The Year of the Costume

Warning: Photo-heavy post.

I don't know what it is about Chicago or 2005 or what, but I swear to you this year brought out the best in costumes. Most times, you'll have one or two really good ones, but never do you have so many you can't even keep track. Until now. And holy lord it made for the best Halloween weekend to date.

It was a two-night extravaganza. Friday was house parties, Saturday we hit the bar. Whew.

Night #1, I donned some Bears gear (including the sweetest hat EVER):

The Doctor, the Official Girl Scout, and the Bears Fan:

Best costumes of Friday Night: Hamburgler and Ballpark Beer Man (complete with towel shoulder pad).

Saturday, 5pm: I was not going out. I had tentative plans with some friends to have a chill night, hanging out and drinking some wine.

Saturday, 8pm: Dressed as a pregnant Sydney Bristow (Jennifer Garner in Alias for those living under a rock) and roomie as a Flapper/1920's Woman of the Night, on our way to the bar. oops.

Obligatory self-pic:

Our friends were having a party at O'Malleys, $30 all you can drink 8pm till close. BEST. DEAL. EVER. Jack was flowing like wine. Or water. Or whatever. I don't remember.

I spent the bulk of my evening chasing after people to have my picture taken with them. Halloween (and O'Malley's for that matter) can be so hit or miss. It either blows chunks or blows every other holiday out of the water. This year, every fun, crazy and overall cool person got the memo to make it to O'Malleys. And I would like to thank them all.

Onto the costumes...

There's Waldo:

This guy ran out at the last minute and picked up a flight suit. He didn't take the time to try it on and when he put it on 5 minutes before he had to meet up with friends, this is what he had. Thank god he had a sweet ass to fill it out. Kudos, Iceman:

Oh, if only I'd run into this guy Friday night:

Devo was there in full effect. Awesome:

Now, the top 3 costumes of the night. Drumroll, please......

3. I would like you to meet my idol, Ms. Chipotle Burrito:

(of note, I was the first person who knew what she was. She jumped up and down with glee and kissed me.)

2. Three-Hole Punch Joe. Hello, real life Jim Halpert. I saw this guy from across the bar and literally ran, as fast as my pregnant belly would allow, and tackled him. I've never been more excited in all my twenty-four years.

1. Normally, my real life Jim would be #1 by a landslide, but when this guy walked in, I couldn't contain myself. For originality and causing me to spray Jack Daniels out of my nose, the coveted top spot goes to....Vikings football player:

The blow-up doll really sealed the deal. Hilarious. I'm still laughing about it.

I don't know if any other females out there have ever sported a fake pregnant belly before, but it really freaked me out. I worked long and hard to get that belly to look and feel real. It made me stand different, walk different and sit different. More often than not, I found myself (or someone else pointed out) that my hand was resting on my new bump or I was rubbing it in an eerily authentic manner. When I was pushing my way through a crowd of people, I instinctively put my arms across the belly to "protect" it. It brought out very strong maternal instincts. And it scared me. The maternal thing does happen every once in a while, but the lord never fails in my time of need, and will place a screaming child within 3 feet of me to snap me out of it. Unfortunately, no screaming kids in the bar, so I'm still recovering.

Even creepier than the prego belly itself was this one guy who walked up to me and started chatting. He commented on the costume and put his hand on the "baby." He then proceeded to continue rubbing and telling me how sexy he thought it was. I think I cried a bit inside and ran away as fast as I could. And took an extra hot shower when I got home. Ew.

Happy (real) Halloween everyone. And don't give out raisins to the kids, it's embarrassing.

as we revert back to childhood...

real quick, go sox.

Ok, onto the topic at hand. In honor of Halloween, we went pumpkin-patching. And oh the fun we had!! Strike that, within 2 nanoseconds of pulling into the parking lot, we were already yelling at the people trying to park in front of us and then stole a minivan's spot. Like, sped up and cut in. Quite certain it was chock-full of little pumpkin-crazed kids. Quite certain I've never been more proud of the Escape's cornering abilities.

So, we're already bitching about the people trying to park, having to park approximately a mile from the entrance, and the fact that it's going to be crowded and full of screaming kids. Needless to say, we were ready for some big time fun.

Surprisingly, we headed straight for the food. Someone I know waited in line for 30 minutes just to get a pretzel. The saltiest pretzel that has ever been salted. There were brats, corn, funnel cakes, apple cider, standard pumpkin patch fare. And it was cheap and delish. Go figure.

Then begins the frolicking amongst the pumpkins. Sheer joy, I tell you. Or completely uneventful, whichever. We did, however, pose for some pictures to pump up the volume.

The obligatory self-pic:

Couples photo among the orange guys:

Searching for the most perfect pumpkin ever (why would I bend over like that with an ass this size?? why? Amanda, crouch. Crouch, god damnit. For your sake and the sake of those around you. honestly):

Discovery of the greatest pumpkins of all time or being really lame? It's a toss up:

We love pumpkins:

We settled on some sweet pumpkins and oogled over the little baby ones. What is it with miniature things that turns girls to mush (certain male anatomical parts excluded)?? After all was said and done, I left as the proud owner of 2 medium sized pumpkins and 2 baby ones. And they are arranged in an oh so halloweenish fashion on the kitchen counter with a spider candle holder from The Barn. I'm basically Martha Stewart. Well, except for the part where I completely dropped the ball and skipped right over the carving part. It's just so tedious. And stringy. And seedy. And really hard on the other pumpkins watching.

In other Halloween-related news, I still have no costume and it's Thursday. And I have 2 costume-mandatory parties TOMORROW NIGHT. How much do I hate Halloween? About as much as I hate New Years. All this hype, all this frustration and disappointment. I could be something trite and overdone, that would be easy. But something in me won't let that happen. I was Marilyn Monroe last year for christ's sake, it doesn't get more overdone than that. I feel I need to redeem myself this year. Of course, my ideas are not panning out. I've had a few good ones, but eventually decided they are only funny to my small circle of cohorts and others would not appreciate it quite as much. Sorry, Mrs. Roper, maybe next year when we have a full ensemble cast. Anyone dying to be Jack Tripper??

damn straight.

click me.

way too much free time, or too much acid, whatever.

It doesn't get much more disturbing than this.

Friday Fun Music Discussion and Random Pic of the Day

A man truly after my own heart...

music geeks, get in on the debate!

Random Pic of the Day:

I took this pretending like I know anything about photography, which I don't. I mean, I deeply enjoy looking at pictures (I'm borderline obsessed) and can appreciate good work, but as far as taking the photos, I leave it to the professionals. But, I kinda like how this one turned out. My thanks to the mass transit system of Chicago for making this photo possible.

Why am I still talking about my birthday 2 weeks later?

Because I remembered I had these pictures, that's why.

Posts like the following are good to get in every once in a while, you know, just to keep me humble.

For my birthday dinner we went to my favorite tapas place in Chicago, Cafe Iberico. Amidst the bread and olive oil and goat cheese and marinara and ham croquettes and patatas bravas and sangria, someone (roommate extraordinaire) snapped this picture:

Why, Jen, why?? Why would you take an action shot of me stuffing my face?? It was my bday for christ's sake! But, as I am the humbliest of the humble, I embrace the beauty and hilarity of the truth displayed in this photo. This girl loves to eat. Face it. (This pic guarantees at least another couple months of singledom. Maybe years.)

I also have this thing where I love to pose with food. Especially food that I want to bathe in. One such food would be flan. Oh, the egg-custardy jiggly caramely goodness of the flan. And with candles!

I have to say, this next photo is quite possibly the best picture ever taken that perfectly depicts the feeling of a moment.

So, I get my flan with blazing birthday candles, take part in a photo-op with flan, set it down on the table and proceed to close my eyes and make a wish and blow out the candles, all with great fanfare. You know, because that's what you do on your birthday when you have candles in front of your face. Going along with birthday etiquette, after the special person extinguishes the candles, the next logical action would be applause. Right? Jesus, remember when you were a kid and the crowd around the table erupted in uproarious applause celebrating your amazing feat of expelling some air and spraying saliva all over the frosting?? It was exhilarating.

Well, after I blew out the candles on my flan you want to know what I heard? Besides the clinking of silverware and plates throughout the restaurant, I heard crickets. The sound of silence. Of all 9 people sitting around my table, NOT ONE CLAPPED. Nothing. Dead air. It was at that moment, without comment, I started the slow-clap for myself and this picture was captured:

Please note my look of utter exasperation and Scott doing the opposite of clapping in the background. Everyone eventually caught on and joined in and we all had a good laugh about it (sure, I was laughing on the outside, but on the inside my 8-year-old self was crushed).

Apparently I will hold onto the celebratory birthday habits of childhood forever. And I'm proud of it. CLAP FOR ME, DAMN IT! Who doesn't applaud post-candle blow out?!?! Who are these supposed "friends"? It's like I don't even know them anymore.

birthday 2005

Basically I have the greatest friends that anyone could dream up. I adore every molecule of their beings. With that said, I would like to shine the spotlight on three particular people who really went the extra mile to make my b-day rule.


Friend Who Rocks My World #1: My Sister, Heather

Ok, so she's friends and family. I'm a lucky, lucky girl. She drove her ass up here from Kentucky, along with 2 friends, to partake in the festivities. And for that I am eternally grateful. It was great to have her here...there's such comfort in having family visit me in the Chi. I often overlook the fact that I've developed this world for myself here that my family knows very little about. Even though we are close and talk regularly, they only know a few of my friends and have no idea what I do on a daily basis. They haven't seen my new apartment, or walked the streets of my neighborhood, or eaten at my favorite restaurants or had a beer with me at the local watering hole. When they get to share that with me it brings it all full circle. sigh.

I love my family bigger than words and I love my life and friends here more than I ever thought I could. Put those two together and you can just forget about it. Internal fireworks, people.

Heath, thanks for coming. It means the world to me. And thanks for finding Squeaky. I swear I don't live in a shithole.

Friend Who Rocks My World #2: Eric (The Dude)

I purposefully left this picture full-size to demonstrate the sheer tallness of this person. Something that is completely new information for him, I'm sure. In this pic I'm standing up (all 5 feet 4 inches) and in 3+ inch heels. He's just so...so...tall. And lord god the thing I have for super tall guys. Scrumptious.

Alas, he already belongs to someone very near and dear to my heart (shout out to her in a bit). Taken or not, he's my most favorite new-ish friend. Not only did this man leave secret comments on the blog as "the dude" (complete with Lebowski references, be still my heart), HE MADE ME A BIRTHDAY MIX. Entitled "The Dude." And brought it to the bar. And drank a White Russian to reveal himself. Seriously, Annie, hold on to this one. Because I said so.

Dude, thank you. You're good people. And I know good people.


Friend Who Rocks My World #3: Patty Party Planner

I can't really get into how much this person does for me--not only in perfectly planning my birthday activities, but also on a daily basis--without getting verklempt. I won't subject you guys to a bunch of sappy lameness so I'll just say thanks and leave it at that. I owe this chick my first born. (Jack or Isabella. We are losers.)

I'm going to throw in an honorable mention here: Ann "Great-Smelling Breasts" Marie

I have no idea what's happening here, but thanks Annie for allowing me to do that. And for apparently enjoying it as much as I did.


Roomie: I should be totally pissed that you couldn't be there, but, Brandon Flowers is the only valid excuse for missing my birthday. Good work. We'll always have Buffett at Wrigley, you are awesome.

All in all, it was spectacular. A huge kiss on the mouth to everyone who celebrated with me (in person AND in spirit).

Can't wait till next year, kids...

Frustrations v4.0 and random pic of the day

1. Having to get up and go to work EVERY SINGLE DAY. I'm so done with the whole thing.

2. My landlord comes by this morning with the "carpenters" to measure for our new back door. Long story. I use the term "carpenters" loosely because they were less like carpenters and more like 2 acne-filled teens who were clearly doing this as part of a special Juvenile Detention Center diversion program. Sweet, glad they have access to my house all day. Comforting.

3. The landlord pulled up in this:

A shiny, brand new 2006 Lexus GS 430 in black onyx. Gorgeous. O-inducing. Not the point. It's the fact that he pulled up in his fancy schmancy car while I'm living in a moldy, mouse-infested apartment THAT HE OWNS and drive a shitbox Corolla. I think I might have keyed it just a little. oopsies.

4. Despite my attempts to thwart the virus attacking my upper respiratory system, it keeps getting worse everyday. Worse. Not better. I'm in hell. Thanks, M.

random fun pic of the day:

Birthday and David Gray pics and posts coming soon to a blog near you. That was so lame, but I just can't erase it.

Marketing Gone Wrong

I have to bitch for one second. Maybe 3.

For quite some time now I've had an aversion to the Lamisil commercial featuring Digger the Dermatophyte:

You can view the ad here.

People, he LIFTS UP THE TOENAIL AND SCURRIES UNDERNEATH IT. God, I could puke just thinking about it. Then, while he's down there, him and his buddies use their warty claws to scrape away at the tender flesh under the toenail. F-ing sick.

I can't wrap my head around who in their right mind would not only dream this up, animate it, then consider it satisfactory for mass viewing. The CEO of Novartis Pharmaceuticals (maker of Lamisil) thought they could really get to the giant toenail fungus-infected population and reel them in by showing the gore and heinousness that is scraping away under their toenails?? No. You save that kind of gut-wrenching footage for Red Cross ad campaigns raising money for mass disaster victims and starving children.

What really pushed me to write this post is that last night, the Digger commercial was immediately followed by the new "my NHL" commercial. Here are some pics:

This particular commercial doesn't make me want to puke so much as it rips out my soul. A chick, in some Pirates of the Caribbean get-up, seductively helps Mr. Hockey Warrior into his gear. Come. On. The drama. The grandeur. The absolute lameness. It makes no sense and in no way could it possibly convince people to tune into hockey. Show burly men slamming into one another, bring back the hilarious commercials featuring what each player did during his turn with the Stanley Cup. Anything except this crap.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, I'm done.

Yesterday was my 2 year anniversary of moving to Chicago. Ah, the Cotton Anniversary. What? Who comes up with THAT crap?

Oh, how time flies my friends.

It contains real panther bits, so you know it's good.

I would like to take this opportunity to let everyone know about a love affair I've been having with a particular item that can be found in liquid or aerosol form. Stella Rose Absolute by Stella McCartney. Good work, Paul. Not only did you bless the world with rock 'n roll, but your offspring is an olfactory genius.

It all began a couple months ago when a friend got in the car and this smell hit me. The smell of what I would assume is heaven, mixed with roses, sprinkled with orgasm. I had this overwhelming urge to lick her.

I know what you're thinking, rosey perfumes are for grandmas. I'll admit I've lived by that same mentality. But this. This. Ugh.

I received a bottle as a birthday gift and used it for the first time this morning. I sprayed the glorious elixir into the air and let the sweet blanket of aromatic perfection fall upon me. I involuntarily moaned. It's that good. I keep getting whiffs of it and it's distracting me from my work. Is it unprofessional to tell the boss-man that a project isn't finished because I sat around and smelled myself all day?

just. quit.

Katie Holmes is knocked-up. Which means that Tom Cruise must have jizzed in a cup and the results were used for artificial insemination. Because, if memory serves me right, gay men don't like doing women.

All I have to say is that this is going to be the shortest, droopiest-eyed, scientological filled-with-dead-aliens-or-something-equally-as-mindblowing spaz to grace this earth.

Can't wait to see what the freak shows name it.

Mazel Tov!

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

The original idea for this post was to rub it in Kelley's face that the cheesey besties pic Noah and I took approximately 2 minutes after meeting one another was better than any picture they took together that night. This is not something I noticed, but Kelley hasn't stopped bitching about it since she sent the photos.

It's important to note that Kelley and I share a brain. We've scared the shit out of each other on over a million occasions by saying the same thing at the same time, finishing each other's sentences, going off on ad-libbed tangential stories that make absolutely no sense to anyone else but us, and having essentially an identical sense of humor. Now, when Noah came into her life, she informed me that she had found another one of us. (gasp!) Clearly, I had my doubts. Until I experienced it for myself this past weekend. And let me tell you. The 3 of us together is akin to a nuclear reactor of wit and humor on the brink of explosion.

So, there we are, all sharing a brain. Then things start to get weird. First, Noah and I find ourselves involved in what is, arguably, the best picture ever taken. Then we find out we were born one day apart. And, brace yourself, WE'RE MISSING THE SAME TEETH. I know, I know, gather yourself. Both of us were born without the teeth next to our two front teeth (we both have fake ones in place of the freaks who decided not to show up). Kinda sick, but totally cool.

Perplexed and understandably shocked by all of this news, we could come up with only one explanation: Noah and I are long-lost twins (I popped out late-night on October 7th and he followed shortly after midnight on the 8th). But not your standard-issue twins. No ma'am. Siamese twins joined at the teeth.

This explains why Kelley loves us both so much, we're literally the same person! She found her dream...me with a penis.

My Super Sweet 24

It's that time of year again, folks. That's right, it's about the time to celebrate my birth. Put on your party pants, break out the fireworks, a little plane-writing in the sky, a huge party, and tons of gifts. I kid, I kid (about the plane thing).

It's no secret that I love birthdays. Always have, always will. This is directly related to my mom making sure that October 7th was my super, shining Special Day. There was a "Happy Birthday!!" as soon as I woke up, a big breakfast, a card waiting on the kitchen table, dinner of my choosing and a made-from-scratch cake. Gina basically rocked the birthday casbah. The fact that I'm dramatic, emo, and love attention may play a small part in the birthday excitement as well.

It seems that my birthday can't come and go without some contemplation and evaluation of my life. To me, each birthday is the closing of one chapter and the beginning of the next. It's just more dramatic that way. Last year, I made this big deal about how hard 22 had been, so I declared that 23 was going to be suddenly spectacular. Surprisingly enough, the Life-Changing Birthday Fairy didn't quite come through, and twenty-three had it's trials and tribulations, as does each year of one's life. God, I loved doing that--pretending like I had total control over my destiny. ha.

This girl has always been a worrier and control freak. Always. I'm quite certain I had an ulcer before I was 10. As I got older, each year bringing about bigger decisions and added responsibility, the worrying increased exponentially. Until this past year, when I successfully worried myself into a frenzy and basically hit an emotional rock bottom of sorts. I didn't know who I was anymore. Most of 23 wasn't fun, but sweet jesus, I gained the wisdom of the likes of Buddha (and, oddly enough, a similar gut region).

Something I have to keep reminding myself is that there is no such thing as having control over your life. Try as you may, all it will get you is disappointed and frustrated. I've often asked myself why certain things happen or why things are so hard, etc. Time and time again I find the answer is that there is no answer. It's just life. Shit happens. You cry, bitch, lean on your friends, deal with it, and most importantly, learn from it. Learn. Learn. Learn. And let it go, man, let it go. I whole-heartedly believe that everything happens in it's own time, when it's supposed to, when it's right. If I didn't look at it that way, I'd just sit around and bitch and complain and worry. And frankly, I've done that for long enough and I'm exhausted.

Not that this change in mentality happens over night. Or that I'm miraculously this zenned-out, "life is a flowing river and we are all reeds in the tides" new person. I've only been working on this relinquishing of control thing for the past few months, and I'm quite certain I'll have to keep working on it forever. Whatever the case, I breathe easier, worry less and laugh more.

As far as birthdays are concerned, I can't foresee myself ever having some crisis regarding getting older. Maybe this is a premature assumption considering I'm only turning 24, so we'll see. I found my first gray hairs (3 of them) a couple weeks ago, my hands and elbows require more lotioning than they used to, hangovers hit me harder and pounds pack on quicker. But those are the rules of the game, people. You can't sit around and worry about that crap, all it does is bring on more gray hairs.

Point of all of this? Nothing. Happy early birthday to me. This weekend I'm eating my face off and getting drunk with my family and friends and that's exactly what I want to do and where I want to be. Bring on 24. Amen.

Longest Weekend of My Life

Alright kids, just completed the second to last wedding of the 2005 season. Thankfully I'm not in the last one, which means more money in the ol' bank account for groceries. Finally.

Quick summary of Liz and Brett's wedding:

Simple.
Gorgeous.
Polish.
Driving all over northwestern Chicago.
Best photographer ever.
Worst DJ ever.
Kelley and I together again for the first time since May.
Up until 7am after the reception laughing my ass off to the point of pulling a muscle in my neck.

I feel that this past weekend can be summed up in the following 3 pics:

Me Pumping Gas in Bridesmaid's Dress (between pictures and reception):

Kelley and I, Sweaty and Glassy-Eyed Intoxicated (this one's for you, Steve):

Noah in a Babe Sandwich (#1 dance partners of all time):

Despite driving over 200 miles in 2 days, all within the same city, good times were had by all. Kelley and I spent the bulk of the night requesting the worst wedding reception songs ever. Not that the DJ needed any help with that. We had 7 of 7 requests filled, all horrific, all filled the dance floor. We knew what kind of crowd we were dealing with. It was glorious.

Songs the DJ played (in all seriousness):

- Loudest, worst elevator music during dinner
- The Chicken Dance
- Electric Slide
- It's Raining Men
- Ba Wit Da Ba (Kid Rock)
- Cotton Eye Joe
- Man, I Feel Like a Woman (Shania Twain)

Our requests (that Mr. DJ LOVED):

- The Macarena
- Mambo #5
- Pour Some Sugar on Me
- Red, Red Wine (UB40)
- UB40's cover of "Fools Rush In"
- Can't Touch This
- Hot in Herre

You bet your ass we were on that dance floor from start to finish. I would also like to give a shout out to Kell's main man, Noah, for working his version of Ashlee Simpson's Hoe-Down dance into every song. A rare talent, indeed.

I seriously miss you, Kell. Drop out of med school and come back, ok? ok.

GOOOOOOO Dayton Flyers

This makes me miss UD.

It brings a tear. And a sinking feeling in my gut as I am reminded that I graduated college 2 1/2 years ago. And I'm going to be 30. Someday. What am I doing with my life?? oh my god, panic attack ensuing.


Totally unrelated: the boner part of The Office last night could possibly be the funniest line ever uttered on primetime television.

Virtual Reality Check

Amanda107: a guy basically has to blow me away and think i am the funniest, smartest, prettiest, wittiest, most fun girl he has ever met
Amanda107: and he has to give me a run for my money, I need a worthy adversary
Amanda107: but can then be a kickass boyfriend too
Amanda107: that's all
DMBETERNAL: Maybe you should get some cats.

things I want...

1. iPod Nano (after they fix the shitty screen glitch).

2. to win the lottery.

3. jim halpert.

Icebreaker.

I'm in the office kitchen/breakroom and this woman walks in that I've never seen before. We're standing next to each other, me stirring my steaming oatmeal, she's waiting for something in the microwave and peeling a hardboiled egg. The silence is deafening.

Lady I've Never Seen Before: "Your oatmeal makes my eggs not smell as bad."

Me: (puzzled, yet cordial) "Hmm, it sure does."

Lady I've Never Seen Before: "Yeah, I can't peel these things in my office. Makes the whole thing smell like a big fart."

If a crap falls in the woods and no one hears it...

Apparently I am the person that everyone feels the need to tell every disgusting, painfully private and sometimes disturbing thing to. And I freakin' LOVE it.

Here we go.

My dear, dear friend (who shall remain nameless) went on her daily run in the park this morning. She prefers to run on the trails in the park, not only for the aesthetically pleasing and serene surroundings, but also because running on pavement hurts her knees. Why she runs alone, in the wee hours of the morning back in thick forests with no car or person anywhere within earshot, just to protect her patella is beyond me. Not important. I digress.

So, she's running in the rape forest this morning and halfway into it she realizes that she has to go to the bathroom. B.A.D. And not a tinkle. A big, old-fashioned crapperoo. The kind that strikes without notice and cannot be held under any circumstances. She's 15 minutes from her car with no toilets anywhere. What is a girl to do?? I'll tell you what she's gonna do, she's gonna duck behind a tree, pray to the colon gods that no one else comes by, drop trou, and lay one out. And that, my friends, is exactly what this classy, gorgeous, hilarious and respectable citizen of these United States did. A tear of pride came streaming down my face.

What comes next is where the true genius lies. Faced with the clean-up issue, she goes for the first obvious solution, a leaf. To her dismay, all of the leaves within reach are gross and crunchy. Clearly one cannot wipe with a crunchy leaf. Think about it. Then, in a moment of clarity, all those years of Eagle Scout training finally paid off. She valiantly strips off her shorts and underwear. AND USES HER UNDERWEAR TO WIPE HER ASS. God bless America. The Master then casually tosses the soiled undies further back unto the brush, puts those shorts back on and gets back to running, because goddamnit, that's what she came out here to do in the first place!

Perhaps the most disturbing point of this story is that after all of this, my main concern was not the poor park ranger who will eventually stumble upon the horror of crap-stained skivvies. No sir. I was having a coronary over the tossed underwear itself. My god! Were they a good pair??? I was absolutely horrified by the fact that some sweet undies were sacrificed.

When asked about the unmentionables in question, she responded,

"Hell no! Just a plain pair of Victoria's Secret white bikini briefs. Thank god. If they had been a good pair I totally would have kept them."

If I ever wonder why I'm single...

I spent hours last night (while watching My Name is Earl, The Office, Rock Star: INXS, the local news, Letterman and Conan) working on the new title graphic. And I must say that I had no idea that I knew how to do such things.

See, the things you can do if you just try! And choose to spend hours making a stupid title graphic for your blog while watching TV show after TV show in your pajamas eating chicken pad thai that you had delivered.

Whoa, step back from the door and get in a straight line boys, I can only screen you one at a time.