Zack Harrison Memorial Music Monday: So predictable edition.

I am spectacularly lazy on most fronts, but my recent lack of willpower to find new music is shocking even me. Does it all suck? It seems like it all sucks. In any case, I've found a few songs I like, but they're kind of all milquetoast, which I guess is kind of what I'm into, I just don't like to admit it. Here they are in no particular order:

Better Things - Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings: Did you just break up with someone? Still think hateful thoughts about someone you broke up with years ago? Then this song is for you.

1977 - Ana Tijoux: Spanish class!

Release Me - The Like: Since I like Camera Obscura, I'm contractually obligated.

American Troglodyte - David Byrne: American David Byrne fan.

Shadow People - Dr. Dog: Sometimes, I just need to be reminded of Dr. Dog.

Do You Love Me - Guster: Sometimes, I just need to be reminded of college.


On Your Way Down - Trombone Shorty: Dude! The name says it all.

Rains Came - Shelby Lynne: Typical Saturday morning...

Numbers Don't Lie - Mynabirds: Amen. They don't. Also, I'm looking forward to what else this chick does. Should be good.

The Suburbs - Arcade Fire: Required.

Beg Steal or Borrow - Ray Lamontagne & The Pariah Dogs: Ray at his melancholic best.

If I were you, I'd go to elbo.ws for a listen, just in case you might like something. I'm telling you, though, I think I've turned a corner into boring musicville.

Dear boyfriend,

I love you and all that crap, but damn, I wish you ate normal food. You don't like shrimp, mushrooms, beans of any kind, lentils, arborio rice, cabbage, sweet potatoes, peppers, cereal, butter, pork chops, polenta, oatmeal, goat cheese, quinoa, sandwiches, ricotta cheese, cottage cheese, bulgher, squash, most fruits, corn, meatloaf, mashed potatoes and the list goes on and on.

Basically, he survives on tacos and peanut butter, which is all well and good, except that I am hopelessly addicted to about a billion food websites that make me want to cook insane meals all the time. So, what happens is, I read a lot and we eat out a lot. I've got to figure out ways to introduce grown up ingredients without scaring him off. I guess if he doesn't like them, he doesn't like them, but who doesn't like lasagne? Risotto? MASHED POTATOES? Seriously.

I read these every day and lots others when I remember. Don't read if you're even remotely hungry.

Smitten Kitchen
Alexandra's Kitchen
Framed
The Kitchn
Serious Eats
Slashfood
La Tartine Gourmande
Orangette

This is why I love Emma Thompson

So, I turned 29 and all that shit.

Yup. Last week. The night before, the BF told me that he'd gotten us a hotel room in town for a night of luxury because my favorite thing to do is bitch about the poor quality of our mattress while refusing to do anything sensible about it, like, oh, purchase a new one. Because then what would I blame my intrinsic lethargy on, myself? No. Anyway, hotel room, yay! (Forgetting to make arrangements for dog, not so yay. So, Zeb came with us.) I was happy to fall asleep old and wake up older without back pain and with free breakfast! Woot!

I spent the rest of the day lazing about at home as I took the day off from work (we're not really allowed time in August since it's the start of the semester, so I played the birthday card) and went to dinner with the fam at Cheesecake Factory, a totally out of character choice for myself, but I dunno, it's what I wanted.

Which leads me to this terrible revelation. I have eaten out for eight (8) consecutive meals. At restaurants. Like full blown meals. There are several reasons for this, last four day work week Wednesday lunch celebration, pre-birthday dinner, all day birthday gluttony, and then the unexpected day trip (not good reasons, more on this later) which resulted in another all day eating binge. All of this leads me to this. I need these.

I'm like a rare B-side

I've managed to get this song stuck in my head for a few weeks now. Not sure where I came across it, but it's been downloaded and added to the iPod and is in heavy rotation.

Mixtape - Tift Merritt via FiftyCentLighter

Oh, mixtapes. What a wonderful thing. I, of course, remember actually making tapes. Countless Maxells or whatever my dad bought that I would help myself to, holed up in my bedroom, painstakingly planning playlists and gathering resources (records, tapes, cds and now MP3s). I'm pretty confident that the mix tapes and cds I've cobbled together for others over the years are pretty horrible, but, I think that's what has resulted in me being the recipient of totally awesome mix masterpieces. I think people felt sorry for me.

When you're the child of two music dorks (one a high school band/orchestra director and the other an elementary music teacher), you listen to a lot of stuff that a typical child of the 80s/90s might have been spared. Like, do you know all of the words to every musical (stage and screen) from 1940 on? I do. Pippin anyone? Like, can you hum most of the parts to Sibelius' Finlandia? Maybe you can, but I would say that most of my contemporaries were studying different classics, e.g the Stones and the Dead.

Enter friends who don't let friends listen exclusively to KOMA (local oldies station) when they're 16. Into my life came many a wonderful cassette, each with its handwritten track list. I learned about non Brown Eyed Girl Van Morrison, The Specials, De La Soul, Indigo Girls and Ani (before I knew I would go to lesbian central college), The Breeders, Joni Mitchell, Sonic Youth, Handsome Boy Modeling School, Chuck Prophet, Brian Eno, Portishead, and a lot more I can't think of at the moment. There's nothing quite like the first listen, anticipating the next track, hearing the tape click over and over and over. I suppose CDs are good too, but there was something about the pause of the tape as it flipped sides -a very pleasant suspense.

Sounds nerdy, but mix tape creation is so intimate and scary. It's a unique intersection of perceived familiarity with the intended and musical taste. Sometimes the results are magical, sometimes disastrous, but always musical (at least).

Now, excuse me while I try to track down Taj Mahal's (Clara) St. Kitt's Woman.

We're liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiving in a den of thieves

Dear indie world,

I am currently watching 500 Days of Summer. I know I'm like a year late, but better later than never. I'm really looking forward to inevitably regretting my decision to cut bangs a la Zooey.

puppy love

Can I just take a moment to say how much I love my puppy? Which is fortunate, because he's cost me a shit ton in the last six months. Little dude is sweet, goofy, floppy, clumsy, snorey, snorty, clompy on the wood and tile floors, curious, inquisitive, protective (but not too much) and all around lovey. And, when he climbs up onto my chest when I get into bed, I can breathe in his delightful puppy smell and it just makes my whole everything so happy. I will not mention that he has selective listening and behavioral skills, chews up towels like it's his job, cries like a maniac when we leave him, barks at a bird flying across the front yard from inside, sheds like all get out, inflicts massive welts with his nails when he jumps on you (even if you've only been out to check the mail), pees on his own paws, hogs the covers and it goes on.

But, overall, dear Zeb, you are a gem of a dog. Right now, you're sleeping on the (super ugly, but we can't bear to get rid of it since you are so attached) rug, roughly two times the size you were just a few months ago. Your little body heaves with each breath, your tail twitching, your tiny snores. Love.

Have you had one of those days when

you just need a nice glass of red (box) wine to take the edge off (before you take something a little more serious to take the edge off/slip into unconsciousness) while you make (microwave Lean Cuisine) dinner for one while tuning into The Bachelorette? Then you need this:

Giant Wine Glass - Holds a Full Bottle of Wine!

Only $11.97!*

*Plus shipping.

Someone has a birthday coming up... hint: its me!

Sick Day

I'm not sure what's up, but it's like my body is revolting against me. (Note, I did not say that my body is revolting, Shain.) I only slept about three hours last night, am all headachey and blechy today. Blech, blech, blech. I made some toast and went to spread my Great Value brand strawberry preserves and fished out a strawberry with stems and leaves attached. It almost made me cry. Typically, I buy Bonne Maman, but not on my current budget. Sadness. Right, so, my plans for the day include crying over food, reading a Tami Hoag novel and willing myself to go to work at some point. We're on 10 hour per day, four day weeks for summer, so I feel super guilty missing a whole day since they're soooooo long.

In the meantime, it seems like the kind of day to listen to this on repeat.

Well, it's official. Life is kind of sucking balls right now.

Work is simply out of control. So many things I neither can nor should enumerate, but needless to say, I'm committed to exploring other employment opportunities. Pretty much anywhere. Pretty much either in higher education human resources (specifically benefits administration) or general kickassedness. I keep waiting to get a book deal like every other blogger out there, but alas, no dice.

It's about 100 degrees here daily + 1000% humidity which leaves everyone sweaty zombies. Thank the lord for central air, but even that doesn't zap the sapping nature of excessive heat (They keep saying that on the news - excessive compared to what? It's Oklahoma in July. Duh.). To keep my brain and body cool, I've been holing up under the vents perusing blogs with people who have their shit together. I want to be one of those people. I just want to get my poops in a group. It's not that bad, I just think (hope) it could be better. It being my sense of accomplishment when compared to an imaginary bar contrived by me, which is never a good thing.

Right, so, I've been reading Hither and Thither from start to finish. It's lovely and inspirational and confirms my contention that a regular brunch can cure anything. Unfortunately, there's literally nowhere to brunch that's worth a damn in Norman.

keeping it all in perspective

Disclaimer - I'm sure none of these feelings have anything to do with the fact that I turn the big 2-9 in mere weeks. It's totally cool that I've accomplished very little aside from a sizable collection of sale shoes in my 29 years. I've still got all of next year to tick off the things I'd planned before 30... house, real, actual vacation, permanent partner in crime, iPhone, six months of savings, my last killer hangover, twice daily flossing, the ability to tell my family no, etc.

Nice to see you too, dick.

Last night, the BF and I headed up to the Diamond Ballroom in OKC to see my beloved The Hold Steady (yes, that sounds weird). All was well as we sipped $5 24os Modelo (not too bad) until I saw a familiar sight. Or shape, more specifically. This dude off in the distance had an enormous melon. Like huge. I thought to myself, dang! That looks like the ex-boyfriend's head. Poor guy! Then I noticed another dude with a similarly outrageous head. And then I knew. The exbf (and older brother) had descended upon OK from on high (aka New Hampshire) to grace the Sooner state with his presence. Yippee. I have not seen him in about three, three and a half years. In fact, just last month I celebrated four years of break up (thanks!).

Yet still, I totally panicked. Mainly because they had this relatively good looking chick with them. And I am superficial and insecure, so you can see how this goes. After observing the group for a couple minutes I deduced that she was the older bro's date and that she's only dating him for his money (he makes bank). I immediately texted (yeah, I just used that as a verb, shoot me) those who would understand and tried to drink my gigantic beer with shaking hands. This kid rocked me to my core and left me for dead, essentially. And now, here he is, pretending to be cool and like THS (yeah, right). In any case, I calmed down, finished my beer, and enjoyed the show.

I kept urging the current BF to move closer to the stage with me, but he refused because he's super tall, so I scooted up and wouldn't you know it, I wound up about three people behind him. So, I steeled myself and moved forward to tap him on the shoulder. He turned around and I waved. We couldn't hear anything, obvs, so we couldn't say anything. He looked stoned out of his mind, so maybe he didn't recognize me or hates me so much that he pretended not to know who I was. In either case, it was awful. Seriously, dude. We were together for seven years, lived together for three of it and you pretend you don't know who I am?

Oh, for fuck's sake. I don't even know what to say about this other than, damn! But I hope he's happy and all that bullshit. I guess.

OH HELLS NO!

Dudes, seriously. I was sitting at my desk pushing my (very soft and shiny) hair out of my face, brushing my hand across my beck in the process. That's when I felt it. A HAIR. GROWING OUT OF MY NECK. Like it got lost on its way to my head. FOR REALS. What I'm feeling can only be described in all caps and ameliorated with liquor. Hello 29 (although, you're still technically a month away).

Current Obsessions

It's all rainy and crappy today. Buckets and buckets of rain soaking through the roof, the yard, the dog park, my motivation to do anything remotely productive. So, instead, I troll the interwebs looking for distraction/inspiration, which leads to a desire for things.

Like I need this album: Anais Mitchell / Hadestown.

Listen to "Wedding Song"* and tell me it's not perfect for listening to on repeat on a rainy Saturday during a recession. I dare you.

Also, I need these shoes.

What are these adorable creations, you ask? Well, they're Biviel BV2525 and if they didn't cost like $160, they'd be mine. ALL MINE.

In the meantime, I will read my library books. Which are free. Except I probably owe fines.

*via Direct Current

Summersummersummertime

Ah. It's officially summer. Not that we needed a date to tell us that. It's been 90+ degrees everyday for weeks now. The heat is really mucking things up for me. A) I want to drink waaaay too much cold beer. B) Since I sweat every time I step outdoors, I figure that suffices as a work out. Needless to say, this is not a good combo. Know what is a good combo? The Fresh Prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff.

If you are contemplating your 10 year high school reunion*

don't go. Let me tell you why. Basically, unless you are 1000.5% happy with the trajectory of your post high school life, it's not all that much fun. First, if you left town to go to college, one that was 2000 miles away, and come back to live here again sans super awesome job or adorable family, people will look at you with failure. Two, everyone is married, pregnant or nursing, so you're the only person who gets tanked on the free beer. Finally, if you graduated in 2000, reunion organizers think it's cute to play late 90s/early 2000s music, and we all know that era blew balls. Hard. Don't get me wrong, everyone I blathered to was perfectly nice and well adjusted, but it just wasn't inspiring or even the least bit fun. I'm hoping that at the 30 year mark, we're all rich as fuck and know how to actually throw a kick ass party (still with free beer). In the meantime, must begin scheme to evacuate the OK. I think it's time.

*sounds like a Belle & Sebastian song title, no?

holy flooded downtown metro!

This morning, when I got in my car at 6.45am (yes, 6.45am) to travel to work, I had no idea that three hours later, I would still not be at work and could've been to Dallas. Sure, the commute's a bitch, but not like this! It was smooth sailing for most of the trip north until torrential rain came down making every slow down to about four mph. Then the shit really hit the fan. Every exit I could take to get to work was closed by the highway patrol due to high water. So, I headed downtown to take an alternate route and shit just got worse. Hours later, after driving through many of ill-advised puddles, taking a break in a parking lot, turning around on closed roads, scooting around abandoned, submerged cars, I finally thought I'd schemed a way out of of the mess by heading west then north. But, turns out I headed west then south, because I am awesome at directions. South means home, so home I am. I only have one car. If it gets effed , I'm effed. Now I'm at home, safe and sound, catching up on work, Glee and Jezebel.com. Ah, Oklahoma weather.

This is from msnbc.com, but it's pretty much what it looked like this morning. For realz.

In a related story, doesn't Helen Mirren look stunning (as seen by my fortuitous perusal of Jezebel). On that note, I would like to marry both Ryan Reynolds and ScarJo.
Holy crap are they hot.

It's starting to storm again. What the face, OK?

Question:

I accidentally bought a straw fedora last week to celebrate my staycation (which, in all likelihood, I will never, ever wear). Does this make me:

A) 33.3% douchey

B) 69% douchey , or

C) 100% douchey

I cannot stay away, yet cannot pull off trends - not only because I look like poo, but also because I end up feeling like a huge tool. I mean, really, who wears a straw fedora except UrbanOutfitters models. Enjoy my closet, hat.

(Not to mention I have a super weirdly shaped head, among other things. Date me!)

Anthnooooooooooo!

Boy howdy. I have a new (unhealthy) obsession (is there any other kind?). It's a blog. Or, rather, a new genre of blogs. Blogs completely dedicated to the 20/30 something girl heaven known as Anthropologie. I first discovered Anthro when I lived in New York for a summer (way back in 2000) and wandered into one in Soho. I bought a ton of stuff because it was so unique (read not from the Gap or Banana, which is all we have in OK - this was before we got a JCrew) and cheap! Well, cheap when you have a credit card and no student loans. I was very well heeled for about six months (which is when I moved to Mass and looking cute was not really a priority to anyone, anywhere).

Right, so, there's this whole world out there of Anthrophiles. It's simultaneously inspiring and depressing. I wish I had a million dollars and somewhere to wear all of this stuff. On the bright side, I was inspired to edit my closet and toss out the crap I can't, won't or don't wear and drag all of it to a trendy clothing resale shop (Daisy Exchange) to make some moolah to purchase a few items from Anthro. I walked in and immediately felt out of place because everyone was literally at least 10 years younger than me, but I could hear the girls rifle through my piles and piles (and piles) of clothes without laughing, so I took that as a good sign. I ended up making bank AND the youngin's said I had good taste and super cute clothes. Kudos, me. And then I spent my earnings on awesome things like a teeth cleaning, wrapping paper for wedding gifts, getting Zeb neutered, gas, etc. Needless to say, Anthro items are not in my immediate future, but a girl can dream. And get help styling what I have from living vicariously through the closets of others.

Read 'em and weep.

Anthroholic (as mentioned before and what got this ball rolling)
Infinite Whimsy
Love at First Shop
In Pursuit of Pretty Things
Little Girl Big Closet

And there's like a thousand more. I. Can't. Stop. Also, how do these people afford this habit? I can barely keep up with my Target and Forever 21 addictions. Dang! Finally, I obviously need more belts in my life.

I wanna be a yuppieaire so frickin' bad

Sometimes, I am overcome with feelings of yuppieism. I can't stop myself from imagining my life as a proper yuppie, rather than my current existence as an overgrown college student (although, in a related story, I now sleep on a bed as of yesterday, instead of mattresses piled on the floor!).

The yuppie life of my dreams includes, but is not limited to the following:

Subaru, obvs. Although, the 'trix is close.

Duh.


No duh.

Wardrobe from here

and here.

Trendy exercise a la Bikram. Also, rock climbing.

Compulsory Costa Rica vacation.

West Elm parsons desk from which I produce wildly popular blog.

Dinner parties replete with locally sourced ingredients, brilliant pictures, stylish/worldly friends. Via Sunday Suppers.

iTampon

Unique engagement jewelry (assuming adoring, successful beau). Via St. Kilda.

DIY wedding. Via a backyard wedding.

And much more, obviously. I'm not really this kind of person, per se, but somewhere between style blogs and Facebook, I feel like I should be. Hmm.

The one where I won't hold your baby.

via A Cup of Jo

Yesterday, the BF and I went to his dad's house for a Memorial Day cook out. The BF's dad is recently remarried to a lovely woman with two grown daughters, one of whom just popped out a kid (like six weeks ago). The whole fam, blood, in-laws, steps, halfsies, everyone was there, including the baby. I don't do babies. That came out wrong. What I mean is, I don't know what to do or say to your baby. I don't know what to say to you about your baby. It's not that I don't like babies or kids and whatnot, I'm just not around them that often and don't know what to do. Plus, babies have that soft spot on their head and I don't want to be the one that ruins them because I don't know how to hold them properly. So, when K's dad asked if I wanted to hold little Nate-dog, I said I was all set. He looked at me like I'd just run over a unicorn. I started explaining how I'm just not a baby person and that I'd even texted Lacey (the baby-whisperer) to find out what to say, when I realized I sounded totally selfish and insane. So I went to get a brownie and left him there, probably thinking that at least he won't have to shell out for baby gifts for me anytime soon. So, that's good.

In the meantime, am I supposed to wake up one day feeling all maternal? I'm coming up on 30 and the baby fever hasn't hit me yet. Should I be worried?

In a related story 10 Ways to Avoid Hipster Baby Names.