the hell not. Hmm.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with the anniversary of this blog (but seriously, only because no one else is and I have to, it's contractual). SPOILER ALERT: this has the potential to turn into a sapfest. Either get out now or, yeah, just click the little x. But before you do, as this is my blog, I can use it for evil as well as good. In the words of Bobby Brown, it's my prerogative.

Last year was an extraordinarily bad year. I mean, mega shitteous. Coupla things: 1. tragically dumped by high school boyfriend of seven years/love of life (so I thought), 2. beloved dog Zealand stolen (and, unless you've raised a dog from a puppy, it's really hard to describe just how absolutely heartbreaking this was) as a result of my dumping, 3. sold myself out of gainful employment (long story), 4. moved back to Oklahoma from the remains of my seemingly happy life in Northampton, MA. I know people have been through worse, yes, but this was all so completely unexpected and expected. Anyway. Shitty. I started this blog while I was tinkering with spreadsheets at good ol' Yankee Candle as a way to kind of creatively get through this crappiness. A year later, it's strange to peruse the archives to see who I was and think about where I am now. Also, this is a good test to see if I know my months.

A year in the Blythe: a photographic and postographic retrospective.

September

I picked apples.

October

I went to a Halloween party in a barn. It was very New England. I do love Fall in New England. Something I already miss.

November

I met Augusten Borroughs.

December

I went home to the OK for Christmas. While Christmas is about family to most, to me it is about gifts. Too bad for me.

January

I decided to move home. Yup. That's all I'm gonna say about that. Oh, except that before I left, Party Cat (featured in November) got tape stuck in her ass.

(I suggest clicking to enlarge.)

February

I will be single forever! And ever! and ever!

March

I loved substitute teaching middle schoolers in Noble, OK. No, really. I actually did.

April

I got all nostalgic and shit.

May

Shain and I continue our tempestuous relationship.

June

I celebrated my the one year anniversary of my dumpage. Sometimes I can't believe I made it. Sometimes I can't believe I stayed with that kid for so long. Bygones! Also, L and I hung out a lot. This is when I starting thinking I would someday ask her to be my hetero life mate. This is also one of the best perks of moving home.

July

I got HPV(II).

August

I got old.

And now, well, looking back, it seems pretty mundane, but trust me. It was. Ok, seriously? It was a fucking awful year, but I think things are on the upswing. I really do. Well, as long as OU continues to dominate.

Um, yeah, so I'm kind of a big deal...

Sometimes, I check Sitemeter to make sure my mom's not reading as per our legal agreement. Guess what I learned when I logged on today? Bee-Spot has been nominated for a 2007 Okie Blog Award! I know, right? Obvs this is award winning blog (potentially/not). No? That's not what you were thinking? Oh. In any case, I'm truly surprised as I didn't threaten anyone to nominate me or anything. Not even my mom. I'm not sure how it happened (or why Mr. Shain didn't stop it because of his unbridled and unrivaled jealousy), but I'm relieved that I can now wear my "I'm kind of a big deal" t-shirt legitimately. And really, it's just an honor to be nominated because the bloggers of Oklahoma would have to be crazy not to vote for the The Lost Ogle, my favorite site re: the OKC.

Reuinited and it feels so good?

Top two reasons I'm glad Shain is back in the OK:

1. He brought me figs from his fig tree in Cali. So sweet! The figs, not Shain. He's generally an assface. We ate them while drinking at The Library. Our waitress thought we were crazy. Look at how much fun we had!

[Shain, send me your caption.]

[OHG! I am having so much fun talking about the philosophy department of OU! Also, I might have a lazy eye. Sexy time 4.]

2. He sent me a color-coded PDF of our potential yoga schedule with the instructions to print two copies, one for my office and one for home. He knows me too well.

Cringesday on a Monday: Birthday that never ends edition!

Hey everybody, come and see how good I look! -- Ron Burgundy

I've never really been on the receiving end of a digital gift before, but this year, I got four! I will share three with you because one was deeply personal and quite filthy. One is cringe-worthy, one is a direct Cringesday contribution, and one is, well, I need your help with the last thing.

* Click here for more. You'll have to download it (it's a power point). This is as blog savvy as I get and I had to have help.

* Click here only if you want to ROTLFLMAO like a LOTR NAACP AARP CBS. Siobhlogger's outdone herself. Cringesday GOLD! Here is a preview.


* This was sent to me by someone that I don't know all that well, yet he somehow managed to distill my entire personality into 30 seconds and some graphics. So, do I marry him or file a restraining order because he's clearly stalking me? Which is sexy, of course.

Cringesday!

UPDATE!

Take a look at Stew's contribution here.

And, who's this? Oh, it's Julie!

Julie says: So this picture was taken in 6th grade and my gym teacher who was also the yearbook in charge lady made me wear that shirt and hang on the monkey bars. Unfortunately that is my shirt. I think it had something to do with basketball. I never played basketball. I just stole it from my Aunt. My friends still tease me about it. It's really a good time. I can't wait to be embarrassed. Yea!

p.s. blogger and i.e. are not friends (i am work where they've never heard of firefox or something), hence this post now looks like it rode the short bus today.

*********************************************************************************

Hey folks. I told you it'd be back. Lest you forget, last week I posted what I thought was a horrifying picture of myself with a mullet. I realize now that this was a mistake because any picture of a five year old girl with a mullet is intrinsically cute. It's a law or something. So, friends (this term is used very loosely, of course), this week, I have decided to kill two birds while stoned. I will both embarrass myself and shed a little light on the weird relationship between Mr. Shain and I (which has been requested several times by many people, or once, or never - I don't really pay attention).

The year is 1996. The music is "Who Will Save Your Soul" by snaggle tooth Jewel and "Wonderwall" by Oasis. The movie is the re-release of Star Wars. The jeans are Guess. Awesomeness all around.

Mr. Shain and I find ourselves attending West Mid High in Norman, Oklahoma. We are in Mrs. Barse's yearbook class. I have no idea what compelled me to sign up for yearbook the previous spring, but apparently I did and there I was and Shain was the editor. I have no idea how that happened either - we've all (well, five of us) seen his typo riddled excuse of a blog. Anyway, I hate to speak ill of the dead (fine, these people aren't dead, but I haven't seen the majority of them for years), but they were mostly kind of re re (thanks Julie!). Shain and I, sensing that we were bound for the greatness we are currently living (oh, we're not?) bonded over, I don't know what, being a-holes, I guess. Bottom line, Shain has been giving me shit since 1996 and I can't seem to get enough of it.

This is Shain's "autograph" from the signature pages of the yearbook we created. Notice he takes up a whole page. Notice he writes in block letters. Notice his phone number. Call him!

Ah. The yearbook staff in all its glory. Oh, look at that girl in the striped shirt with the horrible bangs and terrible posture. Clearly, she will grow out of that ugly duckling stage and into a beautiful swan. No? She doesn't? That's unfortunate.

Now it's your turn. Send in a school picture, seventh grade journal entry, high school poem, etc. You'll feel better. I'm here for you. To laugh at you. I mean with you.

Dear Shain (letter #3 in a series):

Why did you have to post this picture on your blog? Although we communicate all day via email, gmail chat, (other people's) blog comments sections, telephone and telepathy, I still find myself checking *The Life & Times hundreds (4) of times a day. Lately, I have been greeted by this mesmerizing image. 9.5 times out of 10, I find myself pulling a Super Troopers muttering "enhance, enhance, enhance" while enlarging the image on my screen much to the dismay and concern of my coworkers. What does this mean? I can't look away.

Love in Christ,

Blythe

I am rarely surprised by geography, and other stories.

There are a lot of things I should be thinking about - e.g. should I up my employee contribution to my TIAA Creff biznass to .5%? Did I remember to turn off my flat iron (ha! j/k - I don't even own a hairbrush - sexy!)? Do I need to have an intervention for Mr. Shain's meth habit that he continues to publicly deny? Am I contributing to the slow death of Lauryn Hill's children because I am listening to The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill all the way through for the third time tonight? But no. I'm not thinking of that stuff. Instead:

• I am 94.28%* sure I could school most people in the World Series of Pop Culture extravaganza currently dominating the Video Hits 1 line up in the absence of a show featuring the Monique, Brooke Hogan or some stupid breaking news segment urging me to check out new and upcoming artist Amy Winehouse - yeah, got that memo years ago. Ok, fine. Today I learned that there are a lot more Val Kilmer movies I'd need to brush up on, but other than that, I'm all set. What I am not so sure about is that I could come up with a suitable name for my team. So far, I'm all about The Moops. Maybe it's already a name, maybe it's not, I don't really care, I think it's pretty solid.
  

*this number is actually more like 3%

• Speaking of pop culture, why is Doug Benson, the Pop Culture Bachelor, on America's Next Top Chef/Model/Comic/Posh Beckham/Bret Michael's Charm School of Survivor Pirates Who Think They Can Dance Idol? The Benson's (me, Doug, Brendan, George, and Lloyd, although he was a Bentsen [but it's ok, oh, and he's dead] gotta stick together!
  

• A girl has needs, right? Right now, mine include fantasizing about Colin Meloy and Ben Gibbard fighting it out for the last pair black rimmed glasses while Rivers Cuomo and I make out.

• I spend a lot of time in my car these days. I need a stellar commute mix. I've been almost killing myself and many others daily in the greater OKC metro by trying to both drive and work the iPod because I am tired of every other song I've got at the moment. While I am driving, I also think about how much I hate driving and wish I could have some sort of excuse to not leave right at 5.30 so as to avoid road rage inducing rush hour in which I watch bike riders move faster than me - no, there are no cyclists in OK. I see four options, all improbable:

1. Go to the university gym and like run or something, I guess.
   
2. Create my own happy hour or crash another. But I'd have to have friends in the OKC area for this one. Not happening so far. Actually, I drink at home alone, so what's wrong with drinking alone at a bar in downtown OKC, right? It's fine...
   
3. Go to the rock gym. This doesn't necessarily require friends and it's quite close to my place of employment, however, it does require me to get up off my ass, dig out my harness, dust off my shoes that only bring back memories of Chinese foot binding-esque pain*, and whore myself out for a belay partner.
4. Find someone to sleep with, as suggested by C-tina, near said place of employment. She requires that they have at least 600 thread count sheets. Let me know.
   

*I can say this because I was an East Asian Studies major - whatever that means.

• And finally, my 26th b-day is quickly approaching. What does one do at this age in celebration? This time last year, I'd just been dumped and spent my actual day of birth curled up, sobbing on my bathroom floor while on the phone with the exbf who was pleading with me to let him come to my birthday dinner because he would feel left out otherwise. I'd rather not do something like that again. Maybe I'd rather do nothing. Do I have to do something? I've been having extravagant birthdays since, well, birth and I'm kind of over it. Of course, I only say this because I know someone is planning a HUGE surprise party for me! No, I know. I've got a business card, health insurance, a dog, soft hair, car, one nice pair of shoes, and a couple of friends I haven't completely alienated. What more could I ask for? A pony.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with nothing. (Well, maybe myself, just a little bit.) I do know what I am not in love with, and one of those things is this "feature." I've been working on upgrading IFIIL to Casual Porn Friday, but I always get so sidetracked when I do research that I just don't think it's going to work out. For you. It's working pretty well for me. Anyhoo, I'm stealing Mr. Shain's Friday Confessional. The following five things I wouldn't reveal to anyone, except you, dear reader(s), and of course Google searchers.

1. Once, I had a sex dream about Patton Oswalt. And it was effing hot. I mean, hot enough that years later I still remember it. Hang on a second. Ok.

2. I will eat yogurt months past the expiration date. Don't give me that shit. It's fucking disgusting to begin with. Who cares how old it is.

3. Speaking of music, I literally tear up every time I hear Danny's Song by Loggins and Messina. I think I want it played at my wedding right after Don't Stop Believin. If you are ok with these song selections and my inability to love, I will marry you immediately.




4. While at Smith, on the way home from Quad parties, I would pee in the bushes outside of Cutter/Ziskind house because I didn't like those girls.

2000-2004 Smith Quad Dance Party Mix Sampling

Digital Love - Daft Punk
Rock Your Body - Justin Timberlake
I'm a Slave 4U - Britney Spears
Boom, Boom, Boom - Venga Boys
Move Your Feet - Junior Senior
Crazy In Love - Beyonce
Waiting for Tonight - Jennifer Lopez
Dirrty - Christina Aguilera
Get Yer Freak On - Missy Elliot
Always on Time - Ja Rule

5. This is perhaps the most shocking revelation yet. Notice how you have never seen a picture of Mr. Shain's face. That is because he doesn't exist. I began running *The Life & Times as a sort of blogging experiment. I just wanted to see what it would be like to blog as a man from Oklahoma living in LA. It wasn't as exciting as I had hoped.