No Whine Oh-Nine

You may not remember this. Turns out I'm not getting married to anyone, including myself.



While I kicked it up a notch at the gym, I didn't reach my goal, yet somehow managed to purchase a Le Creuset dutch over sometime in March. Don't ask. I extended my deadline through August and started a bootcamp class at my gym last week. Two days a week, one hour, 5.45 am. AWESOME! Right, in addition to doing something at the gym or outside every day but Sunday. I've actually been able to do it, and have been rewarded by gaining a pound. And being rendered a paraplegic.

Yesterday morning, we did stripper squats. Like 10,000. Naturally, I was quite good at them. What I'm not quite good at now is sitting up in bed, walking, leaning over, bending, driving, breathing, getting out of a chair, living. FUCK! That shit hurts! DOMS is kicking my ass. How am I supposed to run tonight so that I don't suck ass even worse tomorrow morning? F U vicious cycle! I will prevail. It's only six weeks. I can do anything for six weeks, especially if it involves not getting a hair cut, washing my car, or paying bills.

Also, how many ibuprofen is too much? Are too much. I think i just got my answer.




Bath time!

The one where no one cares about my blog.

Man, if only I'd kept the genius coming instead of succumbing to the man.

This could've been me!

Hey Clinton, blogbuddy of ZFS, did that ramen come from Chinatown? Zing! Oh, no? Not a zing!? Ok.

Or this!

Lost Ogles, I met you at the NMF and you snubbed me. Then no mention in your 15 minutes of Oklahoma metro fame (which is equal to -25.8 seconds of national fame)? Ok, fair enough.

But, instead, it's just this:

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 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.

i found the marble in the oatmeal!

UPDATE: Real life is still kicking my ass all over the playground then stealing my lunch money, so...

Between work life and real life, the Bee-Spot is functioning on about 9 hours of sleep out of the past 72. It's not pretty. I am almost always incoherent to begin with, so now it's just sad. In the meantime, there's a hurricane? MC Rove resigned? What day is it? I'll get back in the saddle again, I promise. Don't miss me too much. Oh, you didn't even notice the lack of posting? Ok.

Do you ever just have one of those days

where you get the worst haircut of your life? That just happened to me. I mean, it's not the five year old mullet or anything. I mean, it's not that good.

More later.

XOXO,
B

Later: [Hey, watch out, TMI city here.] So, I wore a thong today because I had to get all gussied up (read I am in a dress!) for a work event and didn't want any VPL action in front of the VIPs and now I have thong burn or something. Whatever it is, my crack kind of hurts a little. Suffer for fashion.

My limit is three. THREE!

A note from the desk of Blythe: this post will be brief and unsatisfying, much like most encounters with me.

I have made a new rule for myself - the rule of three. Only three orange bejeweled skank shirts from Forever 21 in one outing, only three diet DPs at the office, only three viewings of Knotting Hill in one sitting, you get the idea. This also means only three drinks in one evening. Previously, I had made a pact to limit myself to three drinks per establishment, but I don't think that's going to work out. Last night, after a particularly easy day at the office, Lacey and I went out to dinner and stuffed ourselves with Mexican food. Delish times 4. We also had one ginormous margarita each - we totally got upsold by this creepy, yet charming waiter. Needless to say, we were a tad tipsy. I had planned to watch SYTYCD, but was informed that the results show would not be tonight and I just couldn't fathom waiting longer tan 24 hours to know who got the boot. It's a sleepless night already. So, I agree to meet up with high school friendish while he's in town for a drink. Let me just say that by this point, Margaritaville has taken the last train to Clarksville. Stone cold sober. But then I have a few Flying Dog whatevers and I launch into let me scare you with my life story mode. Poor kid. This is my least favorite of my drinking personalities. Blah, blah, blah I ramble about sushi, Native Americans and the War of Jenkins ear. Then it's pumpkin time and I'm ready to go. I start the epic search for my keys in the bottomless depths of my purse only to come up empty handed. They are simply not there and are simply in the ignition of my locked (totally sweet if you are into a totally lame) car. I am reduced to calling my little brother for a key, but he's out being cooler than I am and can't meet me for some time. So, high school friendish offers to take me home. I then realize that he probably thinks this is a line. Oh, I locked my keys in my car before I even started drinking, now you have to take me home.... But sadly, not the case, although, I might start using it. Fortunately, I was immediately distracted from this sad state of affairs by satellite radio. F-ing sweet! I need it. Like yesterday.

And then I found $5.

MY LIMIT IS THREE!

They're heeere (Poltergeist reference - get it? No? Ok.)

I went out for a drink last night at The Mont, a Norman mainstay and home of the "Sooner Swirl" a frosty, purple concoction with Everclear that I will not be enjoying again for quite some time. From my perch at the bar, I noticed something. Coinciding with the most wonderful time of the year (college football season) is its most horrifying byproduct - the infestation of frat rats in the lovely hamlet of Norman, Oklahoma. Now, this is the first summer I've spent in good ol' Norman since 2002, and damn, things have changed (or I've forgotten how they were because I'm getting old - I will go with change). Now, not all sorority sisters are of the sorostitute persuasion (this whole post is a bit of a gross generalization), but based on my completely unscientific research, it seems like more and more fall into this category. It appears to be an epidemic. A sexy epidemic. No, not sexy. Trashy. Ok, sometimes sexy. In spite of my palpable hatred of their vapid existence, some of them are fucking hot. And the others try real hard. Basically, I detest them because they lead the boys of Norman to believe that all girls should look and behave like these chicks. Not so, I say. I'm quite a catch (if you have no standards whatsoever) even if I do dress like a lesbina sometimes (yeah, I wore Chacos to the bar last night - that's how I roll).

The natural habitat of the sorostitute is the bar, fraternity or local Jamba Juice location. In off hours, they can be seen driving about town in Range Rovers, 4-Runners, or Lexus SUVs (those less fortunate 'tutes are often seen in Jeeps and Explorers) wearing Dior sunglasses larger than a small breed dog, carrying an oversized Coach bag (stocked with, I imagine, condoms and lip gloss) in shorts that barely cover their ass, a tank top emblazoned with Greek letters and Nike shocks. Chances are, you will catch a peek of Victoria Secret's PINK line of underwear where most normal people would be sporting a muffin top. During peak hours, they gather at local bars clad in BCBG heels, Miss Sixty cleavage baring dresses displaying a store bought tan, freshly highlighted hair, a (real) Prada purse, Chanel eye liner and saucer sized earrings. During the winter, they wear sorority issued black ass-pants, puffy North Face coats, and pointy toed boots that are more expensive than everything in my closet combined. Their diet consists of Keystone Light, lettuce, Coke (diet and Colombian) and semen. While they have evolved to develop a highly sensitive popped collar radar to detect potential husbands, they have been unable to increase their capacity to drink more than two beers without whipping out their pink Razr to drunk dial other sisters or make out with the button downed douche that bought their drinks.

God love 'em.

Jazz in June but now it's July.

Norman, Oklahoma has its very own little jazz festival every June. It's true. We are so cultured out here on the plains. L, X-tina and I would go pretty much every summer growing up. I think I might have gone with Mr. Shain at one point. It was always an event. There were glow sticks. You know. My dad would often chaperon when we were much younger (elementary school). I was always terrified that he'd end up on stage as he's a trumpeter and knows half the people performing. I think that only happened once. It was quite the hot spot to show off summer tans, summer flings, stuff like that and I guess it still is. As L and I walked from our parking spot to the stage area, we passed through a gaggle of high schoolers/under 21ers. Kids these days! Sweet Jesus! Girls in Oklahoma are image professionals. How do they do it? How do they afford it? Short shorts over toned and tanned legs. Perfectly blond, blown out hair. Coach bags. BCBG tops. Michael Kors heels. Mani/pedis to the max. Sexily arched eyebrows. Sorostitues in training. The boys wear vintage t-shirts, shorts, retro-ish sneakers, and lots of Polo Sport. I was about to be intimidated until I got a beer. Ha. None of you can drink. L and I planted ourselves on a patch of grass and listened to the show. Pretty good. I surveyed the scene and came across several little pods of people I could imagine being friends with. [Why aren't I? Where are the people like me in this town and how do I meet them?] There's really not much better than a beer and outdoor music. This guy came and sat down sorta close to us. He kept looking over, but never really said anything. Of course, we didn't say anything either. And then I found $5.

L (in the hat) and I enjoying the moon, beer, music, judging people and mosquitoes.

I am aged.

Jeebus. I am getting old. As of August this year, I should be completing my quarter life crisis, if things remain on schedule, when I turn 26. We'll see. At this point, I'm not hopeful. In the meantime, sometimes I forget that I'm not 18 anymore. Mostly when people yell at me and tell me I'm not 18 anymore when I am doing something absolutely retarded or trying to hit on college freshmen. But also when my brother drops a bomb of a question on me like the following. We're checking out Robot Chicken clips online because that's how we bond when he says, "Hey Blythe, what's a Trapper Keeper?" It's like I was smacked with a thousand leopard print and/or zebra striped slap bracelets. I suppose he doesn't know what pogs are either. Sweet Oden's Raven, I felt old. I don't know what the kiddies do these days to stay organized at school (my recent experience in public schools would suggest that they, in fact, do nothing to stay organized), but the TK was essential to keeping track of my assignments and most importantly, notes from my friend(s) and ones I wrote to myself from imaginary boyfriends. Unfortunately, I didn't keep any of my many Trapper Keepers and their accessories (all of which were mostly likely covered in stickers ranging from unicorns to STP) so I had no evidence to offer. I did, however, remember a South Park episode featuring this behemoth of organization.

The TK picture above totally sucks, but I couldn't find a better image. I remember mine being pretty sweet. But we all know my memory's not the best.

Cheers.

-b

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.

You're IT! (tag)

I see people doing this business all the time, but I've never been called to duty. Thanks Julie. Maybe. Unless this is a trick.

INSTRUCTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.

1) Whiskeymarie
2) FeistyMnGirl
3) What Greg Likes
4) A Blog of a Good Time
5) bee-spot

Select five people to tag:
Shain
DanAlex
Jess
Siobhlog

What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was 15, right? So, I was babysitting my mom's boss's turd of a son. Probably watching Golden Girls reruns, eating Triscuits, fantasizing about driving and the like.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Ha! I was living in my cozy apartment, with my awesome dog and my cheating boyfriend.

Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Twizzlers
2. Triscuits + Easy Cheese
3. finger + Easy Cheese
4. air-popped popcorn + copious amounts of kosher salt
6. red Skittles

Five songs that you know all the lyrics to: it's hard to choose, because I retain lyrics like I retain lbs.
1. Bust A Move - Young MC
2. Eternal Flame - The Bangles
3. Get It Together - Beastie Boys
4. Don't Stop Believin'! - Journey
5. It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine) - R.E.M. (I don't really, no one does. Maybe not even Michael Stipe.)

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1. Pay off my student loans. All $100k of them.
2. Shop the Neiman Marcus Christmas Catalog (childhood dream).
3. Pay d-cup celebrisluts to attend my 26th b-day extravaganza.
4. Buy a better blog.
5. Donate to Partners in Health. For reals.

Five bad habits:
1. Drinking
2. Smoking
3. Drinking and smoking together
4. Wiping my hands on my jeans
5. Forgetting everything all the time.

Five things you like doing:
1. Drinking
2. Smoking
3. Drinking and smoking together
4. Wiping my hands on my jeans
5. Forgetting everything all the time.

Five things you would never wear again: most things I would never wear again because I lost them somewhere.
1. suspenders - remember that? skirts over some kind of short + suspenders = 1988!
2. Brighton earrings. Perhaps a midwestish thing. You know.
3. Hypercolor t-shirt (j/k! I'm looking for one on ebay.)
4. I'm going to have to go with perm too.
5. stirrup pants

Five favorite toys:
1. Glow Worm
2. Easy Bake Oven
3. My Little Pony
4. Fireworks
5. Boxes

In which I have to make my own sort of Sophie's choice

I suppose I shouldn't joke about such things, but it's kinda true. I woke up this morning to birds chirping, the smell of coffee and a general good mood. Actually, that's not true. It was a car alarm, the smell of wine from the glass left next to my bed and I'm in a pissy mood. You know why? 1) Not that this is news to anyone, but the final Sopranos episode airs tonight (Holy crapballs! I can't believe it's finally here!). It's going to be so good, I'm pretty sure it'll make me want to kill myself. 2) The Hold Steady show is tonight. AT THE SAME TIME! I'm honestly conflicted. Sure, I can watch the Sopranos later, but I kinda need to watch it along with the rest of America so that I can immediately start talking shit about it and/or collapse into a sobbing pile in my living room floor. But I've also been super excited about this damn show for weeks now because I am a dork. I mean, come on! Craig Finn! At this point, I really don't know what I'll do. Maybe miss a few songs and risk shitty seats/standing area? Oh God. Just kill me now. In the meantime, I should probably drink something. It's Sunday, right? Mimosas and Bloody Marys!

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