drip drip drop, there goes an eargasm

First off, there is no better line in all of music than the above. Sheer brilliance.

Onto the topic at hand: Joshua Radin. Did you hear me?!?! JOSHUA RADIN. Oh dear sweet lord. The man croons some delicious tunes.

Click here to check out a few of his songs. All four tracks are spectacular. I've listened to the demo for a new song approximately 37 times in the past hour.

My thanks to Bo for shining the light on the magnificence that is Mr. Radin.


Oh, and I thought this was funny.

Dear Personalized License Plates,

I hate you.


Sincerely,
Amanda

Just Press "Reset"

I had a phone interview at 7:30 this morning (unfortunately, not for the Chastity Coordinator job I was desperately pining for). I was pumped. I got up early, showered, made coffee and oatmeal in preparation for the event. At 7:25, I'm clean, coffeed and oatmealed, pen and paper in hand, cell phone nicely charged. The call comes and within 3 minutes I realize that the position they are discussing with me is NOTHING like the way it was described online and via email. The level of pissed I became is not measurable by any human parameters. Thank you for wasting thirty minutes of my valuable morning/sleep time. If you knew how much of a morning person I am NOT, you would understand why this is such a catastrophe.

I'm quite aware of the fact that I've put on some weight, ok? But is it really necessary for me to try on every single pair of work pants I own (and a handful belonging to my roommate, thanks, Jen), only to find that none of them are appropriate for public display except for the lone pair of black pants I've worn everyday for the past 2 weeks? I mean, did I balloon out that significantly overnight? Lipo appointment set today, cantaloupe for every meal and chaining myself to the elliptical machine from here on out.

On the way to work, I see a bum digging through a garbage can on Michigan Avenue. Not out of the ordinary, but you might as well punch me right in the gut. It is out of my realm of thought to be at a point where one would be rooting through trash for food. It drags me into a full-blown depressive episode over the injustices in the world that leave me feeling small and hopeless and in a fit of rage and vomit. Ugh. But, on this particular day I got an extra treat. Not only did I get to see him digging, but then watched as he picked out a discarded cup of coffee, popped off the lid and starting drinking the remnants.

Seconds later, waiting for a light to change and trying not to hurl all over the chick next to me, a bike messenger passes by. And I'll be damned if it wasn't Boyd Tinsley's twin; all dreads, sunglasses, giant smile and all. Postively beaming. He's probably a great person, but frankly he freaked me the fuck out.

I stop in Au Bou Pain bakery for some fruit (I'm a hippo, remember?). Of all of the thousands of times I've been to this place, I've never heard music playing overhead. But today, there is music, and of all the songs in the universal jukebox, Pearl Jam's "Wishlist" is pouring from the speakers. What? First off, I've never heard that particular song in public, ever, let alone in an over-priced French cafe in a hospital. Secondly, where's the cheesy easy-listening or elevator music? Mind. Boggled.

I feel like I'm in some warped parallel universe or in the midst of a mild stroke. I demand a do-over for today. Or just some sex, whatever.

Totally Unqualified

I ran across the following job listing on my alma mater's alumni career website:

Chastity Outreach Coordinator

Job Description:

* Coordinate the Chastity outreach program in local high schools and grade schools.
* Contacting schools and arranging visits.
* Preparing presentations and maintaining statistics on these services.
* Recruit volunteer witnesses for the Chastity outreach presentations.
* Assist with the Recruitment and Training of new volunteers for the Center.
* Help with Pregnancy Testing and Material assistance clients when needed.
* Perform additional duties as deemed necessary by the Executive Director. (sex?)

Qualifications:

* Pro-life
* Flexible (in bed?)
* Organized
* Creative
* Self-motivated
* Dedicated to a commitment of abstinence until marriage (ummm...)
* Knowledge of the Catholic faith (riiiiiiiiight)



I sent in my resume. Fingers crossed on this one.

salt-n-pepa

I would like to introduce you to the latest addition to the work breakroom:

So little and so very very cute. What is it with miniatures? Seriously.

(Please take note of the masterful skillwork used to rig up the paperclip. Eat it, MacGyver.)

Like Watching Your Child Take His First Steps

As part of his Christmas present, I gave my dad Martin Sexton's live double CD, "Live Wide Open." An album that is essentially my Bible.

Recent email exchange:

From: Me
To: Dad

Hey Dad! Had a chance to give Martin Sexton a listen??

love you!
amanda


From: Dad
To: Me

Yes, several times. Ever since I put that bad boy in the CD player, I haven't been able to stop. I really like it!

love,
Dad




My work here is done.

When Body Parts Talk

From My Entire Set of Upper Arm Musculature:

"See, bitch, this is what you get for neglecting yoga, or any type of real exercise for that matter, for almost a full year. Feel the burn. And trembling. And overall debilitating fatigue. Dumbass.

P.S. You're fat."

definitely.

kelleymd09: which do you think is worse: warm scum or congealed scum?
Amanda107: congealed
Amanda107: definitely
kelleymd09: right
kelleymd09: definitely

Beer.

Fat Tire is coming to Chicago!! Sweet christ on the cross. This particular beer, one of my absolute favorites, has not seen bars or stores east of the Mississippi River. Ever. Until now!

I first tasted this sweet nectar o' hops whilst skiing in Steamboat Springs, CO, back in the winter of 2001. Since then, if friends come to town from out west, I nicely force them to bring me a couple sixers. Sigh. It's so delicious. And with the cute pic of the bike on the label? Really, what's not to love?

It makes it's debut here next month. Yee haw.

In other beer news, I have something very sad to report. Grab your hanky.

The following picture shows the amount of beer I abandoned Saturday because the bar we were in was so horrifically horrible that we couldn't stay there one.more.second.

So painful. Even as I look at it now, it truly brings a tear and a sinking feeling in my gut of longing and remorse.

We were at Gunther Murphy's for, what will now be known as, my very last time. I've tried to love this place, I really have. It's a laid back Irish pub located frighteningly close to my apartment. Perfect, right? No.

The service blows, the clientele ranges from yuppie to artsy to grungy to shady to homeless peddlers trying to sell you a homemade rap CD and grope your ass. This last time, we were crammed into a table made for midgets (or just very tiny Irish folk) in the front room of the bar listening to sweet sounds from the jukebox featuring music we love. To add insult to injury, coming from the back room (the door to which is about 6 feet from our Hobbit table) was ear-piercing/amp bursting noise from the band that just started up, heavy on the heavy metal. We couldn't even carry on a conversation via screaming. One ear picking up pieces of Lynyrd Skynyrd while the other is molested with screaming and rage and super bass. Grey matter meltdown.

Just when we thought we couldn't take anymore, right behind us, some drunk douchebag starts an argument with the bouncer (who is easily twice his size). They proceed to scream and fight and argue and scream. Enough.

I think we could have held out at the bar a bit longer had we not just come from bowling two games in bright cafeteria lighting, with no music, flanked on one side by a group featuring a couple who hugged and kissed after each bowled and on the other by a horde of asian tourists who, on multiple occasions, jumped in front of our lane, while one of us was mid-approach, to take a picture of the other holding a ball.

Thought of the Morning

I've received three emails today from my employer outlining the events taking place on Monday, January 16th, to honor The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Such events include speeches, presentations, and a luncheon.

Here's an idea: just give us the fucking day off. I'll honor the man by sleeping till noon.

On Online Dating

My dad and I are sitting around watching TV, enveloped in the traditional holiday food coma. A commercial comes on for eHarmony. The current cheesy marketing ploy focuses on finding someone that you have "chemistry" and a "connection" with and this is 100% possible via the internet and eHarmony. Well, shit, sign me up.

My dad and I look at each other, smirking. We know immediately what the other is thinking. He beats me to it:

"Someone who would do eHarmony in the first place would automatically be someone I would NOT have a connection with."

That man, I tell ya.

That one Coldplay video that goes, "You're gonna die, yeah yeah, from ass cancer..."

Just laughed my face off reading this.

Tears, people, tears.

It's rather long on words and long on talk about ass blood. But, for those who can hang, it's well worth the read.

Enjoy.

Hello, I Love You

Current work-snack obsession.

For All of the Non-Blind People Who Didn't Know

Those Google guys. Seriously. I can't get enough of today's name graphic:

It's in Braille, for Louis Braille's birthday. Witty.

Although, I thought the purpose of Braille in it's entirety is the tangible properties. You know, for people who can't see and must use the sense of touch to read.

Oh, the irony.

The Chicken Fetus

Warning: DO NOT VIEW if you are about to eat, have just eaten or possess the gift of sight.

I found the following piece of chicken hiding in my Pad Thai:

I'm still projectile vomiting 2 days later.