Sunday, December 28, 2008

My night with a stripper

Right. I hung out with a stripper tonight that, after she has her baby, she plans on going back to school to get her life back together. That's great. Not that she's getting out of her night job. No. She's ready to go with that. Nice girl though. She really is. Baby Bryce is due in 60 days and he's got three other siblings to spend his life with. She's younger than me.
Really, it isn't that alarming is it? Not like a baptist condoning political views outside of the republican party, now that is alarming.
Point is, I hung out with a stripper tonight that makes legit cash when she's not knocked up and she was a very nice individual. While I am not such a fan of the work that she does, if she can provide for her kids while she finishes school so she can get a real job, who am I to scoff? I am imagining myself doing the same thing if I was in that situation...and THAT is alarming.
I also got mooned tonight but that's really not that alarming. Just another photo opp on the road of life.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

"Is" happened to me

A new trend on social networking sites such as Facebook and the heavily over-crowded, over-worked, over-cluttered, and over stimulated Myspace, is.
I didn't make a typo. The trend is.
In our efforts to tell the entire world what we are feeling all the time, we update our status' to let people in on what we are thinking, what we are doing, what we are planning on doing, what we did, or what social cause we should all agree with. But from that has been born, "is."
Blah McBlah is.
Becca St. BeccaBecca is.
Bleep Flarblarp is.
Berf TotPresh is.
I have a feeling that "is" means different things to different people and to analyze what that might mean would be highly obnoxious and counterproductive since it's always going to just be whatever that person meant for it to be. But none the less, people just "is" now.
I can relate though. As the final moments of Benjamin Button were happening and the credits began to roll and that song was playing...I just "is." For real. I can say, that in that moment, I just "is." Well, was. But that doesn't go with the theme. I was processing, but doing it subconsciously, I was deep in thought, I was completely lost in the wonder that was the film and as I sat there and saw lines and lines of people's names scanning across the screen, I "is."
Probably the best part of my day, when I "is."
You can't just "is." It has to happen to you. And so it did.
But I sure didn't update my status to say that. No. I don't really remember what it said then, but it had to be something along the lines of animals dressed as humans or things a monkey would wear, which is basically the same thing and that is more terrifying than people throwing around the use of the word "is."

To myself

I'm not quite sure what to do here.
What do I say that hasn't already been said?
Do I open that gate and have that conversation yet again?
I don't know.
I don't really know what else to say about it.
But I might go ahead with it.
Why not?
Probably for all of the reasons listed above. But I still will.

Friday, December 26, 2008

I'd like a plate of comma

So every Christmas season brings more stories than gifts. You know its true. I mean, it might not be true for you, but it definitely is true for me. It would be irritating if everything was normal because I don't do normal.
Alright. I'll open with the honest truth. I watched Home Alone 2 on Christmas Day and when it got to the end, I cried. I'm not ashamed to say it. I cried. There Kevin stands, in Rockefeller Center, the tree behind him, the lit angels all around and that music begins. You know the music. The Home Alone music that is so wonderful. I've decided that if my life had a soundtrack, I would want that song played at the ending and over the credits. Of course, my opening song would be the opening song from Forrest Gump.
I have cousins. Plenty of them and they are all pretty cool. Well, some are older than others and the younger ones are, how should I say, not as learned as we who have been around for more than two decades. So my father is teaching the six year old how to do math. Well, he's young and he still uses his fingers to count it out (don't act like you don't still do that too) and my dad was messing with him by saying this: "What are you going to do when they chop your hands off?" Right. I'll say it again. "What are you going to do when they chop your hands off?" To which my cousin makes fists with his hands and starts shouting, "My fingers are gone! My fingers are gone!" It wasn't soon after that outburst that my brother opened his gift, a book by Obama (he's a history buff and reads political things a lot), to which the same cousin says in utter terror, "You like Barack Obama?!" Welcome to Texas.
There was the unveiling of the first grandchild who got a tattoo, there was the "BOSTON RED SOX" lit up on the roof of a neighboring home which I found to be particularly festive...
You know, I don't care what you celebrate. I don't care at all. I find Kwanzaa to be a little strange and not really real, but whatever. But come on. Boston Red Sox? It's Christmas for God's sake and they aren't even playing! Put those lights on your roof during the summer when they are actually playing, not now! Contrary to what Red Sox fans might believe, God doesn't really care about a baseball team and the world does not revolve around the Red Sox.
Catheder was brought up twice within about an hour. Oh? Too soon to jump back into the Christmas stories? Right. Well it was. Twice. I don't know how you bring that up at the Christmas dinner table at all, much less bringing it up again during gifts, but that's how we roll. We clap, we cheer, we give snaps, we videotape the long orations of a father that needs to learn that not everything needs a pause for emphasis, we have fashion shows in which we cheer, we peer pressure the family into trying on sweaters, we listen to long stories that don't ever really have an ending but everyone laughs anyways, we watch A Christmas Story ten times, we are pleasantly surprised and we have a great time.
My favorite though is when the young cousins start talking fast and I tell them to insert commas into their speech so we can understand them. "We have cake comma truffles comma and three kinds of pies comma (should be a semicolon but whatever, she's small) pumpkin comma coconut comma and pecan."

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

10 Things.

I don't want to be plain.
I don't want to be normal.
I don't want to be average.
I don't want to be everyday.
I don't want to be stuck in a rut.
I don't want to be small.
I don't want to be hometown.
I don't want to be usual.
I don't want to be tired.
I don't want to be boring.

I want a life bigger than me.
I want a life that's thrilling.
I want a life to envy.
I want a life of excitement.
I want a life that makes music.
I want a life that is a living theatre.
I want a life possibilities.
I want a life of power.
I want a life whirlwinds.
I want a life of greatness.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Eve on repeat

Christmas Eve Eve is not a holiday. It's just another day, but a day that includes that panic inducing moment when you realize that Christmas Eve is the next day. I mean, up until that day, everything is going well, Christmas parties are happening, the semester is ending, and everything is going well. Then you get to this day and you have that moment when you realize that it has all caught up with you and you are out of time completely.
So then what do you do? I mean, you panic and look at the list of things you haven't bought yet and know that you can't make plans anymore because all of your spare time will be spent buying gifts.
I don't have anything against the buying of gifts. I actually love to buy people things and one day, when I have a real job with real money, I will be a gift buying fool. But for now, I struggle with the rest of the economically challenged Americans who will be out searching for the perfect deal the day before Christmas.
I don't care for the Eve Eve thing.

Saturday, December 20, 2008


What am I supposed to do now?
It's true that there have been big events in my life that condone such a question, but it isn't because of those events that I ask.
What do I do now?
There just comes a point when that question becomes okay. After getting advice from so many people, after making a few select mistakes like I have the Repeat button pressed on the remote control of my life, and after years of the virtual (and sometimes not-so-virtual) tossing and turning, I have come to the point to ask that question. I've been told that I'm so strong, the strongest out of the group actually, and don't worry, I have fallen far short of that title.
What now?
It's like I am waiting for the next episode to start. No. The next season. The next character arc. I need my next character arc.
So there it is. That's what I need. I need a really juicy, really interesting story with lots of twists and turns. And a villain. And a really great love interest that only I like but no one else seems to. And a hardship that I overcome. With a sweeping soundtrack that ends with an inspirational song. And I smile as the sun sets. I give a quiet chuckle and I look off to the side.
Yes. I need a new character arc now.

Friday, December 19, 2008

A case of the Rs.

I've been watching a lot of television lately. No, that wasn't meant to be sarcastic. Stop it.
I watch a lot of television all the time, I know. But what I have been watching recently is different than the typical stuff I watch.
I'm watching things that are raw. That's right. Raw. Raw and rough and at times repulsive, and ridiculous, and rude, and real. It doesn't really matter what I am watching, though I am not afraid of telling you what it is. But since you didn't ask, I won't bother boring you with it. It's not important anyway.
What is important is the real-life-application that is coming out of this. It's astonishing actually. See, we like to live in this place where real life is important and fantasies are looked down upon. You hear the word fantasy and the meaning is sexual. Not that those kinds of fantasies are bad. Princess Leia and the gold bikini, strapping sailor home from the Navy, two stock traders rolling around on the trading room floor and everyone's watching...never happened.
But we rarely allow ourselves to envision a life for ourselves outside of what we can see down a specific road or path. We spend our lives searching for what we should do, we eventually either find out or just make a decision and live with it, and then we go toward that road, being careful to work hard to move up the ladder along the way. But what if we jumped off of that path to a more rocky path, knowing that we would be happier being rocked than smooth sailing?
Maybe happier isn't the right word. Actually, I know it's not. Happier is not the word. We go to the movies to feel a sense of adventure. But what if the adventure wasn't a movie, it was real life? It's that the point of this life anyways? To have an adventure? I have never wanted to be that person that was normal. I've never wanted a normal life with normal happenings and normal surroundings. I have always craved a life bigger than my own. Plenty of people feel that way. But do they actually go for the adventure?
What Ewan McGregor was taught in Sunday School via Big Fish was that "The more difficult something is in the beginning, the more rewarding it is in the end." So while none of the people in the television shows that I am watching are anything to aspire to be in life, there is the reality factor that sets in and makes me want to jump off the road and take to the rockies.
And I think I might. I love that all of my big life decisions are a by-product of people acting like whores, sex-addicts, vampires, obnoxious teenagers, and various incarnations of existence-questioning adults on television. My mother raised me right.

Thursday, December 18, 2008


Can I ask you a personal question?
Are you lonely?

That was from a television show. Blunt and to the point, just like good television should be. Wouldn't life be easier if we just asked each other the tough questions?

Do you like me?
Wanna be my otra?

It would really cut to the chase and take a lot of the drama out of our lives. Not everyone can live like they do on TV. At some point, it has to be simple.

Do you like me?
Is there hope for it in the future?
Probably not.

But you know, people, as a whole, are addicted to the drama. We know it's fun and it gives us something to talk about and complain about. So we maintain that we "don't have time for the drama" but we actually are so addicted to it that we don't even know we are addicted. But wouldn't it be great to not have to deal with it at all?

Are you irritated with me?
Because you are arrogant, self-involved, and full of yourself.

Beating around the bush just makes life more difficult and makes lying that much easier the next time around.

Do you love me?
Then why don't you act like it?
I'm flighty.

If we would just take a cue from the blunt lines from television as opposed to running around in circles with each other, we would all live in a land of absolutes. There wouldn't be any guessing. Sure, it might suck initially, but wouldn't you rather know?

Are you happy?
Why not?

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Palms are people too

It's snowing in Malibu and in Las Vegas.
There are so many things wrong with that sentence. Not that those areas of the country don't deserve snow because they surely do. Vegas has to deal with the intense heat of the desert all the time and a little snow might be the perfect thing needed to cool those steamy people off. Who knows, maybe some of the topless girls will have to put shirts on to stay warm. I mean, if they want to be topless, I won't stand in their way. They can do whatever they want to with those. I'm just saying.
But why is it snowing there? Why? Why is it snowing in Houston? The palm trees aren't going to be too thrilled about that. What about that? What about the palm tree's feelings? Does no one care about them? This is just like when Monica was going to have lilies at her wedding, thus preventing cats from being able to attend. If they eat a lily, they would die. How inconsiderate. No, I'm not being foolish. Here's why: I just completed my last spanish course and the feeling of excitement that has come over me is incredible. When I was in high school, my spanish teacher would always say that "Pets are people too," in response to how we address them within the spanish language. If that doesn't fit in this situation, I don't know what does.
I just find this to be one big cosmic joke. Ha ha. It's snowing. Ha ha. I'm going to have to chew a piece of sweet gum and think this one over.
I love the snow. I do. I very rarely get to see it because I live in Texas, but I do love it. I love the thought of getting all bundled up, wearing a scarf, and just walking in the snow. But it doesn't snow down here. It ices and while that does give everything the appearance of having been snowed on, it isn't actually snow at all. It's ice.
I think the point that I am trying to make here is that topless dancers should be allowed to do whatever they want to do, unless it snows, in which they need to put on a shirt. Oh, and palm trees have feelings too.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Neither ____ nor _____

I've been living in this very strange land as of late. It's this middle ground that doesn't seem to ever really rise or fall enough to make some sort of impact, and I am really quite tired of it.

I was dating...well, maybe that isn't the right word for it. Dating implies all sorts of things that I don't really want implied, but since you read the word "dating," you read into what was implied and I can't do anything to change that now. Still, it's not the right word. I really should delete this whole paragraph and start over, but I know I won't. That's not how I do things.
Anyway, it didn't work out, for one reason or another. More so just one reason and not so much another, but that's neither here nor there.
But that is where I am. Neither here nor there. I am stuck somewhere in the middle of here and there, wishing I could just be here or there.
You know when you hear the mention of someone's name you haven't thought about in a long time? Or you see a picture of them or hear a song you haven't heard in forever? Then all of these memories come flooding back to you? That happened to me last night. I was thinking about the many complexities of puppy chow (not actual dog food - the chocolate/sugar dessert thing) and how my day was better because of the chow. Then online, bam! It happened. I saw a picture and it all came screaming back to me. Suddenly, I was on the rise again. Then, when everyone left my apartment and I was alone, I was on the fall again. It's a terrible cycle that one can usually use coffee to supplement, but I had to wake up in the morning so I couldn't use coffee. And you might think that coffee only fixes you when you are feeling physically down. That, my friends, is false. It fills you with joy, much like the puppy chow, and your spirits are lifted. But not even coffee can fix this lack of a buzz.
So I am stuck in the middle of here and there and I don't quite know what to do about that. I was headed toward there. I really was. And I was happy to be headed that way, even if I was being told not to go to there. But I'm not really satisfied with here either. So I have taken up residency in the middle. The grass is green all around me, the company is nice, but I find myself still wishing I was there. Or here. But more so there...with puppy chow.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Just keep swimming

Why do people break? What causes us to reach that place where we just crumble and break apart? There are plenty of answers for that, insert yours here. ( ____ ) The real challenge is having to put ourselves back together again.
You know, I don't have time for drama. I don't. I have this habit of steamrolling my way through it and not hanging onto it. I can't hang on, especially now. I am trying so hard to make things happen and make things work in my life and having to put up with things that are so characteristically "high school" just don't fit into the puzzle.
Over the past few months, I have made some changes in my life. I have chased after some things that I haven't allowed myself to chase after and I have found an odd sense of fulfillment in the chase. The problem actually came when I finally caught up to what I was chasing. I found a version of what I was looking for and while it was satisfactory at the time, ultimately, it ended up breaking me even further.
I don't regret the chase. I am pretty sure I am still on it. Maybe just a different place. You know in Finding Nemo when they go over the canyon instead of through it? And while the top was more dangerous, it was far more beautiful and much less scary looking? Right. That's where I am on my chase and I've been zapped a few times.
But as I sit here, studying for the final that threatens all of my future hopes and dreams, eating almonds, and drinking Cherry Coke Zero, I find that the chase is the most exhilarating thing that has happened to me in as long as I can remember, and I don't really want to jump off the train that I am on.
Having said that...I was having a conversation with someone the other day who isn't even my friend. We were talking for whatever reason and the things that he said took my emotions by storm. I should clarify that statement. The things that he was saying in reference to his life got me thinking about my own. Our conversation ended and we went our separate ways, except what was said stuck in my throat for the rest of the day. I mean it. I felt like I needed to cry and hack up something all day. I bought Britney' new album, my favorite entertainer, and I couldn't enjoy it because i needed to cry and hack. It was like my emotional strength that I have been trying to build up over the past months just crumbled into nothing, piles of broken emotions on the floor of my stomach. (get the metaphor here now? If I hacked up my emotions I would cry...get it?) Except it was all too real.
It all sounds very gloom and doom and I'm not as unhappy as it may sound. I do have spells where things just don't work right and I feel like I am stuck in the jellyfish. But that's what friends and coffee are for. For some reason, when you put those two things together, I have a Jeff Goldblum moment and "Life finds a way." There are a lot of maybes in my life right now and not a whole lot is concrete. Even some of the people that I thought were concrete in my life have decided to flake. But if I stay on my journey and just keep swimming, I know I will end up with those narly turtles on my way to Australia.

Thursday, November 27, 2008


What is the deal with the mass text? I don't get it. Why do people do that? You know who you are. You know you do it.
I don't mean a mass text because something huge just happened in your life and you want to share it with a broad spectrum of people. No. Not that. I mean, the mass text that happens on holidays. "Happy Thanksgiving!" "Merry Christmas!" "Happy New Years!" Give me strength.
There's nothing wrong with wanting to wish all of those ideas on people. Nothing wrong with that at all. The problem lies within the idea of the mass text. There's nothing personal about it. The whole purpose of texting was so that we could send quick messages to a specific person and not have to deal with calling. That's what it's about. Now, we have abused that privilege to the point that it has become the epidemic of the mass text.
Look. I don't doubt that you feel that way and want to share joy. I don't even doubt that you want to spread joy to that many people. But I do doubt that when we haven't talked in months, you really want to wish me joy. I'm sorry. I am so low on your scale right now. I don't take offense to it, it's just the way it is. Sorry.
So you think twice before adding me to the list on your mass text just to wish some joy upon me. I like your joy a fine amount, I just demand personalized joy on the holidays.

Monday, November 24, 2008


Have you ever just started crying? I know you have. I don't really mean bursting into tears either. I mean the gradual kind of tears when your eyelids just don't seem to function and the tears seep out of the sides. No heavy breathing, no machine gun bursts of sobs, just a quiet cry where the water seeps out and you realize you're crying.
Its a down day sorta, a down morning at least and I don't have all my classes because they were smart and aren't having them before the Thanksgiving holiday. I'm just sitting in my normal place on campus and I realized that the faucets in my eyes were on. I don't know who turned them on, but someone did.
Guys aren't supposed to cry. I mean, its not as bad as it used to be, but guys are still not really supposed to cry. Weakness. Well, I don't have a problem with the weakness. I try to have a strong exterior and an even stronger interior, but when it comes to crying, I don't care. Its freeing. Just to crack and let it all out? Its freeing.
I've cracked a lot lately, and that doesn't really mean I've cried a lot, it just means I've cracked a lot. It kinda feels like what was inside has all seeped out.
I'm cracking again. As I write this. But its kinda fun. When we were young lads and lasses, we were told to break out of the mold and change the world. Maybe the cracking is just a slow break? Then after that, I'll eat some breakfast then (ding) change the world.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008


Stop staring at me.
I'm not kidding.
I'm sitting in class right now and there is this girl who is staring at me from across the room. Stop it.
Why are you doing that? Pay attention dumb little freshman girl. Not that all freshmen girls are dumb, or freshmen in general shouldn't be categorized as dumb. But when they obtain a staring complex, they cross the line from insignificant to irritating.
Other than that girl, life is pretty good right now. There is a new Beyonce album in my life and I want to open mouth kiss her because I love it so much. I have a great Six and I love them, though some of them are fat heads. And I'm only a week away from watching all ten Thanksgiving episodes of FRIENDS.
If she would just stop staring, life would be really good.

Friday, November 14, 2008

I needed you

I've always kinda prided myself in how strong I am. Not physically strong, but the inner strength you see on posters and after school specials. I've never really been one to buckle under the pressure and fall apart in public. In private, people can fall apart all they want, but in public, I've always been strong.
And I've always kinda thought this about myself but I've been verbally told this by more than one person as of late, and it freaked me out. Like, in the way that animals dressed as humans freaks out Monica. In the way that Michael Flattley Lord of the Dance scares the bejeesus out of Chandler. In the way that Carrie is freaked out by the mouse in Aiden's cabin. It freaked me out.
Because I'm not that person. Not right now at least. I'm just moving along, trying to figure things out and I have reached a place where I have to go at it alone.
We say that don't we? "I have to do this alone." But we don't mean it. We don't mean it at all. We say that so that the other person will say, "No. I'm here for you. I won't let you go through this alone." And we all know that, yet we don't engage in the follow-through.
If sitcoms have taught us nothing, we know that when we say we don't need help, we really do. Watch any episode of the Golden Girls. One has a problem and they leave the room, usually pushing through the swinging kitchen door. What happens? The other two follow her to help her, even when she says she doesn't want their help. Then Sofia makes a wise crack and boom, we picture a happy ending.
But that ending would never happen if we didn't go ahead and help the person who says they don't need it.
If one of my gang is going through it, I'll drop what I'm doing to help. Everyone likes helping the gang. And I've never turned down the opportunity to do so. Need to cry in the middle of the night on my couch? Fine just don't make fun of my bed head. I guess the point is, I've always been strong. And right now, I don't feel that way. I've got things to figure out and I need to go at it alone, but we all know what that really means.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

I love my lips.

I have pen on my lip.
Well, I mean, I don't right now. But I did.
I walked into the bathroom to wash my face, and little did I know, I needed it. I had pen on my lip.
How many people have I seen with pen on my lip, none of which bothered to let me in on the fact that it looked like a smurf had soiled my skin? How frustrating is that?!
I haven't used a pen all night long. I haven't. I have been on my laptop all night long. So it's been there, on my lip, just breeding and bleeding and growing bigger for I don't know how long.
The greater question here isn't why people didn't tell me. It's who are these people?! Why do I keep them around?
Which brings me to my point. Why have friends if they won't tell you if you have pen on their lip? What's the purpose? I mean, everything else is null and void if your friends won't tell you that you have pen on your lip. Friends are supposed to be there for you when you need them the most. Is there ever a greater moment than when you have pen on your lip? I think not.

I've been having issues recently. You know, the type of 'work through them myself,' 'I don't need any help,' 'I'd rather not talk about it," kind of issues. But the truth is, all I want to do is talk about it. It's all I want to do all day long because then it's not trapped inside my head.
So it's fair to say that my first thought when I saw the pen on my lip was Shakespearean. I wanted to start shouting "Out damn spot! Out I say!" Thankfully, I didn't. I mean, I wiped it off and then resorted to the complex that I am having now. But still, it's a sad moment.
Not nearly as sad as the moment when you realize that your friends won't tell you that you have pen on your lip. That's heartbreaking.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

I wish the "you" would read this.

I've stood my ground for you.
I've been strong for you.
I've pushed aside my personal happiness and adopted yours as my own.
I've fought. Harder than I have ever fought anything before. I've worked harder than I have ever worked before. I've tried harder than I have ever tried before.
And I have been successful. I have been bigger. I have been a conqueror. I have seen the top of the mountain and the view was incredible. But I have seen the river in the valley and I want to dive in. I want to be allowed to get in the water. Other people are allowed to. Why am I denied that? I don't want to stay in the water. I just want to jump in, get wet, and get out again.
Now, I'm ready to give way. I'm ready.
I'm ready to collapse. For my hinges to snap and my support beams to sever. I'm ready to collapse and to exist, broken, for just a few minutes. If only a few minutes of not trying to be strong, for me, for you, or for anyone else.
But the net won't break. The net won't snap. The net won't split open wide enough for me to fit through. But I think about cutting the ropes. I think about it but I'm too scared to actually do it. So I don't. I take safety in my safety net. I watch television in the net. I act like a kid in the net. I act like an adult in the net. (Don't confuse the net with the Sandra Bullock movie...not the same net)
So I'm stuck. Waiting to break. To collapse. Entirely unravel. And I will wait.
I'm ready.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Ask the lions.

What do you do when you can't be yourself? By that I mean, when you are not allowed to be yourself, who do you choose to be?
There are situations in our lives when we aren't allowed to be ourselves. I came upon one such situation this past weekend. It doesn't matter who I was with, what matters is that my sense of humor fell on deaf ears, and it was awful. I mean, now I know what it feels like to be a comedian and bomb terribly. It's awful.
But there are other times when you can't be yourself. Maybe when you first meet someone or a group of someones that you don't know anything about. You know how it goes. A friend says to come over and meet these people because they are "so great and you will love them." You get over there and you meet all of these fresh people who already have this connection together and you are the outsider and you have to make a decision to either be yourself or not be yourself. There is a risk there, but sometimes, you can just tell that being yourself isn't what would be the right thing to do in that moment. It's a hard truth, but truth is truth. Sometimes it's hard.
So you choose to be someone else. Maybe just a tamer version of yourself. There's nothing wrong with being tame every now and then. Lions do it all the time. But there comes a point when you can't be tame anymore and you have to just be yourself and do what you have to do. Ask the lions.
Is that alright? Is it okay to do that? I don't know.
But what about when you can't be yourself at all? At any time? Then what do you do? You create this shell of a person that you want to be seen as. I guess. Shells break. Ask the turtles. They know about broken shells. Then their insides are all exposed.
I guess the point is that at some point, you have to shatter that shell and just be you. It is a lot to take in at first because you are in the light for the first time and all of those things have never seen the light before. So it kinda burns and you are blinded a bit, but you get used to it, get a tan, and move on with life, free of the shell. Ask a kangaroo. That's how they feel when they are finally able to leave the pouch.
I'm going to leave the pouch soon. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe I just need a new shell. Hermit crabs have to change shells. Maybe I should too.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008


You know you don't have anything to talk about when you talk about getting omelets at an on-campus cafeteria. "Its like a tradition now," said the painfully boring freshman. "I bet you get the good one and I get the bad lady this time," said his mind-numbingly dull freshmen friend.
Look. I'm a lover of the small things. I am. Bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils, watching dvd marathons of tv shows, orangeade, when a Muppet goes "ooh," the family portrait episode of Raymond, a text from a friend, mom's broccoli and rice casserole, a good packet, frozen mochachinos, listening to music while driving, laughing til I want to vomit, writing in my journal, Stewie and the tuba, making food for others, not acting my age, open windows and pumpkin candles in the fall, Slappy the Squirrel, a good pen, a good cup, a good hair day, a Christmas cactus, Black Friday shopping, Black Friday yelling and pushing, booing someone out loud, a good hug, beef jerky, the Olympics, reality television, my planner, changing clothing styles, my phone, a good grade in grammar, Britney, hanging out with my fam, seeing a show, standing in the rain, scaring Lisa, tackling my roommate just cuz, Sharpee pens, a clean apartment, cleaning the apartment, watching a movie alone, watching You've Got Mail, which brings me back to bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils.
See, its the little things.
Add writing this to the list.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

All my fruit.

Everyone has a pre-test ritual. For some, they walk over to the class, reading through their notes for one last glance. For some, they get coffee or soda. Some people don't have a specific ritual for tests, thus not having one becomes their ritual.
But I saw a pre test calm down today. First, it was a midterm for Advanced English Grammar. Awful. So, I'm silent, I don't have anything to say. People around me are talking about how hard this class is. Blah blah blah. Then I look over and this girl who is very quiet in class is getting herself back to center. Like, doing the hand motions to bring herself to a very centered place.
So I keep watching because, lets face it, that's good stuff. She did the big breath and exhale and when she exhaled, she pushed her hands down toward her lap, thus pushing the stress down toward her legs. That's a good place for stress apparently.
She closed her eyes and brought her hands to the center of her chest, again pushing them toward her lap. This time, her hands stopped on the desk and she whispered, what I am guessing was, a prayer. She opened her eyes and gave herself a slight smile, and that was it.
Our russian Advanced English Grammar prof walked in, handed our our exams, and over the next hour, my brain turned to jello, you know, the gross kind. The kind where you can see fruit floating in it. All my fruit was floating in my jello after that exam.
I didn't get to ask her if her ritual helped her out or not. I'm hoping that my ritual of looking over my notes while I watched Gossip Girl was a good idea.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Nothin but a song in my heart

So I'm listening to Elvis. He's singing about a Ghetto. I love this song. I mean it. I really do. That and Suspicious Minds. Those songs are my favorite Elvis songs. Sure, I am fond of all of them, but those are the ones that I love the most.
Tonight, one of my friends said that if she had been alive when Elvis was popular, she would have had such a crush on him. So I got to thinking. If Elvis were here, and I could ask him anything, what would I ask?
"Elvis. Can I call you that? Or should it be Mr. Presley? Oh. Okay. Cool. Elvis it is. Well, I just have one question for you, if that's alright? Great. Okay. My question is: Why bananas? Right. In the peanut butter. Why bananas?"
That's honestly what I would ask him. It may be strange, but that's what I want to know.
What if I met Marilyn Monroe?
"Ms. Monroe. You are so beautiful and an inspiration to women. Your full figured look is such a great addition to the pop culture landscape. In about forty years, America Ferrera is going to do the same thing, except that she's not blond and her name sounds like the title of a car. Oh stop. I'm not that funny. Okay. My question is: What do you know?"
You know she knew something about JFK. He had her offed. Totally true.
My question for JFK? "What did Marilyn know?"
For sure.
Well, what about Lucy?
"First. Let me say you are hysterical. I think you're great and though you will destroy your voice and your health with cigarettes, I think you are wonderful. Okay. My question is: How much chocolate did you eat that day?"
Come on. You know that's the best episode and she must have been sick when it was over. Actually, my favorite episodes were the ones that involved musicals. When there was the dream and the song about "A McGuilicuddy is Here" and the one when they put on the musical for a fundraiser with the "Queen of the Gypsies" song? You know. "Gyp,Gyp,Gyp of the Gypsies?" When the checks were post dated? Those were my favorites.
I loved that episode of Saved by the Bell when they were rock stars too and it was all music. Zach had on that rockin green sequin jacket. "Friends Forever" is still quite the anthem. Its just my favorite episode of that show.
I love the shows with music in them. More shows should incorporate singing. Pushing Daisies has. Its wonderful. Kristin Chenoweth singing "Hopelessly Devoted to You?" That's good TV. The Cosbys did it when they "sang" for their grandparents and they all had on those gloves. Laverne and Shirley sang to us at the beginning of each episode. Karen and Jack would sing on Will and Grace. Smelly Cat. Family Guy regularly breaks into song as did Animaniacs.
Which brings me back to Lucy. Well, Ethel actually.
"Viviane Vance. What a great name. I mean, its like you were born to live a life of stardom. Come on. You know that without you, that show would have been nothing. Its true. Ricky singing? Not funny. Ricky singing with you and Lucy pretending to be chorus girls. That's comedy. I mean it. Your name was destined to be written on the pages of television history. Its just perfect. You're welcome. Well, my question for you is: What's your real name?"

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Great Texts

What I should have titled this is: "Mass Texts."
I know that we all send them. We have a great idea or thought and then we send the same text to a bunch of people. Or when we are making plans, we send the same text to five people. Whatever. It's not a big deal. Or is it?
Why send a mass text to a ton of people that you don't even really care about. Like, when people send mass texts on Christmas or New Years. But come on. Do you really mean that? Do you really mean it when fifty people get the same text from you at the same time?
My favorite thing is when people that you don't talk to anymore send out the mass text and somehow, you make the cut. What did I do to make the cut?
What does anyone ever do to make the cut? And do I really want to be cut in with the rest of that? I don't think I do.
So cut me out. I've already done my part of cutting out you.

(This message brought to you by I.B.Inc. International Bitterness Incorporated.)

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

I Think I Can

It's no secret that I love television. That's a fact. But last night, I was able to experience television.
I was able to go to the So You Think You Can Dance tour, and experience the live version of what I spent the summer watching. It was wonderful. Afterwards, we even met all of the dancers. Again, wonderful.
There was something magical about the collision of television and real life. It wasn't just something on TV anymore. They were actual people that I was hugging and taking pictures with. They were people that we saw do the dances that we loved. It was like I was inside the television set and it was all happening around me. And it was wonderful.

It was only a day before, when I announced that I was most interested in working in television in the future. I said it and when I did, I realized it was true. I had a moment with myself after that when I let it soak in. I mean, I would love to do it all, but there it was. My love and my passion. Spoken out loud. Who knows.
But there it is. The tour was wonderful and so was my epiphany.

Monday, October 13, 2008

No Pink.

At what point is something classic? Or vintage? When does something switch over from just being old to being classic?
We were in the car and Pink's first single came on the radio. "Ooh yeah! Classic Pink" was the comment that followed.
But when did something from less than 10 years ago become a classic?
I mean, I recognize that some things are instant classics. But Pink? Sorry. She's not a classic or vintage anything. Classic Madonna? Fine. Clasisic Janet, Sheryl Crow, Aerosmith, Bon Jovi...all are fine. But Pink? No.
Maybe Baby One More Time can be considered a classic now. Maybe Genie in a Bottle if you are feeling particularly nostalgic. But Pink? No.
Sorry girl. You might still be a rock star with your rock moves and all, but I'm left saying 'So What?'

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Your facebook status...

I find election years to be very funny. And irritating.
I think it's irritating when people make political commentary in their facebook statuses. I don't care what you think. I really don't care to see your stupidity broadcast across the internet.
And I think at the root of it, that is what I hate. I know that people get involved in politics and that's fine. Personally, I find it much more rewarding to get involved with television, but that's just me. I don't need your politics thrust on me by you trying to make a difference within your facebook profile. Do you want to make a difference? Then vote. Shut the hell up and vote.
I think that since I am on a college campus, this is something that is more relevant. I don't care about your opinions and I don't need it thrust into my face.
I will vote for who I want to vote for and I will do it for the reasons that are my own. I don't need to broadcast that. I don't need to tell the whole world what I think and why I think it. That's why I have a blog. I tell you what I think of stupid people and of television and movies...the things that really matter in this world.
So stop it. Stop proving how fundamentally stupid you are. Stop broadcasting the fact that you are an idiot, because if you don't, I am going to have to start calling you out on it. And it will hurt when I have to name names. Which I will. And no one wants that. We all know what happens in Gossip Girl when they start naming names. Big problems. Don't make me go all Serena on you.
You know you love me.


That's right. I'm going to war.
You know what? I don't have time for things to be stolen from me. I don't have time for some little know-it-all to come in and try to school me on things that I am clearly better at. Do you hear me? I don't have the time.
Or the patience. And while it's a virtue and all, I just don't have time for that. I don't need that virtue right now. What I need is a good sedative.
I'm declaring war against this problem. That's what I am calling her, my problem. And war will be waged and I will let you in on a little secret, I will not be defeated. She's never met someone like me and boy, will she be scared. You know that look that a cucumber gets when it sees a jar of vinegar? That's right. I'm gonna pickle her.
This is my public declaration. Like the Butter Battle Book, I will not be swayed by someone who butters the bottom of their bread rather than the top and you can go ahead and forget about a Sneetch who has three stars on their belly. They aren't better than me.
I'm waging war and don't you forget, an elephant's faithful one hundred percent.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

The Sicilian Kind

Curse you Rachel Zoe. Curse you.
Not really.
Yes, I'm watching her show. Back off. It's kinda fascinating. The assistants who fight and then joke and laugh. The husband who no one knew existed til this show. The designers who she meets with and that lingering question of whether Donna Karen actually is her friend or if she was just a staged designer interview to make the show more legit. Was I the only one who lost sleep over that?
I did, in fact, lose sleep over it. I should have been sleeping but I was watching it rerun in the middle of the night instead.
But back to cursing
Curse you Zoe!
I was shopping for a new shirt and possibly a vest and it was the strangest thing, and I swear this has never happened before, but I saw a rack of designer clothes and I went straight to them. Now don't get any ideas, it was at a discount store and what was probably hundreds on 5th Avenue, I got for much much less. But I was walking around (for the ten minutes it takes to make the decision) with this shirt and I then made another snap decision. I was going to go and try it on.
Pause. I don't try things on. I see it, I like it, and after ten minutes I either buy it or I don't. But I went and tried on two shirts. The DKNY shirt didn't fit, as cool as it was. But the other shirt fit perfectly.
And so there I was, walking out of the store with a Michael Kors shirt and feeling great about myself.
I actually know where his studio is in Manhattan and I've seen it before. I can thank Rachel Zoe for that too I guess. See, I was in the elevator and the doors opened and I saw it but it wasn't until I saw it on the Zoe Project that I knew it was his. I knew it was a designers studio, I just didn't know whose. But I do now and his name is now embroidered on the inside of my shirt.
So I curse you Rachel Zoe with a Sicilian curse. I curse your catchy phrases, your designer awareness, and panic attacks. I'm addicted to your show and its changing the way I shop. I'm a man. I don't need this newness. The old way was fine.
But here I am, shutting it down on a daily basis. Curses.


I have started to write blogs for a long time now. I mean, I knew that I hadn't written anything and I knew that I needed to. But everytime I started to write something, the well was dry. I have had nothing worth writing about.
Not that I've been a boring individual or anything, but all my TV shows have started again and I've been consumed with juggling all of the pop culture that I absorb on a weekly basis. It's very time consuming to be in the know as much as myself.
But today, as I was on a routine trip to the store to get food for the week, I ran across something that I impulse bought.
I bought a shirt today that has skulls on it. Let that marinate for a second. A shirt. Skulls.
It's kinda skater, kinda punk, and kinda goth because its covered in skulls, and I usually retract myself from stuff like that, but for some reason, today, I just grabbed it and that was that.
See, when I buy things, I carry them around with me to decide whether or not they are important. I used to ask myself the question, "Will you want this in ten minutes?" Now, I just carry it around for ten minutes and I usually find that I don't need it after all. It saves money. Try it.
But with this, I saw it, saw that it was on sale, and it was in my basket. That was that. Much like the day-after-Thanksgiving shopping, its a grab and go experience. There's no time for thinking about it.
Rather, I've done all my thinking afterward. Why would I need a shirt with skulls on it, something so uncharacteristically me? The answer was simple. Change.
Things are changing. Inside of me, outside of me, around me, everywhere. I have a lot to do during October, all of which include taking massive amounts of pictures. All the clothes I've seen to get for that stuff are just not what you'd think I'd get. But I'm set on it.
And, if all of that wasn't enough, my hair is long and I have sunglasses. I never wear sunglasses, mostly because I can't find a pair that look good on me. I've also had short hair for the past 4+ years. Its long now and though some are fans and some aren't, I am and that's what matters.
Its change. And I'm okay with it. I'm changing on the inside and I'm okay with that.
I'm changing. And I'm okay.

Monday, September 15, 2008

My view from under the bus.

So, I was feeling pretty crappy tonight. I was recently thrown under the bus by my friends and it was so irritating. If you have ever seen the underside of "the bus," you know what I mean. You don't regret the things you said because someone had to say it, but you still feel a little like an A-hole because you know that people should have backed you up.
Whatever. So I am feeling crappy.
I am finishing homework that has consumed my life all day long and it is so irritating. I am flipping through the channels so that there will be some sort of noise as I am preparing to go to bed and I come across the Discovery channel.
Now, you know that my favorite movie, or one of the top four, is Jurassic Park. What is the show that is on? A show about how they are doing what they did in that movie and they are getting so close to actually being able to make dinosaurs happen again.
For real.
Look. I know that cloning is strange and I am not really all about that stuff. Having said that, these are dinosaurs. The possibilities of making a dinosaur is the most exciting thing I have ever heard.
Do I actually believe that it will work? Not really. But the thought it wonderful. It's like whenever there is a show about the Lock Ness monster on, I am there. Nessie is for real. That's what I believe.
So, I'm excited about the prospect of making a dinosaur and animal activists saying that we are hurting the unborn ostrich and PETA will be up in arms and throw blood on things. Then someone will take the scientists to court and try to prevent them from doing it, all the while, they know that they have already done it and have just not said anything about Tigger the T-Rex that is living in some government facility somewhere. Probably area 51. That's my guess. Of course, something would happen it will get out, creating chaos, and then someone saying that this was going to happen, and they will have to shoot it and animal activists would be sad and would cry over it. Someone would pirate the technology and begin to create more dinosaurs and the San Diego zoo will be pissed and try to buy the dinosaurs. Suddenly, Steven Speilberg is at the grand opening and there are armed guards on duty at all times. Terrorists try to attack them and the national symbol of the bald eagle is replaced by Sarah the Stegosaur. Meanwhile, Nessie isn't scared of being seen anymore and she makes a weekly appearance at a festival held in her honor.
It's a bright future that we have to look forward to and though I can't see all of it from where I lay under the bus, I know that it will only get brighter as Nessie, Sarah, and all of their friends come out and live life proudly, unashamed of what they are. It's a coming out story for the ages...literally.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

...and forget

It's been a long time. Over a year actually. It's been over a year. That is a long time to hold a grudge. I realize that there are people who hold grudges longer than that. I mean, how long did the "We were on a break" thing last? A long time.
But today, as luck would have it, as I was starting my new journal, I was giving the opportunity to walk through the doors of forgiveness. It's been over a year of awkward and bitterness, but tonight, it's over.
The door of bitterness has been shut and the window of cordial kindness has been opened slightly. No, we aren't best friends. But at least there isn't bitterness there anymore.
Forgiveness is under-rated anyways. I mean, if we forgave more as a culture, then I think the world would be a much better place. Well, that and if we sang in the car more often the world would be a better place.
Yeah, it takes a giant gulp of air to get the words out. But once they are out there, the old saying goes. A weight lifts off of your shoulders. Like a balloon at a football game.
Speaking of. Why would you have a balloon at a football game anyway? Then you let it go and it flies away. Well, it has to deflate or pop at some point right and then what happens? That little rubber balloonling comes falling down from the sky and could land on a small child. Wait...that's funny.
But I never understood why people like to let balloons go and let them fly away. BUT - its completely understandable if you imagine that the balloon is your bitterness. Let it go, let it fly away, and let it call on the head of a small child somewhere where you can't be blamed.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Hung Up

It is a sad day when you realize its over. The death of a friendship hurts so badly because it is a part of you that no longer exists. A piece of who you are has crumbled away like stale bread and it is a sad revelation to see it fall off.
How do people who have been friends for so many years, just peel apart? How does a divide occur that is so splitting that you don't even speak? If you were that good of friends to begin with, shouldn't you be able to navigate the changes of life together?
Very rarely do I find my life imitating that of teenage television soaps. But today, I did. And it was such a sad realization because I felt the light of the friendship die. I saw the life in it pass on. In just a few short words, I felt it die.
I have no choice but to be hopeful for the future. I can't live without that hope. But I also know that my road keeps going and it doesn't dead-end here. So I will keep walking, unafraid and unaffected. Life's too short to be hung up on this.
"Those who run seem to have all the fun and I'm done, I'm hanging up on you."

Saturday, September 6, 2008

V for Fall.

The first V of the fall. The first V of the fall! Today I saw the first V of the fall.
I realize now that this could be read a few different ways. Don't worry. I'm here to assure you that the first V of the fall was made of birds and not something else. Perves.
Its hard to tell when the weather is still in the 90s, but fall is here. Today was the first real day that felt like my favorite season, the fall.
Picture it. Its Saturday. The cool morning weather enabled us to have the windows of the apartment open. My fall scented candle is burning in the kitchen. There is a football game tonight.
We are at the game and the first V of the season flies over head. Its the fall. My favorite season.
To further cement this occasion, the MTV Video Music Awards are on tomorrow night. My favorite awards show of them all. Sure, the Oscars are the best. But I feel like they are so much above all the rest that they shouldn't be counted. Therefore, the VMAs are my favorite. Tomorrow, I will celebrate them all day. New fall cds are coming out, college football games, soon new Christmas albums will be out, my TV shows are starting back up again. Its the fall.
And today, with the first V, let the fall commence.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Bryan's Tryin

What happened to Making the Video?

You remember it. MTV would follow people around as they would make their video for their new song and we got to see them be "real" and "raw." Which it was all just one big performance for the cameras, but it doesn't matter because we ate that up.

I miss that.

That was a side note. Here's the real deal. Bryan Clay won the gold medal and was considered the best athlete in the world because he excelled at so many different things. Fine. Good for you. And then he's talking smack about Michael Phelps, saying that Phelps isn't the world's best athlete, no matter how many gold medals he has and that he's "probably" the best swimmer in the world.

I'm sorry. Did someone steal your spotlight? Did someone just get millions and millions of dollars of endorsements and you didn't? Did someone, all by themselves, revive NBC and Olympic viewership? I don't care what gold medal you won, you didn't win 8. Actually, you didn't win 14.

I hate athletes that have bad attitudes and are so full of themselves. I hate it. Get over yourself. You won a frikken gold medal. Most people never get anywhere close to that. So back down buddy. Phelps trumped you and you're mad about it. Well clearly, I'm mad about you. And not in a good way.

Monday, August 25, 2008

News wrap up

Another judge on Idol. Okay. I get it. Having to add something to a system that isn't so innovative anymore. Or ever was for that matter. Kara, you are no Michael Phelps.
News is saying that Britney isn't performing at the VMAs. Has there ever been such sad news? I think not. I'm not actually sure that I believe the news yet though. Who knows.

My last first day of school was today and it was dreadful. Just dreadful. Fitting in that its keeping with my first days of school in the past. Its a crap shoot with me. Classes were bad, work was bad, even working out was bad. Retarded isn't it?
I missed the bus on my first day of high school, I was registered in the wrong class my first day of college, and the first days have just been bad ever since. I've tried to shake it, but apparently I am unable to do so.
I even enjoyed a late night trip to West with the clan, singing and eating pastries to start the year out on the right foot. But I fell off the foot. You know I've had knee problems.
Though I will tell you that watching Gossip Girl on dvd brings me back to my first love. Television. Its thrilling to watch these people act so badly just because they're rich and they can. And I love it when they get in trouble for being bad and they get what's coming to them. Not glorified at all.
So I sleep. Stomach hurting and head pounding. And I think I have the knee injuries to blame for my bad luck with schools. I mean, the year after I broke it, I missed the bus to high school, thus starting this horrible merry-go-round of pain and torture.
So farewell first day of school. Farewell. Tomorrow, the sun will come out. Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play but tonight, tonight, there's only one tonight. And tonight, I will be sleeping, dreaming of tomorrow, after all there's only one more sleep til...

Wednesday, August 20, 2008


On the heels of Michael Phelps becoming the obsession that he is today, even greater news has emerged.
Michelle Kwan said that she might be going to the next winter games.
Best. News. Ever.
I mean, if she and Shawn Johnson were in a room together, and I walked in...I might pass out.
Michelle is the epitome of figure skating. Sure, there were greats before her. But never since her, has there been a name so readily associated with the sport. Her going back to the Olympics would be the best thing that ever happened, because she can go after the gold that she deserves so much and has yet to obtain. It's hard to believe that Michelle Kwan doesn't have a gold medal. A silver and a bronze - yes. But no gold. That's a crime.
A crime.
I'm on team Kwan. Join me.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

No One Is!

Take this for what it's worth.
Congrats Ellen and are not more important than Michael Phelps.
That's right. I said it.
You are NOT more important than Michael Phelps.
I'm so irritated when the headlines say that those two women got married and a sub headline below that is about Phelps and the record breaking medals.
Yes, she's funny. Yes, I love her.
But she's not Michael Phelps.
No one is.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

100th Post

And it's a doozy.

I was sitting in my apartment tonight, minding my own business and listening to Janet Jackson. I had just seen Michael Phelps win two more golds, I had seen the USA girls gymnasts throw the gold away to a bunch of underage chinese girls who are 12.
So I am listening to Janet, in my bubble and winding down for the day.
Then, my roommate walks in and goes, "Is that the Full House song?"
Give it a minute. Let that sink in.

Ready? Alright.
" That's Janet Jackson."
"But its the same melody."
"No. This is Janet Jackson."

My roommate compared a Janet Jackson song to the dippiest, pre-Hannah Montana , sitcom on television.
Now give that a minute.

See, I used to watch Full House. I did. I watched it all the time. I loved crazy Uncle Jessie and not touching the hair and that silly little Michelle and even Uncle Joey with the woodchuck thing. Now, I recognize the woodchuck to be a gross sexual innuendo that would not only terrorize small children, but would also demoralize and desensitize even the most right winged of Baptist children. I venture to say that the woodchuck would lead those small Baptisians to become angry punk-rock faux-hawkers who secretly love Miley Cyrus and proclaim their love for whatever the "rock" band of the moment was on the radio. They all sound alike anyways.

Janet Jackson is NOT Full House. Janet Jackson and her over-sexed music, over the top videos, and pierced secret places is NOT Full House. See, she's overt with her sexuality, thus not causing much harm. The woodchuck however...

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Go World.

Okay. We've established that I love the Olympics.
But as Michael Phelps entered the last two laps, and I bounced up and down on my couch, and everyone in my apartment held our breath, it was thrilling. You know, us, George W, Michael's mom, and the rest of America, rooting him on.
It's thrilling. As Morgan Freeman so eloquently says on the commercials for Visa, when he wins, we all win.
I mean, if that was his hardest one, and he made it look that easy, then what will stop him from getting gold in everything else? I mean, it's incredible. I feel privileged to be watching it.
Go World.
Go Michael.

Friday, August 8, 2008


It's the first day of the Olympics now and you know how I feel about China and the way that they do things, but let me tell you...commys know how to throw a party. Most incredible opening ceremony I have ever seen and with a performance from Sarah Brightman and an asian children's choir, my world is complete.
But enough about that. Let's talk about pride in our country shall we?
First, I am very open about the fact that I am proud to be an American. We all know that. But I always find myself more patriotic during the Olympics than at any other time. I realize that's natural. Most countries respond that way and that's great.
But I have never been so passionately patriotic than when the USA Olympians walked into the opening ceremony. There might have been screaming. There might have been yelling. There might have been clapping...which evolved into clapping and chanting...which evolved into clapping, chanting, and hand motions. Maybe.
And then we, with the Prez, stood up, well, who are we to be sitting at a time like this? So then it was, clapping, chanting, hand motions, and bouncing.
I think my favorite moment was when we reenacted the part of the song "Shout" when it gets a little bit softer now. Our "U-S-A" chants got softer and softer til they were whispers. Silent chants of the nation that we love. And as it swelled, we became louder, and louder, and louder, until we were shouting and clapping and bouncing and you get the picture.
Yes. Everyone in my apartment was over 21 years of age. No, it doesn't matter one bit to me that I am 25 and cheering. The Olympics are something that is the highest honor that someone can have. That and an Oscar. And a Nobel Prize. But what else compares? Not the Grammy, not the Emmy, not the blue ribbon at the country fair, and not even a Genius Grant. A gold medal at the Olympics is recognized no matter where you are from and what road of life you walk on. Some people don't care about movies, they are fools, but still. So having an Oscar does nothing for them. But a gold medal is universally recognized. Kinda like Visa and Coca Cola.
So, I am proud of my country, I am ready for some gold medals, I want to cry when I watch them win it, I want to cheer, I want to listen to the Olympic music and feel like I am a part of something great.
And maybe I want to chant and bounce again. With a Coke.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Where At Least I Know I'm Free

I'm so over China.
I said it.
And I'm not taking it back.
Look, this whole thing with the Olympic games has been one disaster after another. Why the Olympic committee chose China is beyond me anyways. We all know that all of their rules and regulations were going to be a problem.

I truly appreciate America. I appreciate that we can say what we want and go where we want. I appreciate the Lil Kim can wear an outfit with her boob hanging out and that Diana Ross can jiggle it like she was Bill Cosby with a jiggler. I appreciate that bad drag queens can be on America's Got Talent and pretend to be celebrities. I appreciate that we can go to church when we want to and make mistakes if we want to, and have eight kids if we want, and that even though we pollute our cities, at least we have restrictions on it. We don't have to shut down the factories so that the air can be clean enough for the athletes to compete. Fools.

I don't care what kind of temples are there. I don't care how incredible the wall is. I don't care how many thousand of those terra cotta soldiers are hidden there. I don't care about any of it. You have to treat people with respect and not like possessions.
And lastly, I appreciate a land where reality television can win an Emmy. The land of the free, now that's comedy.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Anything for Lunch.


There are two kids on Larry King Live talking about how they are paparazzi. One is 14 and one is 16.
Give it a minute to soak in.
They go out at night and stand around and take pictures of celebrities and sell them. No kidding.
So Kathy Griffin, who I love, is interviewing them. Larry was busy having his face flab tightened. They were so smug about it too. They knew all of the celebs spots, they have relationships with some of them, and they were spilling how the celebs will call them and tell them where they are going so they can be there to get pictures of them. For real. I mean, we knew it was happening, but here it was. Said out loud.
I don't like that. Not one bit.
Not that I wouldn't do the same thing. I mean, come on, I sure would do the same thing. I'd be texting them and telling them that I was going to be at Urban Outfitters after lunch and if they want a money shot, they would need to pay for lunch. I mean it, I would give them money shots. Pants "accidentally" fall down, kissing with tongue, fights in public...I'm doin it. Buy me lunch.
I just have such a problem with these kids taking all of these pictures. They are kids. And they've met Britney.
I'm jealous.


We were sitting in my apartment and the sky outside turned yellow.
We go outside and see that yes, in fact, it was yellow. Not the mellow kind. Rather, the smoker's teeth kind.
I get online to my trusty and I look at the hour by hour forecast and it says that it will be clear all night long.
Cut to the wind blowing in at 50 mph.
And then it got dark.
The wind kept blowing.
We race down the stairs to stand in the wind.
Then the rain began. Flying at us at an angle. Like enemy snipers flying in to destroy a field full of baby wombats. Trust me. That analogy works.
Central Texas getting rain. It's wonderful. It's so rare that we had to stop what we were doing to watch it. Have you ever watched it rain?
It's poetic. You know it.
But the wind blowing in was much more poetic. It was like if the bag in American Beauty was tossed into a tornado. It just thrashed about as it was blown down the street at the speed of a car. Crashing into bushes, parked cars, people's faces. So it was like poetry on speed.
Could there be anything more poetic?

SMALL, Small, small.

I love the Internet. I just love it. Here's why.
I love that all I have to do is go onto a website to see a live feed of Times Square at six different angles and I can stare at the city that I love.
I love that I can watch movies, listen to music, see movie trailers, talk to my friends all over the world, buy fruit beverages, and connect to the people who are on the reality tv shows that we love.
And I love that I can be on a blog and vicariously ride the It's A Small World ride at Disney in Paris. The entire ride. I just rode it. And it was wonderful.
See, there is so much truth in that video. It really is becoming a smaller and smaller world since all we have to do is click and we are able to see anything. It's wonderful. And all the little asian and indian children who keep singing that song over and over and over French...agree.

Saturday, August 2, 2008


A girl that I work with has a serious problem. She doesn't have anything.

See, her mom passed away a year ago and she has been living with her dad, trying to make as much money as possible to make ends meet. You'd have to know her, but she's a very pleasant girl to be around. She's usually smiling, joking about whatever, and laughing at her own jokes. Everyone likes her and she works hard.
She had a storage space that was full of her stuff. Furniture that had been passed down from different family members, boxes of photographs of her mother, all the clothing that wouldn't fit where she was staying, etc. She just found out that her father hadn't been paying the rent on the storage place and three months ago, they foreclosed on the space.
They also told her father that since he wasn't going to come and pick up all of her stuff, they were auctioning it all off. Everything. Gone.
She just found out that three months ago, she lost everything. And to complicate things, her father knew that they were getting rid of it all and he didn't do anything about it. He didn't tell her so that she could go and get her stuff, but instead, he did nothing.
So she's been staying with friends because she can't bear to live with him any longer. She's thinking that she is going to move back to Houston for the semester because she can't stay here with him. She's going to work and save money and prepare for the spring semester at school.

I couldn't even respond. I, who has the words to say about everything, couldn't even respond. Not because I haven't heard stories like that. But because here, at Baylor University, where there are teenagers driving around cars that cost their parents 60,000 dollars, there is someone who's father didn't even care enough to tell her that everything that she owned, including photographs of her mother, were being thrown away.
It infuriates me. I've met her father. Dresses like a thug, and pays well for it, but does something like this.
I don't have a lot of money, but I have never gone without. My parents have worked their tails off so that they could take care of us, always putting us first and never themselves.

So I'm responding now by telling this story, in hopes that it won't happen again.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Once Is Enough

Is it necessary to thank you twice?

Now, I'm from the south where men are supposed to hold doors open for women. We, meaning men of the south, are expected to open doors for these women and it's not that I don't want to hold the door. I like making it easier on people, sure. But I don't appreciate the idea that I HAVE to hold the door for you. I don't have to do anything. I hold the door because I'm a nice guy. Back off.

Then what if I don't get to the door first? Then what? Or what if my hands are full. That happened to me today at the post office. I was carrying about a hundred pounds of books and couldn't get the door. So the nice woman in front of my got the door for me. I thanked her for opening the door for me. But then there was the second door that she opened. What do I do now?
So someone holds a door for you, you say thanks. But what if they hold that second door open for you too? Do you thank them again only mere seconds since you thanked them before? Is that necessary? Will they then think that we were only thankful for the first time? Does that cause them to question our sincerity entirely?

So I didn't thank her the second time. I didn't think it was necessary. I mean, I'm thankful. I said it once. I don't need to say it again. I think it's awkward when people thank me twice. I mean, sure, I try to open the exterior door and the inside door as well when I am at a restaurant. I don't need the thanks twice. Once is enough.
But please take note of that last sentence. Once is enough. You DO have to thank me. I don't owe it to you to hold the door open for you. If I had my way, I would go inside so I could put my name on the list before you and your five kids and your husband on a cell phone. There is nothing that pisses me off more than when people think that it is owed to them that I hold the door for them.

It's a southern thing. I know that. I don't want to live in the south for the rest of my life. I long to live in a land where holding the door is appreciated and not expected. Where I can hold a door for you and you will thank me. Where everything works together as it should. One day, I will live in that land.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Put Up a Parking Lot...

So I am working out more now than I was before. I have goals. Step off.
So I did 13 miles on the bike and I was feeling really great. And then I stood up.

I couldn't feel my butt. I lost it. Where did it go? I don't know.
I waddled out of the gym. As if I were a duck.
Now I don't have a problem with ducks. Not in the slightest. But come on. I don't want to walk like one.
At least it wasn't a goose. I am terrified of geese. They chased me as a child and snapped at my little feet. Man. There is no such fear than when you are being chased by a goose. With the honking and feathers and everything. It's a mess.

I had to walk around the grocery store for about twenty minutes to regain feeling in my butt. I know that it's not something that you normally think about. But you don't miss the feeling in your butt until you don't have it.
Kinda like a paved paradise.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

It Matters

I just saw Terrance Howard on an episode of Family Matters.
Family Matters. Which is on Nick at Nite now. That's weird right? I mean, I know that they have changed Nick to be more current than it was when I was younger. When I was younger, it was I Love Lucy. Now, it's Family Matters and Home Improvement. It's still weird.
It's like watching the Cosby Show. All kinds of people show up when you are watching that show. It's like a treat to see future stars when they were just doing guest spots on sitcoms.
Just thought I would share.

Friday, July 25, 2008

This is My Confession

I have a disorder.
I have a disease.
I have an affliction.
And it's a problem.

I can't handle mouths. I can't handle them. I can't handle the sounds that they make.

Chewing, crunching, biting, tearing...can't do it.
Smacking lips, chewing with mouths open...can't handle it.
Biting your fork...I'll kill you.

I have had this problem for a a long time. I remember having to leave the dinner table with my family because there was a bowl of chips in the middle of the table and all I could hear was the crunching. It was deafening. I couldn't sit still and I had to leave.

If there are chips, there has to be music or lots of talking to drown them out. I know that chips crunch and they always have. That doesn't matter. Don't you suck on the pieces so the don't crunch in your mouth too?!

It's a problem and even though I have met someone who shares my disorder, we are few in the world. We are lonely and the only thing that will drown it out is the sound of music or people talking in a restaurant.

This is my confession. I have a disorder. I have OCD about the noises that mouths make.

So close your mouth when you chew.
Don't crunch your ice, fool.
And bite your fork with the understanding that I will give you the "Go to Hell" look that you deserve.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Hula Brinson.

Strange names have become a regular occurance in celebrity magazines. It's like a competition to name their kids the strangest name so that pictures of them will be worth more.

I've never been to New Zealand, but I am a fan of the legal system there.

Today, a judge there made a girl change her name because it was so strange. Now, Talula Does The Hula has changed her name to something else. I imagine it's something super simple like Carol or Joan.

Talula Does The Hula.

That is her real name, well, was.

I'm such a fan of New Zealand.
I don't even feel like I need to say anything else about it. There isn't anything else to say. The name says it all.


Let me first apologize for my lack of entries as of late. I know I have dropped the ball. I'm sorry.
There are a lot of things going on. But the most important thing of all is, three nights ago, I slept for ten hours.
I know. Ten Hours. Can you believe it? Who does that?
I heard that Penelope Cruz sleeps for eleven or twelve hours a day. That means that she is literally wasting half of her life away. In bed! And not doing the good thing in bed that I'd be happy to waste half of my life away doing.

Cricket. Cricket.

Anyways. I slept for ten hours and thought I had been reborn. The world was clear, the sun was bright, everything was as it should be.
So I encourage you. Take one day every six months, blow off whatever you were supposed to do in the morning (in my case, it was class), and sleep for ten hours. It will change your life.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

I'm riled

Okay. I just watched a clip from The View from this morning where they were talking about the N word. Elizabeth got very upset with the conversation because the two black women on the panel were saying how it's okay for black people to use that word but it's not okay for white people to use it.
First off. I love Elizabeth because she isn't afraid to look stupid in front of a liberal media. She stands her ground, she speaks her mind, and if she were a liberal, she would be praised for it. Since she is conservative, she gets crap for it. I commend her and think she's great.
If I had been at that table, I would have been Elizabeth. I don't think that word is okay to use at any time at all. I think it's one of, if not the most, vile words in the english language.
Oprah said it's not okay and so did I. Do you need any more convincing?
So I'm irritated because they just tore into her saying that they can use that word because they have changed the meaning of it. Sorry. It doesn't work that way. I've been passionate about this for years now and it gets me all riled up.
Look at me. I'm riled.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

We have Lift Off!

So, there is something really exciting about water balloons when we are kids. Something about hurling a solid object at another person just fills us with joy. There's just no better feeling than watching that balloon hit them in the face and then they scream and yell and act all offended, like we wronged them in some way. It's an incredible feeling.
When I was a kid, I went to church camp each summer for a week. When I was in 4th grade, all the guys in my cabin from my church loaded the launcher and begin to shoot water balloons across the camp at the girl's cabins. We broke the rules, terrorized the camp and were better kids for doing so. It wasn't until the next year when we found out that our balloons broke through the crappy dorm ceilings and tiles fell on girls. Ha ha ha. Sorry. We broke windows too! We were legends. So of course we did it again the next year. Clearly.
Side note: Retelling that story tells me so much about myself and my personal quest to break the rules and shatter preconceptions in the church. Anyways.
Tonight, as I have so many times before as a child, I filled up water balloons with my friends, we took out the launcher, and launched them at one another in the streets. What's wrong with that? Nothing at all. Except we were trying to get hit. It was the goal and I am pleased to say that we were all hurtfully pegged with a water balloon and the bruises on our skin will serve as trophies of our evening of fun.
It thrills me to know that one day, I will be hurling water balloons at my children. Isn't that a wonderful thought? It really is.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Live from new york! It's Sunday morning!

It's not really Sunday morning.
It's not really live from New York.
I'm coming to you live from Austin, Texas this morning. Don't be jealous.
Yes. This is the land of Rick Perry, of the capital, of Chuys, and of the phrase "Oh. They're so Austin."
This is why I'm coming to you today. You, the reader. I need your help.
Why do we allow people who dress poorly, have unmanaged hair (everywhere), and parade the fact that they are "individuals" continue to think that they are doing something freeing and, dare I say, noble?
I'm all for being your own person and not conforming to whatever American Eagle, Abercrombie, Vogue, and The Hills tell us we should be. All for it. Having said that though, where is the line? No. Wearing that prarie dress with those hooker heels and having brillow pad friz hair does not make me envy your individuality.
Sure, you can be the nicest person alive and that's great. But come on.
I think I just hate the built in excuse that people are giving each other. Just because you have the freedom to dress one way, doesn't mean you should exercise that freedom.
At the end of the day, wear what you want. Dress like a confused cast member of Little House on the Prairie. Be an "individual." But at the end of the day, know that I will mock you openly. I don't care how nice you are. We can be the closest of friends actually. But when the phrase "That's so Austin" gets used, look out. I just might blog about it.

Friday, July 4, 2008

One Sexy Hot Dawg

It's the Fourth of July and it's all about food, family, fun, and freedom. (Sears, you can borrow my slogan) And so I am flipping through the channels before I go home to hang out with the fam, and on ESPN, they aren't playing football, baseball, basketball, or the Olympic qualifiers. No. They are playing the Nathan's Hot Dog eating Competition.
My personal favorite is the man with the purple suit and mohawk. He is my favorite competitor. Not that the asian with orange and red hair isn't great. Or the guy that wears the Nacho Libre mask. He's great too. Well, and
There are thousands of people there to watch it too. How strange is this? Thousands, waving giant yellow
Okay. And apparently it's been going on for almost 100 years. Suck on that Nascar.
And the winner gets this belt. Lets look at this belt for a second. Shall we? It's made to look like the belt that wrestlers get when they are the champion. That's fine because the WWF belts are huge and shiny gold and everything. BUT - this belt looks like a yellow piece of foam, cut to look like the belt, and then bedazzled with rhinestones and glitter. No lie.
Okay. And there is commentary. For real. There are men there who are getting paid to pretend like a hot dog eating contest matters. I think that my favorite thing that one of them said was "They attack those dogs like Lindsey Lohan attacks a mini-bar.'
If you have ever watched something like this before, then you know how disgusting it is. I can actually only watch it for about 3 or 4 seconds before I have to look away again because I love hotdogs and I will tell you that they were not meant to be treated this way.
Three minutes have gone by and this small asian woman has eaten 26 hotdogs. She's standing next to the man with the mohawk and as the commentators say, so poignantly, "She's Madonna to his A-Rod."
Wait. There is a photo finish. For real. A photo finish for a hotdog contest. It's a tie. And they are having a 5 dog eat off. This is like a fake world. Who aspires to do this stuff? Okay. So the guy who won, ate 59 hotdogs in 10 minutes and then stuffed 5 more in before the other guy could. So really, there are two men who ate 64 hotdogs. in the time span of half of a an episode of FRIENDS. Not okay.
Moral of the story: Not okay. ESPN, you should be ashamed. Absolutely ashamed of yourself. And not just because you are going to have Justin Timberlake host the ESPYs. Shame on you. Shame, shame shame.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Wait! No More!

Why are infomercials still going on with the whole "Wait! There's more!" thing? We've all been seeing these since we were born and they all look and sound the same. Why?
I mean, why can't you just say that you get two for the price of one, that all of the bedazzling tips are free and that as a special gift, the Miracle Steak Knives will be sent too. All I have to do is pay shipping and handling.
Which sounds like a great deal. But have you ever had to pay shipping and handling for something like steak knives? It's based on weight people. Not cheap at all. So it's not really free. Try again. It's far from that.
I do love the infomercials though. And if I had money, I would have one of everything probably. All of those ab machines that will change your life in 3 weeks? I'm ready for them. Wait. I don't have 3 easy payments of 99.95. Sorry. I'll just have to stick to my exercise ball. One easy payment of 14.95 for my exercise ball. Say it with me...Walmart. Okay.
Moral of the Story: Lets cut out the "Wait! There's More!" We don't need it. We all know it's coming. Just cut to the chase and show me something that I know I want, know that I will need, and can't afford.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

I'm allowed this ONE.

Isn't it funny how sometimes we need God and other times we don't?
I know. I don't ever post about this sort of thing, but it's something that I have been thinking about for the past day.
It's funny to me how we go through phases. When things are going really great, everything is working, life is going the way that WE want it to go, we don't have much of a need for any Outside input do we? Things are going fine without it, why worry about it?
Then there are the times when we choose to need God. Like, when our plans fall through, when we are depressed, sick, or just when things aren't going as we want them to. Something being wrong with someone else brings us to the place where we want to remember to pray. Suddenly, it's the most important thing in the world. And doesn't it feel great to be able to tell someone that you have been praying for them during this hard time for them? Even though you didn't pray a day for them until something was wrong.
Oh! And I love when people do pray, they pray for what they want for themselves. I love that! And then when the answer isn't the easy way out, well, "I guess I should just do what I want anyways." Because that's wise.
I'm not a Bible-thumper and not too conservative either. Ask me who I am voting for and I will tell you that I don't know. (actually, I will tell you that I don't like either candidate, but that is neither here nor there) I just think that it is so great that we have a God that will just sit and wait until we can't do it on our own anymore and then He's there to swoop in and save the day...wait.

Last time I checked, He is there always. And we should be too. Not praying to get what WE want, but what is best for us. And I am not talking about the Celine Dion version of The Prayer. As wonderful as it might be, I am talking about really praying.
I'm done preaching. Forgive me if you are offended, but I am allowed this one time to say it.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

The Game of the Century

So I am playing a game of online Canasta, minding my own business when it hit.
See, I haven't played online games in a long long time. I used to be pretty good too.
So here we go. I'm playing, I don't win the first hand. I am behind by about 300 points. Fine.
Second hand. I don't win that either. I am behind my almost 1000 points.
Third happens. Something comes over me. I remember everything I have ever known about Canasta. I become this Hulk of a card player, screaming at the computer, raising my voice, flexing the muscles I am working on building. Who wins the hand? I do! I am suddenly ahead by 1500 points. That's how bad I got him! Superman1? Who's super now?!
Last hand. I am workin it. I mean, I am workin it hard core. It's like the championship game in my apartment. Jack Nicholson is on the sidelines cheering. Posh and Becks are in the box seats with Eva Longoria, Katie Holmes, and Jennifer Lopez. Tom puts the Scientology campaign on hold long enough to cheer me on. I hear David Beckham yell "Come on mate!"
I am closing in on him. It's coming. The crowd is getting excited. Giant foam fingers that exclaim that I am #1 are waving in the air.
In a moment of complete exhilaration, everything hushes. I'm like Speed Racer, heading toward the finish line. The crowd is dead silent. And then the pop-up window appears. I won by almost 2000 points.
THE CROWD GOES WILD! I'm being lifted into the air by a throng of fans! I'm hugging Jennifer Lopez and David Beckham is telling me how I am his inspiration! I can't hug Posh because she would break, but I'm high-fiving Eva and Katie. Confetti is flying! Flashbulbs are popping! The noise is deafening! I am the winner! WHAT NOW?! I WON!

Since my win tonight, I have signed a deal with Nike. You will see me in shoe commercials running during Gossip Girl and Heroes in the fall. I'm going on Oprah when she starts filming again for the new season. You will see me guest-hosting on Regis and Kelly next week and my book deal has been inked.
I would like the thank all the fans. You are what made me and what I am most grateful for. Well, that and cream soda. Mmm. Cream Soda.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Dog Socks

Have you ever put on a pair of socks that made your day better?

I had such an experience this morning. I was getting ready to leave for my summer class and I was completely zoned out because I was still angry with my alarm for waking me up. I was plumbeling around my room and I found my socks. There they were. Sitting on the floor, waiting for my feet.

So I put them on and wouldn't you know it, they were the most comfortable socks I have ever put on. I was reborn. I was alive again. I was rejuvenated. Life was good again.

Wait. Was life bad before?

Thank you for asking. Sure was.

I was in a funk all afternoon and evening yesterday. I was. I don't know how to explain it, though I tried for over an hour on the phone to do so. It's just bad timing. It's one of those waves where I am kinda being carried around and all I want is for my feet to be back on the sand. Not the kind with seaweed in it. I hate the feeling of seaweed on my feet. Gross. No, the kind of sand that is just sand. Pure, crab filled, fun. Except I don't want crabs.

Back to my point.

I'm just tired of dealing with some things and I had a hot dog moment.
A hot dog moment.
You know when you are cooking hot dogs in the microwave and they are in there for too long? And they start to slowly explode on the ends and they expand and eventually pop? I popped. It was a good pop I think. I mean, when a hot dog pops, that's not really great. That means it was there for too long and even though it will taste of the same sweet chicken/cow/pig/horse/dog meat mixture, it still was there too long. I've been there too long and I needed to pop.
I'm really hoping that the steam that was released is enough. I hope. I don't know.

I guess I will ride the wave until I get my footing again. And at least when I get my footing, I will be wearing these socks.

Monday, June 16, 2008

I Try.

I try. I try not to say anything. I really do. And then this obsessive compulsion comes over me and I can't help it any longer. I have this moment when I crack.
Stop crunching your food.
Stop biting your fork.
Chew with your mouth closed.
Stop crunching ice.
I can't help it. I have that issue. I can't handle food and mouth noises. I'm sorry. Yes, I will disown you and forbid you from eating near me. Yes, I will go to my room and leave you alone. Deal with it.

Hey Janet Reno!

Okay. Elian Gonzalez joined the Young Communists in Cuba.
I'm sorry what?

Don't you remember him? The boy in Florida with the guns in his face and all the coverage and everything? Right. He's a communist now.
Pretty sure this isn't what Janet Reno wanted. Pretty sure.
I know that things are changing a lot down there and people have so much more freedom now than they used to and I think all of that is great. And since I don't exactly know what it means to be a part of the Young Communists of Cuba, I don't want to pass too much judgment. Having said that, the word "communists" is in the title.
So, I am left with saying...


I rounded that corner this weekend and turned a quarter of a century old. Rock on.
I got free coffee in the morning and let me tell you, that is the way to start a day. Mexican food with the best salsa I've ever had. Blacklight putt-putt where the scaffolding gave us a near death experience when it came plummeting toward us. Playing arcade games like we were 10 again. Homemade food at the Casa de mi Familia, games, shouting, and roasting marshmallows outside. It was a pretty rockin day.
Thanks for the well wishes. It means a lot.

Bad Start - Do Over

I woke up this morning thinking that today was the day of the first football game and that I had slept through it. Not good. That is not a good way to start a week. So I went back to sleep so that I could wake up in the right month and start this week off right.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Don't make God cry

Did you really just respond to my text message with "K"? Really? Was it too hard for you to type in the word "Okay" or even better than that - "Okay, sounds great"?
I know that I am spoiled. I have a Sidekick and it has a full keyboard on it and so when I text, I can write mini-novels and send it out without taking hardly any time at all. I know that if you don't have the keyboard, it isn't as easy. But who is texting for the first time? Anybody? If you are over the age of 30, you get a free pass, but only for so long. The expiration date on that pass is quickly approaching.
Some people are in the habit of just sending smiley faces as answers to questions. Those I can tolerate more because the expression on the face can mean so much. A smiley face can say "That's a great idea and I have never heard of anything that sounds as fun as that." A frowning face can say "I just failed that test and I can't even talk about it, all I can do is frown."
But K is up there with all of the other abbreviations that people think are so fun to use but really make God cry. Every time it rains, God is crying about electronic abbreviations. Whatev is not a real word and it only works when Grace Adler or people like Grace Adler say it.
Abbreviations are the devil's playground. Oh we've got trouble my friends. Yes sir we've got Trouble right here in our city. With a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for Precious...not presh. Idiots.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

A fake Dog.

Have you seen the Carrie Underwood Nintendo commercial?
Let me preface this with the fact that I love her. Dearly.
But can we please take a moment to comment on this commercial?
She looks pretty, she's playing the Nintendo, there is absolutely no music (first mistake) and we realize that she is playing with a dog. On the Nintendo. A fake dog. And she scratches the fake dog's belly and it woofs.
Okay. I grew up in the time of the Tomogotchi and the Nano Pets. I am pretty sure that I spent hours feeding digital hamburgers to a dinosaur. Put it on your keychain and take it with you. It had to be fed and that's about it. When it died, just press the reset button on the back and you start over again.
Back to the commercial. Then Carrie's real dog comes and how convenient, it looks just like the dog on the Nintendo screen.
Just get a five dollar Giga Pet and call it a day kids.

Monday, June 9, 2008

Layla, come inside

So I cleaned out my life today. No joke. I did.
Some people do that in the spring, but for me, I wait until the summer. It's hot, gross outside, I just want to be inside, watching endless hours of sitcoms on DVD until Double G comes on at midnight and I want to clean out my life.
So I did. I cleaned my room first. Magic. I threw away a ton of stuff. A ton. My mother would be so proud. Isn't it funny how when it comes time to clean your room, your mom gives you one of those giant black trash bags? You know the ones. The giant ones that are way bigger than a bag should be and then you are expected to fill it with all of the things you have grossed since the last time she bugged you? Right.
Well no one bugged me to, I just did it on my own. Look at me growing up.
I cleaned up the living room, which is hard because we are in college and there are people in and out all the time and there is a puppy who poops everywhere, but still. It looks better now than it did two days ago.
Speaking of people coming in and out. We were playing cards last night and after going to get summer drinks at Common Grounds, we came back. Wait ten minutes. Screaming outside our door. Screaming. Suddenly, two girls run into our apartment (calm down, we know them) and they are being chased by a giant roach. A flying roach. A Froach. Panic ensues.
So we wait it out, they open the door to leave and screaming happens again, it's hovering right outside the door, waiting. It's being described to us as being the size of a small bird. I'm a man. So I grab my air-freshner can and a book from under our coffee table about Forgiveness and I open the door. It's mounted on the outside light and it's huge. We freak out and go inside. So I get bug killer and I go to spray it. It's gone. The puppy was of course also gone, just chillin at the bottom of the stairs. Right. Layla, come inside.
Anyways, life cleaning. Today, I cleaned out an old email address and got rid of it. That might not sound like a big deal to you, but it really really is. There were a lot of things tied to that email that no longer are a part of my life. Cleaned out. Feels good.
So I challenge you, clean out something today. My next project is my car. Though you might want to baby step it to something. Baby steps Bob. Baby steps.