Otis Redding Wednesday

Sometimes, there is nothing that describes one's mental state better than an Otis Redding song.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with the most wonderful time of the year! No, not when all of my STD tests come back negative, but... wait for it... Girl Scout Cookie time! They're everywhere and they're delicious, so head out to your nearest Wal-Mart because these little ladies are sitting at a table in front, mopping up the drool from the "greeter," waiting to take your money. I only eat Thin Mints, Shortbread and Peanut Butter Patties. I am a boring purist. It would take at least $5 to get me to eat a Samoa because those things are gross and even look gross. MMMMMMMM!

Holy balls,

I might possibly have the worst hangover of my long and storied history of hangovers (How did I sustain this hangover? Two words. Beer pong. And also bars. And peer pressure. And dancing around in a garage to Curtis Mayfield.). Not even McDonald's (my disgusting hangover remedy, whatevs, you do it too) has helped, in fact, I think it hurt. Definitely hurt. All I have managed to do today is smear last night's mascara all over my pillows, give my self a rash from drooling during intermittent and involuntary naps while watching Planet Earth in a whimpering pile buried beneath my comforter trying not to vom. But you know what? It can't feel as bad KU must feel about now. Or OSU for that matter. Gundy, I thought you were a "man." And Mangina, looks like your easy ass schedule finally caught up with you. We will beat you, Mizzou, and then we're on our way to the Preparation H Fidelity Nabisco Taco Cabana FedEx/Kinkos Diet Coke with Lemon Halliburton Bowl! Which is not the championship, but oh well.

PMS: Part II

I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm kind of a little bit rere (I think Julie Gong's working to trademark this term, ask permission before using) at 114% of anything and everything I endeavor to do. Lately, I've put my mind to taking an ungodly amount of time to decide whether or not I'm in a relationship and whether or not this is a good thing. Good news! I am and it is! (You know, for now, until I fuck it up or he notices that I live at home or something.) In the meantime, I guess I've fallen into that age old trap of all your friends are belong to hating you. No one calls anymore because they think I'm busy (gettin' busy - zing!). Then they get mad if I don't call even though they didn't call in the first place leading me to believe they don't like me. Well, guess what, kids. I don't need any of you. I've got a new MySpace friend. We're gonna be eternal BFFs, like forever.

It's Saturday, I'm in Love

because Friday did that thing where someone goes, 'hey, what's on your shoes' and then punches you in the face or something. First of all, I was out of oatmeal. Bad news bears. Secondly, I'd finished the last of my Diet Coke Plus 12 pack Thursday, third(ly) my lovely work studies bailed on me leaving early for Fall Break, which left me to do my job all alone with no lunch. WTF? I left for lunch at 4.30. That's when my mom called and told me I'd be meeting her for dinner at exactly 5, because she'd had a horrible day, needed a drink and needed someone to drive her home. Great. Although I enjoyed my expensive margarita (never frozen, never made from a mix, that's just wrong), my buzz was punctuated with poignant old family chestnuts like "you never support me," "why are you never on my side," and "you don't love me because you never support me and are never on my side" when Mom was describing the trials and tribulations that come with being a professional tween wrangler. I feel for her, I do, but I try to help when I guess what she really wants is for me to shut up, nod and order another round. Lesson learned. The point of this is that Friday sucked. I'm trying again today, although today has HUGE potential suck factor because today is THE OU/TEXAS GAME!!!!!

Oh yes. The game so big and ugly it can't be played in the hometown of either team. Also, it's the biggest rivalry and game of the conference, I would argue, so sure, Oklahoma, let Texas gain all the profit of your hard work. Dallas needs more money, Lord knows. Anyway, I have a bad feeling about this. You will all hate me, but I think getting our nuts ripped off by Colorado will have not an invigorating effect, but rather, I think it's a slippery slope to OSU land from here (although, OSU is playing A&M for the Big 12 South title today because we're retarded and lost). Anyway, I have a bad feeling. Or maybe it's just about the traffic. You see, in my infinite wisdom, I have decided to drive to Dallas, not for the game per se (because I think it would be heartbreaking, also, I don't have $1500 for a ticket and my cast iron liver is more porcelain these days) but because Rilo Kiley's playing. Yay! You may hate on Under The Blacklight, but I'm into it. Also, I have a mad crush on Jenny, just like everyone else. I'm on my way soon, but probably only to spend six maddening hours in traffic, and miss the beginning of the game, because I am smart like that. So, friends, since I don't ask much of you, please please please do whatever you do to make sure your team wins, but replace your team with OU. K? Thx.

I need an adult!

In spite of being a 26 year old woman who has indiscriminately dabbled in slut a time or two (who hasn't? don't lie) and who had a BF for a million years, I have a really hard time talking about s-e-x. I mean, really hard (ha!). Like I'd rather say vajayjay or bajingo than the v-word. I snicker when I hear boner. Saying breasts is too adult. I prefer boobies. I don't know how I've managed to get this far without being able to utter simple anatomy, but here I am, red faced, giggly and squirmy. The whole thing's quite ridiculous, really and I'm certainly not proud of it. I am an educated woman who should be able to talk about s-e-x like a normal person (whatever that means), but I just can't - without laughing a little bit. Like in the middle. The thing is, I want to learn. Is it something you're born with? Because I don't have it. I think part of the problem was having a BF from high school through, I don't know, last year whose idea of dirty/sweet talking was "hey, you wanna?" later, this would be followed up with me saying, "get that away from my butt" and then "seriously, dude, get that away from my ass" and then finally, "hey, I was talking to your mom this morning about our plans for Christmas..." and then he'd roll over. Match made in heaven. I need 900 operator training. Is there a workbook? Remember when Elaine whispers dirty nothings into Jerry's tape recorder and they all fall for her? Just sayin.'

Hipster music types that I spoke ill of,

you have failed me. How come no one told me about the Dirty Projectors? I just find out about this tonight? What do I pay you for?

No More
Jolly Jolly Jolly Ego

Question: Do I On Demand last night's episode of Entourage (Which, quite frankly, I'm losing interest in. Lloyd's not in it enough, Drama annoys the shit out of me, I just want Turtle to get some, Sloan's boobs are out of the picture, Medellin sucks, etc) or dig up the ol' one hitter and try to teach myself Portuguese by listening to Joao Gilberto? This is what happens when you move home to Oklahoma. I do not recommend it. No comments, please, Shain.