The one where I went to a Bishop Allen show

It was good. Really good. Hot as balls in the Opolis, but Brother Bee-Spot, Andrew and I survived. They're performing as a six piece group at the moment and it was quite delightful. They sound like good weather.

Take a listen (then download legally, of course):

Butterfly Nets
Flight 180
Busted Heart
Click Click Click Click

Spring Break 07!!

To kick off Spring Break 07, Mr. Shain and I attended an OU gymnastics meet Saturday night, because that's totally normal. Click here to read all about it.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday

Naive - The Kooks: I don't know, I just like it.
We Used to Vacation - Cold War Kids: I think I like this because instead of bitching about shit, these guys kinda go country and tell a story. Refreshing.

Elephan Gun - Beirut: I know, I know. I am the last person alive to discover Beirut, but I did and I like this song even though it's kinda old news now. It sounds like a hopeful funeral procession.

Time Bomb - The Format: Guess you'll have to download it. Can't find it. Insanely catchy. They're coming to OK with Guster soon (4/3). I suppose I'll go. Anyone wanna come with me?

Rehab - Amy Winehouse: I don't ever want to drink again either. *head throbbing*

Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too - Say Anything: This one's for the MTV loving, 13 year old girl in all of us.

Things Are What You Make of Them - Bishop Allen: In honor of their show at the Opolis tonight.

That's all for now.

You Know You're a Redneck if...

Last night, my friend Matt and I went to see our friend's band at a bar in Oklahoma City. I am all about supporting the little guy in the cut throat world of music. That said, I will not be supporting this band if they ever EVER return to this venue. Unless I have a bodyguard and a hazmat suit.

I think somehow, as we drove along I-35, we stumbled upon a wormhole that led us into an alternate redneck universe. I'm from Oklahoma and I've never seen anything like this. Sweet Jesus. We entered and gave our money ($5!?) to a tiny toothless man wearing an over-sized, stained t-shirt with acid washed Levi's. If jockey were a reasonable occupation for a redneck, he'd have been more than qualified. Upon first glance, it became evident that this bar (called simultaneously Touche and Trust Me Too - still in the process of management change) was a former strip club. The pole remained on the mirror encased "stage" and I'm pretty sure a few of the old "dancers" were still hanging around. The bar consisted of some formerly dancing ladies pulling Budweiser out of coolers for I don't know how much, I imagine $.50 or something - I was not about to let anything go near my mouth in this place. You could also drink Mountain Dew, patron beverage of the NASCAR set. We hightailed it out the back door to hang out with the band before their set began. While outside, a man stumbled to his car and announced not to worry, he was just searching for some pills. ?! A woman entered our circle of safety we had created in the parking lot ranting and raving so incoherently it made the late Anna Nicole sound like Bill Clinton.

Back inside, the band began setting up and my eyes began wandering. If C-section scars and perms were contagious, I'd have both. I saw a mullet like no other -beautifully long and curly. The uniform of this group seemed to consist of large t-shirts tucked into very high waisted jeans - not a good look for anyone. I'd had about 20 glasses of water plus wine at dinner, so there was no way I was getting out of peeing. I considered running across the highway to the KFC on the other side, but I decided I was safer inside than out. Finally, I sucked it up and headed toward the ladies room. Thank God for Bikram yoga. Awkward pose saved my life, or at least my lady parts.

I wish some sort of fight would've broken out, but alas, nothing exciting happened. I think because we were all sober out of fear. We took our seats and were treated to a pretty rocking show. I gotta give it to them, they were a very supportive audience. And then we left. Quickly.

Happy St. Patrick's Day! You know where I'll be. At the bar, with my parents! Woohoo!

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with the Boylan Bottling Company.

I drink a lot of seltzer. I mean a lot. More than anyone should. What can I say? Nothing. Unfortunately, Big Move 07 has thrown a wrench into my seltzer consumption as it appears that no one in this state drinks the stuff (there's sparkling water, but we all know that's shit). I have to go to specialty shops to find it. Fortunately, Forward Foods has arrived on the scene in good ol' Norman and stocks some of the Whole Foods stuff I've become entirely too dependent on. So, go try it, where ever you live, if you haven't already. It's the best seltzer out there, hands down. Every sip is kinda like getting punched in the face by a cute little girl. It stings, but sweetly.

Dinner with the G-'rents Part II:

So, this evening, I had another opportunity to dine with the aforementioned g-rents. This time, Macaroni Grill was chosen as our meeting place. Good thing too, because we sure as shit wouldn't fit into an Olive Garden family friendly setting. Everyone always has such a great time there! If you eat off of my brother's plate, he will knife you with a shiv made from a crouton. Things got off to a good start, this time, I think because we were missing my female roommate (who is now screaming uncontrollably at the TV because Duke is beating BC. Yes, friends, it's that time of year. March Sadness.) Highlights from this meal include, but are not limited to:

1. G-pa draws (oh yeah, this is one of those classy places where you get crayons and can draw on the paper covering the table. Would you like freshly ground pepper on that? Yes.) two stick figures with their hands touching a circle with a small dot in the middle. What's that? asks Brother Bee-Spot. Two men walking abreast, replies G-pa.

2. Conversation turns to American Idol where Grandma Bee-Spot declares Taylor Hicks a bit "light in the loafers" and remembers Ruben Studdard as "the black one."

3. G-pa draws two fours that intersect too closely resembling a swastika (search terms are going to go nuts, I might have to remove that).

4. Brother Bee-Spot orders veal. He wonders why it's taking so long. G-pa answers, they're bottle feeding it its last meal in the back.

5. Brother Bee-Spot then orders cheesecake for dessert. G-pa says, Not to dissuade you, but cheese is not cake.

6. I keep my mouth shut (except to instruct roommate#1 to give his credit card to the waiter before either grandparent notices to thwart any haggling and a potential wrestling match between an elderly man and his rather portly son) and draw toasters, as I am apt to do.

7. Now back to last week's bottle of wine.

Elvis Perkins makes me want to love again, or,

I went to a show last night! At the Gypsy Tea Room in Dallas, Texas. Never been there before, so I didn't really know what to expect. Also, I kinda crapped out and had no idea who was playing besides my beloved Andrew Bird until Beau picked me up (THANKS!!!) and mentioned that Delta Spirit, Elvis Perkins, Tokyo Police Club and Cold War Kids were all playing as well. Score. (P.S. all of these guys are playing at Pearl Street in Noho toward the end of March/early April. Get your ass there. You'll be happy you did).

Delta Spirit: They kinda reminded me of bands I saw at Dartmouth frats, but much, much better. The singer sang so hard I thought he was going to bust his vocal chords into a bloody mess all over the stage. I was impressed, but imagine he needed some tea with honey and lemon afterward. Some kid played a trash can lid. Gotta love it.

Elvis Perkins: He's just really good. Melancholy. Complicated. Band includes a string bass (I have a soft spot for that). I'm teaching myself to play Night Without Love on guitar. It hasn't been going well.

Listen: While You Were Sleeping

Tokyo Police Club: The thing about the GTR is that there are two stages, one large, one smaller. TPC was playing in the smaller room and it was really crowded. We managed to squeeze in for a bit, but kept getting yelled at and shoved around. I ended up being smashed into this girl in front of me who turned around and said, "you know, if I were a guy, I'd be totally turned on right now." That pretty much made my night. TPC was kinda frantic, but in a good way.



Cold War Kids: For some reason, although I like Hang Me Up To Dry, I was expecting to dislike this band, however, they were pretty rockin'. One of their numbers called for members of the other groups (aside from Andrew Bird - I guess he's too good for them or something) to play along. The bassist from Elvis Perkins busted out a sax while the other guy in that band brought out his trombone. That automatically equals awesome.



Andrew Bird: I simply cannot say enough good shit about this guy. As you now might know, I am the product of two (professional, but now in education) musicians and have a keen ear, even if I have no talent myself. It's a mystery, really. He's absolutely amazing. If you've seen him before, you know what I mean, and he's only gotten better. He sings my dreams. I want to have like 10,000 of his babies.



I was in heaven. Until I realized Beau and I still had to drive back leaving Dallas at 12.30 putting us back in Norman around, oh, 4.30 due to some fog and wrong turns. Awesome! But you know what, still totally freaking awesome.

Oh. Also, I have decided that I'm sorta into hipster/emo/rocker boys. Threadbare t-shirt? Check. Plaid western shirt (with snaps)? Yes please. Converse or equivalent? Yup. Scruffy beard? Sign me up. Emo glasses? Why not. Think you can play an instrument? I'll buy it. Expertly tousled hair? Ok. Drink more Stella or Pabst than me? Probably not, but I'll take it. Where are you?

Goulet Wednesday News Round Up: This American Blythe

Today, in lieu of completely boring celebrity news, I bring you completely boring Blythebrity news.

1. This American Life finally comes to TV! Yay! I've been hearing about this for some time, but my favorite Sunday night pastime (besides going to bed early) is coming to Showtime. Thankfully, the roommates spring for this channel, so I'll be watching weekly. Showtime put the first episode up on On Demand and let me tell you, I am more in love with Ira Glass than ever. He does the story about Chance the bull and the Improv Everywhere band fiasco. Two of my favorites. Yes, I have them memorized. That's how I roll. I will marry you, Ira Glass, I will.



2. I'm going to see Andrew Bird today! Yay! In Dallas, but whatevs. It's worth it. If you are new to AB, I suggest Sovay, Measuring Cups, Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left and Fake Palindromes. A little FYI - Sovay is my favorite.

3. It's spring! Yesterday, it was about 80. Supposed to be even warmer today. There are at least climatic (is that a word?) benefits to returning to the Heartland. The lil' bro and I had a mid evening bonding sesh over Classis 50s slushes (strawberry pina colada) and swings at my favorite park. Then we drove around the in the country with all the windows rolled down screaming Dream Weaver at the top of our lungs against a breathtaking sunset. Almost made me forget I've given up Whole Foods for this.

Look! Green instead of brown! I love it! (Ignore unpedicured toes.)

4. PSA: I recently discovered that there are people out there who haven't seen Wet Hot American Summer. I implore you, put it on your on your Netflix queue today. You'll thank me later.

5. I love you.

Zack Harrison Music Monday

Friday I was not in love with anything except being cranky, hence the non-post. This weekend, however, turned out to be all right. I ate my weight in Mexican food Friday night (sexy, huh?) and grabbed a drink with a couple of friends. Hung out at the regional high school debate tournament on Saturday for 12 hours (thanks Mr. Shain) then went to a party that got busted by the cops a la college. Recovered from said party Sunday and went to hear my new favorite thing at my new favorite place last night. All in all, not too shabby, I suppose, if you have no expectations. My point is, over the course of this weekend, Zack Harrison came up not once, but twice! This is a kid I knew in high school. Well, one year of high school. He was a senior when I was a sophomore. In any case, I don't know how, but somehow we became friends of a sort. Basically, he convinced me to debate, took me to parties, and made me mix tapes. I'm not gonna lie, he made some pretty, pretty, pretty good mix tapes. He is the reason I still include Fallin' (De La Soul and Teenage Fan Club), Message to You (The Specials), Boys Don't Cry (The Cure), Sometimes I Rhyme Slow (Nice n' Smooth), and Get It Together (Beastie Boys) on almost every compilation CD/playlist I make you. Prior to him, I mainly listened to top 40 shit, classical music and the Beatles, because that's what my parents listened to. In his honor, or memory, haven't seen or heard of him in like, eight years, I present to you:

Zack Harrison Music Monday

*I would work harder to provide links if I had any motivation or hope that any of you actually heed my musical advice. Also, not all of these are new. Gotta mix it up.

My Ho Drives a Big Red Car - Heater: (This is where Zack Harrison comes in for the third time. Last night, I'm at The Deli listening to Mike Hosty and he plays this. I have this on some random CD that I had in high school, I think. Weird. I know all of the words. I can see the cd. It's got a tire on it. It says Heater. Why is Mike Hosty playing a Heater son? Who is Heater anyway? Then I put it all together. Zack gave me a bunch of cds, which I apparently never gave back, one of them being Heater. Mike Hosty was in Heater. I have liked him all this time!)

Decatur or Round of Applause for Your Step-Mother! - Sufjan Stevens: I'm just in love with Mr. Stevens. Anything he does is magic, for me. I can't wait till he comes out with Oklahoma!

She Doesn't Get It - The Format: This sounds like high school.

Golden Skans - Klaxons: I would listen to this while planning a trip to outer space.

Nature of the Expirement - Tokyo Police Club: If you are Canadian, I automatically like you, apparently.

Sweet Jane - Cowboy Junkies: Sorry Lou, bit this version is way better. I am slow dancing with myself right now.

Bright Eyes double play: Four Winds - this is the new one. As a former violinist, I inherently like it. Also, it's really good. At the Bottom of Everything: who doesn't love songs that start with plane crashes? Oh Bright Eyes...

Penny on the Train Track - Ben Kweller: This falls under my rule of liking all Bens (Gibbard, Lee, Folds, Franklin).

Polar Opposites - Modest Mouse: Everyone's all over Dashboard these days, but I don't get it. I don't like any new MM stuff. This one's a classic.

If I Ever Feel Better - Phoenix: Mr. Shain had a lovely assemblage of Phoenix playing on our ride to the tournament this weekend. I have decided that this is my favorite one. Also, it's my current internal theme song.

Flathead - The Fratellis: If this isn't already in an ipod commercial, it should be. I think it is. Isn't it? Eh, whatever. Poppish, but catchy.

When You Wasn't Famous - The Streets: British white rapper? Yes please.

Dinner with the G-'rents

Tonight my roommates and I met their former roommates (or roommates in law) in Oklahoma City for dinner. My g-pa is a dentist and sometimes travels to the city (from far western OK) for continuing ed classes, which I cannot begin to imagine since he just learned how to program their VCR last year (actually, did anyone learn that or did we just skip over to DVDs?). We met them at Steak & Ale, a fine dining establishment with which all of you in OK are surely familiar. By fine dining establishment I of course mean it sucks. No offense, but this state doesn't do too well in what it thinks is the upscale dining department. I've only been to a couple of restaurants in the city that even remotely come close to what the rest of the country considers classy and I think I was always paying, so I didn't enjoy myself much, but who the hell cares, there's chicken fried steak here. Anyway, my grandparents are great in many, many ways. However, they're also a bit, well, here are some highlights from the evening:

-Roommate#1 was running late due to a meeting and called me so that I could read him the ENTIRE menu and we could order for him. G-pa did not like this and kept yelling fake menu items into my phone. You have not lived until you've had to scream "8oz prime rib for $16.99" twelve times into your cell with an angry room full of diners. Roomful?

-G-pa is wearing a diamond encrusted gold pinky ring. I am now convinced he is connected. He is a Mason, after all.

-Brother bee-spot casually mentions that our harried server has forgotten to bring the bread. "Tell him when he comes back," says G-pa. "No, I'll just wait till he gets to it, he looks busy," says BB. "You'd have been dead if you were a Jew in Germany* with that attitude." WHAT?!

-My roommate and his mother are trying to think of an old schoolmate's name. Begins with an H... "Heather?" says G-ma. "Helen?" says roommate#1. "Hitler?*" yells out G-pa.

-Said harried server was trying his best, he really was. G-ma asks him if they're shorthanded. He says that a lot of people quit this week. She says, maybe it's your disposition.

-G-pa insisted on giving the server a wad of cash (I think he's the type that doesn't trust banks - he used to give my brother and I hundreds of dollars in rolled quarters) at the beginning of the meal to prevent, oh hell, Dad, from paying the tab. Unfortunately, he underestimated and had to throw a bit more in, which became a bit awkward. Especially when G-ma had to loudly whisper to the poor, embattled server to make sure he was tipped enough.

-Needless to say, Brother bee-spot and I stopped off at the liquor store on the way home.

*My g-pa was certainly not in WWII. In fact, I think he was born in the mid 30's, which puts him in his early adolescence at best. I have no idea what his deal is, although, G-ma said he wanted The Dirty Dozen for his b-day.

--------- of the day.

Admission of the day: I love musicals! My class watched Oliver! today and I totally geeked out and sang along with every song. Yeah, I know them all. Every word. I also know all of The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, Annie, My Fair Lady and the list goes on and on. And yes, I do listen to the broadway channel on cable radio. And I love it.

Seinfeldian thought of the day: How do they (shoemaking elves, of course) come up with names for shoes? I was perusing Zappos.com trying to find a nice pair of springish flats that I won't buy because I have no money and suddenly realized that every pair has a dumbass name. They're all names I would imagine to exist in some super yuppy Montessori preschool class where all of the parents drive Audi station wagons and shop at Whole Foods. Any industry insiders out there that can confirm shoes are named after J. Crew executives' kids?

"Phoebe" - J. Crew Spring collection. The price is as pretentious as the bow. I must have them.

Diesel's "Obi." "Luke," "Leia," and "Darth" not pictured.


My namesake. "Blythe" by J. Crew. Sorry kids, these sold out last year.

Question of the day: What do the lyrics to the White Stripes "Hello Operator" mean? Telemarketing gone bad?

Hello operator
can you give me number nine?
can I see you later?
will you give me back my dime?
turn the oscillator
twist it with a dollar bill
mail man bring the paper
leave it on my window sill

find a canary
a bird to bring my message home
carry my obituary
my coffin doesn't have a phone
how you gonna get the money?
send papers to an empty home?
how you gonna get the money?
nobody to answer the phone

Regret of the day: I wish I'd lost my virginity to anything other than Dave Matthews Band. I can never change that. I totally should have waited till John Mayer was around or something. Lord knows my body is a wonderland.

Blog of the day: An Irish and a Jew. Found this through ZFS. Enjoy. (AIAAJ, if you stumble upon this link, expect your readership to soar by probably 1, maybe 1.5. No need to thank me.)

Realization of the day: Were I, God forbid, to be the victim of a homicide or some other incident involving foul play, and CSI were to swoop in and go through all of my stuff, including my wastebasket, they would have found this:

Home sweet home.

Song/video of the day: Alright!

Goulet Wednesday News Round Up

Here it is, friends. Actually, does anyone read this? I do it for all of you that, you know, have lives and shit, but still want to keep up with the important stuff. What can I say, I'm a giver.

In no particular order:

• She's no Britney, but still. Lay off Lohan. [WWTDD]
• Oh really? Good for you, Jakester - as long as our mutual friend Chris is still single, that is. [ICYDK]
• Stabler will totally fuck you up, Jones. Watch out. Law and Order. More like Slaw and Chowder. Heh. (the worst joke ever, I know) [Jossip]
• My second husband (after Ira Glass, of course). [A.V. Club]

I love you.

• Jeez people. Also, I'd like to point out that if you consider homely exotic, in substantial student loan debt poverty and Oklahoma a third world locale, then I am totally up for adoption. [Just Jared]
• You're fucking with me, right? [Defamer]
• Damn, everyone hates my half-sized doppleganger. Wha'd she do that's so awful? [dlisted]
• Simpson's movie: yay! Aqua Teen: awesome! TMNT: fuck yeah!
• Whatever Columbia kids. Two things: 1) Smith is just as good, except not. 2) Uh, hello, he's a doctor and he's totally saved a ton of people on the island. 3) He's hot. [Gawker]

Super Fantastic Stuff That's Rumbling Around My Head Post!

Updates:

1. I have decided that I do think Sarah Silverman (and her program) is funny.

2. I also decided on off-white Chuck Taylors. And I love them. That said, I am done participating in trends because of my mullet situation (aka Side Sweeping Bangs 07). I threw out my super dark nail polish. I am not downloading the the new Arcade Fire album. I broke all of my wide headbands.

3. I have not played WOW since my initial experience. I would like to, but it just takes so much damn time and I have so many super important things I gotta do - read complain about shit.

4. I checked Sitemeter for search words. Someone else looked for NPR lawyer Wyclef Jean.

School Dayz:

Today a kid asked me why my toes were so fat. I asked why his face was so ugly.

A girl came up to me and asked what happened. What happened to what? I asked. That picture your mom has of you in her office is really pretty, she says. You're going to end up pregnant by next year, I think.

www.iamsoold.com:

Tonight my brother (18) had the audacity to ask me what the Running Man was. WHAT?! I suppose he doesn't know what the Roger Rabbit is either. Kids these days.

I cannot get enough of this guy:

I bought Multiply by Jamie Lidell. Probably the first CD I've purchased in literally years. [Incidentally, while cleaning out my closet this weekend (Yeah, that's what I did. wanna make something of it?) I found the very first CD I ever owned: Mariah Carey. And I played it. And it was as awesome as I remember.] Anyhoo, it's the shit. He's really good in so many ways. Hopefully that vague description will persuade you to check him out. It's worth it. Really, I can't say enough good shit about this guy. I also got The Garden by Zero 7, because I am a sucker. It's been out for a while, but it's good blogging music. Did I really just say that?

Song stuck in my head:

Alloveragain - Tahiti 80.

I am almost illiterate:

I have not read a real (i.e. something other than Robert B. Parker or Nora Roberts - not that there's anything wrong with that) book in about a month. My brain is atrophying at an even more alarming rate than what has become normal considering the cheapness of drinks here in the Sooner State. I picked up Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke this evening. I like to read NYT's bestsellers years later. I'll let you know. Bee-spot book club all the way.

I don't think this is for real, but humorous nevertheless:

It's funny 'cause it's true

Some of you might turn to The New York Times, WSJ, CNN, MSNBC or even Fox for your news. I turn to Best Week Ever (with a little Gawker thrown in here and there, or every 3 minutes). I missed Family Guy last night, but, as usual, BWE was there to pick up the slack. Holy balls is this distasteful, but effing hilarious! Enjoy.

Mobile home, mobile home, let me in!

While some of you associate March with March Madness (and I will enter a pool and lose dreadfully, yes, yes I will) I associate it with the premature (and morbidly exciting) beginnings of tornado season. Tornado Season is not entirely unlike Shark Week - a lot of hype about crazy, stupid shit that seems interesting on TV, but sucks ass in real life.

Tonight, I went to the most fabulous bar in Norman selling Bud Light out of giant red plastic cups for $2.25 called The Deli. Mike Hosty plays The Deli most every Sunday serenading the crowd with the aforementioned "Oklahoma Breakdown" and other classics including "Fraidy Hole" (referring to a basement or other cellar like structure one would utilize in the event of a cyclone) and "Fried Pie" (a deep fried pastry which one would utilize in a desperate moment of hunger, most likely preceded by copious amounts of booze and/or weed). Now, if you were not born and bred in Oklahoma, which I had the mis good fortune of, then some of the sentiments of these songs will fall on your deaf, deaf ears. But if you were, well, then, you should get your ass out to The Deli asap to listen to the troubador of the prairie sing the praises (or not) of our very own beloved weathermen Gary England and Mike Morgan. You know who I'm talkin' 'bout.

The best part of this night was when I was tabbing out and the bartender sought me out to tell me that he loves my dad. In fact, my dad inspired him to follow a career in music (detour of bartending? I dunno, shit happens, right?) and that I should bring him in 'cause drinks are on him. I was just thinking earlier in the night as I looked around the bar full of young men that I needed a wingwoman, but perhaps, I need a wingdad... ah, small towns, small towns...

I am never having sex again, am I. Am I?

Panties/Waffle House/Cathouse: The Series/Music

I could hide out under there. I just made you say "under where."

I also just quoted Bare Naked Ladies lyrics. I apologize. So, as a semi newly single lady who's been out of circulation for quite some time, I'm learning new things all the time. Like, I have couples underwear syndrome. I have never been into flashy/trashy/sexy underwear. (I can't seem to utter "panties." It's just too much. Similar to the word "moist." Can't do it.) I'm generally into whatever's clean, basically covers my ass and is less than $3. I have this thing about paying more than that. It's underwear, for Christ sake. La Perla? Ladon't think so. Agent Provocateur? Agent Provocano. I think, while you're paired up, cheap, basic underwear isn't such a big deal (although, perhaps I'm completely wrong. Maybe, someday, when the ex and I acknowledge our mutual existence, I will ask him. But probably not.) However, after however many months it's been, I think maybe I should start paying attention to my undergarments. Plus, you never know when there's going to be some sort of medical emergency which requires the ER to strip you down. And of course, that day, Discovery Health will be filming some sort of ER documentary. I went to Victoria's Secret [There are two kinds of people in this world. One who knows it's Victoria's Secret. One who says Victoria's Secrets.] to check out the skivvy scene and was appalled at what I encountered. I am not old. I am not completely uncool (no comments please), but I was seriously disturbed by the overabundance of pink adorning every possibly surface. I then learned that "Pink" is their product line that seems to be aimed at, what must be, a huge sorostitute population. Pink was emblazoned on the ass of everything. There was neon green lace. I can't really write about it, I can only make a sound that goes sorta like this: blerchbluhglarbah. Needless to say, I hightailed it out of there and made L-Ma go to Ross with me to pick out some dollar bargains. So, I guess what I'm asking is, do I really have to make an effort in the underwear department or are boys just happy enough to take them off?

Affle House:

Went to the Waffle House late Friday night/Saturday morning. It's one of my favorite things to do and was greatly missed while I was in the Northeast. For the longest time, the Waffle House closest to my house had it's W light out rendering it "AFFLE HOUSE." Always makes me smile when I think about it.

No waffles in this house:

One of the many only benefits of my roommates is their addiction to TV. They have 800 million channels. It's pretty sweet. This means that I can watch HBO's Cathouse: The Series anytime I want. Most of the time, I don't want to. Sometimes, though, I catch a glimpse of Airforce Amy's hair (I don't even know what era it comes from) and I'm hooked for the next few minutes. Bottom line, most of these chicks are busted, but are getting paid ridiculous amounts of money for something I'd turn down for free. Even I have my standards. These ladies go in the I Just Don't Get It column along with Dane Cook, American Apparel, and Arcade Fire.

Airforce Amy is in the middle. Yowzer!

Music:

Below, you will find my current playlist. Good? Bad? What should I be listening to?

Ruby - Kaiser Chiefs
Province - TV On the Radio
Grace Kelly - Mika
Montreal-40ºC - Malajube
Watercolors - The Postmarks
California Stars - Wilco & Billy Bragg
Sister Sneaker Sister Soul - My Latest Novel
Sunday Morning - K-OS
Suffer for Fashion - Of Montreal
Words You Used to Say - Dean & Britta
Save Room - John Legend
Objects of My Affection - Peter Bjorn and John
Babies - Pulp
Lazy Eye - Silversun Pickups
All the Night Without Love - Elvis Perkins
Hang Me Up to Dry - Cold War Kids
The Queen and I - Gym Class Heroes

I would try to find MP3's MySpace pages, etc, but I am lazy. If you know me and you're interested, I'll burn you a cd.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with hating on shit. Don't know what's up with me, but I am in a super pissy funk.

Got a Devil's Haircut on my head:

L-Ma says it's sophisticated. I say it's crap. It's essentially a $70 mullet (speaking of mullets, I saw a rat tail - remember those! - on a kid today that was, I shit you not, about 2.5 feet long. I had my camera with me, as always, but I wasn't quick enough to think of a reason for why I would need to take a photo of a 12 year old boy...). I feel like I should be anchoring the local 5 am weekend newscast. For some reason, I thought I was one of those people who could have sweeping side bangs. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about. Much like the Perm Incident of 1993, Side Sweeping Bangs 07 is a bust.

I actually like that stupid Gwen Stefani "Sweet Escape" song:
Everytime I hear it, which, when you are surrounded by 13 year olds is a lot, I rock out in my head. I hate myself for it immediately afterward. Much like everything else I do.

I fucking can't stand it when bad grammar is used in educational environments:

Ok, yes, everyone uses incorrect grammar sometimes. Some more than others, myself included (please don't read post after post commenting on this - although, that would be the most anyone has ever read), but I am not a certified teacher shaping the minds of our youth. I am merely a tween wrangler whose purpose is mainly to prevent fights and copulation during school hours. I came across this poster the other day. It's plastered all over the freaking school. During lunch, I hunted down every instance I could find and covered the offensive error with "they're" post-its. Not only did the creator of this poster fuck up, but the people who printed it clearly don't speak English. I am choosing to forgo commenting on any other aspects of this poster.



Why won't Al Gore just throw his hat in the fucking ring already? Also, why can't I fucking work my stupid fucking digital camera like a normal person?

Thursday, things were looking up when I went with Mother and Brother Bee-Spot to see Mr. Vice President himself present his An Inconvenient Truth slide show at OU. According to David Boren, OU's president, attendance was record breaking at over 7,000 people! I'm fairly certain that's the total number of Democrats in the whole state. Still, it was nice to be surrounded by political peers. I took a shitload of pictures, although, I guess I wasn't supposed to, anyway, they all turned out shitty. I have this super camera (given to me by the ex BF in penance for a quite terrible transgression, but hey, I have a super fancy camera now and he probably has an STD), but I can't work it for shit. Here's what I got:

Why? You'd win. Just do it.

This is our view because Mr. Shain crapped out in the seat saving department.

This is Mother Bee-Spot. I include her because I hate that she is skinnier than me and it is hate filled Friday!

The hangover I will surely have tomorrow:

I'm now off to get ready for a party. I am hating the hangover in advance.

Goulet Wednesday News Round Up: Blog Edition.

In my effort to bring you all (2 - I kinda want mom to start reading again so I have an audience) the latest in pop culture, I realized jack shit is going on these days. Apparently, everyone blew their load on the Oscars. Posh is blond, Anna Nicole's still dead, Diddy got in a fight, Britney has nothing left to shave, Perez Hilton got a new blog template or something. Blah blah blah boring. So, instead, I bring you some posts that have brought me a modicum of guarded joy in the past few days.

• While I shouldn't, I do revel in the misfortune of others. Especially when I know them. [*The Life and Times]

• We all have them. We all love them. I'm talking about grandparents and Hummel figurines, of course. [Rubber Buns and Liquor]

• On the agenda Saturday night at The Mont with L-Ma and co.: marriage, medical school, fetuses, Calvin Klein, handshakes. Also, Idiocracy is better than Team America. [Cole Slaw Blog]

• Another Oscar wrap-up: [1 2 3 I Love You]

• Whoa: [planetdan]

So,

I was taking a bath tonight, drinking some wine in the tub, listening to NPR on my elementary school radio, etc. because that's how I roll, when this show started featuring a gaggle of celebrity do-gooders all praising Bono and shit for trying to save the world. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Bono's a saint. But then, Wyclef (Jean) pipes up talking about his organization, Yele Haiti. First, he claims to fly coach on American Airlines to Haiti when he visits, secondly, he says he drops $50-60k per visit, which he says is, you know, a lot for him since he's a multimillionaire as opposed to a billionaire, and thirdly, he said he is a lawyer. What? Really? Maybe people who are born in Haiti, but grow up in Brooklyn and become hip-hop artist/humanitarians are automatically lawyers, but I dunno. Maybe Shakira's a judge in Colombia. I suppose I could Google this, but eh, I don't really care. The most important thing is that I have half a bottle of wine left.

Objection!

While you were liveblogging the Oscars...

I wasn't. But I did watch them. They were spectacularly boring. Kind of like this post. Thank God for Tivo. I'm just sayin'.

Best Week Ever does an excellent job of covering the mind numbing three and a half hour affair. Check it out.

It's Friday, I'm in Love: Saturday Edition.

[So, I apologize for my brief, but what I imagine to be nearly devastating to your procrastination needs, absence. I've been a busy little bee. Yesterday was spent teaching the word "antisemitism" to rural Oklahoman eighth graders (I would not suggest it), judging high school debate for five hours (I would also not suggest it) and a fair amount of drinking (always a good suggestion) which leads me to the point of this post.]

I know that I say I hate all things fraternity, but this isn't entirely true, because I love drinking, and the two generally go hand in hand, unfortunately along with popped collars and douchebaggery, but oh well. The alma mater isn't particularly known for its drinking games, but fortunately, there was a handy alternative right up the highway where I spent many a weekend drinking first years under the pong table. I'm not going to lie, until this summer, I actually owned a pong table. Sure, it wasn't regulation, but I stained it with my own hands. Anyway, last night, I met up with some kids I haven't seen since, oh, 2001 or so. We proceeded to play flip cup at a bar. I loved it!

You see, I spend a lot of time pretending like I'm better than things like that. I read the New Yorker, sort of. I buy organic food, sometimes. I see independent films, when there's nothing else on. I play NY Mag's Approval Matrix thingy, when I'm bored. But deep down, I still love stupid shit like drinking games. Mainly because I kick ass at them. In my own mind.

So, put on your pastel Lacoste polo, turn up O.A.R., and bring over a 30 rack of Keystone. Who wants to be on my team tonight?

Goulet Wednesday News Round Up - Ash Wednesday Edition:

-Oops, she did it again. (How many sites is that on? Oh well.) Brit can't seem to keep her newly shorn self in rehab. [MollyGood]

-In a related story, Lindsay checks out after her stint. And into a bar. Eh, what're you gonna do? Perhaps her treatment was "adequate." [WWTDD]

-Ok, seriously, I cannot possibly fit another show into my viewing schedule. ABC, you're a jerk. I refuse to watch: [Just Jared]

-Sure Tom Brady's happy. But not about the baby. About fucking a model. Hello! [PopSugar]

-Dancing with The (Legless) Stars. I'm not even kidding. [Perez Hilton]

-The latest in no duh news: ScarJo is hot. [egotastic]

-The UK pulls out early. [insert sex joke here]

-Not the Mamma! (click, you'll be glad you did) [Best Week Ever]

- Hallmark's got this great new idea: [Gawker]

	If we never tried anything, we'd never learn anything. It's not called failure...it's called life. I'm sorry about the way things turned out. I believe in you as much as ever...I hope you do, too.

If you want to send one to me, it should read:

Cover Copy: "Sorry your boyfriend of seven years dumped you, stole your dog, ipod, friends, youth and left you with nothing."

Inside Copy: "Yeah, I'm still sorry. And, I'll be more than happy to break his hairy little legs anytime."

Of Montreal, unplugged.

Last night I convinced Beau, fellow indie music fan trapped in OK, to attend the Of Montreal concert at OU. If you have to are fortunate enough to live in the Sooner State, Norman is the place to be as there is a large public university. Otherwise, your entertainment would be limited to 24 hour Wal-Mart Super Centers and rodeos. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

We arrive at what appears to be a skinny jean convention (hipsters west of the Mississippi and south of the Mason-Dixon line?) and suffer through the opening band, which I have blocked out. [Oh, I almost forgot. The show sold out, so the guy in charge of the venue was asking those with empty seats next to them to identify themselves. Of course, no one was sitting next to me. I raise my hand. This scruffy kid sits down. He's wearing shorts, a trench coatish type thing and very shaggy hair. Then he says my name. It's none other than elementary/middle/high schoolmate, Josh Jones (of the Evangelicals). He's too high to talk, he says, but I'm to find him after the show. Ah, concerts.] Beau and I reminisce about the last time we saw each other, which we don't remember, as the crew sets up for OM. This takes forfreakingever. In the meantime, there's some scuffle with a kid and campus security which delays things even further. Finally, they give up and the show starts. Sort of.

OM plays 1.5 songs when there's a bit of a sound malfunction and Barnes turns all of their stuff (drum machine thingy, screens, amps, etc) - and he's clearly a bit pissed. Some crew guy comes out, makes some adjustments, then they try again. It's a no go. I think the try one more time, but the drummer throws a stick across the stage signaling defeat. Barnes asks the audience to be patient and wait a few more minutes while they figure something out. Ok, technology is imperfect, I understand.

Chairs are brought out, mics are lowered, acoustic guitars are unearthed. If you are familiar with OM at all, and I'm no expert, their music + acoustic guitar is like Britney winning mother of the year or knowing her children's names. But, you know what? These guys made some drinkable lemonade out of electronic lemons. The band took it all in stride, did their best and had, what I assume to be, a few improvised moments, including a lovely rendition of "Harvest Moon" and what turns out to be both mine and Kevin Barnes' favorite Beatles song, "I Will" (remember that, future boyfriend out there). The only truly shitty thing about the situation were the kids majoring in douchebag behind us. I really don't revel in using that word, but there isn't another to describe the retardedness of their conversations, which mainly consisted of the repetition of "awesome." One chick managed to lose her phone twice and then make out with the alpha douche. Really? At an Of Montreal concert? I'm all about making out, but still. These assholes would not shut the fuck up. Fortunately, Beau has some balls and told them so. Politely, of course. We're not animals.

OM rounded out their "performance" with a little audience participation. Those who knew the lyrics to "Tim I Wish You Were Born A Girl" were invited on stage for an a cappella version. Hippies danced. End of show. It's kind of like we paid $10 to watch them practice and hang out, but oh well. It was a concert going experience I won't soon forget. Mostly because I was sober.

Sample: Little Rock

Boring Is The New Awesome!

Friday:

After a grueling day of lunching on Mexican food (probably the best benefit of Big Move 07) with L-Ma and perusing the racks of Charlotte Russe as Norman, Oklahoma doesn't have a Forever 21 and I needed a slutty shirt for the weekend (in fact, there isn't one in the entire state! Gasp! Until this summer! Gasp! At my mall!), I convinced Mr. Shain to have dinner with me at the best little Greek restaurant this side of, well, Greece in exchange for me attending an OU gymnastics meet (don't ask, I didn't). It's literally little more than a hole in the wall. The same old Greek couple has run the restaurant since I can remember and I'm never able to eat there because they go back to the homeland for Christmas - when I'm usually in town. There are three choices: a gyro, a gyro plate thing (comes with a bit of salad) and french fries fried in lamb juice. Nothing was going sour the experience of sinking my teeth into a giant pile of steaming lamb covered in yogurt, except for two things. 1) I am still carless and had to have my roommate drop me off at the restaurant a la seventh grade. 2) Shain and I are enjoying our meal when suddenly, a look of horror, pain and confusion spreads across Shain's face. The food at Greek House doesn't not produce anything besides pure joy (and the stink of herbed lamb meat on your clothes, hair, pores for days and days), so something was seriously wrong. He miraculously managed to chip a molar on a gryo. A fucking gyro. Seriously, who does that? What is the proper etiquette in this situation? I mean, were this to happen if he were chewing on bricks, I could call him a dumbass or something, but he was eating the same food as myself. So I kind of just laughed and feigned concern - in fact, I kinda thought he was being a baby about it - teeth are totally overrated*. On to the gymnastics meet. What? Why would I go to a gymnastics meet? [I would like to take this opportunity to point out that the ex practiced gymnastics, which I'm sure he'd like to forget. Heh.] Turns out there was no meet since Shain can't read a calendar, he will deny that he was wrong, but clearly, there's no other option. We ended the night with L-Ma at the Library where I was made fun of for my love of Forever 21 and one night stands, you know, the usual.

*Shain will almost certainly provide a more humorous and accurate account of this situation. Whatevs. His should be better. I'm not the one getting a Ph.D.

Saturday:

My house is full of sick people. Everyone has this terrible flu/cold thing going around. I've actually been pretty sick for the past week, but not enough to keep me from bringing you the latest in my eternally fascinating life. Since Wednesday, I've had that super sexy croaky phlegm voice thing going on. Actually, today it's pretty hot. I've gone from sounding like Harvey Fierstein to, well, I like to think Scarlett Johansson. Call me. You'll see. The point is, I escaped the land of the dead (aka reclining in La-Z-Boys while watching basketball games) to see Music and Lyrics, the new Hugh Grant/Drew Berrymore disaster. It was kinda funny, but not really. I'd have rather bought a six pack with that $7.

Saturday Night:

What is more fun than spending Saturday night grading introduction to philosophy exams? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Shain lured me to his office with promises of a free dinner in exchange for helping him grade his exams. He read me a few samples of what the kids these days call "essays" which sealed the deal. Sweet Jeebus are these kids fucking morons. That's somewhat of an overstatement as I didn't completely understand what the question was either (Teleological? Cosmological? Just kidding. I remember that stuff. Psych!), but I would've at least BS'd my way out with proper grammar. Rather than deciphering what these students meant with their incoherent strings of "therefore because there could be there is a universe with things and maybe a God" Shain had me literally translate/transcribe a student's essay, which was almost completely illegible. It was amazing. It's like he wrote in a combination of Windings and Cuneiform. Anyway, it was a challenge. And I'm always up to a challenge. Until I got bored.

And went to meet Alex at a little bar called The Deli. No offense New York, specifically you, East Village, but this bar has you beat in the odd mixture of frat boys, professionals and regulars in a spectacularly trendy dive setting with fantastic underground music. It's got an unparalleled authenticity and I predict I will spend much time there. I was treated to a couple of Red Stripes, a smorgasbord of drunk people making out and the musical stylings of The Hosty Duo. I met the main guy over Christmas with my friend Mike who guaranteed I'd like him and he was right. Listen to Oklahoma Breakdown. When this was played, the whole bar started singing along. I wish I'd known the words. Pride in your home state is a good thing and these guys manage to praise every aspect of the sooner state (remember, they don't have much to work with). Most importantly, The Hosty Duo sings a song about Linda Cavanaugh, the illustrious anchor of KFOR TV Channel 4. I don't know why, but I have harbored a hate for this woman since I was a small child. Maybe it's her shellacked hair helmet, maybe it's her irrepressible Republicanism she brings to every newscast. I dunno, but my disgust runs deep.

And now it's Sunday:

Liquor stores are closed. I can't download porn on the family computer. What am I gonna do all day?

Song of the day: Feeling Good - Nina Simone
Dumb Video of the day:

Holy Hairless Crackwhore!

TMZ is reporting that Brit spent less than 24 hours in rehab, shaved her head, then got a tattoo of red lips on her wrist. I really just don't know what to do with this. Really.

Behold Ms. Not So Clean, in fact, probably filthy.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with the ultimate realm of fantasy and adventure:

*

I have been spending a lot of time with boys lately, when I'm not kicking it with the roommates (i.e. I'm grounded from the car). These boys and I have a lot of things in common, mainly drinking and talking shit. However, sometimes they slip into this foreign language of poker, World of War Craft, Wii, or movie quotes and I have no idea what they're talking about which leads me to drinking way more than I ought. I already have a gambling habit (did I remember to take my pill?), I can't afford my own Wii and I refuse to watch Clerks 2 so that leaves me with entering the WOW. Luckily, my friend Alex was there to help me along. Not that it helped. I chose to be a Blood Elf Warlock with lovely, long golden hair named Blythevere (creative, I know).

After that, I pretty much have no idea what happened, since I'm a "newb." Something about a Paladin or a Mage and some pants? I totally cast a thing that killed some wyrms? Buff? Mana? All I know is that I have the hand-eye coordination of a Stevie Wonder in mittens. I can barely tell left from right, let alone use two hands at once (don't all come a runnin' at once boys).

Hopefully, soon I will be able to ponder philosophical questions such as, "Is the horde truly better than the alliance?" But right now, I have no idea what those words mean. I do know that relationships have ended over this game, lives have been ruined, hours, days, years wasted, so, I figure it's the perfect thing for me. Hell, South Park talks about it, so it must be ok, right? It's ok to escape the misery of daily life by pretending you're a spell wielding, surprisingly buxom elf, right? Lord knows I need another activity keeping me on the Internets.

*I'm pretty sure this solidifies my standing as a total dork. I totally understand if you stop reading this immediately, Mom.

Goulet Wednesday Valentine's Day Extravaganza!

- Valentine's Day means V.D. therefore, I abstain.

- I would totally look like this if Nikolo whatever-his-name-is did my photoshoot. But since I have to strap the camera to my dog, what you see is as good as it gets. [Gawker]

- Anna Nicole, Republican Conspirator: [Jossip]

- Ah, true love. [Perez Hilton]

- Breaking Obvious News: [WWTDD]

- Pure rubbish. [dlisted]

- Silly Mormon, presidential elections are for Baptists. [CNN]

and finally,

and an old school v-day song for all of the lovers out there. i don't know, it's just been in my head.

Owner of a Lonely Heart

[This will be my only post about V-day. I promise.]

This is the first Valentine's Day I will be without a boyfriend since I was 17. I'm pretty much ok with this. If you know me, you know my motto is "everything in moderation" except liquor. And shoes. And cheese fries. And reruns of Saved By The Bell. Anyway, at 25, I'm fairly certain I have a few more Valentine's Days up my sleeve before I kick it (I say a few due to the massive consumption of the aforementioned liquor and cheese fries), so I'm trying not to sweat it. I had a good (if by good it's ok to receive two shares of GE for a gift on year, or was that for my birthday?) run, now it's time to experience the other side.

The thing is, I don't need a boyfriend, fancy flowers, super expensive dinner, a nice little piece from Kay Jewelers (actually, if I do ever manage to pay convince someone to be my boyfriend and he ever buys me anything from Kay or Zales, it's off), chocolates, etc. What would be nice, though, would be to, you know, just watch a movie curled up with someone (i.e. not my dog), on a soft couch, just for a couple of hours. Is that so much to ask? Apparently so.

Treatment for my rapidly mending, but decidedly broken heart includes listening to the following on repeat until the depth of my despair becomes comical and my tear jar is full:

Helpless - Needle
At Seventeen - Janis Ian

Eat. Drink. Sleep. Repeat.

Lowkey Friday:

Rather uneventful. Ate some food with L-Ma, had a few drinks with another friend. In bed by 12. Eh.

And then there was Saturday:

Part I:

I am the last person to see The Departed. I know this. What I did not know was what I was missing! It's definitely the best movie I've seen this year hands down. Leo usually makes me want to puke a little and I've never understood the overrated underrated Marky Mark, but they both turned in stellar performances.

My father roommate and I ended up at a super ghetto mall in Oklahoma City to kill time before the movie started. We decided to head over to a candy store to load up my giant purse. While perusing the various varieties of Jelly Bellies, a man outfitted in a camo (the kind hunters wear) long sleeve t-shirt, Wranglers up to his armpits and a belt buckle the size of my head ran into the store and excitedly tapped who I assume to be his wife on the shoulder. "Honey," he says, "This mall's got more people than our entire town!" I stifled a laugh. I also discovered a store entirely dedicated to pageant wear. More on this some other time.

Part II:

Mr. Shain invites me to attend one of his old high school friend's birthday party. I agree to this thinking that there's no one that I will possibly see. I'm slowly enjoying an alcoholic beverage in the kitchen, deeply embroiled in a snarkfest with Shain about how much better we are than everyone when, bam! I'm a little bit drunk. Don't know how it happened. Suddenly, it's like Facebook came to life. People are coming out of the woodwork. You know how you graduate or leave town and just assume you're never going to see certain people ever again? I saw them all last night. First boy I ever got drunk with - he was there. Girl that was in yearbook with me, there. One of my dad's colleague's son who babysat my little brother - there and shitfaced. Eighth grade algebra crush - there - with his wife, who happens to be from the same town as my grandparents. My grandfather made her pancakes on her birthday. My grandpa doesn't even know when my birthday is. Long story short, well, Shain abandoned me and we'll just skip over the rest of the night. My plan of not shaving my legs all week to prevent me from embarking on any weekend shenanigans totally backfired.

Sunday! Sunday Sunday!

I saw Pan's Labyrinth today. Not bad, not bad. Soul crushing, but in that artsy, beautiful kinda way that makes you feel utterly uncreative. Thumbs up. Makes me want to read Borges.

In other news, my mother other roommate is watching the Grammys. She just asked me why Mary Kate Blige is winning so many. She also just let me know that Justin Timberlake came out of the closet earlier this year. Oh mom, I mean person I live with.

Song of the day:

Sufjan Stevens - The Henney Buggy Band. Reminds me of hanging out with my dad when he was directing marching bands. Good times. Hearing damage, but good times.

Food of the day:

Schlotzky's. It's a chain, I know. But it's a damn good one.

Promise of the day:

I'll write something more interesting after my brain has recovered.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with the fact that Oklahoma has Happy Hour! (Puritanical MA did not.)

After a long day of wrangling eighth graders, I am in dire DIRE need of a cocktail. For half price! Yes, I am aware that it is only 3.35 in the afternoon. Today, I have endured relentless questions i.e. why aren't you married? how old are you? 17? 32? do you not have a boyfriend because you're so short? why are you so short? how come you're wearing such ugly shoes? why are you teaching us? don't you have a real job? you don't have a razr? and the like. The only answer is some girly martini-ish thing and the sweet, sweet oblivion that will follow.

The super important stuff filling up my head:

1. Is the new Sarah Silverman Program funny?

My heart says yes, but my head says no. I read an article about her in The New Yorker some time ago and decided that was evidence enough that she is, in fact, funny, unlike say Dane Cook. Also, the New York Times agrees she's quite hilarious. However, I hear a lot of shit talked about the foul mouthed little lady. She is kind of gimmicky in her delivery and surely uses her looks to offset her tendency toward the disgusting (but true). I think she also stole Jimmy Kimmel away from his wife or something mean. Hmm. Poop. Am I funny now?

2. Converse conversion.

I need footwear somewhere between ballet flat and running shoe that reflects my inherent nerdiness and looks good with jeans. To me, that says Converse. This brings up two questions: 1. white or black? 2. Am I ok with jumping on yet another trend bandwagon? O.K. 3. Am I too old for them? I'm kinda an old lady.

3. Music Video Corner:

I think this came out a while ago, but sometimes I can't stop myself from Googling Zach Galafianakis. I've been teaching eighth grade, so finding this little number with Zach and Fiona Apple stirred up all kinds of adolescent angst. Like I'm never going to have a boyfriend, car, when do I get to move out... oh wait. That's still true.

Also, I just like beards.

4. Song of the day.

Staralfur - Sigur Ros. Try it. You'll like it.

5. Blogs that entertain me at school because I can't get to the ones I read religiously due to the firewall:

The Gilded Moose
Things My Boyfriend Says

6. Anna Nicole Smith.

Kicked the bucket. Oh dear. Does that mean Inside Edition, Entertainment Tonight and The Insider will be canceled?

Goulet Wednesday News Round Up

While you were at reading about Fashion Week (and, most likely, not caring because, like me, I'll bet you buy all of your clothes on sale at Old Navy - yeah, more like Fashion Weak):

- That evangelist guy isn't gay anymore. Must've been this. [via MySpace]

- "I am not familiar." Again, Amy Poehler is the shit. [Jossip]

- You know, Oklahoma boasts the most astronauts of any state. We also have a lot of crazies. We do not, however, have crazy astronauts. Yet. [Defamer]

- LOST!! is back!! So excited. Fortunately, CNN has brought me up to speed. In fact, they've made reading so easy I don't have to anymore! [See story highlights box. This is really ridiculous. I thought semismartish people (me) read CNN and idiots read Fox. Who's the idiot now? (me)]

- Goulet Wednesday's namesake made a kickass(ish) SB commersh! La-da-di-da-da. GOULET! Nature!



- I am dreading Valentine's Day. Not because I am single, but because even when I do find love (most likely never) it can't possibly be like this. Fossilized? Together!? I thought a joint bank account was a big deal.

8th Grade/Debate/Grounded/Super Bowl

My new gig:

So, while I await the start of job 2.1, I am substitute teaching at the school where my mother is an assistant princip-a-l. I was fortunate enough to teach Language Arts all day Friday to four classes of 8th graders. This is what I learned:
1. They are all taller than me and have no problems making me aware of this.
2. The girls dress like tramps. They wear heavy eye makeup, sport baby cleavage and don't seem to know it's winter. Tank tops?
3. These kids are getting more action than me. There's PDA galore in the halls. When I was in 8th grade, I was too busy figuring out which Doc Martens to wear with my new flannel while listening to Nirvana to be aware that there were boys.
4. Speaking of boys, they all have shaggy hair. Some with highlights.
5. They have MySpace pages, and invite me to be their friend.
6. They also have Razrs, Blackberries, iPods and other gadgets that I cannot afford.
7. They are dumb. Some fantastic examples include "beeutifull," "Coareea," and "climax" instead of "climate." I am a nerd, yes, but I am nowhere near the sharpest knife in that proverbial drawer. However, I'm pretty certain I was literate by 8th grade. That No Child Left Behind biznass is workin' real good.
8. They are immature assholes. So am I. We got along famously.

Resolved: high school debate makes my brain hurt:

Friday night, I found myself hanging out with Mr. Shain judging a high school debate tournament. Wow. A few things: when I debated, I was horrible, but impeccably dressed, which I think is the most important aspect of the event. These girls seem to not have mirrors or something. The boys looked nice. Whatev. Also, they make up words. I heard "unmoral" and "communistic Russia" come out of the mouths of college bound seniors more than I should've. Also, if I ever have to think in depth about Kant's Categorical Imperative and how it applies to the (a)morality of a corporation, my head might explode. Such high level thinking is no longer possible for me unless it involves Lindsay, Britney or Paris. Finally, I am old. So old. But hey, I got a free baked potato. Score!

Speaking of high school:

My car is in the process of being shipped from MA to OK. It's relatively old and probably wouldn't make the trip. In the meantime, I've been using the parents (roommates) cars. I went out Saturday night and didn't make it back till Sunday morning (another story for another time). My mother (roommate #1) informed me prior to leaving Saturday night that the car had a curfew of midnight. I scoffed at such an idea. Now I am grounded from the car. Yup.

Obligatory Super Bowl Post:

I meant to watch the Superbowl (ok, really ads and Prince), but I got sucked into Puppy Bowl III. It was awesome! Watching a bunch of adorable puppies bump into each other almost made me forget I'm living with my parents. My face hurts from smiling for three hours straight. I'm such a fucking sucker. When on commercial, I flipped over to "My Boys" on TBS, which I found equally delightful. Cable in general makes me pretty happy these days. I'm a simple girl, really.

It's Friday, I'm In Love.

I wish I were in love with a real person, but I'm not*. [I'm in love with my dog (Claire - pictures forthcoming), not Zealand - who was stolen (see note), but I don't think that counts, although, I am living in Oklahoma now.] In the absence of a real life lover, I declare my Friday love for Jamie Lidell.

This guy is, simply put, the shit. Somehow, he's made an effortless transition from trouncing (what I imagine to be) an iBook (and some other gadgets used to produce the stuff he's known for) to slaying soul with an understated moxie not unlike Otis Redding.

I am so into guys who look like this. And sound like this. Also, check out "Game for Fools."**

*This is not entirely true, but you know how it is.

Note: Ok, I will finally stop talking about the dog. It's just hard, you know. I am a bitter, bitter woman and hold a grudge like nobody's business. Why am I single again?

**I really want to make out to this song, like soon. Please contact me if you're interested.

Sorta sad.

Molly Ivins, one of Smith's few notable alums* (ok, that's not true, I'm just pissed that my student loan payment doesn't decrease as a result of our continuing decline according to US News and World Report. Seriously, we were 11th when I arrived, 13th when I finished and now we're 1,486th. Not true, but it feels like it. Also, I don't really care about that sort of thing. Except when someone I know went to a better school than me. Which is almost everyone. Bah.) died yesterday at the age of 62 after a fight with cancer. I saw her speak while at Smith, and I must say, I really enjoyed her and not simply because I agree with everything she said. Mainly it was her accent. I josh. Somewhat. I guess the Anne Richards/Molly Ivins 4 prez ticket will never happen, but a girl can dream. And wake up to Hillary Clinton. Hmm.

*Imaginary alums include Dr. Cristina Yang of Grey's Anatomy, that lawyer lady on The West Wing, and Charlotte from Sex and the City.