On the first day of Zebmas his people gave to him

one adorable stuffed holiday dinner! 

We decided to give lil Z a piece of his turkey plate each day until Christmas, but we didn't really count, so... we'll give him the plate Christmas Day.  In the meantime, he's been obsessed with the roll.  He just hangs out with it in his mouth, occasionally giving it a squeak.

In a related story, Z-pain's b-day was probably a couple of weeks ago if when we got him (February 2, 2010) he was around nine weeks or so.  To celebrate, I'm going to bake him some puppy pumpkin biscotti now that holiday break has officially commenced (12 day weekend ahoy!).  Well, it commenced when I peaced out of work at about one this afternoon because we FINALLY finished the hellacious end of year payrolls, but I think it starts now since I just roused from my Snuggie™ incuded nap. 

The point is, happy birthday and Merry Christmas Zeb!  You're my favorite.  (For now.)

I'm so peternal, it hurts.

So, I think that instead of lady ovaries, I have lady dog ovaries. Seriously, I cannot watch that Sarah Mclaighskdjan ASPCA commercial without sobbing (I'm not kidding - do not look directly into their eyes!). I have to be dragged away from the open box full of wriggling puppies at the farmer's market. When I am sad and lonely, I log onto petfinder.com and get sadder and lonlier because none of those pups will be mine. It's not like I don't have (or have had) a dog. Claire is kickass in her own way, but belongs more to my parents now than me. There was also Zealand, who was tragically lost to BreakUp06. And yeah, this is probably not the best time to have a dog. I work 60 hours a week. My relationship is only a year old and probably isn't dogproof yet. My landlord kind of said no dogs in the lease. That said, I want a puppy, damnit! Clearly, I've forgotten all of the literal shit that goes along with raising a dog and what little assholes they can be. I've lost countless shoes and undergarments, but I still want one. Bad. So bad my heart hurts. Ouch.

I

Love

You,

Puppies!

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.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

Dear Claire,

You are, in spite of being totally neurotic and possibly part dingo, the best dog in the world. We've had probably the most continuously successfully relationship these past seven years that I've ever had. Yeah, you eat your own puke, but you're also eternally excited to see me when I return from a trip to the grocery store (to buy diet coke and stupid girl magazines, most likely) or from being away for an entire semester. Much to my relief, you have aged beautifully and healthily. This was confirmed by the vet a few weeks ago - the best teeth she's seen in years! That's my girl. You whimper and squeal with excitement like a puppy even when I'm just putting my socks on, in anticipation of a walk. Your enthusiasm is simultaneously annoying, ear drum busting and totally endearing. You seek me out during thunderstorms or when someone's vacuuming because I assume you're scared, which is weird, but I like it. You have bat ears. You are them most aesthetically pleasing mutt I've yet to encounter. You have horrible manners. You refuse to eat vegetables or grains unless they're doused in butter or cheese. You could be a professional watch dog. For better or worse, our evening walks are often the highlight of my day. You have a white diamond shaped patch of fur right in the center of your forehead. You always wedge yourself between me and whoever might be on my bed (mostly Lacey, and we're watching Project Runway or A Shot at Love with Tila Tecrappo). I will be forever grateful that I summoned some figurative balls and lied to my parents about finding you on the side of the road in Noble, Oklahoma (we both know I really picked you out from a pile of wriggling puppies caked in red dirt at a farm with a Jolly Green Giant Statue on the front lawn) when I brought you home as an eight week old puppy New Years Day 2000. Your head is laying on my knee right at this moment. I can feel you breathing through my jeans. You melt my heart on a daily basis. It might be silly, but I love you.

It's not me, it's me.

I've got a secret to reveal. You might be shocked to know that I've been in a relationship for some time now. It started off really sweetly - you know, just hanging out, laughing, liking ALL the same things, blah blah blah - it was amazing, I was in love. But recently, I dunno, I'm just not feeling it. Things are kind of getting a little stale. For example, the other night, we went to bed at 9.38pm and we were happy about it. Last night, we hung out and did laundry while drafting a spreadsheet of our fall TV viewing schedule and balancing the books to see if we can afford the 80 hour TiVo. (Seriously, how am I supposed to watch all of this? Contenders are: Lost, Pushing Daisies, Dirty Sexy Money, Weeds, Dexter, Tell Me You Love Me, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, The Office, 30 Rock, How I Met Your Mother, Cash Cab, Tim Gunn's Style Guide, South Park, Everything on the Food Network, The Sarah Silverman Program and of course, According to Jim.). Right, anyway, I'm bored. Restless. We never go out anymore. I mean, we go out, but it's just not the same because you always have to be home early because you have a "job" now or something. And we're constantly disagreeing over my drinking limit. We never do anything fun anymore, unless you count internet research about which kind of multi-vitamin I should be taking or silently reading back issues of Newsweek at Panera Bread over a bowl of French onion soup on a rainy Thursday night. Basically, this isn't working for me anymore - and I hate to do this in public, but, self, we're breaking up. I think we need some time to remember what brought us together in the first place. I'm pretty sure it was excess booze, loose morals, cream sauces and TMZ.com. Let's take this time apart to remember why we were together, ok? It's really important to me that we stay friends. I really care about you. Ok, good talk.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with lovin.' Sweet, sweet lovin.' It doesn't take much to get a girl like me into bed e.g. a (1) PBR, kind(ish) glance, the promise of cheese flavored corn chips, etc, but it takes a lot almost nothing to keep me there. Hey, a girl has needs. I am a girl. Ergo needs. Or whatever. My needs are best met in the presence of the following albums. In the words of Ron Burgundy, my hero: "that's baby making music that's what that is."

1. Astral Weeks - Van Morrison: Need I say more? This is a sure way into my pants. I mean heart. The heart of my pants.

2. Kind of Blue - Miles Davis: Again, not much to be said here. Fuckin' genius.

3. Lovers Rock - Sade: It's freakin' Sade. She's the definition of sexytime music. Come on. Seriously.

4. Heartbreaker - Ryan Adams: Because I'll always have a little indie rocker in me. Well, hopefully not too little. ZING! (God, I hope my mother - or anyone for that matter - isn't reading this.)

5. Mutations - Beck: Perfect for space sex.

6. Between The Lines - Janis Ian: Weird choice, I know. That is all.

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 love.

Perhaps it is the alignment of HPV [the movie, people - and yes, I saw it for a second time last night and yes, I spent a fair bit of the remaining night rereading HPVI in a red and gold scarf I knitted for the occasion and no, I don't have a boyfriend] and HPVII (the book). Perhaps it is the fact that my mother's cell went dead on her week long trip to visit relatives in the "resort" town of Galveston, Texas. Perhaps it is because the first OU game's like a month away or something and I've got tickets. Perhaps it is hearing from long lost friends. Perhaps it is sleeping with my windows wide open. Perhaps it is because I had a dream where I was actually on Red Eye. Perhaps it's knowing someone else loves to hate on Dean Blevins as much as me. Perhaps it is the impending visit of my great aunt and uncle who are driving down from Tulsa to distribute their emu oil, because yeah, my relatives run an emu ranch, to Dodson's Health Foods. Perhaps it is the word "incontrovertible," which I am really enjoying right now. Perhaps it is because I have pretty decent eyebrows that require little plucking (although, I do none) because I have enough other things to worry about. Perhaps it is the grand opening of Sooner Mall's Forever 21 (aka Hooker's R Us - or in my case, me). Perhaps it is tomorrow's farmers market. Perhaps it's tonight's drink that I will get all by myself like an adult at a bar after work because I am a grown up and can do things like that if I want.

But mostly, it's this fucking song that is making my robot heart leak oil like Lohan leaks drool when she passes out in Samantha Ronson's car. Fuck you Old 97's and your Zach Braffian ways into my heart.

Question - Old 97's

Whole Addiction

Since I have made my triumphant return to Oklahoma, I have done little more than enjoy the cheap beer and bitch about the lack of Whole Foods (and watch an alarming amount of HBO and dollar movies - hang out with me, I am so fun!). I just couldn't fathom how people here lived without an olive bar, stinky cheese case, patchoulied check out kids, and the possibility of buying in bulk. In fact, when friends visit places that do have a Whole Foods, they know to provide immediate documentation for fear of retribution.


This was snapped by Lacey on a recent trip to Beantown (although, I don't know which one this is - I always went to the one in Cambridge). She also picked up some lovely organic soap and two lip balms (vanilla with honey and tengerine!) of the Whole Foods brand - which I immediately used to replace my current soap and lip balm. Now, why would I replace perfectly good products? Because I am addicted to Whole Foods. I am conditioned to the idea of a Subaru driving, bike rack sporting, large breed dog walking, Costa Rica vacationing, luxury food item buying, self employed husband loving, and eventual Baby Bjorn wearing kind of life. I'm not proud of this. I blame Massachusetts. However, as Whole Foods continues to ignore it's northern neighbor (WF is headquartered in Austin) and as it was revealed that the CEO is a serious tool, I am over it. Turns out, Forward Foods, right here in Norman, can provide me with all the Boylan Seltzer and FAGE Total 0% yogurt that I need to sustain my ailing liver. Also, they have tons of cheeses and will give you samples! I bought some delightful Gouda yesterday. Delightful! Seriously, what is better than cheese? Olives (well, close second). They have olives. And pasta in bulk. And Mrs. Meyer's products so my whole life can smell like geraniums! I could have spent a lot of time in this tiny shop, but people were starting to look at me funny. Also, it's right next to the local record store, so I can feed all of my addictions (well, the legal ones anyway) in one stop. So, basically, screw you Whole Foods. I don't need you anymore. However, I wouldn't turn down a Trader Joe's. Not gonna lie. I could survive on an IV of the Roasted Corn Tortilla Chowder.

Because I am totally obsessed with Journey and blogs,

I happened on something pretty special via Stewpid Thoughts. There are no words.

Enjoy.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with BFF Lacey because it's her birfday. She is now the big 2-5 and will join me in a quarter life crisis at any moment now.

Some highlights in the friendship of Lacey and Blythe:

• We meet in second grade-ish. Love at first sight in Ms. Wilson's class. We learn to mutiply and divide. One of us excels at this. I will let you guess.
• Baton performances in school talent shows. We are awesome. Our outfits are even awesomer.
• Catholic camp nightmare (I am not Catholic, in fact, I am not anything - awkward!)
• I'm too cool for middle school and relegate Lacey to after school friend status in favor of Limited Too wearing Brookhavenites whose parents drove Explorers and went to Breckenridge to ski during spring break. This lasts for about two minutes until I realize I am a total tard with braces in honor choir.
• X-tina and I do all kinds of weird things to Lacey during 8th-9th grade. Not sure why. Did we think we were funny? We did glue quarters to pay phone banks. Ha.
• Lacey plays tennis in high school, I buy a racket and have a yearbook photo taken, but we manage to go to a few tournaments together. She is very tan. I am jealous.
• We bake a lot of weird cakes and make our brothers eat them.
• I make Lacey participate in endless videotaped pieces of shit productions including talk shows, musical, the contents of my closet, music videos with elaborate sets and costumes. Yes. We have a band. It started off as Nephilim, but was changed to String Bean Philp (not me! it was x-tina!). We have one unselling album. Laceys is a songstress of the highest degree. She can also play bongos. I, of course, played cello and shook a jar full of macaroni. We sing a song about a dolphin store.
• We are awkward around boys from 1997 until present.
• We go to school in MA, but not together. I visit her in Boston, though. We eat chicken fried steak at the Chili's in Copley and watch independent movies. I complain about BU's security. Funny story - on Lacey's 21st, we were at a bar/dancey place in Boston and I am propositioned for a threesome.
• We lose touch except for holidays when I become a dick and only spend time with the exbf's family (mistake # 4,762,994).
• But now, we are together again! Across the street in our childhood bedrooms.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LACEY!

Photo courtesy of x-tina.

You are one good BFF*, even if I'm not.

*I think "BFF" might be trademarked by Seventeen Magazine. Not sure.

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...

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with my motherfucking car, that's what. It's finally here! Just picked 'er up. Yes, i realize she's a pile (not unlike this blog), but I love her. She vibrates like an electric toothbrush with meth toothpaste yet I find myself feeling an indescribable affection toward her, not unlike a second pet. In any case, I can go places now! As long as it doesn't involve speed limits over 50 - 53 tops or distances greater than 20 miles - she's a fragile ladycar. So call me and I'll meet you there! In the meantime, I forgot it was jam packed with my summer clothes. I've been shopping out of my trunk for the past half hour.

Mr. Shain, please note today's date (you may have to click on it). I TOLD YOU. Recognize.

Also, I was trying to light a candle with a wick way down in the bottom of the candle crater by angling and aligning the candle, the lighter and my eye when I singed part of my left eyebrow. It's not too noticeable because I have light eyebrows, but still, just wanted to warn anyone I might see.

Oh, to be me.

You're not going to call, are you.

Uh, sorry.

That last post was kinda, well, terrible. I think I've hit a blogging brick wall. I probably hit it before I actually started this blog, but that's just timing. Here's an apology of a link since I am always scouring the blogosphere thinking of you. If you obsess about The Sopranos and music as much as I do, then you're going to love this™.

via Stereogum: Score The Sopranos.

Champagne, you are a snake in the grass.

I think the beginning of the end was that there was a four hour gap between the wedding ceremony and the reception. I'm not sure what was happening with the bride and groom during this little break (I have a guess, but I've yet to find someone who needs four hours), but most of the youngsters were guzzling red bull and vodka at an alarming rate. Gotta prepare for the free bar, you know. We made our way to the reception location and were greeted with the first of many glasses of champagne. The reception was held at the Oklahoma Museum of Natural History, which was interesting. There were no flowers allowed. There's kind of an atriumish area that served as the dance floor featuring a giant bronze mastodon. Who doesn't love dinosaurs? During the speeches and cake cutting, Morgan and I almost exploded from stifled laughter because the whole thing took place in front of its balls. Right, so food eaten (delicious, delicious gravlax!), speeches made, old people music played, champagne eagerly consumed, youngerish people music played, dance dance revolution. It was actually really fun seeing all of these kids from high school with whom I don't usually hang out, since they're all better than me and shit. I saw one kid that I haven't seen in forever, but was in MA at MIT the same time as me. We should've been friends. Oh well. I eeked out a polite hello to the exbf's father and expertly avoided his mother. I hope a good time was had by all and I wasn't a terrible date.

As per usual, the end of the night gets a little fuzzy, but I've figured a few things out. I talked at length to parents of an elementary school friend, who hopefully thought my tipsiness was charming. I return stalked the kid that propositioned me at New Years. We all headed over to one of the groom's friends hotel room for an after party of sorts. I think I ate pizza as I woke up with a touch of heartburn. I almost dropped some gifts. I definitely smoked a cigarette. I slept on a sleeping bag. All in all, not too bad, for me. Except maybe it was. I dunno.

I took a few pictures, but I look terrible, so instead, I'll provide you with a moment when Morgan was asked by the father of the groom (to whom you never say no) to serenade the couple with an acapella rendition of For Sentimental Reasons. It was a good party trick. She also caught the bouquet. And there were a lot of ladies competing for that one.


And now my feet hurt from wearing heels for a million hours. Does that count as a work out of any kind?

Update: I had another snapshot of the evening. It involved me somehow roping Seth Witten into a conversation. Sorry buddy, I'm sure it wasn't the most coherent of my life.

Also, in case you're living under a rock, Linds got busted! [TMZ]

And now, back to the Monk marathon on USA. You know you want to.