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?

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.

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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

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.

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 gameday, bitches!

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OU 51 Miami 13

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*Yes, that is Mother Bee-Spot sporting a spectacular game day outfit featuring a fanny pack (ca. 1996) and warm up pants (ca. never ever). I was rendered speechless in the face of this, which, if you know me, is damn near impossible. Other highlights of the game included a downpour of rain, a downpour of my own sweat, trading incoherent text messages with Alex, no effing hot dogs at the concession stand after I stood in line for 20 minutes craving one covered in mustard that I would undoubtedly get all over my shirt because my boobs are ALWAYS in the way and I have had it with them, Mother Bee-Spot screaming so loudly she was receiving snarky looks and glares from our stadium neighbors, me finally bailing and making L pick me up and take me for a drink. Fun times. And now, I would like to watch Michigan trounce Oregon. Assfaces.