I can't wait to show you my reverse plank!

(That's what she said.)

Part of NoWhine09/wedding to myself means workin' on my fitness.* In addition to the gym going and dog walking/running, I've now thrown yoga into the weekly mix. I'm super excited about this because I am a woman in my mid (fine, late) twenties and my goals in life are to eat Activia, get the morning after pill, serve in wedding parties and prance around in expensive yoga clothes (see below):

There is one problem with this, though. Actually two problems. You see, yoga was developed in the mid 90s by Madonna and that chick's flat as her songs. I, however, am not. How do I put this? I've got some serious fun bags. I'm not trying to brag, but I've been bustier than necessary since about fourth grade. Middle school was a delight. Let me tell you. Anyway, yoga is hard when you got a lot goin' on up top. When I lower my head over my legs, the girls hit the ground first. Plow is life threatening. This supposedly calming activity becomes stressful. You're damn right I have tension in my back and shoulders! There's prenatal yoga, how come no yoga for ladies with somewhat substantial knockers? Perhaps I'll just take up another trendy fitness craze - rock climbing. Here I come Rocktown!**

*Fergie reference. I know.

**P.S. your new name is stupid.

I'm in love. Again.

It's been almost two years since my last relationship abruptly ended. During that time, I've moved from MA to the OK, upgraded from a Corolla to a Camry, worked for a candle conglomerate and a university, lived back with the 'rents and in my own place, all the while still unable to finish reading Salt, but that's neither here nor there. My relationship status has also run the gamut. I kind of went nuts there for a bit, seeking the company of whatever was new and exciting or around, then I settled into a relationship of convenience and even had a little fling at work. But, that's all in the past now, because I'm finally in love again. I honestly didn't think it would happen, that I was destined to long for what I had, knowing it was just out of reach. However, I'm happy to report that I'm no longer heartbroken and in a wonderful relationship. It's even better than what I remember.

This is me using the Photo Booth application on my brand new MacBook. Love at first site!

You complete me.

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)

Cringesday: Deck My Balls

*UPDATE - Cringe this: So, I was just told only moments ago that I (me!) can have a membership to Sam's (Club) courtesy of work! How happy am I?! Really happy! Why? Because, seriously, there is nothing more wonderful than buying in bulk. Last time I had a Costco membership, I actually bought white gravy mix in bulk. Oh damn. It's gonna be a good year.

You know what Christmas means to me? Besides utter disappointment and those delightful chewy peppermint candies, the ones in the plastic wrappers with little Christmas trees on them, I think they come in both green and red (!) it means that I can freely listen to Mariah Carey's masterpiece, "All I Want For Christmas Is You." Truth be told(and that's not what we're really about here, so don't get used to it) I listen to this little diddy all year. In honor of the season, I present you with a brief list of the totally ridiculous things I want for Christmas. My material gluttony is quite embarrassing.

Le Creuset Cookware - Yes, I know these items are tremendously expensive, but I am a jerk. So what.



National Geographic subscription - The exbf's dad used to get me this as an annual gift. It was pretty sweet. I guess the new chick's getting it now.

Rabbit Corkscrew - Not to be confused by the other rabbit.

Cooks Illustrated subscription - Yes. I like to read, drink and cook. Call me. Let's go out. I'm so much fun.

Cashmere leggings from J. Crew - My ass looks just like this! Except not at all. Not even a little. Dear J. Crew, really? $150 cashmere leggings? What are you trying to do to me and my bank account?



Planet Earth DVD Set - Because I don't already watch enough TV. It's educational. Blow me.

Harry Potter Box Set - Hi, I'm a totalus nerdiamus.

Expensive girly underwear from Anthropologie - since my clothes are from the clearance rack at the GAP or F21.

So, if you are planning to purchase any of these items for your favorite blogstress (more likely, you've stumbled on this page while googling "Shain's lady garden"), please email me for sizes and my address. Seasons blessings and all that crap.

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.

Everything That's Happened To Me Since Wednesday or, Sorry to Disappoint, Crimenotes:

1. Work has kicked my ass. But I also might be offered a new job, which would result in less ass kickings and more $$. In the meantime, I am boring.

2. Ultimate extreme tragedy struck. My cell phone finally bit it. Bitch snapped in half. I, of course, followed suit. I had a total and utter meltdown Friday night that resulted in me drinking margaritas at Chili's. In a related story, I have lost everyone's numbers. To most, this would be absolutely devastating, but for me, it's ok, since I only have like three friends. But if you want me to call you or not screen your call since I won't recognize your number, send me an email with your digits, yo.

3. My dad runs on bacon. Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, my dad somehow managed to incorporate bacon into every meal prepared at the old homestead (no, Shain, I wasn't eating it - jerk didn't ask me if I wanted any). Now, don't get me wrong, I love me some bacon, but it's not really all that sexy to go out smelling like Waffle House.

4. See ya C-tina! C-tina made her brief, but triumphant return to Nompton before she departed for Slovakia for 10 months. We ate quiche at La Baguette just like the old days. We bought too much food at Forward Foods. We wandered around Guest Room Records for an hour. I bought Whatever and Ever Amen and was amazed that I still know every word to every song. We had ninth grade in my bedroom. It was wonderful.

5. I saw a movie. And a good one. I think. I might be the only one, though. Eagle vs. Shark played at the Oklahoma City Museum of Art. I was obligated to like it because Jemaine Clement is in it, so. Also, there were shark and eagle costumes. And most importantly, a supremely awkward relationship. All of those things are near and dear to my heart. The theater was really quiet, so I had to stifle my laughter quite a bit. That, plus my desperate need to pee, but refusal to get up proved to be a multi-media viewing experience. I'm fairly certain my viewing companion thought I was having a seizure. Which is cute right? No? If you can, see this movie. You'll like it. Oh, and then I went to this bar you'd also like. It's called Edna's. You can drink something called a Lunchbox. At first, I thought Edna's Lunchbox was akin to the Houston Ham Sandwich or Cincinnati Bow-Tie and was quite skeptical of the suggestion (but hey - I'll try anything once), but it's actually a delicious, yet cheap drink. That and other beverages required a trip to the bathroom. Which was fun, since there was only one stall and it had no door. Nothing like having to ask a random girl to guard your front. I did get felt up, though. I somehow always do in the ladies room. I dunno.

6. I bought a book. It's by Anthony Bourdain, of course. Is it weird I only read it before bed so I can dream of not (only) him, but the food?

7. I am contemplating the end of this blog. I am either depressed or thinking about being happy. I am no longer wallowing in abject misery, which seemed to be what worked best. What do you think?

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.

I'm cured! (SEMI SPOILER ALERT - literary, not near nudity)

of the HPV(VII)!! You may now speak to me about it.

On a side note, I want to get married sooo badly that I actually almost want to get married. Like to the first person that asks. And name my kiddos Lily, James, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Albus and Voldemort. I laughed, I cried, it was better than the Da Vinci Code.

Oh Harry! How I will miss you! Until the sixth movie or until JK most certainly begins to pen a lengthy prequel.

Do you like Harry Potter? No... I LOVE him.

Live blogging the HPVII.

10:57 Scene of the Crime.

11:03 Pre-game.

12:48 (after quick trip to book store) Success!

No sleep till Brooklyn!

It's Friday, I'm In Love

with Anthony Bourdain.

I am a food junkie.

[I refuse to say "foodie" because then I just feel fat and/or like I should own cats and/or live with my husband on the outskirts of a large city, whom I met in grad school (I am studying 18th century French poetry, he is an engineer, natch) in the cookbook section (he is wearing Tevas with socks, I am sporting a scrunchie) of a local bookstore on a Friday night because we're both too nerdy to be invited out, well, sometimes we're invited out, but it's to another grad school friend's house and we're going to watch a foreign film then take one hit from someone's old roommate's (whom they hated, obvs) bong and pretend we're stoned, but really go home and read Kafka. Now that we're married, we go to Whole Foods to purchase overpriced salmon and wines we read about Married Grad Students Monthly and have our friends over for a night of Cranium and slide show of our pics from our honeymoon/research trip to Ecuador. Yes, I am jealous of you people. And I love Cranium.]

Right, so I'll eat anything. The exbf, for better or worse, ingrained this in me - well, demanded it of me, if I didn't, we'd have GINORMOUS fights (in restaurants/international markets/where ever, but always in public) that resulted in me crying AND eating chocolate dipped pickled tripe, or how I learned to stop crying and love the food. I have eaten a lot of stuff most would classify as "not fit for a toilet," but I really get off on it. Actually, I get off on it to the point of being a total snob in the face of normal things like Kraft Dinner or Lil ' Smokies. I'd rather eat an insect than a not all beef hot dog. Mind you, I'm not saying this makes me better than you, in fact, it makes me worse than you. As usual. This whole thing worked pretty well for me until I made the move back to OK. Now there is limited sushi, no credible Indian food and negligible Thai cuisine (well, that I can find), no fish monger or butcher shop, one gigantimous Asian market, but no one who will eat soft shell crab with me.

Anyway, I was a fan of food shows before (ask me anything about Ina Garten, Bobby Flay or gray salt), but now I am obsessed. No Reservations totally gets my rocks off. Anthony, with his unruly, graying hair and skin tight threadbare shirts clinging to a body that belies the chef in him leads the viewer through culinary calling cards and delicacies from Paris to cook smoke filled shacks in China - all while smoking 8,592 cigarettes and mildly toasted. It is only natural that I should be in love. Watch it. You'll see.

Also, he wrote Kitchen Confidential (one of my favorite memoirs) which unabashedly describes his ascension into culinary society through a haze of booze, drugs and rotten fish (you will rethink the idea of brunch - for a while anyway), but not in a way that leaves you thinking he knows he's too cool for school. The chaotic and nomadic lives of those who make up the underbelly of America's kitchens is better than any reality TV show. But of course, someone tried to make the book into a TV show starring my beloved Bradley Cooper, and of course, it failed. Boo.

Maybe someday I will see you at the Siberia Bar, but until then, I will watch you on my tiny TV. Alone. Oh so alone.

Whoa is me.

*SPOILER ALERT - WHINING*

Do you ever feel like a poo sandwich? I feel like a poo sandwich on rye with extra Limburger cheese.


1. I am really hoping the mirror in the bathroom at work is broken, or something. Humidity is 2000% here these days and my hair goes from super soft (not my words) to something not unlike the Friends episode where Monica plays ping pong in Hawaii. Normally, I wouldn't care since I'm not one to fuss with such things, but I'm at least trying to make a good impression at work for the first few days anyway. Shit pisses me off. Also, someone could tell me my mascara has melted down my face after I return from scurrying about campus. Jeez.

2. I just want to sit outside and drink beers on a patio. I just want to drive around in my car with the windows down. I just want to watch a movie in my bed. I want to go on a real date with dinner and everything. But, I don't really know anyone who's into that (maybe including myself). Whine, whine whine.

3. Tonight (or last night, whatever, I don't know what time it is), I was walking my dog - wait, let me back up, today marked day 20 out of 20 consecutive days of rain (or something like that - ask Gary England), so every surface is water logged. The area where my driveway meets the street is covered in a mossy, wattery goo that I promptly slid in and landed on my ass much to the dismay of Claire. Being the strong breed that she is, she dragged me about two feet before I figured out how to get up (lightning fast reflexes!!). My whole right side was covered in this kind of stinky slime. I scraped my elbow. Ow.

4. Until right now, I had forgotten that Oklahoma declared the watermelon to be the state vegetable.

5. My Monday night consisted of a trip to heaven (Super Target), a failed dog walk, reading New York Magazine, the warm glow of my computer screen and a slush from Classic 50s.

6. The 4th is as bad as New Years. I always feel pressured to be at some fantastic party/barbecue having the best time of the summer knowing that it's halfway over. Half the time I end up spending a paycheck on fireworks, then almost blowing myself up or at least starting a small grass fire. The other half of the time I bitch about the parking at the fireworks venue and wish I was there with anyone but who I'm there with.

7. Mr. Shain will undoubtedly hail this post the worst yet of my dismal, but thankfully brief (much like my love life) blogging career. I might agree, but first I will listen to enough M. Ward to tranquilize a hippo.

It's Friday, I'm in Love (except it's Thursday, but I'll be busy tomorrow)

with The Voice: Steve Perry.

If you know me at all (and no one really does because, let's face it, who would want to? I am dark and twisty, but not in a sexy Meredith Grey kind of way, in a Shannen Doherty mixed with Kathy Griffin kind of way - I don't even know what that means.) chances are you're aware that I have an unusual affinity for all things Steve Perry and/or Journey related. The Voice is ranked number one on my list of top male singers ever (he is followed by Michael Bolton, Bob Dylan and Richard Marx - j/k, my real list is The Steve Perry, Freddy Mercury and Michael Bolton) and I will argue the angelic supremacy of his otherworldly vocal chords forever, or at least until my Pop-Tart is done. While The Steve Perry has always been (a) God in my book, it was the inclusion of the poptastic hit "Don't Stop Believin" in the exquisite finale of The Sopranos that brought Journey to the forefront of American culture. Again. [Where a band this great belongs. By this I mean before Steve Perry left.] Which is great for me, because now I have a legitimate reason to engage strangers in conversation about the greatness of that song, the band and SP. I want "Don't Stop Believin'" played as my first (choreographed) dance at my wedding. I want it blaring when we sign the divorce papers. I want it blasted at my funeral. Honestly, one of my happiest memories is jumping up and down at Siobhlogger's wedding to the live band that played the SHIT out of our request. It's also the only memory I have of her wedding, but that's neither here nor there. This song makes me want to be from New Jersey. Or maybe even Detroit. This song makes me want to hop into a Camero with T-tops and get a perm. I want to spontaneously translate this song into Spanish. I wish my name were Sherrie. Maybe just my middle name.


via Matt Sears Forever via Super Deluxe



And of course...

Summer in the City

Norman, OK to be precise. I've decided to initiate a regular post in which I will suggest fun things to do in the Sooner State. I predict a max of three things per post. We'll see. I'm doing this more for myself than you (which is pretty accurate for most of this blog), but maybe you'll benefit a little. Who knows. If you live in Norman, get out there! Hell, give me a call, I'll see you there! If you don't, be grateful. This might be a horrible idea. I'm not sure yet.

Week of June 11:

Tuesday

-300 is at the dollar theater. I didn't see it in the theater and am half tempted. It's gotta be better than Hostel 2, right? Maybe not. 12:30, 4:05, 7:15, 9:50.

Wednesday-Harry and the Potters at Sooner Theater, 7.30p FREE. If you think that's dorky, check THIS out! If you're not on a sex offenders list, I would suggest at least entertaining the possibility of watching a couple of kids sing about Harry and co. It's kind of fantastic in an embarrassing kind of way. Poke fun if you must.
-Take your inner dork to the next level and learn to knit at the Happy Cat Yarn Shop.

Thursday
-Sunset Cinema - John Travolta night. Grease and Urban Cowboy for $5. Dusk behind the Melting Pot parking lot in Bricktown. I dunno. Could be interesting.
-Try some Red Hot Dutch Balls at Forward Foods. Buy some FAGE yogurt while you're there too. It's sooo good.

Friday
-Bricktown Blues & BBQ Fest @ corner of Sheridan & Oklahoma Ave. FREE! Food!
-Colourmusic and Ryan Lindsey at VZDs, 10p.

Saturday
-Farmers Market, 615 East Robinson, Norman, 8-12. Local produce and cheap too.
-Dim Sum at Grand House!
-Hosty Duo at the Deli. Always a good time.

Sunday
-Look at dinosaurs. Sam Noble Museum of Natural History. It's there. We should all check it out time to time.
-Laundry @ my house. Free!
-Black Rebel Motorcycle Club @ The Diamond Ballroom, 7p. Tickets $20. Too rich for my poor-ass blood, but maybe not for you.
-Hosty solo at the Deli. $3. Prepare to wait in line.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with Bear Grylls. Yes, it's true. I know I've been on the Les Stroud side of this battle, but I happened to catch a bit of the Bear on Oprah last night (yes, I was watching an Oprah rerun on KOCO Channel 5, which is actually channel 8 at 11pm last night) and had a little epiphany, or maybe indigestion, but I felt something. I think seeing him choke up a bit while talking about his fallen Everest co-climbers melted a little piece of my glacier heart that, so far, Les has been unable to survive by starting a fire with his underwear, a coconut and his own boogers (oh, plus his name is Bear! Bear beats Les). I do have a few qualms with Man vs. Wild, like his camera man should be recognized for his kickassedness since he braves the same treacherous conditions as Bear (likewise, the Survivorman should be praised since he lugs his shit around all by his lonesome) and there's the fact that this dude's bat shit crazy for pulling the stunts he does - but I guess that just makes me love him more. Everyone knows I love the crazies. Maybe Bear and Les should get together and do a little something (Les can run the camera). I'd like to see them survive a Friday night in the Homeland parking lot in Norman, OK where all of the rednecks circle their trucks for a night of what I imagine is Skoal, Kenny Chesney, and statutory rape punctuated with cries of "git 'er done."

Photo-off:

Bear vs.

Canadian

What this is telling you is that I am a huge dork. Yes, I stay home and sit around the house watching Survivorman and Man vs. Wild, but it doesn't end there. I love Jamie and Adam on Mythbusters with all of my useless heart (especially Jamie - did you know he has a degree in Russian Language and Literature?). I have almost every episode of Modern Marvels memorized (but I still don't know how anything works). It's a sickness. Date me!