Reason number 4,612πrˆ2 that I have to move out, like yesterday.

Yeah, I might still live at home a little bit. Let me tell you a story. There once was a beautiful little girl. Me.

I was a driven child, mostly due to fear of terrible retribution which might or might not have included grounding me from my Pocket Rocker™

or old school NES if I brought home anything less than an A to my school teaching parents. I grew up to repeatedly take the SAT, have nightmares about the ACT science section and busy myself with every AP class imaginable at my high school, all the while supplementing my CV with activities like Teen Volunteers, Mu Alpha Theta and National Forensics League. I did everything I was supposed to do, including dropping $1000million on application fees and even a couple of college visits. And then, the culmination of all of that hard work and unreasonable expectations was upon me. It was time to choose a college. It was then, after 18 years of grooming me for this expected achievement, that my parents let me in on a little secret. They were simply unprepared to pay for me to go to a college that cost $800,000 plus shipping and handling or any college really. The nerve. Therefore, as I attended this little school

(be sure to calculate this year's tuition, it is, most likely, more than your salary, ok, fine, just mine) I racked up more student loans than the GNP of most central African nations.

What is the moral of this tale? Because my student loan lenders (including the US Department of Education) fuck me in the ass daily, and not in the way I like, I still live with my 'rents while I save up. I would also like to blame George Bush, either of them really, the state of the US economy, the unreasonableness of private college tuition and my unwavering inability to accept employment that nudges me above the poverty level (I have a big heart boobs).

I was about to tell you the moral of this amazing story. So, tonight, I arrive home after a grueling day of potentially hiring and firing employees at random because I don't quite understand our new HR software, to a totally unappealing smell in the kitchen. It appears that my mother, in all of her culinary wisdom, had prepared a dinner of frozen chicken breasts stewed in a crockpot, covered with Prego pasta sauce. She was preparing boil in bag Minute rice as an accompaniament as well as canned peas. I would have included a picture, but it actually looked like tantalizing Indian food. But it was not. Not at all.

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I looked for, but couldn't find an image of Gremlin puke.

Let me know if you have any leads on places where poor ex-students can live safely or boxes or extra cash.

A funny thing happened on the way to the blogosphere...

Actually, it's not so much funny as I got totally lost. My mom doesn't even read anymore and my Technorati has gone negative, but after a month or so or three or six of half-assedness, I have returned! But that's pretty much it. It's not going to be better, per se, as it were, inasmuch as I will try to post more frequently until I get that email that every blogger dreads, you know the one from your best friend from the internet that you never met who kindly suggests you, in the words of Rex Manning, just fade away. In the meantime, a photo essay of my excuses.

1. I drink too much it seems.
These are my friends from high school. We gather together at Christmas to get shitfaced and engage in risky driving behaviors.

2. I Joined a band.
We practice every weekend night at about 11pm for an hour or so and then reconvene at 2am for a couple of hours until we pass out from beer creativity and artistic expression. We're somewhat of a cover band and don't play real instruments, I suppose, if you want to get all specific and shit. Except for me. I excel at belting out Weezer's "Say It Ain't So" at quite an unreasonable volume.

These are my band mates. Would you believe that two of these kids are in law school? Me either. I fear for our legal system.

3. I was a lady that lunched.
My dear friend C-tina was able to jet over from Slovakia to get a little OK QT in over the break. We ate a lot of food, talked a lot of trash, and I even introduced C-tina to Forever 21 where she actually purchased something, which means I am 2/3 of my way to accomplishing my life goals. The last third is to have more than one comment on this post. The other third is a secret.

4. I became (even more) unhealthily obsessed with The Wire.

When I played hooky from work to catch up*** on season four (it was on demand, I couldn't help it) during daylight, while continuing my quest to complete season two in the evenings all before season five started a couple of weeks ago, I knew I had a problem. And no, I can't go out tonight. Season three just arrived in the mail today.

So, there it is. I am contemplating whether or not to keep my "regular" features including but not limited to "Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday," "Cringesday" or "Robert Goulet News Round Up Or Whatever I Used To Call It (I'll throw you a bone today, Heath Ledger bit it)," and It's Friday, I'm In Love. * Any thoughts? Or not? Well folks, I'd get out your J.Crew wellies because it's about to drivel.**

*I tire of using quotes.
**That is officially the worst joke I have ever perpetrated.
***Hyperbole, duh.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with math. Check out this equation:

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Why, you ask? Well, through some sort of unholy convergence and confluence of unspeakable events not unlike the appearance, disappearance and reappearance of the McRib™® sandwich, these two lovely people (Mr. Shain - high school friend and G, college friend currently residing in NYExpensive) ate lunch together. In LA. Without me. Which can only mean they spent the entire meal psychoanalyzing my psychosis. Yay! If this world gets any smaller, I might actually have to finally go on that diet.

More later. I will finally reveal to you my recent preoccupation and whereabouts. It's top secret. It's also called Rock Band.

I owe a cock us

Hey look! After a self imposed exile from technology ranging from blogs, email, phone, digital camera, and electric toothbrush, I'm back! And I'm pissed and/or feeling wittily insightful about a number of topics ranging how to properly load a dishwasher, the best way quell murderous feelings towards one's family, why it is always a good idea to show way too much cleavage at Christmas Eve mass, how to be utterly disappointed in your football team and the benefits of eating your weight in ham. Yay! I didn't mean to scare y'all, I just needed a break. More later, I promise.

Love in Christ,
B.

P.S. If you live in Iowa, please just don't go for Romney, Huckabee, Giuliani, Thompson, or any of the Retardlicans, really.

It turns out that I am alive.

However, Christmas has sent me into a sadness spiral.

Dear David Simon, I would like my life back.

The Wire, the much acclaimed HBO drama, is slowly sucking what little life I have during this holiday season out of me. If you haven't yet enjoyed, I encourage you to Netflix it and settle in while it's all shitty outside. It's kind of heavy, but sometimes irreverent and most likely always more accurate than we'd like to think. It's gritty in the best way, simultaneously infuriating and heartbreaking. Kind of like Christmas.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Two things edition.

1. Sometimes I wear dresses to work. Like today. I find them easier access for the 10bajillion times I have to pee in the course of a day and I am too lazy to pick out skirt/pants/top combos that match most days, as those who know me can attest. Today, I have tights on under my dress, because, well, it's cold, yo! Do you know what happens when you wear this combo? Sometimes, you sit in your chair, because of the tights covering your ass, you don't realize your dress is no longer covering your ass, e.g. I just showed the office my little more than fishnets covered ass. Sweet! And apologies.

2. I am a huge HUGE fan of Pandora. If you do not yet avail yourself of this site, please do so now. I'll wait. Ok, now that that's taken care of, I have finally, after months and months of searching, discovered the perfect station. Belle and Sebastian can do no wrong today. Try it, you'll like it.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with blogs! Just not mine. Mine sucks more than Giuliani as president. So, while I rework things, or wait for something funny to happen to me, or continue to be lazy, what are the best blogs I'm not reading? I really do try to make it through my blogroll every couple of days to see what's going on out there, but I know there's so much more. So tell me. Or else.

Cringesday: D.O.R.K.

Guess what's even worse than OKC morning traffic? (And it's really not bad because of congestion, it's bad because people in OK think the left lane is for trucks and minivans going 63 through a 70 uphill with Jesus fish stickers plastered to the rear bumber.) OKC traffic with no stop lights. I left extra early this morning to account for this possibility, but alas, I ended up tacking on an extra 20 minutes from sitting at 4-way stops as dumbasses tried to figure out how they work. WTF!? Anyway, to quash my road ragicidal tendencies, I took my morning routine to the extreme.

DearJustice (pron. justeece according to Shain),

Your hit single, D.A.N.C.E. is personally responsible for the remaining modicum of sanity I have during this time of state-wide emergency. Listening on repeat for an hour somehow really calmed my already threadbare nerves. I refuse to tire of this song, even though they played it on MTVu. Thanks weird French dudes.

As strong as you might
Working day and night
Whatever happens
Do the DANCE (do the dance)

48 hours of pure hell and an ice storm.

Hey there. Perhaps you have read of my plight. I think it's been a leading story on cnn.com, so that means it's a big deal. Yesterday, I awoke to the strange combination of snapping trees, thunder and sizzling power lines. A veritable winter symphony that Dickens himself couldn't have better written. Or something. A few hours later, the power finally went out. You were right Mike Mitchell England (only funny to native Oklahomans, apologies, also, it might not be funny to them either). Shain (for his version, click HERE) forged a path across town amidst tree debris and stoplightless traffic (what's so tough to understand about a four-way stop people?) to pick me up so we could do important things like seek out coffee, pastry and toilet paper. Shain chose to dress for the occasion by wearing a freshly pressed white button down oxford, pin-striped mid-weight pants and shined dress shoes. With no real coat - some puffy thing he claims he got in Prague or some bullshit. Business homeless chic, I say. (I had on fleece upon fleece, mittens, scarf, heavy coat, etc - like a normal person.) Anyway, we make our way to SuperTarget where in addition to toilet paper, I remember my mom has requested hot dogs in the event she was able to start a fire in our fireplace. I left her as she was frantically tearing pages out of our second copy of The Riverside Shakespeare to use as kindling, so I was skeptical. Turns out it didn't matter as all that was left on the shelves turned out to be pepperoni. Mmm. After my superhappyfuntime with Shain, I spent some superhappyfuntime with my fam in the dark. We only had scented candles. Our living room rivaled my brief stint trapped in a ventless office at Yankee Candle Co. headquarters. Ugh. However, power was returned and I finally succumbed to the migraine graciously supplied by my mother and went to bed retardedly early beneath a pile of quilts and a dog. I awoke this morning to a bevy of texts from my workstudies happily alerting me that XXX had no power. No school! Yay! I went back to sleep and continued to drool while dreaming about appearing on The Barefoot Contessa. I wish I were kidding. Work's back on for tomorrow, but after almost 48 solid hours of family time, I couldn't be happier.

That's the sadness that is my backyard and a tree that used to be more complete. It continued cracking and breaking all day till there's not a lot left.

Close up of crunchy, frozen grass. But I finally got to break out my Montrails and clomp around just like the old days of New England!

More tree sadness. And my neighborhood was pretty fortunate in that it's a cheap, newish subdivision with no real trees, just crap Bradford pears that snap like my mom when she misses her 4pm snack.

Hey, yeah, I'll just run out and grab something from the store. NOT! That's probably 1.5 inches of ice encasing my car, folks.

Hmm. Pepperoni or pepperoni? I just don't know!

Ice encapsulated holly. Pretty. Sort of.

Music for winter misery:
All That I Want - The Weepies
Cold December - Matt Costa
Sister Winter - Sufjan Stevens

Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

no work tomorrow. Please? I only have one car. And I'd like to not end up some mangled piece of frozen roadside debris on 35 tomorrow. Also, I will have to start de-icing my car now in order to make it to work on time. So far, my university is the only one that is remaining open in the entire state of Oklahoma. Sweet.

Gary England, if you are reading this, and I suspect that you are, please send Val Castor out to XXXXXXXX XXXX University and film someone getting in a wreck or breaking their leg on the sidewalk. Then email it to President XXX XXXXXXXX and then give me a call so I can know whether or not to finish this bottle of wine.

kthxbai,
bee.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

actually, more like toleration in this case. Christmas blows on a lot of levels. Last night, I had settled in for 30 Rock and a rerun of The Office, not to mention a new Scrubs (and yes, I realize I am the only person who likes and watches this show) when Mother Bee-Spot called in a panic. Yesterday morning, she awoke me to let me know I needed to be home that night to help her wrap gifts. I asked her which gifts she had recently purchased, because the shopping I had done included only gift cards. Five of them. But it was the gift cards she was stressing over. Wrapping effing gift cards. I ignored her. Back to the emergency phone call. She wants me to go to Wal-Mart (during my shows!) to pick up more ribbon so she can finish her wrapping effort. WHAT? Naturally, Shain and I head to Super Target at 10pm. Naturally, afterward, we head to Sonic where Shain orders the following: Sonic Blast with Butterfinger, no whipped cream; small vanilla Coke; five piece Cheesecake Bites (read fried cheesecake cubes). That's right. He also suggested that if anyone ever tries to assault me, all I need to do is put on a headband a la our super rere video and it will thwart any attackers. You're the best Shain. Really. I'll see you tonight. In the meantime, here's a little number that always helps me tolerate this terrible time of year. This is for you, far-flung Oklahomans. Sing it.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Stupidity

It doesn't take much to keep me alive (with a little extra for good measure). Namely sugar free Red Bull, Gerolsteiner, Fage Total 0% yogurt, and apples. I consume each of these (almost) everyday in some order. This is weird, I know. This morning, I had them all lined up in front of my at my desk (right next to my Nalgene of water, Bigelow's Rose Salve, bottle of Motrin, Nivea Creme and picture of Michael Cera) and noticed something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I cracked open my Red Bull, swallowed four Motrin, hand cremed, lip balmed, then peeled the lovely parchment back from my Fage and ate a spoonful. More delicious than ever! That's when I realized the truth. It was not Fage Total 0%, it was Fage Total (original). 20 grams of delicious, delicious fat! I immediate threw the container the four feet to my rubbish bin (FYI - I will totally consume that much fat, I'm not one of those girls, obvs, but I don't think I can do it at 8 in the morning and ruin my whole day of Christmas candy eating and hot chocolate drinking - 'tis the season!). As soon as it hit the bottom, hard, the super yogurt immediately flung itself all over me - hair, cashmere sweater, chair, keyboard... This is not a good look. And I am heartbroken. I bought quite a few of these little buggers. If you're in the area, please contact me for several containers of Greek goodness.

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Cringesday: Deck My Balls

*UPDATE - Cringe this: So, I was just told only moments ago that I (me!) can have a membership to Sam's (Club) courtesy of work! How happy am I?! Really happy! Why? Because, seriously, there is nothing more wonderful than buying in bulk. Last time I had a Costco membership, I actually bought white gravy mix in bulk. Oh damn. It's gonna be a good year.

You know what Christmas means to me? Besides utter disappointment and those delightful chewy peppermint candies, the ones in the plastic wrappers with little Christmas trees on them, I think they come in both green and red (!) it means that I can freely listen to Mariah Carey's masterpiece, "All I Want For Christmas Is You." Truth be told(and that's not what we're really about here, so don't get used to it) I listen to this little diddy all year. In honor of the season, I present you with a brief list of the totally ridiculous things I want for Christmas. My material gluttony is quite embarrassing.

Le Creuset Cookware - Yes, I know these items are tremendously expensive, but I am a jerk. So what.



National Geographic subscription - The exbf's dad used to get me this as an annual gift. It was pretty sweet. I guess the new chick's getting it now.

Rabbit Corkscrew - Not to be confused by the other rabbit.

Cooks Illustrated subscription - Yes. I like to read, drink and cook. Call me. Let's go out. I'm so much fun.

Cashmere leggings from J. Crew - My ass looks just like this! Except not at all. Not even a little. Dear J. Crew, really? $150 cashmere leggings? What are you trying to do to me and my bank account?



Planet Earth DVD Set - Because I don't already watch enough TV. It's educational. Blow me.

Harry Potter Box Set - Hi, I'm a totalus nerdiamus.

Expensive girly underwear from Anthropologie - since my clothes are from the clearance rack at the GAP or F21.

So, if you are planning to purchase any of these items for your favorite blogstress (more likely, you've stumbled on this page while googling "Shain's lady garden"), please email me for sizes and my address. Seasons blessings and all that crap.

Zack Harrison Memorial Monday

I had kind of a ridiculous Monday. So, this is happening on a Tuesday. I know you're crushed. Or not. Whichever. Ok, so some random songs rumbling around my brain and/or in my iPod:

Prodigal Son - Two Gallants

Dream A Little Dream Of Me - Mama Cass

Two Headed Boy - Neutral Milk Hotel

Myriad Harbour - The New Pornographers *the line about PS1 is so genius, it blows my ungenius mind like every time.

Lebanese Blonde - Thievery Corporation *they've been playing this on NPR after segments about the Middle East. seriously.

Scythian Empires - Andrew Bird

Me Gusta - Manu Chao

Waiting Line - Zero 7

Love Love Love - The Mountain Goats

Ready Or Not, Here I Come - The Delfonics

Winter Windows - Sea Wolf

Kingdom of Doom - The Good, The Bad and The Queen

Girl Talk - Bounce That

Take The Skinheads Bowling - Camper Van Beethoven

Parentheses - The Blow

Let's Get Out Of This Country - Camera Obscura

Your Rocky Spine - Great Lake Swimmers

You see that?

Yeah. 38-17. Fuck you BCS. Even though I don't really understand how you work. And I suspect I am not the only one. In the meantime, have fun figuring out what to do as both W. Virginia and Mizzou got their asses handed to them. You know what I do know how it works or something? A bottle opener.

It's Friday, I'm in Love

Dear Claire,

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

Almost famous, except not at all.

Do you ever have one of those days where you got inebriated Saturday night, passed out face down on your bed, drooled like LiLo and Hooch (or was it Turner?) combined and gave yourself a zit that's keeping you from social engagements so you're at your computer (with Proactiv goo all over your face) and you decide to check Technorati to see if anyone's noticed that you have a blog then you find out that a couple people have? That just happened to me! I am 1/1,583,921.24 of the way on my way to being famous/infamous/not famous!

Dear Shain, if you ever do anything like this again, I will tell everyone your big secret. YOU LOVE OKLAHOMA!

Cajun Boy in the City - Make.It.Stop.

Dear Lost Ogles, you guys are my favorites. Especially Patrick.

The Lost Ogle - All I Want For Christmas

This might seem conceited. To which I say, hi, do we know each other? Also, this might be the most recognition I ever get until I'm arrested for stalking Ira Glass.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Trumpet Triumph

Perhaps it is because my father is a trumpeter who raised me on a steady diet of Miles Davis and Blood, Sweat and Tears, but regardless of the cause, I do love a smidgen of trumpet in my music. Behold what I have found to be songs with delicious trumpet bits - some old, some new, most things I've forgotten or left out. Help!

Short Skirt Long Jacket - Cake: Now, there are several Cake songs that would qualify. In fact, maybe all of them. Perhaps this is why Cake is so dear to me.

Elephant Gun - Beirut: Dude, this kid's for real.

Does Anybody Really Kow What Time It Is? - Chicago: No.

Message to You - The Specials: Summer! Except it's winter.

Your Place - Zero 7: Hang in there till the end.

So What - Miles Davis: It simply does not get any better than this.

Move On Up - Curtis Mayfield: Good for dancing like an ass in cold garages.

The Underdog - Spoon: I'm contractually obligated to suggest a Spoon song every four posts.

While You Were Sleeping - Elvis Perkins: It's at the end. Comforting, somehow.

Fly Me To The Moon - Frank Sinatra: I've already talked about this one before, I think.

Spinning Wheel - Blood, Sweat and Tears: Holy baby Jesus! I'm having a personal Chicago and BS&T revival.

All You Need Is Love - The Beatles: Again, a few to choose from, but I like this best.

The Wrong Girl - Belle & Sebastian: I really love them more and more daily.

Alone Again Or - Love: I once knew this kid/man who thought he was Arthur Lee. He was pretty damn close.

The Henney Buggy Band - Sufjan Stevens: Marching band!

Grazing in the Grass - Hugh Masekela: I wish I had a convertible.

When It Don't Come Easy - Patty Griffin: Ouch. My heart.

Holy balls,

I might possibly have the worst hangover of my long and storied history of hangovers (How did I sustain this hangover? Two words. Beer pong. And also bars. And peer pressure. And dancing around in a garage to Curtis Mayfield.). Not even McDonald's (my disgusting hangover remedy, whatevs, you do it too) has helped, in fact, I think it hurt. Definitely hurt. All I have managed to do today is smear last night's mascara all over my pillows, give my self a rash from drooling during intermittent and involuntary naps while watching Planet Earth in a whimpering pile buried beneath my comforter trying not to vom. But you know what? It can't feel as bad KU must feel about now. Or OSU for that matter. Gundy, I thought you were a "man." And Mangina, looks like your easy ass schedule finally caught up with you. We will beat you, Mizzou, and then we're on our way to the Preparation H Fidelity Nabisco Taco Cabana FedEx/Kinkos Diet Coke with Lemon Halliburton Bowl! Which is not the championship, but oh well.

Cringesday: Thanksgiving Edition.

It still looks like this. Sad.

Hey folks. It's that time again (Wednesday, or when I feel like "writing" a post). I think I'm the only person working today. But that's cool. I get paid a lot. Except not at all. While you are battling O'Hare, JFK, I-95 or I-35 and the like, I am all warm and cozy, basking in the glow of my computer screen, preparing myself for the big day. Which will occur tomorrow afternoon at 3pm and, yes, at the south side Steak & Ale with Mom, Dad, Dad's parents (my grandparents) and my mom's brother. My brother is working. Nice one. Assface. And yes, these grandparents - so it's sure to be a riot. Or actually cause a racially motivated riot. Either way, I get prime rib and a baked potato for Thanksgiving. Save me. Adopt me.

In which this blog is not unlike the Sooners: A post in three or some number of parts.

Act I: The season started out so promising. We had a little bit of trouble with a little bit of Colorado. But then, good news! Everyone started sucking balls! Now, including us. WTF, man. Sam! Halzle! Jesus Christ on a stick. Or whatever. I can't even talk about it. Really, I can't. Except, WTF are we paying you for, Stoops? To lose to effing Texas Tech? I don't think so. Kansas, ok, maybe because, ostensibly, they are as good as we are. Tech?!?@$*(@ You might have led us to a championship, but you've also presided over some of our worst losses. Nut up, dude. De-red shirt someone. Ask someone from the crowd to be the quarterback - like the guy who throws it through the target to win $1000 from Jason White's dealership. I can't wait to lose to OSU this week. If you don't hear from me by Wednesday of next week... A malaise fell over Norman Saturday night that not even $2.50 Shiners could and L's dad's Grateful Dead (The Jamminators!) cover band could cure. Oh, how the mighty will fall. Like this blog. One minute I'm nominted for an Oklahoma Blogger award™, the next, Sitemeter reveals that only five people read. And by people I mean Google searches for "Zach Braff's tight pants."

Part II: I can't believe I forgot to mention this! Last weekend, I left my neighborhood at about 7 to grab coffee at Starfucks before Shain and I headed of to judge a high school debate tourney (suck it). I should mention, it was exceptionally foggy this morning. Like, can't see anything. I approach the intersection where I need to make a right. I have a green light. As I'm gently nudging the gas, suddenly, this bike flies across through the intersection causing me to slam on my brakes (I wasn't going that fast, but still) and I come eye to eye with - guess! Wait for it, the exbf's mom! I almost ran her over! Ha! I mean, oops.

C) I have a habit of singing in the bathroom at work because, well, the acoustics are fucking fantastic in there. The lighting makes me look like old school Courtney Love, but the tiles make me sound like Kelly Clarkson. I wasn't really aware that my voice carried beyond the bathroom till I walked out and was greeted by a coworker who suggested, humorously, I choose to believe, that I save it for karaoke night. I'll show you karaoke.

4: Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday! - This is my latest commute mix.

Oh My God - Mark Ronson and Lily Allen: Oh my God I can't believe I like this song.
A Baby For Pree - Neutral Milk Hotel: What does it even mean?
The Anglo-Saxons - The Mountain Goats: Remember that cartoon show about history? I can't remember the name, but it was pretty much awesome.
I'd Love You - Sonya Kitchell: I would.
Superstar - Lupe Fiasco: I am.
Scattered Leaves - The Be Good Tanyas: This chick sounds like Shakira. But I like it anyway.
Mornington Crescent - Belle & Sebastian: This one's for you, Shain. Thanks for abandoning me. No, really.
The Temptation of Adam - Josh Ritter: Seriously! Why am I just getting into this guy now?
Blue Eleanor - Old Canes: I dunno. Just like it.
Needles in My Eyes - Beta Band: Puts me in a happy trance.
Oh Lately It's So Quiet - Ok Go: These guys are more than just a treadmill dance troupe.
Arcade Precinct - 1990s: What? Yeah, it's kind of awful.
Mansard Root - Vampire Weekend: Surprise! I'm in love with this! And they're coming to Norman!
Hold On - KT Tunstall: Yes. This has been or will be used in a comical montage featuring McDreamy, George, Izzie, and/or Addison. Blow me.

Section 5.1.3: The WGA and corporate TV America have got us by the balls. And we are letting them. Did you know that The Office is probably over for the season? The last new episode aired last week. Scrubs might not finish the series (Will JD and Elliot end up together? Will we ever meet Kelso's Edith? I just have to know!). And so on and so on with shows from Comedy Central to the CW. And we are letting them. So, I propose a strike against TV in general. Fuck them! We can read! Knit! Ride bikes! Smoke weed and look at fish tanks! Poetry readings! Concerts! Shows! Blogs! TV? We don't need no stinkin' TV. I'm totally serious. Until The Real Housewives of Orange Cunty are on. I love that show.

Act VI: Happy Birthday Mom! You said you don't read, but I know you do. I'm glad you were born so you could bear me.

Reason number 198.3 why I hate U2

Today, at work, I was listening to www.wrsi.com (The River - adult alternative, like me) and they played a (fucking) U2 song. Now, don't get me wrong, Bono Nobel Peace Prize Hungry Edge Children In Africa Bill Live Aid Clinton Nuclear Proliferation Cowboy Hat Sunglasses and all that stuff, dude. "Uno, dos, uno-dos-tres-catorce!" Seriously.*


*I can only imagine that there have been countless observations years ago on this subject, but this was my first epiphany, so suck it.

Cringesday: Failure At Funny Edition

Last night, Shain lured me over to his house under the pretense of, fine, I kind of knew what was about to happen. He wanted to film me watching this video or something. What else am I going to do on a balmy November night? Oh right. Walk my dog forever and play with the new make up I got with Lacey. Which explains why I look like a street walker nearing retirement in this video. I can't make excuses for my lame comments. I can say that I'm much prettier in person and Shain is actually much less prettier in person. Here's the link, if you dare. And I wouldn't.

Two Girls One Cup, We're Not Funny

PMS: Part II

I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm kind of a little bit rere (I think Julie Gong's working to trademark this term, ask permission before using) at 114% of anything and everything I endeavor to do. Lately, I've put my mind to taking an ungodly amount of time to decide whether or not I'm in a relationship and whether or not this is a good thing. Good news! I am and it is! (You know, for now, until I fuck it up or he notices that I live at home or something.) In the meantime, I guess I've fallen into that age old trap of all your friends are belong to hating you. No one calls anymore because they think I'm busy (gettin' busy - zing!). Then they get mad if I don't call even though they didn't call in the first place leading me to believe they don't like me. Well, guess what, kids. I don't need any of you. I've got a new MySpace friend. We're gonna be eternal BFFs, like forever.

Question:

have you ever had such bad PMS that you actually start to relate to (not to mention almost like) a Tori Amos song?

Shit, man.

Cringesday: Remember when we were young?

My darling little 9 or 11 year old cousin (There are so many, I forget exact ages, ok? Sue me.) just sent this to me. She discovered email a few weeks back and I've been bombarded with little snippets into her world ever since. Her missives sometimes crack me up, sometimes break my heart, but always make me glad I've grown up (theoretically). I've drafted about 300 responses and none of them seem to convey anything useful, including instead helpful advice like "you'd better quit band now if you ever want a boyfriend" or "stressed out!? try a pregnancy scare then call me back about 'stressed out'" and "definitely keep playing basketball even if your teammates hate you and you're on a losing team because no one likes a fatty." So you see, I need your help. What do I say?

Hey Blythe, Whats up? We had to play our instruments for a bonfire a couple of days ago. It was so much fun! How are things going at your place? Hope your having fun at your school. Speaking of school, we had a couple of b-ball games over the past couple of days. Out of three games,we only lost both. But then yesterday we had another game: The 5 and 6 grade girls won, the 5 and 6 grade boys won, and the high school girls lost.[ aww man!] Enough about me, what about you? I'm so stressed out! There is so many things going on at our school. Your friends all reject you, then you are told that you're not a starter, and there is so many things to be mad about! Well, I gotta go and do my laundry. Talk to you later! Love you!

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday Except On A Tuesday & About TV Instead Of Music

Yeah, so this blog has been sucking hard core lately (and not in a good way). I know. You don't have to humor me (Shain). It turns out I'm quite terrible at balancing more than a couple of things in my life that require more than the attention span of your average Hills character. Also, my writer's off striking for the WGA and has been preparing for about a month. In support, I thought I'd come up with a list of TV shows to watch as the reruns will most likely begin at some point. Unfortunately, this blog will go into reruns too, so get ready for that post about how thongs make my butt hurt any day now. Or should I say fortunately? Semantics. Anyway, so clear out the old episodes of Law & Order:SVU and Good Eats, then get to your Netflix queue before the rest of America does. I think we're in this for the long haul.

Friday Night Lights - Duh! This show rocks my figurative balls off. Catch up and catch on.

Freaks and Geeks - Duh squared.

Arrested Development - Yeah, I've seen each season about four times each, but maybe this I won't be so stoned and/or buzzed that I'll remember. That I've made a huge mistake. By watching without being, well, you know.

The Wire - Maybe it's time to see what all the fuss is about.

The War - Dear Ken Burns, you went to Hampshire, so I feel compelled to be in your corner. For 15 hours.

Weeds - Mary Louise Parker is smoldering. Conrad is just ridiculous. Elizabeth Perkins is the best. Kevin Nealon isn't just for Weekend Update.

The British Office - And for good luck, Extras. Kate Winslet dressed up like a nun trying to lick her own nipple gets me every time.

My So Called Life - Mrs. Jordan Catalano. Someday, someday... I wish my hair smelled like oranges.

49 Up, etc. - Who doesn't love a good British documentary?

Well, it's a start. Questions? Comments? Concerns? Contributions? I think I might have to upgrade my Netflix account. The last strike went on for 22 weeks, or the amount of time I go between hair cuts. Date me! If you need me, I'll be buried under my comforter with my remote.

That Was A Pontiac Game Changing Performance

I actually wore red to this game. Not going to lie, I was, for whatever reason, a little worried about Texas A&M. Their fans are so literally militant that I can only assume they threaten the team with their lives, obviously increasing motivation to win. Also, we've had a few close calls lately. Nothing like LSU, but that's ok, they're going to lose. And so is OSU. And then we're coming after you, Kansas, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

This was not a normal game day. Saturday marked the return of Father Bee-Spot to his perch in the end zone. He's been out of commission since Nosebleed07 and was pretty excited to get back out to the field. Of course, Mother Bee-Spot accompanied and I also joined in along with, well, I guess it's now or never, like a Band-Aid, I'm 87% sure I have what could be called a boyfriend type person. Tensions are high as my mother's antics are legendary and I get all awkward and nervous in these situations. And in general. Fortunately, these dudes sitting behind my mom stole the show and kept my mom laughing so hard she couldn't belt out her normal cries of "what the shit!" and "run!". One kid was an A&M fan while the other was for OU. They were both obscenely drunk. And, quite hysterical. A&M dude actually got my dad to say Coach Frangina. He later professed (screamed in a rare moment of almost silence) to our section that A&M doesn't have cheerleaders because of their "sexual issues." This all sounds stupid now, of course, but this kid was a riot.

OU vs Texas A&M, Saturday, November 3: A Shitty Photo Essay

I love night games! It was lovely out, too. No wind, just right and I got to rock my puffy LL Bean vest, which is apparently not fashionable here.

Look! Kid with bucket! Ok, that was me.

The Texas A&M band. Suspicious formation, no? Just Saying...

My mom and her boyfriends. But seriously, this guy was funnier than almost any other person I've met in real life lately. I told Mom to Facebook them to see if they wanted our extra Baylor tickets.

Check out that score! This is the kind of game I'm used to. None of that Iowa State bullshit.

Then I went to the bars. The end!

It's Friday, I'm in Love

Not. Not even remotely. In fact, I'm in hate. Except I was taught not to say hate. Instead, I had to say severely dislike. I hate that I had to say that.

Things I am in hate with: Asshat drivers of the OKC metro area. Rudy Giuliani. Work. Cell phone bills. Student loans. Unloading the dishwasher. Drying my hair. Mint mojito gum. Hannah Montana. Baked Lays. Blogs. Sitemeter. Cheap tequila. People who leave pizza boxes open for all of the warmth to escape leaving cold, congealed slices. Sore boobs. The fact that there is NO GOOD BEER in the entire freaking state. Unripe bananas. Toy sized dogs. myfriendspacebook. Soggy french fries. Running out of hot water in the shower. Stop signs. Nightly nightmares. Miracle Whip. Everything.

Things that would make me feel better: These. A few of these. Maybe a little of this. A beer from this place. Him. Being here. Eating an entire bowlful of these delicious, delicious morsels of goodness. Hanging out with her. Wearing this.

Blah.

Goulet Wednesday News Round Up: If Ever I Would Leave You Edition.

RIP, buddy.

Dear friends,

It is with a heavy heart (and a heavier ass) that I regret to inform you that the patron saint of this blog, Robert Goulet, passed away in LA while awaiting a lung transplant. Bee-Spot reader John called me last night to break the news. It was a tough phone call that drove me into a despair that could only be cured by eating more barbeque than I should've, but that's really neither here nor there. What's important is the legacy that Mr. Goulet has left behind. If and when I find out what that is, I probably won't let you know. It might be his turn as Lancelot in the classic musical Camelot or his brilliant work in Naked Gun 2 1/2: The Smell of I wish Leslie Nielson Were My Grandpa. In the meantime...

Nature! - This is probably, literally the eighth time I've posted this. And it never gets old. And there's this one too.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: Random Crap Edition

How 'bout them Redsox! As an honorary Masshole of 6 years, I am obligated to pull for the Redsox. I was just thinking the other day about watching their last World Series win, eating a bajillion hot dogs with Jess C., screaming at the TV while drinking copious amounts of Budlight. When they won, they rioted at Umass because they are super awesome. What says state pride more than defacing publicly funded property? I don't know. In a completely unrelated story, I went to Austin this weekend with many goals including outdoor crap and a Fiery Furnaces show. Did I accomplish these goals? Of course not. I've had a migraine since about last Tuesday and it decided to be a real bastard this weekend leaving me a crabby, whiny, lethargic turd. We managed to eat Mexican food, meander about Barton Springs and Town Lake for hours and hours (we watched some rowing and I was fascinated by dozens of sunning turtles), ate some more Mexican food, took a gander at 6th Street before I felt barfy, went back to the hotel and passed out before Weekend Update was over. Awesome!

This is a real, as Alex Trebek would say, hodge podge of songs. Or would he say potpourri. Or maybe potent potables. Whatevs. I listen to weird shit. Oh, and I'm not linking quite yet. I'm kind of curious to know if anyone checks them out from this post. It takes a long time to find them since I'm not smart enough to know how to do it myself. I know, hard to imagine me not smart enough. I know. Top played in bold.

Buena - Morphine: Come on, how can you not like Morphine? The band and the controlled substance?

Spanish Teeth - Robbers on High Street: Coming to the Opolis!

Deseret - Cass McCombs: This is so supremely bizarre. I like his stuff more with every listen.

Mockingbird - Grant Lee Buffalo: This one goes well with cars and driving.

Jazz - A Tribe Called Quest

The Way I Am - Ingrid Michaelson: Is this that Old Navy sweater commercial song? Yeah, it is. Wanna fight? I'm a girl. Blow me.

Right Moves - Josh Ritter: I'm really, really taking a liking to this guy.

Under The Blacklight - Rilo Kiley: Whatever. I'm in love.

I Feel So Good - Richard Thompson: I can't explain why I like this song. It borders on awful.

Don't You Evah - Spoon: Ok. I won't.

Ambulance - TV on the Radio: I never tire of this. Haunting.

Quantum Theory - Jarvis Cocker: I would totally let him waste my time.

Deadbeat Club - B-52s: I am a founding member.

All Things That Go To Make Heaven and Earth - The New Pornographers: Challenger is growing on me by the second.

Down The Line - Jose Gonzalez: His voice is hypnotic! I'm hypnotized right now!

Heaven of my Heart - Jim White: I don't even know how I acquired this song. It's kind of like something my mom would like.

There you have it. Another crap post brought to you by the fine people at the Bee-Spot.

It's Friday, I'm in Love*

with the moon. Have you seen it lately? Frickin' ginormous. It followed me to work this morning, shining argent** opposite the sun. I'll follow it to Texas tonight, maybe silver, but hopefully luminous and gold, close enough to touch.

Fly Me To The Moon - Frank Sinatra
(I joke about wanting "Don't Stop Believing" to be my wedding song, but really, I'd like this one. It's my favorite Sinatra song by far - a simple declaration and a simple request - also, I can't believe the horn section. Holy Crap! And, I'm a dork.)
Pink Moon - Nick Drake
Harvest Moon - Neil Diamond
who knows if the moon's - e.e. cummings
Goodnight Moon - Margaret Wise Brown
Moonpie
Landscape with Couple Walking and Crescent Moon

*I swear I posted this on Friday, I have no idea why it didn't go up.
**See that M5K? Improperly used, yes, but used nonetheless.

Story about work #4,592.7

I have this coworker. She's from Malaysia. She's dear. English is not her first language, obvs. She says v's as w's. Th's as t's. Every morning she greets me, "Good morning, blyt." Because it is morning and because I have been awake since 5.55am and have suffered through one hour of traffic while listening to possibly the worst morning show on the radio in the entire country, I hear this: "Good morning, blight." Why yes, yes I am.

I just remembered I have a blog and stuff!

In recent weeks it has become evident that Cringesday is no longer serving its purpose as "funny" or "cathartic" and is bordering on "pathetic," "boring" or "unreadable." Therefore, it has been discontinued until further notice, which I expect to be never. Perhaps it is time to reinstate Goulet Wednesday News Round Up (see sample), especially since the namesake is currently awaiting a lung transplant at Cedars-Sinai (NATURE!), you know, to honor him. In the meantime, let me regale you with the real goings on at the Bee-Spot.

• I found out that the EXBF with Blythe 2.0 (the GF he wrangled a mere minutes after crushing my heart then mixing it with stinging salt to form a sad paste) in tow have moved to New Hampshire. My reaction? I emailed him wishing him well. Or so I think. I'm afraid to check my sent messages for fear that I accidentally wished him hell.
• A certain blogger has it out for Saint Stoops. I'd just like to post a little reminder about last week's game. It wasn't pretty, I'll give you that, but it was a win. Just saying.
• I'm going to Austin this weekend. Ideas? Questions? Comments? Concerns? There are tentative plans, but any input to maximize awesomeness would be appreciated.
• Tonight, I got all geared up for a long walk with my dog. As soon as I opened the front door, Claire pulled me all the way down to the bottom of the driveway and I was jogging to keep up. So I just kept going. For two miles. It was awesome! Also, The Hold Steady is amazing running music. I might do this more often.
  
• I have a job. I know. Hard to imagine. I have a desk. A desk with ample space for bull crap officey type stuff, but I refuse to junk it up with Beanie Babies and cacti. I do have a frame. Sadly, it remains empty as there's nothing appropriate with which to fill it. This is where you come in.

• Food of the day: carmelized onion, goat cheese, grape tomato (w/pepper and olive oil) quesadillas I made for my dad and I with an arugula salad with lemon juice, olive oil and shaved parm.
• TV of the day: They totally had a sing along to "Birdhouse In Your Soul" on Pushing Daisies tonight. Sweet! (Not to put too fine a point on it.)
• Song of the day: Can I Kick It? - A Tribe Called Quest (and yes, you can)

It's really not funny,

but what if Hollywood and Malibu and the OC or wherever the rich and famous people that don't live in New York or on a ranch in Taos or Whistler and drive a Prius except to premiers when they take private jets and ride in Hummer limos totally burned down? What if there were celebrity refugees like displaced Katrina victims? See, I told you, not funny. But sort of. Like what if Lauren Conrad had to come live at my house while she waits for FEMA money to replace her Louboutin shoe and wide headband collection? Obvs, hilarity would ensue. Or what if Jennifer Aniston came to reside in the Benson household. She'd have to eat my mom's hashbrown casserole and she couldn't throw it up because of our faulty plumbing. Ha. But seriously, fire isn't funny. I'll admit something. It was high school before I could light a candle (and shuffle cards, I'm a late bloomer, so sue me). Once, I remember my dad was trying to make his own tortilla chips in our battered toaster oven. As the flames licked the underside of our kitchen cabinets and with the fire alarm blaring, I gathered up my pet mouse in her traveling cage, an assortment of clothes and stack of R.L Stine books and headed out into the yard awaiting the fire trucks. I would not go back inside for hours.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday

Without further explanation, this week's list (there's a lot more great stuff out there, I'm just lazy.):

Tears Dry On Their Own - Amy Winehouse

To The Dogs Or Whoever - Josh Ritter

Sheila - Jamie T

The Plot - White Rabbits

Windy City Nights - The Winter Sounds
Bonafied Lovin - Chromeo

Close Call - Rilo Kiley

Is There A Ghost - Band Of Horses

Tonight I Have To Leave It - Shout Out Louds

You're Supposed To Be My Friend - The 1990s

It's Friday, I'm in Love: The "Let me tell you somethin'" Edition.

There's this show on the TV. It's called Friday Night Lights. Maybe you've heard of it. I'm not going to lie, last season I was way too busy silently crying during Grey's Anatomy and working on my Lost flowchart to take notice of this superb show. It's truly a great show. Perhaps the best on TV right now. Bold, yes (but do remember, Sopranos, Six Feet Under and co. are all of the air). Now, in the words of Coach Taylor, "let me tell you" why this show is so great. Hailing from the great state of Oklahoma means a few things: 1) an undying love for Garth Brooks, even after the Chris Gaines debacle, 2) that mandatory elementary school trip to the Cowboy Hall of Fame and 3) the omnipresence of football, including high school ball. I am not from small town Oklahoma. I'm from third largest city Oklahoma (Norman, clocking in with 100k folks when OU's in session), but my extended family comes from towns scattered across the western half of the state just like Dillon, TX (in fact, one half is from Hollis, which is practically Texas). My pageant winning, cheerleader cousin married the quarterback, that sort of thing. I have an idea of what football culture in the south is like. Also, my dad was a band director for over 20 years, so I had my hearing damaged by marching bands by the time I was in elementary school. Blah blah blah, my point is FNL brilliantly captures the unreasonable expectations placed on high school football programs, the players and their leadership by struggling communities facing changing values. Taylor is constantly navigating the grey area between right and winning at home and on the field. His wife is hot. Riggens is sullen and dreamy. Saracen's adorable. Landry's the hilarious poor man's Matt Damon. It's not a glossy couture fest like Desperate Housewives, or sapalong like Grey's, a tard convention like Boston Legal or a solve an insanely ridiculous crime in one hour show. It's people acting like people. Refreshing. Everyone's too goo looking to be realistic, of course, but chicks are pretty hot in Texas. It's true. The moral of this post is that if you're not already, Netflix the first season, TiVo a season pass for the second and get busy. You can thank me later.

For you (Shain).

In which I discover that my former Chinese study buddy has a band featured on blogs and stuff

I am obsessed with near celebrity. Completely and absolutely. Where most people have places in their brains to remember birthdays and car keys, I remember the time I was on the same ferry back from Martha's Vineyard as Steven Tyler or that Lacey is flipping off Ben Folds on his DVD cover and that C-tina was once on Lingo and won a bunch of stuff and that the exbf met Clinton and Holly Hunter on the same day. So, color me shocked and pleased when I open up trusty stereogum to find that the Quit Your Day Job feature focuses on one of my college classmates! Chances are, she doesn't remember me all that well, but we spent probably 20 hours a week together divising, memorizing and then performing Chinese dialogues for Zhao Laoshi at the alma mater during sophomore year. We had several sleepless nights downing chicken nuggets (actually, that was just me) and guzzling stolen soda in the dining hall. We had massive paper cut injuries from thousands of flash cards. I think we also took a class about How Poems Mean in East and West with possibly the best professor I ever had, but I probably didn't go. I doubt she did either. In any case, best of luck to Elisa and Pete of the Magik Markers. Check 'em out! However, it's not my kind of music, per se, but I'm open minded. Sometimes.

Cringesday: I am a d-bag edition.

Since this is a judgement free safe space*, I feel like I can really be honest in my admission of extreme ultimate douchiness. Actually, it's not that bad. I'm a "sweet" "person" for the most part. Sweet like a chocolate chip cookie from Subway that's fallen between the cracks of your car seat, lost to the elements, beginning to mold. I will profusely thank strangers for holding my place in the insanely long grocery store line because I forgot to grab another 12 pack of Diet Coke Plus, but I will know you for the better part of 10 years and forget your birthday. I have a sack full of gifts at the foot of my bed just waiting to be shipped to long lost friends. What am I waiting for? I have no idea. You will tell me I look nice and I will reply, "really?" or "are you suffering from hysterical blindness?" I will look at you like you showed up for a PETA meeting in a veal suit. I overlook all of the little things. I will get a piece of glass stuck in my foot, you will retrieve a band-aid and alcohol swab, take my dirty foot, swab and bandage while I continue to lecture you about Shakti and yonis or some useless shit without skipping a beat. I will ask you to dinner, but then forget to check my phone to see if you've responded, meanwhile making other plans because I think you've forgotten me. Basically, my awesomeness knows no bounds. But I will try to be better. Do better.

*This is, of course, categorically untrue.

Zack Harrison Memorial Music Tuesday: I'm Rick Steves, bitch! Edition.

Just when you think I'm cool like Rick James, bam! I'm not. I'm a nerd with bad taste in shorts like Rick Steves. Don't know who Rick Steves is? Well, we'd probably not be friends in real life. And not because I wouldn't want to. Have I told you that I had to wear headgear in middle school? This week's list is dedicated to music I would liken to Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Dinner. It makes me happy and is filling about as long as a commercial break during The Hills (so anywhere from 3 to 26.4 minutes). Oh, also, look these up yourself at http://www.hypem.com/ or http://www.elbo.ws/. I don't gots time to find the links for you because I'm too busy scavenging for various materials and rogue office garments with which to warm myself in the igloo that is my cube.

Judge me.

Don't Change Your Plans For Me - Ben Folds

Love You Madly - Cake

The General - Dispatch

Satellite - Guster

Bag Lady - Erykah Badu

Inaudible Melodies - Jack Johnson

Power of Two - Indigo Girls

Fidelity - Regina Spektor

Just A Ride - Jem

Golden Days - The Damnwells

King Without A Crown - Matisyahu

Never Is A Promise - Fiona Apple

Crooked Teeth - Death Cab For Cutie

Birdhouse In Your Soul - They Might Be Giants

Heavy Metal Drummer - Wilco

Everything's Wonderful - Lily Allen

Kind of like commercial indie adult easy listening, huh. Yup. I'm that cool.

Oh. I forgot to mention that there are shows happening. Come with me, seriously! Or check out http://www.oklahomarock.com/ for more info.

In the OK:
10/17 - Black Mountain @ The Opolis
10/19 - Hosty Duo @ VZDs
10/21 - Caribou @ The Opolis
10/23 - Dr. Dog @ The Opolis (w/ Apollo Sunshine and Delta Spirit)
10/24 - Peelander-Z @ The Consvervatory
11/12 - Architecture in Helsinki @ The Opolis
11/16 - Modest Mouse @ Lloyd Noble
11/25 - Peter Bjorn and John - Cain's Ballroom
12/9 - Dinosaur Junior - Diamon Ballroom
In the Big D:
10/20 - Old 97s @ The Granada
10/25 - Bishop Allen @ The Granada
11/2 - Will Hoge & The Avett Brothers @ The Granada (thanks Beau!)
11/3 - Shout Out Louds @ The Granada
11/4 - Of Montreal @The Granada
11/14 - The Hold Steady w/Art Brut @ Palladium Ballroom
11/24 - Peter Bjorn and John @ Palladium Ballroom
12/10 - Iron and Wine @ Palladium Ballroom

It's Friday, I'm in Love

with my great taste. Seriously, folks, I am good.

Read The Year of Living Biblically, A.J. Jacobs - say what you will, but this looks exceedingly interesting. Plus, I love him.

Reread The Grass Is Singing, Doris Lessing. I first read this book in high school. It spoke to me. Don't know why. Maybe because high school left me feeling like a lonely South African failed farmer? Probably.

TiVo Pushing Daisies - quirky, darling, smart; kind of like me, so of course I like it. Also, both Kristen Chenowith and Lee Pace are from the OK. Runner up: Dirty Sexy Money - because Peter Krause is, well, hot.

Podcast This American Life; How to Talk to Kids - this episode is one of my recent favorites, especially the last act.

Eat Trader Joe's Mexican Corn Tortilla Chowder - I miss it so much. It comes in a lovely jar. Pour one out for me.

Wear cardigans - it's fall! That means cardigans! Yay!

Listen to Our Way To Fall - Yo La Tengo. This is tangling my heartstrings.

Check out the 2007 Centennial Oklahoma Regatta - what else are you going to do?

Cheer for OU as they clobber Missouri, I hope - 5.30 CST. Look for me on the Jumbotron.

Put this on your face - Clinique High Impact Mascara and Smashbox Eyelights (in Beam). I am a make up tard, but these are two essentials for fall. I haven't screwed up yet. I mean, more than usual.

Blog menwholooklikeoldlesbians.blogspot.com - courtesy of Mr. Shain, of course.

Cringe - Britney's new album. Remember how great "Toxic" was? Also, I'd be a "Slave 4 U."

Drink Fat Tire. Of course, it's not available here. Doesn't mean it's not delicious. Mmm.

Hope.

Ok, that's all for now.