it's on.

that is all.

Sunday Shining

I can't remember how this song came into my playlist, probably thanks to early morning VH1 videos back when I had insomnia and they actually played music. In any case, I think of it sometimes, and very creatively, on Sunday. However, I'm not feeling very shiny. Work has been extraordinarily draining (think 14 hour days for going on three weeks), which wouldn't be so bad if I were fairly compensated, but, frankly, I'm just not. Thanks awesome economy. But, it's feeling fall-like outside, my house is relatively clean, the OK state fair is on (Hello fried mashed potatoes on a stick! I'm coming for you.) and I get paid on Thursday. Could be worse, right? RIGHT?



Finley Quaye - Sunday Shining
Uploaded by Dagoba54. - Watch more music videos, in HD!

Sometimes, I think*

that acquaintances, coworkers, friends and family in the OK would understand me a lot better (not that anyone wants to) if they had a better grasp on just what it means to have attended Smith College. Not that it's some high falutin' ivory tower full of monied ladies with brains and that I'm a brilliant feminist, but that it's a shitshow. A SHITSHOW PEOPLE. I say that in the nicest way possible. Moving from one of the most liberal places in OK to Noho is like [insert outrageously opposite analogy here]. Examples include:

• Ladies who are dudes at a women's college.
• Friday afternoon tea service in your residence.
• Opening your dorm room door to naked cartwheel night.
• Showing porn in a college owned auditorium (I showed up for what I thought was an independent film, but at least now I can say I've seen The Opening of Misty Beethoven on the big screen).
• And so many other things I'll never know about since I spent half of my four years there at Dartmouth (oops).

In any case, someone's doing a good job of reminding me of why I'm so screwed up over at Smith'd a blog by Smithies about Smithies. Thanks!





*rarely, though. Don't worry.

Dear boyfriend,

please stop trying to perfect your cookie cake recipe (pretty much daily). When you cut your latest creation into a perfect shape, someone has to eat the crispy reject edges, and that person is me. Then I have to drink milk, which is gross, but a requirement of chocolate chip cookie consumption - I don't make the rules. None of these things are good for me. Desist dude.

BREAKING NEWS

I interrupt this program to bring you the following announcement: TINA FEY ACTUALLY LOOKS GOOD. T-Fey usually Lemons* her fancy outfits but good, however, at the Emmys last night, she looked particularly fabulous. Well played, personal idol.



*see how I did that?

Dear clementines,

I simply adore your easy packaging and tiny tartness. You are pretty much the best fruit out there. Thanks for filling in the space between meals with your perfection.

TV Math

=

In which I kind of feel guilty about ragging on engagement pics

Today, I went to the laundromat to wash my parent's guest bedroom comforter because neither of them have any idea of how to operate a front loading commercial machines and because I suffer from debilitating, chronic, terminal parental guilt syndrome (they've spent a kajillion dollars on me, the least I can do is drag my ass to the laundromat while they're out of town caring for my ailing grandmother kind of thing). While I was there, I observed several couples happily doing their laundry. One of them holds open the door while the other shovels in a load of towels. Another pair folds t-shirts side by side. Another couple sits giggling in front of an open laptop. And another works wordlessly following a long established routine. It was kind of reassuring, like coupling's ok. And wouldn't a laundromat make a wonderful location for an engagement photo shoot? Ok, joking. Or am I?


Cute or potentially criminal? I can't help but remember this.

Things I hate #1,348,073.46

Elaborate engagement photo sessions. They're just weird. Sorry marrieds or about to be marrieds, but no one wants to see overly saturated pics of you in a dress from Anthropologie with cankle creating wedges and your betrothed standing hand in hand in front of a barn. Or train tracks. Or the shitty part of town trying to be some kind of rustic authenticity. Or spread out on a "vintage" quilt in a grassy field. Or a shot of your engagement shoes. Or a black and white of a somber embrace in front of a bookstore because you're literate and cool, we get it. Anyway, that is all. For today.

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.