Some Reasons Why Video Games Rule.

One of my most favorite songs of all time? Perhaps. The best use of ANY JAY-Z SONG EVER? Most definitely.




Sometimes I wonder if Aubrey Plaza and I were separated at birth. And then I remember that she's way cooler than me.




Sam Worthington? Hot. Jonah Hill? Hot...? Weird.




And finally, the greatest thing video games have ever given me. True story: I was serenaded with this song by someone very dear to me. He learned to play guitar just for the occasion. It was probably one of the sweetest, most thoughtful things anyone has ever done in my presence. His girlfriend is a lucky lady.

Don't ever let anyone tell you that video games aren't vehicles for intense creativity.
Or that they don't rule.
Because, clearly they do.

I Heart It

Have I mentioned how much I love the website We Heart It?
Probably not.
Especially since this love was very much of the unrequited nature, until very recently.
Well, I do.
I loves it.
I loves it lots and lots.
Every. Single. Image is so inspiring and creative.
Beauty and talent and artistic emotional expression abound.
I have selected some of the most recent images for your delight.
There are new ones added just about every millisecond.
Which is pretty cool, I think.
Behold and enjoy.

from here.

from here.

from here.

from here.

from here.

from here.

from here.

from here.

from here.

At First Sight

You guys.
I am kind of in love with this website.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures
Just thought you should know.

Muzak

A'ight.
Remember how I was kinda sorta bitching about the lack of music in my life?
Well, let me say this: I have some pretty awesome friends.

First:
Eric (who doesn't have a blog because he's a Luddite, otherwise I would link him) was kind enough to take me to Lollapalooza a few weekends ago.
One word: EPIC.
The main focus of the trip was Greenday as a headliner (judge all you want...I happen to love them), but we also got to experience some other very cool bands. Observe:

Spoon- which is actually on my iPod, but not something I listen to on a regular basis. I guess I'll have to start because they are most satisfactory as musical entertainment.

Pheonix- they happened to be on almost the same time as Greenday, and while I wasn't about to miss a moment of that for anything other than death or dismemberment, we were able to hear some of their show. If you're not familiar, get acquainted. They do not disappoint.

Social Distortion- not exactly *new*, but new to me, I guess? I would've enjoyed hearing more or their performance, but I was occupied with the task of babysitting drunk people at the particular time of the night.

Slightly Stoopid- kind of Sublime wannabes, I think. But who doesn't likeSublime? That's right. Nobody doesn't like Sublime.

We also had the good fortune to hear Wolfgang Gartner, a DJ who was pretty rockin'. I would've liked to have seen Arcade Fire, MGMT, and Peanut Butter Wolf but I had to work earlier in the day so that didn't happen. At least I've got some good inspiration for some new tunes. Ya dig?


Second:
Speaking of DJs and being awesome, something you may or may not know about me is that I happen to lurve Girl Talk. I'm trying to get away from the trap of Top 40 songs and the crap you have to wade through to find the one decent artist, but Girl Talk makes all that exponentially more tolerable by mixing current, popular songs into one continuous track and meshing them all together to create one gigantic amazing song.
Now that we've taken care of that, I shall move on to the point of Part II of my super-cool music story. A good friend of mine, who is a DJ, gave me a copy of a disc he made using the same concept, only with older hip-hop songs. I'm not too familiar with the hip-hop genre (I grew up on the North Shore, what do you want from me?), but I have to say that I find this CD perfectly incredible. I wish that I had the vision and creative mind to listen to a bunch of songs and then smush them all together to create something...well, something that's even something at all. So, I've been jamming to that a lot lately, too.

Third:
Some very, very generous soul (you know who you are) found it in their hearts to burn me a few discs (and by a few I mean SIX, plus a copy of the new season of The IT Crowd) of some music they thought I would like:
Yeasayer- "All Hour Symbols" & "Odd Blood"
Hot Chip- "The Warning"
Gorillaz- "Plastic Beach"
LCD Soundsystem- "This is Happening"
Gang of Four- "Solid Gold"
I'll let you know how it all works out, but I've got a good feeling about these.


That's two stagnant areas down, three to go.
Any volunteers for wardrobe advice, artistic inspiration, or nutritional suggestions?
Currently accepting applications.

Beauty.

And, apparently, the talented person who took this picture?
Allowing the Average Joe's of the world to download and print.
FOR FREE.
Want in on this action?
Get some.

We interrupt this boradcast...

To bring you this important announcement.

Allow me to introduce the newest member of
the Fighting Illini hockey team:

This picture will never fail to amuse me.
And...
He's single, ladies!

Way to go, little brother.
Proud = ME.


You may now return to your regularly-scheduled programming.

Some people are just stupid

Really.

So, in a previous post I discussed my love for Mommy Blogs.

On the list of ones I love dearly is that belonging to cjane.

You should read her stuff sometime. She's really quite talented.

So talented, in fact, that someone (or several someones?) have been stealing her work.

You can read the details here, here, here and here.

I'm kind of amazed (but not really because of who she is and how many people clearly adore her) that so many of us have rallied to stop this crazy from infecting the blogosphere.

Sidenote: bloggers can be MEAN when one of their own has been wronged. I love it.

The offensive blogs in question have since been removed.

I'm sure I've been inspired in reading Courtney's posts to write some of my own.

I'm sure that others have inspired me to do the same, as well.

But the result has been my own.

Something I created.

My ideas have always been my own, even if someone else helped me get there.

Because isn't that kind of the point of all of this?

Never, never have I stolen a whole entire post.

And never would I be moronic enough to do it from one of the most well-known writers on the internet.

I'm also probably guilty of maybe posting a photo and not giving proper credit to my source.

Lesson learned.

I mean, duh people.

Come one.

How dumb does one (or a couple, for that matter) person get?

Also: not that this would ever happen because I have about 3.68 readers.

But.

If someone ever did that to me?

It would be Hammer Time.

Fo' shiz.

I'm going to drink the rest of my blueberry jasmine green tea now.

Thank you, and good day.

Edit: In second guessing myself, as I am wont to do, I've combed over my previous posts to make sure that I'm not a jerkface like *some* people.

I don't think I am, let me just say right now.

As an English major and seasoned writer myself, I'm pretty good about that sort of thing.

Do unto others, and whatnot.

But just to be safe.

Because no one like a hypocrite.

Least of all, a sarcastic one.

Fashion is made to become unfashionable

Some other things.
Because I'm bored.
Like WHOA.

So, I cleaned out my closets yesterday.
It is considered by many, myself included, to be a blessing that I have not one, but two walk-in closets in my tiny studio apartment. So much so that I've chosen to honor this blessing by stuffing both full of clothing.
And my hallway.
And my couch.
And my floor.
And my bed.

Needless to say, the amount of clothing I own is somewhat of an issue.

The most depressing part (or...not depressing, depending on how one looks at it) is that this state of my obsession is most definitely scaled-down from the point it was two years. To prove my insanity: my wonderful mother and grandmother had to engage in what we jokingly (or not so jokingly) refer to as an *intervention*, wherein they recognized that I was indeed suffocating in the results of my shopping addiction, drove the four hours to my apartment and methodically went through my clothing piece by piece to determined what I needed, and what was simply there because I got bored and decided to go to Wet Seal.
I know.
Wet seal.
Gross.

I have since been rehabilitated, but only to the point that most of us can be. After all, I'm only human.
I still love pretty things.
I still get bored with stuff that I already have.
I still read magazines and lust after the treasures on the glossy pages.
Plus, Target still exists. So, there's that.

This cleansing became necessary when it was determined that there was know way in the physical or theoretical universe that my stuff was ever going to be able to inhabit the same space as someone else' stuff ...unless there was some reduction in volume.

So, reduce I did.
Lara kindly played the role of BFF and assisted me on this project. I think it's always easier to have someone there with you for moral support, and also to validate your decisions. I know that I always tend to talk myself into keeping things that I probably shouldn't keep while purging. This person must, of course, care about or have some sort of investment in your situation. As Lara so succinctly put it, she was "doing this for the good of yours [read: mine] and Blake's relationship." Amen.

We yanked everything out of both closets and divided it into four piles: a keep pile (laundry pile, really), a giveaway pile (all of this went to Vanessa because Amber and Lara are too tall for antyhing that would fit me), a Goodwill pile (for stuff that wouldn't fit Vaness or that she wouldn't want), and a throwaway pile (for stuff no one wants).

I kind of wish I had read this post before I embarked on this great adventure, but really when it came down to it Lara and I probably followed many of the same steps outlined. Jordan's blog is just much prettier than mine. I attempted to so something similar when I moved last July ( I move a lot, don't I?) but did not disgard nearly as much. Probably because I was by myself, and I convinced myself that I really needed a vast menagerie of bargain shirts from Charlotte Russe that were both ugly and cheap-looking. Seriously, what is with the origins of my former wardrobe being from stores meant for 16 year-olds? Ridiculous. I have plenty of beautiful clothing from Express and Nordstrom and Bloomingdales, and even some things from London and Paris and Italy and Spain . Yet I still waste my time, space, and money on nastiness that is worthy of little more than dishraggery.

So, all those went bye-bye.
Along with a few of the aforementioned "nice" pieces that I don't wear anymore, or were in disrepair.
I also decided to put some of my older but well-loved things in storage. Like t-shirts from high school and college that I don't necessarily want to wear but also can't bear to throw out. This, Lara allowed me to get away with.
She did not, however, allow me to get away with things like "but it's really cute" or "it might come back in style." She was a complete closet czar, if you will. She once again spouted a nugget of wisdom while justifying herself in saying, "Molly we are TOO OLD for embellished denim mini-skirts." Point taken.

In the end, I gave five bags of clothes to Vanessa, two to Goodwill, three to storage, and one to the trash. I even got ambitious and went through my shoes, purses, and jewelry too.

I must admit that although it was hard to let go of things in the moment, I don't miss anything that went into those garbage bags yesterday (yes, garbage bags. Ghetto, I know). Life feels...ligther, somehow. And everything the I ended up keeping I genuinely like.

Isn't it funny how *stuff* can evoke such strong emotions in us? After all, it's only fleeting. It comes and goes so quickly when compared to the broad spectrum of life. I'm not trying to preach; I am a member of the *Stuff* Makes Me Happy Club. It just feels must better and much more rewarding to get that feeling from a smaller number of things.

Plus, this means I'll have more room for new stuff.

Because as long as there's Etsy, I'll be okay.

Twidiot

The other day, I lost a huge personal battle.
I've already given in to the temptations of gaucho pants, gigantic earrings, and unnecessarily large amounts of bronzer. Does it really matter if I give in to one more supposedly and inexplicably trendy thing that goes against all my morals and cultural expectations?
Probably not.
Except that this time, I joined Twitter.

Have you heard of Twitter?
Of course you have. Unless you've been living in a cave in the Mojave or you're my grandma or something. But just in case you have (or you are my grandma), I will explain.
One of the greatest and most wonderful things about Facebook is that it provides a place for users to put "statuses"and update them as they see fit.

Por ejemplo:
Molly is... eating lunch.
Molly is... taking a nap.
Molly is... rotting in a gutter somewhere.
Molly is... angry because Heroes is starting to suck more and more each time she watches it but she can't stop because it used to be so good and she's secretly hoping that the next episode will blow her mind and all will be right with the world again. But it doesn't, and it's not. She just gets disappointed. Every. Single. Time.

See? Fun, right?

This glorious little function is generally agreed upon by the ever-expanding population of Facebook to be the most desirable part of the whole "FB" (that's what we seasoned veterans call it...FB) experience.
This is perhaps because people, myself included, are nosey.
We're also a self-indulgent generation. If it's not worth putting on the internets to make our peers jealous and for the rest of the world to see how obviously amazing we are, then it's simply not worth doing. This very blog might, in fact, be considered exhibit A to my argument.
But really...is the issue even foggy enough to warrant an argument?
I digress.

The statuses on Facebook are the best part.
Everyone knows that.
Except the only problem is that you have to deal with all the other crap that Facebook spews forth from it's ever-widening gaping void of creative programming.
Send your BFF's bumper stickers!
Virtual bumper stickers!
With pithy sayings!
Even though they all live in different states!
Just by clicking a button!
Isn't technology FUN?!

I've often found myself pining, like so many of us no doubt do, for a land where statuses can be and are posted unencumbered by requests for offensive buttons on a fake bulletin board and electronically simulated gardens. Because there's no way any of the aforementioned things could ever exist outside of cyberspace. Especially with, like, wood and grass and stuff.
If only someone would have the innovation to create such a magical place and save us all from the horrific fate of having to sift through 97 requests to have a theoretical daiquiri via a computerized social-networking site with people you haven't spoken to since high school graduation.
If only such a world existed.
If only...

Enter: Twitter.

Twitter is nothing but status updates.
All the time.
With none of that other "applications" BS.
It's pretty much the coolest thing in the history of ever.

You can also put an RSS on your Blogger template so that the people who visit your blog (all three and half of them) can see what you're up to, even if they don't have Twitter accounts.
Now my mother knows when I'm watching re-runs of "Friends" and eating Thin Mints instead of doing stuff she asks me to do, like proof a design or get a degree.
It's just like living at home, except without the free food and rent.

And...AND! You can follow all sorts of famous people on Twitter. Unlike Facebook, people don't have to accept your friendship request to see your profile. So, you can poke around in peoples lives with complete confidence and total anonymity.
Like right now? I know that Ryan Seacrest has to pick out a suit for this weeks Idol taping, Dr. Drew just got back from Chicago, and Jimmy Fallon did NOT use audience plants for some segment on his show (PS- did you know Jimmy Fallon took over the Late Show? Maybe I'm the one who's been living in a cave in the desert).

All hail Twitter.

I can now poke my nose not only into the lives of people I actually know, but into the lives of complete and total strangers who also happen to be on TV.
And it's addictive.

Didn't they used to arrest people for this?

Yes, yes they did.
I believe the term used most often in restraining orders is "stalking."

Now it's perfectly legal.
My prayers have been answered.

Just Don't Ask Me To DJ Your Next Party

Apparently, I have really bad taste in music.

I know, it came as a shock to me too.
In fact, it occurred to me (as most things do) while I was in the shower.
There's just something about the hot water and my peppermint soap and my cat whining because I've been out of his line of sight for more than twelve seconds that makes the environment prefect for epiphanies.
The harsh reality of my less-than-perfect musical tendencies was what I happened upon today.

Stay tuned: tomorrow I'm going to figure out how to solve the budget crisis.

Now, let's be clear: bad taste is not to be confused with lack of respect.
I have plenty of respect for decent music. Which is probably why my penchant for musical bastardizations is such a mystery to me.

I grew up in a household where we listened to The Beatles and The Allman Brothers and Lynyrd Skynyrd. That's how cool my parent's were. (do YOUR kids listen to Skynyrd? Didn't think so.)
This part makes sense, because my parents are products of the era that pretty much shaped the world, pop-culturally speaking. In other words, they knew what good music was.
In fact, they still do. My Dad is often the proud owner of the best tickets his credit card can find whenever people like Paul Simon (the singer, not the dead senator...obviously) or Crosby, Stills, and Nash come to town. They're in they're fifties, by the way (do YOUR parent's jam out at super-awesome concerts with America's rock legends? Didn't think so).
As such, we were only exposed to what can only be described as "non-crappy music."
They also did a pretty good job of sheltering us from...you guessed it: crappy music.
In fact, I wasn't even aware that the 80's and early 90's had musical movements (which is pretty amazing considering I was actually born smack-dab in the middle of one of those decades and was most certainly lucid for much of the other one, but whatever), until high school rolled around and we got VH1 and I started watching a whole lot of "Pop-Up Video".
But that's another story.

I also didn't know who people like Nelson and Poison actually were until I became friends with Marie, and she proceeded to warp my fragile little Sgt. Pepper's-shaped mind with cassette mix-tapes and foolishness like tight-rolling and day-glo.
She's so 80's sometimes.

My siblings even managed to inherit out parent's cool music genes.

Do those actually come in genetic form? Can we maybe use my obvious lack-there-of as final proof that I am really adopted?
I'll look in to it.

But, back to the music.

Joey loves his classic rock.
Truly, madly, deeply.
He's even got more than his fair share of Led Zeppelin posters in his old room at my parent's house. One of them might even be a cloth tapestry.
Such a good little flower child, he is.

Janie loves it, too.
But she's more into the singer-songwriters.
For example, Jack Johnson and John Mayer. While their respective musical talent might be debatable, no one can deny the mass-appeal of their respective abilities to write amazing lyrics.
Also, I'm pretty sure that both are on my sister's freebie list.

In addition to their individual tastes, they share a mutual adoration for Dave Matthews and his band of merry-makers.
Or just simply DMB, if you wanna hang with the cool kids.
They don't just love him.
They worship the very ground he plays his guitar on.
Every single summer, you can count on them camping out and spending insane amounts of money on a whole week's worth of Dave tickets when he makes his yearly pilgrimage to Alpine (may it rest in peace).

Now, I've enjoyed a Dave Matthew's concert or two in my time (no not like THAT, Mom).
I can get down with some Zeppelin.
I own Jack Johnson AND John Mayer albums.
I have almost every single classic-rock "pioneer" band on my iTunes.
John, Paul, George and Ringo are good buddies of mine.
Johnny Cash is listed as one of my favorite artist on both my MySpace and Facebook.
I even enjoy a little Dylan from time to time, although I try to keep it to a minimum because my mother hates him (which is strange to me, because wasn't he like the voice of her generation, or something?).

Not to mention that I'm consistently surrounding myself with people that hold vast wealth's of knowledge concerning modern music, as well.
Chelsea brought me The Kaiser Chiefs and The Shins.
Molly gave me David Gray and all the music from the "Alias" soundtrack.
Blake had introduced me to...everything else there is to know about music as it exists in the present day. Seriously. Good thing he makes really great mix CD's.

If all of the above is true, then why in the blue hell am I drawn to such awful melodies to complete the soundtrack of my everyday life?
I mean, if it's somewhere on the top 40 and is written by someone who had also starred in 3 movies/TV shows this year and has the words "baby girl" in it, count on me to crank up the volume when Ryan Seacrest introduces it.
No, I don't actually listen to Ryan Seacrest, but you get the picture.

I don't know what to do, or how to stop it.
I am at a loss.
Songs like "If I were a Boy" (Beyonce), "Leavin'" (Jesse McCartney) and "So What?" (Pink) cannot be good for my health and well-being.
Yet I still love them so (are YOUR musical tastes this lame? Didn't think so).

Send help people.
Send help and Rolling Stone now.

A Post About Nothing

Kind of.

Is it just me, or does cauliflower look like a bunch of little brains all squished together?

Let me back up.

So, I made curry with carrots, peas, potatoes, and brown rice for dinner last night. It was pretty delish, if I do say so myself (even thought I can't take credit for the actual sauce because I used this little guy right here…but I didn't over-cook anything, which is a pretty big deal if you're me). Blake thought it needed more ginger. I'm beginning to think that he feels the same way about ginger as I do about garlic. To paint a little picture, The Other Molly once told me that if I had the ability to put garlic on cold cereal that I probably would. To which I would respond that such a claim is preposterous as I draw the line for use of garlic as a condiment at Cream-of-Wheat and Snickerdoodles, thank you very much.

Just be glad you're not my boyfriend.

But, back to the curry.

Yummy? Check.

Filling? Check.

Fattening? Check.

Especially since we decided that some adult beverages (most of which rhymed with "flewdrivers) were a necessary part of our after-dinner Rock Band experience.

And fortune cookies.

And sorbet.

Did I mention that I had spaghetti for lunch, leftover from my weekend in The Chi? (Thanks Mom!)

I woke up today and contemplated hiring a forklift to drive me to work.

Who invented carbs, anyway?

They should be tarred and feathered and then forced to eat seventeen servings of pasta, only to then attempt to fit into their Seven for All Mankind stovepipe jeans.

Very unforgiving, those jeans.

Naturally, lots of green stuff was on my imaginary menu today.

Specifically, a salad.

Because I think I read somewhere that the FDA has declared green Mike-an-Ike’s unsuitable when counted as a serving of vegetables.

Damn.

So I packed myself a salad (and may I just take a moment to talk about how freaking FANTASTIC Newman’s Own Low Fat Sesame Ginger dressing is? I am not a particularly supportive fan of light dressings. I’ve always felt that if the dressing tastes like chalk made of aspartame, that it will render the salad unpalatable after only a few bites, thus depriving we, the eaters, of the nutritious value of the greens themselves. Which was the point of the salad in the first place, am I right? But this dressing…it’s like the heavens parted and the hand of the dear Lord himself reached down to endow Barack Obama with perpetual badass-ness and happened to brush a ginger plant along the way, thereby creating this magical accoutrement . And I promise that my enthusiasm has almost nothing to do with my undying love for Paul Newman himself…le sigh…And end sermon). To go along with this salad, I had an apple, some celery, carrots and the dreaded cauliflower.

The cauliflower, you see, has been lurking in my fridge for a good week and a half. It was purchased with the intent of roasting it sprinkled with some curry powder. What is it with me and Indian food lately? Maybe it’s a hold-over from when The Other Molly and I were living out a-London-ways. Someone stop me before I break down and find a recipe for naan…

I finally decided to cut the darn thing up, in hopes that it would help motivate me to actually eat it. In the process, I kind of wondered why it hadn’t gone bad yet. As I was eating it for lunch today, it occurred to me that the reason it had remained unspoiled all this time is because it’s all smooshed together so tightly that it takes forever for whatever it is makes veggies go bad to actually attach itself to it. And it’s this physical construction which makes it look NASTY.

A fact which, unfortunately, also occurred to me as I was eating lunch.

Sorry.

I guess I should’ve clarified that this tangent was not going in the direction of vegetative sciences and molding properties of root vegetables, but more in the direction of how cauliflower skeeves me out because it looks like cow brains that have been run through a Cuisineart and a trash compactor, respectively.

Because it really does.

Another thing that occurred to me as I was eating lunch is that Clive Cussler does not know how to write female characters.

Why am I reading Clive Cussler, you might wonder.

I needed something to supplement to void in my life after Twilight made its grand exit from my life (and I was able regain normal human brain function).

I figured Clive Cussler would be a literarily-appropriate second act.

And not in a good way.

I was correct. If you’ve ever read either, you know that I speak the truth.

However, in his introduction to his female lead character had just getting out of bed, wearing a halter-top and shorts.

A halter-top.

Are we kidding me, Clive?

No one wears halter-tops to bed. Or anywhere for that matter,

Unless you’re patronizing the Fried What?! booth at the Illinois State Fair.

Then it’s kind of a necessary fashion statement.

I swear that, for the sake of my own sanity, I will post something that makes sense.

Eventually.

It’ll probably have a lot to do with the story of how my car exploded and almost killed me and Lara.

Until then, I’m just going to sit here and think about how even though I should really just drink some tea and go to bed when I get home, I’ll probably have some of my Mom’s spaghetti and maybe a cookie.

Or three.

Couch Potatoes

Still no laptop.
Bad news bears.
Maybe someone will fix it for me while Lara and I are at my parent's house this weekend.
Because that would be super-fantastic.

And because there's no laptop, I have to make this a quickie.

Blake and I are catching up on about 4 weeks and 965 gazillion episodes of Heroes, The Office, and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia tonight after I leave work.
Which is funny, because I found this during my traditional daily perusal of CNN.com.
Which, of course, reminded be of The Other Molly.
And Marie and Eric, too.

Who needs to pay for their own TV when you've got friends like this?
Not I... said the little red hen.

There's a Light on in Chicago...

I'm going to my parent's house tomorrow night.
I'm staying until Sunday.
As long I don't completely lose my mind before then.
Just kidding. I love my Mom and Dad's house.
Most of the time.

I'm also totally copying the Other Molly's post.
Not creative, you say?
To you, I would say: We share a brain. What do you expect?

Evidence is presented above.

This is all the bidness I have to take care of before I drive to Chambana to pick up Janie and Becca. Did I mention that I'm leaving at 11:45 am?
'Cause I am.

-Get flat tire patched (I know, I know. This should've been done days ago. But you have to understand, when faced with the choice of either getting out of bed into the freezing cold rain and trudging to Wal-Mart...aka my version of HELL...or staying in bed, where it's nice and clean and flourescent lightbuld-free--- I don't think I even need to finish my thought)
-Drop dry cleaning off
-Clean my house (or, shove everything into my closet so that Blake doesn't trip over it when he comes to feed the cat this weekend)
-Pack
-Dishes
-Trash
-Litter box
-Bang my head against wall
-Sleep

Remember high school? Remember how the teachers used to give out progress reports that charted our current class-rankings?
Do you think there is any way I can get my hands on MY progress report regarding adulthood?
Because I think I may have to re-take the class.
Again.


Although, my boss told me today that we can now wear jeans when we come in at 2:30.
Score one for Nada!
Expect me to be wearing nothing but jeans and mocassins to work from now until eternity.
Unless it's raining or snowing.
In which case I will, of course, be wearing my red wellies with white polka dots. (Thanks Mom)


Does someone want to put a but in Santa's ear that one of these little guys would be a really super-great Christmas present for a girl like me? PSSST-- I like the one on the top right the best.

And SPEAKING of Christmas... I've got a few more things for your list, Mommy Salami.
And anyone else who thinks I'm special.

-New silverware, because my collection looks like the cutlery bin at the Goodwill threw up in a kitchen drawer.
-Tea kettle
-Ceramic containers with plastic lids, like the kind you'd take in a lunchbox, but can microwave. You know, so the harmful chemicals from the plastic don't leech into my food when I zap stuff (because I bring my lunch everyday like the good little conservationist that I am) and warp my fragile little mind.
-And, or course, I'm always on the lookout for a pretty hardcover version of the original Wizard of Oz. Not a first edition necessarily (unless Daddy Warbucks wants to buy it for me), but an illustrated one.


And finally, before I get lost in my book again, I found this today and I just HAD to post.
Things:
-There's a book called 'I'm on Facebook--- Now What???'. Um, that's pretty fantastic. I may just get this as a Christmas gift for every adult in my extended family. That way, I won't get calls at 7 am on a Saturday saying "Someone just poked me. What's a POKE? It sounds dirty."
-If you don't want to be someone's friend, then perhaps you should... oh, I don't know... not send them a friend request? Thereby solving the awkwardness of being friends with someone you don't actually know?
-Someone should write an equally (read: only slightly) intelligent piece on what to do when weirdos message you on MySpace because they take one look at your profile picture and decided that they want to give you shoulder rubs. 'Cause a girl could use that kind of advice (true story).

Peace and love!

I was just wondering

Dear Mr. Bateman,

Wanna be my baby-daddy?

No, really.
I'm serious.

Love,
Me



It's a very good thing that Arrested Development is quite possibly the most perfect television show ever created, because I doubt very much that there's any way I could choke through three seasons of "Silver Spoons" and have the same response. And, only in part because I'd feel like a pedophile.



Also:

What the HELL

Read the linked article, and be amazed.

I'm maybe more than a little embarrassed for the following people involved in this piece for the following reasons-

-The Wife, because her husband had an affair with a computer-generated hooker in a computer generated world
-The Husband, because his wife hired an internet private detective after she became suspicious that his virtual altar-ego was cheating on her virtual altar-ego
-The Author, because they clearly misunderstood the part of their journalism employment contract that included the part about reporting "pertinent and compelling news." I mean, it's not like we're in the middle of a war or a severe oil conflict, or the nation just elected it's first African-American president....

I think my most favoritest part (what? I'm an English major. I can do whatever I want), though, would have to be the blurb at the very end about World of Warcraft.

Le sigh...

P to the S- I'm not posting three times in one day. For some reason, Blogger isn't recognizing my laptops time stamp. It's actually 4:35 am on Sunday, November 16.
Please.
I'm not THAT much of a loser.

Oh...

And one more thing.

I think I may have mentioned Heather Armstrong and her website/blog Dooce on Thursday.
If you want a good laugh, or you're looking for an amusing way to kill time at work and your tech support has blocked all malicious websites (i.e. sucked all the fun out of life), I suggest you bask in her glory.

In fact, I'm going to add it to my favorites riiight...now.

Okay, back.


Anywho.

There's this post that she wrote at the beginning of October that posed a hypothetical question to her readers: if you had the opportunity to donate money to a starving family so that they could buy food, would you do it on the condition that you had to donate an equal amount of money to a family whom you knew was going to use it to buy crack?

The question was/is simple.
The response it evoked was not.
The original post with the question generated 1197 responses.
1197.
That blows my mind.

But her follow-up is what gets me.

Read it. *

*(Mom and Gramma and Molly and Marie...since you're clearly the only people cool enough to be my friends and read my revolutionary thoughts)

I think I might write more on it later. You know, when it's not 4 am.
Not that I need any help in the department.
Because my life is hella-interesting.
Obviously.