So this weekend I decided to take it easy in the alcohol department as last weekend resulted in several unsavory moments including a restraining order from my liver. Also, it's official: I'm going to the beach this summer on a little vacay which means I need to reign in the excessive consumption. However, I'm conflicted because I think the best way to do this would be to participate in the vodka and cigarettes diet. I'll let you know.
Friday:
L-Ma and I made our way to a mall in the more upscale section of OKC to see The Namesake. Class all the way here in OK. I read the book and happen to think Jhumpa Lahiri is one of the sexiest authors ever, aside from Dr. Phil, obvs, because that's what's important in a writer. I was super excited to see the movie. It wasn't great, but not bad either. The point of this story is that, wait, there isn't a point.
Saturday:
Elated after another outstanding trip to Super Cao Nguyen (if you still haven't gone, go),
I was very disappointed to learn that the Neko Case show had been canceled. I had even made a special mix cd of her in preparation. Boo. Mr. Shain picked me up anyway and we headed into Bricktown (feeble attempt at OKC planners to create some sort of nightlife epicenter out of nothing replete with a fake canal and horse drawn carriages) in an effort to see what all of the fuss is about. Come to find out, there's no fuss or anything really. Shain parks 13.2 miles away from where Bricktown (I feel so stupid even typing "Bricktown") and as we walked, we passed this installment? I dunno what it is. I call it a buffalo garden. I almost broke the fence climbing in to have Shain take my picture, but they were ugly so you're not going to see it. After a bout of indecisiveness because we were distracted by men/boys wearing severely outdated striped button downs reeking of Wal-Mart knock off Douche cologne and ladies with their tanned bosoms pouring out of Wet Seal lycra, we settled on some bar that I've already forgotten the name of. It was lame to the max (much like this statement - oh the irony). It was Saturday night and there were about five people there, four of which I think were there to see the musical act, which was sad bastard music. Shain ordered me my first Manhatten, which I enjoyed, and that's about all I remember... Psych! We fucking closed the bar down. At 11pm. On our way back to the car, we notice that a prom was being held at the Civic Center. We proceeded to park directly in front of the venue, camera ready, just in case we could capture the magic that is an Oklahoma City public high school prom. Lots of top hats and fedoras. Who knew? I was too paranoid (the public exposure charge hasn't been dropped yet...) to actually take any shots. I've been regretting it ever since. So, we head home. Shain wants to catch a midnight movie, but they don't exist here. (You're not in LA anymore, Shain). The upside of this is that there's Waffle House! I opted out of finishing off the night at Riverwind Casino and hit the hay instead.
Bacon!
Sunday:
It had been two weeks since I'd seen my local music favorite, Mike Hosty. Something was missing from my life. Namely, songs about tornadoes and Sierra Nevada pale ale. This was remedied and then some Sunday. As a result, Monday sucked.
I've been slacking off in the music department. I really have nothing new to offer you, so I give you what I've been listening to on repeat. I promise better later.
Dream - Alice Smith: This lady is fucking awesome. This is what Jennifer Hudson wishes she sounded like (wait till the end). Also, it makes me kinda horny. Let My Love Open the Door - M. Ward: If I ever get married, and that's a big if, I want this played at my wedding. This version. Not the shitty Pete Townsend version. This is the sweetest song known to man (right now anyway).
I know that you have come to trust me more than your parents, priests and significant other(s) combined when it comes to important issues including, but not limited to inane celebrity gossip, crappy music, and the overall dullness that is my life. Well, trust me on this, too. I bring you the latest blogs I have found. By found, I mean I just click some links here and there when I'm bored. But they're good. According to me. And I have no taste. As you know.
with nothing because today was the worst day of middleschooldom yet. That's not true (well, sort of). I'm in love with Feist! Ever since she serenaded me with Mushaboom (which is my dream life), I'm putty in her adorable, Canadian hands. If this video won't cheer you up, just forget it and shoot yourself. Also, L-Ma, I'm wearing a sequined jump suit tonight! Two words: lucky you.
First of all, let me apologize. 1) That was the worst Goulet Wednesday News Round Up in the history of the Goulet Wednesday News Round Up and there have been some pretty low moments for the Goulet Wednesday News Round Up. 2) The following post is semi-emotional, therefore boring and not remotely humorous.
Due to Break Up 06 (ok, and in part to Side Sweeping Bangs 07 a.k.a. trip to mulletville), I'm (still) kind of an emotional mess. Surprising, I know. Lately, when I envision myself as the star of a late 80's music video, I've been seeing myself in a suit singing (most likely purchased from the J.C. Penny's boys department) "Simply Undateable*" in front of a background of sleek, guitar wielding models a la Robert Palmer, but instead of singing "she's so fine, there's no telling where the money went," I omit she's, so, telling, where, the and went. You see, as much as I've bitched about it, I'm not really relationship ready. I'm still stuck in no-one-will-ever-really-like-me-in-fact-I-refuse-to- believe-that-any-boy-actually-wants-a-girlfriend land as a direct result of the emotional pummeling inflicted by the exbf. It's not fair to blame all of this on him, you say, to which I say, you didn't know him.
This, however, does not stop me from noticing the stirrings of emotions in my aforementioned robot heart made of scrap metal from the future (it is spring, after all). This weekend, I was watching 13 Going On 30 (whatever, I was hungover) and almost cried when I thought Mark Ruffalo and Jennifer Garner's characters weren't going to end up together. But tears rust. I've had a few opportunities here and there, let me tell you. Ok, I won't tell you because you probably want proof or something. Anyway, I "choose" to be single. It's best for all of us, trust me. However, this does not stop me from wanting certain aspects of coupledom. I want to stay in some Friday night playing board games or something equally uncool and know that it's perfectly alright because I will be sleeping with that person later and that's way better than slowly getting drunk at a bar alone - not that I do that - no really, I don't. I want to take a nap with someone in the middle of the day. I want them to think my soft snoring is cute (FYI it's neither soft nor cute - sorry) and let me burrow into their arm-nook. I want to wake up without thinking I just wasted half an hour. In the words of my heroine, Liz Lemon, "I just wanna listen to you play Halo until I fall asleep." But, apparently, such intimacy is preceded by uncertainty, awkwardness, vulnerability and the promise of fancy underwear and, frankly, I'm just not really down with any of that at this point. Tell me you like me and I won't believe you. Call me to ask me out and I won't answer. In other words, I am awesome.
In an effort to make myself feel better, I got new shampoo. I am a cheap bitch in most respects. I usually get the Suave knock off stuff, but while at the grocery store this weekend, I decided to take it up a notch and get Pantene. But not just any Pantene. Pantene Blond Expressions (insert joke about blond expressions here). I used it this morning, and let me tell you, am I pleased with this purchase (about $6.43). My hair was not blonder, per se (mainly because it's not really to begin with), but it was super shiny, soft and smelled like a sexy older lady.
*75% sure "undatable" is either spelled wrong or not really a word.
Imus said something really, really dumb. Well, guess what. He also looks dumb. Also, add up all the totally asinine things said by Bill O'Reilly, Nancy Grace, Lou Dobbs, Hannity, Limbaugh, the whole freaking bunch, etc and fire all of their asses. [Washington Post]
100 million iPods sold! Mainly, iThink, because 500 million were lost, stolen or broken. [Yahoo]
Larry B's the daddy! So, now does that mean the Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood, The Insider, etc will be canceled (Finally? And replaced by a rerun of According to Jim? Please?)? When this season of Dancing with the Stars is (mercifully) over, there's literally nothing left. [Court TV]
Andrew Bird references Lou Dobbs in song. Reason 1,365,732.62 that I love my AB. [Gawker]
Doing the weather on NBC doesn't make you a meteorologist anymore than hosting a show on The Food Network makes you a chef (Rachel Ray), let alone suddenly make you a hard hitting correspondent, but whatever Imus' is an idiot. [Jossip]
Special Goulet Wednesday News Round Up TV/Movie I saw on TV Feature!
This is what you should be watching because Sanjaya, Lost, Gilmore Girls and Greys suck donkey balls these days.
Human Giant: You know, those funny guys from Best Week Ever being hi-larious. But on MTV. It's too soon to say this, but I will anyway. It's kind of The State like. Really.
Acceptable TV: Better than a rerun of Scrubs and then some.
Freak Show: David Cross, H. Jon Benjamin (Home Movies anyone?) and a bearded clam.
Grandma's Boy: I have a thing for Nick Swardson. What can I say?
Half Awake - Someone Still Loves You Boris Yelstin: They're from Springfield, MO. I think they're either coming or were just at the Opolis here in Norman. Must check on that. Oh, however, I do know that The Hold Steady is coming to Norman. Yay!
Us - Regina Spektor: My friend refers to her as Vagina Spektor, but you know what? I still like her and her older stuff.
Ambulance - TV on the Radio: Sorry, can't find this one. I heard this song driving home one night from Umass about a year ago. Why was I at Umass? Let's not talk about that. Anyhoo, it was on the Umass radio station so it was all fuzzy and hard to understand. I got home, flopped down on the floor with my laptop and got to work trying to decipher the lyrics so that I could download the song. At that time, I have to admit, I had never heard of TVOTR. The Shame! So, I found it and love it and you could too.
My weekend was pretty meh. It's really cold here (in fact, it snowed!), which automatically puts me in a nasty mood. So, there's that.
Mr. Shain doesn't like Mexican food:
Friday night, L-Ma, Mr. Shain and I went to a local Mexican restaurant for dinner. I thought it would be enjoyable. Instead, Shain stared at me with disdain as I shoveled chips, cheese and chimichanga into my face while refusing to eat his quesadilla. That's what you get for ordering the crappiest thing on the menu, buddy. Yeah, and you can keep your Pinkberry and Sprinkles or whatever. I'll take a pile of melted cheese over that stuff any day.
The one where I went to Borders:
I like to hang out in bookstores. There, I'll admit it. I escape to Borders a lot these days, immersing myself in magazines and books I can't afford. I suppose there are libraries for this sort of thing, but blah. Look what I found, though!
I am happy to say that I know the members of the Winterpills! They're from Noho and they're really good. And on sale at your local Borders!
There's always other boyfriends:
While at said Borders, I used a handy dandy little gift card to buy The Hold Steady album, Boys and Girls in America as per Clinton at ZFS suggestion. You're going to say that all of their songs sound the same and that the lead singer doesn't really sing, and you know what? I don't care. I love it! I totally see why the blogs have all been up on this shit. It's a good time. I took a nice drive out in the country, windows down, Craig Finn's voice blaring, happiness.
Is open! While there, I received the following disturbing picture message from the exbf.
It seems that Zealand (former dog that was lost in the settlement if you're keeping track) jumped into the river (Connecticut) and onto a stick, which stabbed him. A) I imagine it's too cold for even dogs to be swimming in the river and B) poor baby! I should have just taken him. I know I said I wouldn't talk about it anymore, but it makes my heart hurt. My Friend Morgan:
was in a short film. She was up from Houston yesterday and had a little showing at a get together last night. Very nice. Plus, she's got big ones. Speaking of which, in the absence of girl friends, which I can't seem to make here, I made my friend Matt my stand in last night. I drug him into the bathroom with me, made him listen to me bitch about boys and look at my bra. Then I coerced him into having a platonic sleepover with me, but not before declaring that I had to take my pants off because I can't sleep with them on. What? Needless to say, my head hurts.
It's the most wonderful time of the year!
Beyonce Lyrics Check:
In one of B's latest songs, Upgrade U, she manages to combine this:
I can do for you what Martin did for the people Ran by the men but the women keep the tempo It's very seldom that you're blessed to find your equal Still play my part and let you take the lead role
with this:
Partner let me upgrade you Audemars Piguet you Switch your neck tie to purple labels
because that makes sense.
Mr. Shain and I are famous!
Ok, not entirely, but we were both mentioned here for some reason. Rock on.
Whoopee!
T - some hours until the big moment! Here I come Tony!
with Tony, Carm, Meadow, AJ, Paulie, Christopher and especially Silvio. They're like family, except I would be terrified if they were actually my family, but I probably would've gone to Columbia, so there's that. Yup, folks, it's that time again. Sopranos starts up Sunday night at 9/8 central. I'm not going to do a recap or go into my predictions (because, frankly, David Chase is a much smarter man than I), but I will say this. If you aren't an avid fan already, it's certainly worth the space on your Netflix queue. You know it is too. I don't really have to tell you since the rest of the free world has been watching since 1999. So, just do it.
2 tablespoons olive oil 2 turkey Italian sausages (about 6 ounces), casings removed 2 cups chopped onions 1 1/2 red bell peppers, thinly sliced 1/2 cup dry red wine 1 141/2-ounce can diced tomatoes in juice with Italian seasonings
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese
preparation
Cook pasta in large pot of boiling salted water until just tender but still firm to bite, stirring occasionally. Drain. Return to pot.
Meanwhile, heat oil in heavy medium skillet over medium-high heat. Add sausage; sauté until brown, breaking up with fork, about 4 minutes. Add onions and peppers; sauté 5 minutes. Stir in wine; boil 2 minutes, scraping up browned bits. Add tomatoes with juices. Reduce heat to medium and cover; simmer until slightly thickened, about 4 minutes.
Add sauce to pasta. Toss over medium heat until heated through. Season with salt and pepper. Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese and serve.
It Was a Very Good Year (Ok, I can't find a link, but this is a truly great song. Make sure you download the Sinatra version. It'll give you goosebumps.)
Hey there. It's Thursday. Rainy days and Thursdays always get me down. Not really, but this one is for some reason. I am descending into an adolescent night of angst, but this time with booze and a high speed internet connection. Things aren't bad, in fact, they're just fine. I had a good day, the NY job search has made some headway and I've got soft hair. So, all in all, not so bad. So, why then, am I compelled to listen to Bright Eyes at unreasonable volumes and am stymied by Mr. Oberst's schizo advice?
Damn you Bright Eyes! I wish we'd never met. In the meantime, both The Office and 30 Rock are new tonight. Ever since ending my LTR with TiVo, I've been bad at keeping up with my old friends on NBC. Tonight I will remedy that and I suggest you do the same.
If and when you happen to be feeling a bit down, listen to this (and think of me): Backpack
Wow. It's Wednesday again. Time flies when you black out a lot. Enjoy!
I'm a Beatles girl all the way, but I'll admit, I was pretty impressed when I read this: [breitbart], but then I was disappointed when I read this: [Defamer], much like a Stone's song (that isn't Angie, Wild Horses, Moonlight Mile or Paint it Black - I'll give you those).
Further proof that all news, regardless of network, should be delivered by Colbert or Stewart. Buh-bye O'Briens. Who am I kidding? I don't watch the news. [Washingon Post]
While you were denying paternity of Scary Spice's baby spice (not to be confused with Baby Spice), we still don't know D-Lynn's babydaddy. Come on people! [People]
Reason 1,562.74 I'm glad I don't have a boyfriend. I don't have to see this: [via BWE: Filmwad ]
The triumphant return of the scrunchie! Just kidding. If you wear one, we are no longer friends. Not that we ever were. [Socialite Life]
MTV/VH1 lame-o TV wrap up:
New York chose her man. Lucky for you, you can watch the moment 256,489 times on VH1. [Socialite Life]
Heidi moved in with Spencer (winner of creepiest looking, skankiest d-bag alive - he wears a gold chain, Heidi, I mean, come on!). Because she is an idiot (but she is very pretty, so there's that). I love you and your wide headbands Lauren! [US]
J/K. I don't follow baseball. Not that I wouldn't want to, but growing up in a pro-sportless state has left me lacking in that department (although, I can get behind the Sooners with no problem). While in the northeast, I went to a few Mets and Yankees games here and there and enjoyed myself quite a lot, but a smattering of games does not a fan make. I don't even know what team I'd go for. I suppose I could entertain the Yankees, Mets, Red Sox, Rangers, Royals or Cardinals due to geographical relevance to my life.
Speaking of cardinals, there are a lot of things I don't understand - fat free sour cream, Rockport shoes, why people watch Deal Or No Deal, John Mayer and J. Simp, or just John Mayer in general. Most of all, though, I don't understand taxidermy. I was hanging out in a 7th grade science class the other day teaching the kiddies about minerals and shit when I started to look around the room and damn! There were freaking dead animals everywhere! I am not ok with that. Sure, I'll eat them, but that's where I want my relationship with dead animals to end.
[an aside - once, long ago, before I was allowed to have a dog and by allow I mean I brought it home and told the parents I found the pup on the side of the road, then promptly ran away to NYC and left them the dog to raise, which they now love more than me, but that's another therapy session. Right, so I had a pet mouse named Taffy, after my great grandparents cocker spaniel. I made a leash for Taffy out of yarn. I would walk her along my sidewalk desperately hoping she would suddenly turn into a dog. She never did. Also, L-Ma and I use to tie yarn across the posts of my bed and make Taffy tightrope walk. L-Ma should not be allowed to have pets, although, she wants a cat and will name it Paula Deen, which I think is pretty much the best cat name ever. Oh right, so I had this phase were I videotaped everything (i.e. talk shoes, music videos, rollerskating performances, etc) and needed to shoot footage of my mouse for some reason, so I go to her cage, zoom in and realize, much to my horror, that she was, in fact, dead. Oh the tragedy. I dropped the camera (all 50 pounds of it - it was the kind that had a VHS tape in it!) and fell to the floor wailing. Awesome.]
Needless to say, these lifeless creatures adorning the classroom walls with glassy eyed death freaked me the fuck out. Furthermore, who grows up thinking they want to be a taxidermist? And, does it pay well? I'm not really set in a career yet.
Ok, see what I mean? Creep factor 5000.
In a related story, there was a chinchilla. A live one. It was the softest thing ever! I want one. I would name it Bobby Flay.
Since I was little, picking favorite things has been very important to me. Favorite color (green), favorite Care Bear (remember that Carol King sang the song for the movie? Weird), favorite Sno-Cone flavor (wedding cake), etc. I would like to know people's favorite songs. Then I would make the ultimate playlist - of other people's favorite songs. For those of you keeping score, my go-to favorites are "I Will" by the Beatles and "Sweet thing" by Van Morrison. Creative, I know.
Menomena - Wet and Rusting: This is yet another band that people have been creaming their pants about recently. So I gave it a try. And I liked it. Both creaming my pants and the song. The Denial Twist - White Stripes: Every now and then, I need some Jack White in my life. This song is as good as any.
Dead Meat - Sean Lennon: I like telling people they're dead meat. This song has a lovely melancholy to it. I would play it during a tornado warning.
The Kooks - She Moves in Her Own Way: I am starting to become overly obsessed with both The Kooks and The Format (which I'm seeing tomorrow!!). They're so damn cute and scruffy and Scottish and I'm a sucker for an accent, just like any lady.
My Old Ways - Dr. Dog: I can't even remember how I came across this, but the video reminds me of that weird, old school cartoon Ringo Star voiced. Remember that? The Point, I think. Oh, weird. All the music is Harry Nilsson, who I was thinking of comparing this song to. Indeed.
End of the Movie - Cake: I love cake. Not the food. Trumpet + vibraslap + monotone = heaven for me. I can't find an mp3/video for this song, but trust me. It's a little gem.
Piazza, New York Catcher - Belle and Sebastian: Mr. Shain played this for me. It reminds me of a Simon and Garfunkel song. Most of the time, listening to B & S is an exercise in near suicidal thoughts, but I don't mind this one.
Star Witness - Neko Case: Fox Confessor Brings the Flood is pretty much the best album title ever. Also, I can't imagine this song being played over the credits of The Hills or in The Gap, therefore I like it.
Friday night I did something I haven't done in maybe a year. I stayed in. And, you know what? It wasn't that bad. In fact, I kind of liked it. I caught up on magazines, Vh1, and painted my nails. I woke up not hungover Saturday, too! I just might try this again sometime.
I am a giant idiot (in so many ways):
Saturday, Shain abducted me from my house and made me eat pastry. Afterward, he tried to take a nap in his car. Later, he tried to crush himself between his seat and the steering wheel. Must be an LA thing.
Then I made him go to the Apple Store in OKC so I could check out the iPod Shuffle. I am an educated lady (I use the term "educated" loosely, of course), but sometimes, I wonder about myself. As do those around me or those who have ever known me, I imagine. I pick up the display shuffle telling Shain I'd probably want one in green. Then I reach for the green one, which is housed in a lucite case. I do not realize this and bonk my hand into the display like a giant idiot. The (rather attractive) sales guy immediately quips, I've never seen that before. Yeah, thanks. Shain is dying laughing, my face is so red it hurts. I hate everything. So, we wander about some more, I touch things I probably shouldn't, am horrified by photobooth and the prices of Apple products. I pick up the good ol' regular iPod (which I decide I will save up for, since I have, like 10 million songs I always need to be listening to) and manage to knock over the spec thingy sitting on the table. My sales friend zooms over with, I heard a commotion, thought it was you. ARGH! I am hopeless. I left shamed and empty handed. But what's new?
Then we meandered about the mall, me dragging Shain into my favorite haunts (i.e. all that is available in the metro). I showed him the purse I wanted at J. Crew, he said no. I picked out a dress at Banana Republic, he said I couldn't wear it. Shain has also determined that I need help in the boy department and decided that hitting on employees at Abercrombie was the perfect place to start. After he drug me into Hollister and laughed at me, I decided to call it a night. Needless to say, that is the last time we will venture into stores together.
We headed back to Norman and met some of Shain's high school friends/debater nerds for a drink. I totally still have a nerd crush on one of the kids (ok, not really, but sort of, yes). I remember him from when he was in Math Counts in middle school. I thought that was so hot. Anyhoo, I am a terrible social conversationalist when it comes to hanging out with people I've just met or met very recently. In fact, I turn pretty much retarded for lack of a better word. I managed to stupidly insult a few people and not in a clever way - in a just plain dumb way. I need to take classes or something. This kid was talking to me about the upcoming Neko Case show and I tried describing her music by saying something riveting and profound like, it's kinda folksy, but not, but sort of. However, when he was leaving, he did shake my hand, say, nice to meet you, hopefully I'll see you at the Neko Case show (Beau, are we still on, if we were?). Uh huh. He probably says that to all the girls. The night ended with us crowded around a laptop, because, we are nerds. We decided this is funny:
Ye Olde Freakfest:
If it's late March/early April, this must be the Medieval Fair (points if you know this movie reference - I have a thing for Suzanne Pleshette). And it is. It is a Norman institution and until I moved to MA, I went every year. It's your typical Renaissance Fair fare, with which I'm sure we're all familiar. My goal in life is to eat funnel cakes at any venue possible. Today, I failed miserably. I am a champion eater, but even I couldn't conquer the funnel cake after lunch today. I am deeply disappointed in myself. But mostly for other reasons. Behold the Medieval Fair:
Bagpipers!
The elusive funnel cake. Too many funnel cakes.
Beautiful Oklahoma blue sky.Look closely. Ye Olde Sock Monkery.
Ye Olde Pimpe. Ye Olde Sluts.
An enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in an enigma:
Speaking of bad fashion decisions:
I lost my friend Maggie in the breakup. It's just one of those things. Her BF is friends with the exBF and we just couldn't hold it together. But I miss her. And her fashion sense. She was pretty much the most fashionable thing around in Noho (if you're not into skirts + pants, tie dye, hemp, filth, etc). Basically, I have no idea what to wear now that it's springtime, not that I did in winter. However, I do know not to wear a tiny backpack, Mom.
with the absurdity that is often me (and my life). Also, I mean tough love when I say love.
Exhibit A: Baby You Can Drive My Car
I think my car is lost somewhere in Tennessee. I think it was parked at a revival and was saved or something. Apparently, it doesn't feel compelled to join my atheist ass.
Exhibit B: All the Things She Said
Despite opposition (Mr. Shain, especially), I think I am going forward with the tat idea, and I'll tell you why. At this point in my life (questionable term), it's acceptable to ink oneself. When I am old and saggier, that stretched out tramp stamp (j/k I mean Looney Toons character on my hip) will be a permanent reminder of the things that drove me in my (semi) youth. No, not Pabst, Chee-tos and ultimate slovenliness, but poetry, idealism, extreme liberalism, literature, shit like that - before I chuck it all for a three-stone ring, Volvo station wagon, three Montessori school attending kids with ADD and a mild prescription drug habit. That said, I am still torn about what I should actually get. I do like the Oklahoma idea, but this is permanent, folks. The dork piece of me wants to somehow incorporate one of my favorite poems (i carry your heart with me - ee cummings, Love Calls Us to the Things of This World - Richard Wilbur, and Deer Park - Wang Wei - but who's counting), but none of them have what I would consider tangible symbology that I would want somewhere on my body. As the old adage goes, if you build it, they will come. What?
C) Jealous Guy
Those of us in the know (by "know" I mean us dorks who spend waaay too much time reading blogs - because it rocks!), know that [redacted] is some good shit. I appreciate both Dan's (we're on a first name basis - in my mind) winning good looks and comical, but poignant insight on an almost daily basis. However, Shain went off on how brilliant this guy is last night and I was shocked to find I felt a tiny twinge of jealousy since Shain should only concern himself with proclaiming the sheer brilliance of this pile. Seriously, I actually thought about this.
P.S. Shain, who told you to read him? Me. That's who.
D) Don't Call Me Baby
The exbf and I were together for quite some time in various capacities for upwards of six years, but never really got around to establishing pet names for each other. Sure, he called me sweet nothings like "numbnuts," "nutsac," "booger," "nugget," and "booger nuts" but never consistently and never with the assured gusto of a committed boyfriend. I usually just called him [redacted] to his face and asshole to everyone else. Not really. This time around, and by this time, I of course mean never, I think I might want someone to call me names. Good ones, though. No, good is the wrong word. Traditional, I suppose. I have never been referred to as "baby" in that kind of a relationship. I think I'd like to give it a try. Something like, "Baby, I wanna buy you all kinds of expensive stuff forever and you're really good in bed and you're the prettiest in all the land!" but it will probably be more like, "Baby, you're snoring. Again. Baby! Roll over! Sweet Jesus, you sound like a jackhammer." Also, if either case were come to pass, I would probably vom a little, because that's how I roll with my heart made of scrap robot parts from the future.
E) Been Caught Stealing
Speaking of the exbf, he recently sent me an email saying simlply, "Zealand got sprayed by a skunk." Ok. I'm not sure how to go about responding or not responding to this. I asked my 13 year old students and they said I should shoot back "Sucks for the dog that you stole from me, asshole, but serves you right" or "Why are you trying to make me care about something I deeply love that I will never have? Thanks for everything! Love in Christ, Blythe" I get it. Even couples that go through nasty breakups can eventually communicate, but I don't want to know about the state of the dog that I lost and will never see again. It's just heartbreaking. But then again, I'm a big baby. The thing is, I want him to email me, I just want it to say something like, "I'm so sorry for being the biggest turd ever imaginable. Here's a million dollars." I suppose I should just say something involving tomato juice. I really fucking miss my dog. It hurts like a bitch.
F) You're So Vain
Because I am an elitist, I automatically like John Legend because he went to Penn. [I have completely and absolutely irrationally high education requirements for potential suitors (all part of Plan Sabotage). I will require it, then dislike you for it. It's fun, really.] Needless to say, I like this video. I want this song. And to go on vacation.
G) The Greatest Love of All
I'm feeling kinda down about things, to be honest. Maybe it's the rain. But, I mustn't forget what I've learned from that other "B."
One of my multiple roles within my position of Tween Wrangler is Confiscator of Notes. I've written a lot of notes in my day [in fact, Big Mve 07 unearthed a cache of old college notebooks, one bearing a lovely little ditty that I wrote to L-Ma about Maasai warriors and the Kalahari Desert. It's quite clever, except not. It's a lot harder to rhyme Maasai warrior and Kalahari than one would think]**, but kids these days. I intercepted one last week where this kid endlessly praised this chick's ass. You don't have an ass when you're 12. You're still shopping at Limited Too. I read another one today over a girl's shoulder. She was saying I was mean. She later asked me for help and I told her, 'no, I'm mean.' And because I really am mean. I was imagining what kind of middle school note my life would inspire at the moment. I think it would go like this:
Hey L-Ma,
Wuz up? I am sooooo bored, so I'm writing you this note. Did you watch The Hills this week? I feel so badly for Lauren. Can you believe Whitney fell? She had linebacker shoulders in that uglyass dress. I hate Spencer. Heidi is so stupid for not dumping his lame ass. I think [redacted] likes you. You should totally go out with him sometime. I wish [redacted] would call me. Whatever. His loss. Do you wanna go to the mall this weekend? I need some camo shorts from Abercrombie with a -2 inch inseam. They're going to be soo hott. Did you hear that John Edward's wife's cancer came back? That totally sucks, but he's still cute. Should I get a Brazilian? Ok, no. I think I'm gonna go off birth control since I'm never having sex again. I'm totally going to spend that extra $34/month on cd's. :) I can't wait for Grey's tonight! Wanna watch it in my room? Oh right, you have TIVO. Sweet! I feel fat. Do you think I'm pretty? Am I prettier than [redacted]? GTG, the bell's ringing.
I read a shit ton of blogs. I mean, a lot. A ridiculous amount, really (as in almost everything to the right - everyday). I'm not sure why (ok, some of them are quite humorous, well written, etc unlike this one). Is it an effort to escape the blahness of my life? Maybe, but my life isn't all that blah. Am I a voyeur at heart? My porn preferences say so, but still, I don't know. In any case, I spend a lot of time reading (i.e. an initial once over to check if the post is too long in which case I will immediately go to Best Week Ever because I have the attention span of a two year old on Ritalin), but cannot seem to make the leap to commenting. I get insanely nervous about comments. What if it's not funny? This question plagues me into my dreams, which incidentally included a little sex number about this guy (vocalist for Gym Class Heroes) - I dunno (but I am really into tattoos at the moment). I want to comment as much as I want comments of my own, but it seems that neither is meant to be.
Decisions, decisions:
I've got to thank L-Ma for this one. I think, were I to get a tattoo, much to the dismay of those of you who weighed in, I would get a small Oklahoma on the middle-ish of my back. That's crazy/stupid/weird! you say. And I agree, but so it goes. Fortunately for all involved, I am essentially broke and there will be no inking of my epidermis for some time.
Birthday of the day:Siobhlogger turns the big 3-0! Seriously, 30 is the new awesome.
Song of the day:By Your Side - Cocorosie. This one goes out to Margreat. It is haunting, much like you.
Brother Bee-Spot and I have been walking around singing "hot pocket" about everything. Except we don't sing "hot pocket" we replace "hot" with something terribly banal, therefore witty. It's killer. Thanks Jim Gaffigan. You bring more joy to my life than you'll ever know. Or care.
If you read this blog or know me, you know two things, 1) I'm not very funny and 2) I have an unhealthy obsession with Ira Glass [so, I was at Super Target (yes, it's as awesome as it sounds) this weekend and saw my real life Ira Glass. He had spikyish salt and pepper hair, black glasses, no wedding ring - it's on]. Fortunately for all of us, other people are funny.
Hi there kids! I realize that I do not have the best musical taste, but, actually I do. Here you go!
*i can't find a lot of these mp3s, so bear with the live/youtube stuff. sorry.
Chill Out Tent - The Hold Steady: Now, I know there are a lot of folks out there who've been up The Hold Steady's ass for a bit now, but I'm just getting around to checking them out in earnest. This song is pretty rad and it mentions Western Mass!
Snails - The Format: It's official, I'm obsessed with The Format. They're playing tonight at the Conservatory, but I think I'm going to wait for their show in Norman. Come with me! The Owls Go - Architecture in Helsinki: I would listen to this on mushrooms. Attic in a basement...
We Will Become Silhouettes - The Postal Service. Ben Gibbard's voice is like an old friend. If I had any.
You Give Me Something - James Morrison: Um, yeah. This song brought to you by Starbucks and my mom. But you know what? I like it. And I totally bust it out in the shower. Don't invite me karaoking anytime soon.
Go directly to Hell. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
Friday night, I somehow managed to convince L-Ma to come with me (a miracle in itself) to the Hosty Duo at the Deli. And she smiled. And laughed. Success! Then, I embarked on one of those marathon philosophical discussion/arguments sessions with high school friends into the very wee hours of the morning. I'm pretty sure they think I'm totally insane and am going to hell any day now. Being not even what I consider very liberal in a red state is tough going sometimes. I am not crazy, I'm right.
I'm not religious, but there is a Heaven
and it's Super Cao Nguyen! I made the trek Saturday afternoon to the most freaking fantastic Asian market around. Ok, there are probably others, but damn, this one is the shit. Aisle after aisle of unrecognizable sauces, canned vegetables, and oodles of noodles. There was produce that didn't suck. And bok choy that actually looked edible! Homemade potstickers are definitely on the menu tonight. Oh, and I finally got some Sriracha, my culinary savior. Delicious, delicious Sriracha.
Cabbage! Miso paste! Look how high tech!
Ok, Adam, we get it. You're a serious actor.
I saw Reign Over Me. Don Cheadle is pretty good. And that's about it.
What was I saying?
I got some paint. I've got a nightstand that needs updating. I do not have motivation. My sad little project is sitting out in the yard getting rained on.
with the idea of getting a tattoo. Now, I'm not sure if I'll ever really go through with it (much like anything in my life, except for for Side Sweeping Bangs 07 and we all know how that turned out), but I do love thinking about it.
1) Is there any establishment in Oklahoma trustworthy enough of my delicate dermis?
2) What to get? Do I go with the ever popular Chinese character? In my case, of course, I would legitimately know what it means (no comments please from Alex or Jared) so I'd have one up on all the other d-bags walking around with them. Ok, I'd have .5 up.
Love?
Or maybe, I should just go for the gold and get a Ying/Yang.
3) Where? I'm leaning toward a nice display like Eve's tiny paw prints on her lovely lady lumps.
Mr. Shain abandoned me and took off for L.A. this week. Jerk. Or so I thought until he just sent me these glorious photos of my beloved Whole Foods. I'm going to pretend he sent these to make me happy as opposed to taunt me. In either case, I want a pile of olives and mountain of cheese, like right now.
These are for all of us who can no longer be yuppie jerks that shop at Whole Foods out there:
Reminiscing:
My friend had her baby last week (congrats!) and it got me to thinking about how much can change in a year. Somewhere near this time last year, my friends and I decided to throw a we're-starting-to-feel-old-since-we've-been-out-of-college-for-two-years-now party and lugged a keg up to the balcony of our apartment building and commissioned one of the greatest mix cds of all time - each selection approximately one minute long to keep us in line for the dumbest drinking game ever, Power Hour.
[This might have also been the party where we were dressed like "Tennis Pro's and Golf Ho's," but I don't think so (although, who woulda thought I could have forgotten the ex's outfit of see through white cotton shorts?). I think we had a massive game of flip cup that time, because we're mature professionals. I believe that party devolved into someone being crowned Edward 40 Hands (two 40s duct taped to this kid's hands until he finished them) and a semi-nude wrestling match in my front yard, and some weird kids from off the street who heard the music and headed upstairs, but I'm not entirely sure. Actually, I think Puke Fest 06 and Country Club Sluts was the same party.]
Anyhoo, we all gathered around the aforementioned pong table with our game faces on. At minute 23, there's all kinds of high fiving and fuck yeah this is awesome and that sort of thing as we enjoy one minute snippets of Journey and the like. Minute 34 approaches and the girls begin cheating. At minute 42 all hell breaks loose. As a resident of the location where this was all going down, I felt compelled to remain moderately sober and thank god I did. It's like a puke volcano that had been long dormant within the apartment suddenly erupted. Again and again and again. There were not enough vessels around to contain the boot. Boys leaned off the balcony, girls crowded both bathrooms, people who had only met two hours before were holding each others hair back. I ran around from huddle to huddle to see what I could do to help. That's when I saw the ex bf shoving his fingers down the now new mother's throat in an effort to help her out. Now, that is friendship (and a skill I think most boys learn in frats). I emptied our cupboards of glasses and mixing bowls, etc distributing water and boot receptacles to all of those that were still conscious (oh, some weird kids visiting from Maine had stumbled up the street to the closest bar, never to be heard from again and I think one of our friends decided to walk home, so I had to drive around the neighborhood searching for him. I think he made it the few miles back home - in another town, but I'm not sure) - and there weren't many. I put one couple to bed on the couch bed, another on the remaining piece of the sectional and covered everyone I could find with blankets. Margreat and Big T were scheduled to arrive after work, which for them was about midnight. By midnight, the whole building was silent and littered with sleeping drunks.
I awoke to what I thought was rain. I thought to myself this is fantastic, it'll wash the puke off the stairs below the balcony (and everywhere else). But no, it wasn't rain. It was the ex bf standing sans pants in the middle of the bedroom peeing on my tv. I yelled at him to stop. He finally said, oh sorry, then took off the shirt he had on, threw it on the ground, and resumed peeing. Because, you know, that makes sense.
The next morning, I opened the bedroom door hoping that people had managed to find their way home, but the place was still cluttered with sleeping bodies. I step into the living room and into a puddle. Someone fucking pissed in front of the door. After disinfecting my feet, I surveyed the damage in the daylight. It was horrifying. I realized something, I am prepared to clean up my own vom (were it to ever happen, which is never), the spewage of my dog and my future potential, most likely accidental child. But not a whole party's worth. Third party vomit is not ok. So, I moved.
Throwback Thursday
Living in the old bedroom where I spent many an adolescent evening writing award winning* poetry, journal entries, and general wallowing about on my floor lamenting my love life, school life, lack of cool car, etc has made me long for my music of yesterday. Revisit the past with me:
*Yes, I am the proud winner of two (2) medals from the Rose State College High School Writing Competition. I will gladly provide you with copies of the award winning poems should you like. Except that I burned them years ago.
(vocalist for 
Love?
