Day 2: Drive to Charleston and The Wedding

The second day of the Trip of Northern Aggression began even earlier than the first one did-- we had a long Atlanta-to-Charleston drive ahead of us, as well as a wedding (our actual reason for this trip in the first place) to attend that evening. No time for Greek delis this morning, we wheeled our trusty suitcases over to the deck where GP's friend, D, parks his car. He had generously offered to lend it to us for the weekend, as he had no out-of-town plans and easy access to pretty fabulous public transit.

So, here begins the list of things that I would import from the South, if I could (hey, I had to do something to keep occupied during the drive, and list-making appeals to me!). Thing number one? Crazy well-maintained roads! I don't know if it's that California has no money, no interest, or what, as far as it comes to road maintenance, but let me tell you something: our roads are pure crap. Sometimes, it's just painful. Not so in Georgia! Every inch of our drive from downtown Atlanta to the SC state line was gorgeous and smooth. Oh, and thing number two, which I also discovered en route? Chick-Fil-A. Someone tell me why we don't have these in the Bay Area? I suppose it's for the best, though, because I would never be able to stop eating those nuggets, and then I would be that lady that has to be lifted out of her cat-filled apartment by a crane. Also, Chick-Fil-A was the site of my discovery of thing number three: crazy politeness! This man approached our table while we were eating, and, rather than spitting on my tray or asking for spare change (which is what would probably happen at most places in California), he asks, "Ma'am, can I refill your drink?" I was so taken aback by this teeny random (really, not random at all, but whatever) kindness that I said no, even though I was hankering for some more Diet Coke. Why can't we import this politeness, even if it is perfunctory, to the West Coast? It would be so...nice.


Finally, we arrived at the beach house. Even though the wedding was taking place at an old plantation-type house in Charleston, the couple figured that it would be more fun to have everyone stay at the beach, so a few houses were rented in beautiful Folly Beach. One was for the bride, R, and her bridesmaids, another was for T, the groom, and his groomsmen, and another was for various family members that had come into town for the festivities. We ended up at the boys' house, which was full of guys finishing getting ready, as well as a couple of their girlfriends who had arrived and started getting ready. As T and the groomsmen headed out, he informed the girl who had slept in a room with a king-sized bed the previous night, that the room was to be mine and GP's that night. She was fine with this, and it seems small now, but it will become important later, I promise.


We finished the preparation, which included a search for usable bath towels (seriously, how are there not enough towels in a house that sleeps about 15?), but was otherwise uneventful. It was marginally awkward because GP and I knew no one else but each other, but everyone was nice enough, if a little more college-student-y than we are (read: not able to really deal with people outside their immediate friend circle, and a bit clique-y). With the address to the wedding venue plugged into our trusty GPS (what? We take it everywhere!), we headed out with time to spare. When we got there, I was really amazed at how gorgeous it was-- the parking was a little removed from the grounds where the ceremony and reception were, and there were little trams that took us where we needed to be. The ceremony took place in a grove of Spanish Moss trees (which are fascinating and will always seem so romantic to me, I don't know why), and made me tear up because I am a sucker for cheesy wedding stuff. The only troubling part was when the pastor took great pains to mention (multiple times!) how "God invented marriage for men and women so that they can contribute to the betterment of society, and bear children..." Not something I would choose to have anyone say at my wedding (what with my San Francisco values and all), but I did love the 1 Corinthians reading, so I suppose I am just conflicted all over.


Bubbles were blown at the recessional, which was an adorable touch, and we headed to the reception, which took place under two tents that were arranged in a "T" shape. Everyone, including us, headed to the (open, of course) bar first, then into the house to grab some food. All the food was Southern-style, from teeny crab cakes with remoulade to mini-meatballs on lollipop sticks and shrimp and grits served in martini glasses. Had I known that was it for the food, I might have stocked up a bit more, but everything was so delicious that I'm glad I didn't-- wouldn't want to test the Assets even more than I already was! Dancing was minimal, as there was a band and GP is not much of a dancer, but we did manage to squeeze in the last dance, to a song that I would like to think holds some significance for us.

Though many of the other bridesmaids/groomsmen and their dates (as well as T&R, which I find amazing after what must have been a super-long, crazy day) were going to downtown Charleston to go to some bars and clubs, we passed on that because we were ready to pass out. Heading back to the beach house, GP and I speculated about the other people whose stuff was in "our" bedroom coming back to "claim" the room, but we decided we were safe because we would be the first ones there, and surely no one would kick the slumbering Californians out of bed, right? Soon after we arrived, another couple (one of the groomsmen and his girlfriend, who live in Charleston) came back, bearing wedding-food leftovers, and we all hung out in the kitchen, munching, until they left to "go get ready for bed." In our room. Where all their stuff was. Minutes passed, then we realized that too much time for regular bed-prep activities had elapsed. What were they doing in there?

They were straight going to steal our room, y'all! Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion to this tale, as well as the Day 3 report, coming tomorrow...!

Shop It To Me Tuesday!

Don't worry, there are three more days of Tales From the South, but I had to squeeze in some lovelies that showed up in my inbox this morning. Basically, when you sign up for Shop It To Me, you input your size and brand preferences, and they send you things that are on sale from various online retailers. If nothing else, it is a great way to get some online window shopping done, plus they've already found your sizes! In short, everyone wins.

First, we have the shoes. Shoes generally come first, right? Some red Nine West d'Orsay pumps from Endless, for about $50 (although I am already the proud owner of a pair that look a lot like these, plus a bow, that I got from Le Target for about $25...)

Then there are the following purses...I am having a big Cole Haan love affair right now. For instance, with this:
Which is still about $320 on Zappos. Not now, Cole Haan, not now. Oh, and I want to get this bag into my life, too...

Now, the two skirts-- one from Vera Wang Lavender Label, and the other from our friend Marc Jacobs...


And, finally, the dress parade. I have few occasions at which it would be appropriate to wear these, but I like to fantasize about a grand life that enables me with the funds, body, and venues to show these off.
What do we think, is the bubble hem a yea or nay?
Faaaabulous!
Now, I suppose it wouldn't be inappropriate to own this, but I am trying to break into the world of "color" right now, and escape my black-and-white leanings.

I mean, come on...tomorrow is payday.

Day 1 - The ATL

See, Atlanta and I are so close now that I get to call it by its nickname! Or...something.


Anyway, our first day began fairly early, as GP's friend (who was our gracious host for two nights of this trip) knocked on our door to wake us up at about 8:30am as he headed to class (he's a grad student at Tech, where he and GP met as undergrads). Knowing that we had a full day ahead of us, we got out of our Lucy-and-Ricky beds, showered, and headed out the door to the Greek (?) restaurant downstairs for some breakfast-- I decided on a biscuit rather than a bagel to get that extra-Southern touch, which I was determined to do just about everywhere we went. From the diner, we headed past the CNN Center (still surrounded by scaffolding after the recent tornado) and into Centennial Park, toward the Georgia Aquarium and the World of Coca-Cola.


We decided to hit the Aquarium first (btw, GP and I decided that aquariums need to be included in Stuff White People Like), and bought a combo pass that would allow us to go to the Aquarium as well as the WoCC in the same day. Having been pretty recently to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and having seen the whale sharks of the Georgia Aquarium on the Today Show (back when I still watched), I was pretty excited. The combination of zoo and museum is always an enticing attraction-- I mean, I am a nerd, and I feel like I get bonus points for doing "educational" things on vacations. Because it was a Friday, there were fewer tourists, and mostly school groups inside: tons of children in matching shirts seems like a bad idea, especially when I noticed that they were wearing nametags. We were able to get through the five or so areas of the Aquarium in roughly 2 and a half hours, and we even got to see sea otter feeding and sea lion throwdowns!


Having seen all the fish, we decided it was time to learn more about Coke, so we headed across the way to the (new) World of Coca Cola. Stopping to grab a bite on the way was helpful, plus we got to enjoy some Coca Cola beverages ahead of time (hello, Diet Coke Plus! You mean I can drink some Diet Coke and have some vitamins? Sold!). The kickoff to the tour is a little vamping by a greeter-type lady, who says hello in many different languages and challenges the tourists to identify the languages of the Coke propaganda that is all over the anteroom (I was the only one to guess the Vietnamese one properly, but missed getting credit for it because I am not a shouter by nature). After we had been subjected to enough Awkward Tourist Greeting, we went in and watched an extended version of a Coke commercial that is usually shown in movie theaters, which was a big pile of meh. Then (then!), you are released into a sort of atrium, that strongly resembles something out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, with white walls and vibrant, design-y stuff all over. Very fun.


Other highlights of the World of Coke included a Pop Art exhibit, a 3-D movie (similar in quality to the "Honey I Shrunk the Audience" show at Disneyland, but in this one we learn that love is the secret ingredient in Coca Cola...because cocaine is illegal now), a bottling works (where you can geek out on cool factory stuff), and a tasting room, where you can taste disgusting soda from all over the world. I was a big fan of the Asian and African sodas, but Europe and South America are too full of radioactive and/or blackcurrant nastiness to be very enjoyable. I was bummed that I couldn't find any Coca Light, but GP was elated that they had blue Powerade.


After buying the obligatory Christmas ornament at the Coke Store and collecting our souvenir "specially bottled right here in Atlanta" bottles of Coca Cola, we were ready to head up to the Georgia Tech campus. It was only fair that we go there, really, because I have dragged GP around the UCLA campus a time or two, and we are in LA much more often than we are in Atlanta. I was expecting something much more urban than Tech really is, but I think it's nice that it's a little college bubble right there in Midtown Atlanta-- it's hard to imagine GP living there, though, but that's probably because he graduated about five or six years ago. Highlights of the tour included the Tech Tower and the ADPi house, in front of which I made GP photograph me, because I am a sorority dork. Yes, I was throwin' up the hand sign, too.


Because we like to eat roughly every ninety minutes, we stopped at The Varsity before hopping on MARTA. While we were enjoying our Naked Dogs and onion rings (and Diet Cokes! I can't get enough!), we saw Bill freaking Cosby. It was so awesome, but awkward for me because my back was to where he was, standing near the door; I made GP give me a play-by-play of what was happening ("What's going on? Is he wearing a Cosby Sweater?") Because I am not a fan of Celebrity Encounter Awkwardness, there is no picture, but believe me when I say it was all I could do not to ask the man for some pudding.


We rode the MARTA back to our "home base" and got ready for the last Atlanta Activity of the day, a Braves game at Turner Field, against the Marlins. I believe they had lost the previous evening, but I had high hopes that GP would bring the winning spirit needed to get the job done ('cause God knows Smoltz isn't up for it). Maybe it was because it was Chipper (LARRY!) Jones's birthday, or maybe it was all the screaming and foam-tomohawk chopping that GP did (seriously, he is still hoarse), but the Bravos pulled it out, and my first experience at Turner Field was pretty cool.


Get excited! Day 2 was the Drive to Charleston and Former-Roommates Wedding day! (Also, I have some sweet Shop It To Me finds, if anyone is feeling generous and wants to buy me some beautiful clothes.)

I'm ba-ack!

Dude, I hate unpacking...

Hello, friends! Before I launch into the multi-part rehash of the Trip of Northern Aggression, I have to thank my wonderful guest posters, who definitely brought The Awesome while GP and I were busy soaking up the charm and humidity of the southeastern United States (for real, y'all, it was a bit much...and it's only April!). We technically returned last night, landing at SFO a bit after 9pm, but there was no way I was getting a post in, as our biorhythms (or whateverthehells) were still determined to be on East Coast time and we were pretty wiped, despite the relative awesomeness of our Delta flight.

At any rate, the trip began early Wednesday morning, when we woke up at 5 to make it to the airport for our 8am flight. (Note: if any of you decide to visit me-- and why the heck not? I'm fun, and I have multiple fold-out couches, as well as an OG Nintendo, where you can play Mario to your heart's content-- please try to fly into SJC, as that is a mere 10-minute drive from The Apartment. I'm just sayin'.) My dad had stayed over, and had graciously offered to drop us off. The flight itself was fairly unremarkable, as far as cross-country flights go, but it had been awhile since I had flown Delta, and I was pleased to find a super-sweet in-the-back-of-the-seat-in-front-of-me video monitor, where I could create playlists from the roughly 75 albums (ranging from High School Musical soundtrack to Feist and Amy Winehouse) and play trivia with my fellow passengers (you know I kicked their asses, too). Landed in ATL a bit before 4pm, grabbed the luggage, and hopped on MARTA.

I'm giving MARTA its own (pretty brief) paragraph here, because I think it is merited, and because you, internets, are not the boss of me. As far as mass transit goes, the MARTA system is, I think, pretty typical of what most American transit systems are; it doesn't extend much past the dense center of the city, despite extensive suburban surroundings, its fee structure and ticketing interface are a bit confusing, but it gets the job done. After listening to GP bitch about the layout and flow of the ticketing kiosk (he's an interface guy, it's what he does), I was not ready to be friends with MARTA, but she was redeemed by running a healthy number of regular trains, which is refreshing given the scarcity of our local light rail trains and my general impatience with life. Luckily, Atlanta has the good sense to extend their mass transit to the airport (which BART has only done in the last few years), and the airport is within about six stops of where GP's college friend lives, in the Five Points area of downtown.

We arrived at the friend's apartment, which is inside a cool, early 20th century building, but sadly unairconditioned due to some freon deficiency, and settled in with some beers and a rooftop tour of Atlanta's downtown. From the building's roof, you can see the CNN Center, Centennial Park, the enormous Grady Memorial Hospital, giant buildings for AT&T, Coca-Cola, and SunTrust, and a bunch of other general Big City-type stuff. Our dinner place was in the hilariously named Poncey-Highland district, and was quite reminiscent of a lot of places that we have here in California: dark and loud, with more personality than quality. There was a bit of confusion with our waiter, who I am pretty sure may have just been a busboy and knew nothing about their wine list...but I will stop before I sound like an unreasonable snob. Determined to have an Authentic Southern Experience, I was polite and ordered some gumbo and a cheese plate to go with our bottle of California wine (come on, I drank tons of bourbon later in this trip!). The food was delicious, and we returned to the apartment so I could watch the boys play some RBI Baseball on the NES (because we are classy and it is 1985), and then pass out on one of the two twin air mattresses that constituted our bed (it was very I Love Lucy).

Oh, and what did we do on our first full day, you ask? Nearly all the things. But you'll have to wait for the next chapter in my ToNA miniseries to find out exactly what...

Spring in the South

Hey everyone, it's my FIRST! EVER! GUEST POST! *gasp* I know, I bet you thought I was more experienced but, I am just that good at faking it. I should introduce myself shouldn't I? Well I'm Heidi and I hold down the fort over at Life in Pink. Ya'll should go check it out!

Anyhow, whilst Megan frolicks in the South on her trip of Northern Aggression, I'm here to share some of my favorite things about the south. You're probably thinking "why should I give a rats butt about her favorite things about the south?"

Well you shouldn't. But I'm going to share them anyhow. Because I'm in charge for the day...so ha!

Anyhow, I grew up in Vermont and went to college for five years in Boston. While I'm not a Red Socks fan, I do love all things New England...like you know...seasons, the NY Yankees (it's a half and half thing...), the New England Patriots (I cried when they traded Adam Vinaterri to the Colts...), Baked Beans, having ridiculous holidays (like St. Patrick's day in Boston - it's Evacuation Day and Patriots Day better known as Marathon Monday).

However, after a bad breakup and a stifling step mother, I packed up my bags and headed south of the Mason Dixie to Washington DC (which is still debatable as to whether it is but I think it is so for all intent and purpose today...it is.)

I moved in with a kid who went to the Citadel in South Carolina who had a girlfriend who went to Finishing School in Atlanta. By the end of that first summer, I was having a love affair with the South.

What's so great about the South??

For starters, until that summer I had never been to a waffle house...if you haven't been...consider yourself MISSING OUT. Southern food is pretty great if you haven't experienced it - I'm not a HUGE fan of everything but hush puppies? okra? BBQ?! Oh em gee...strap me to a treadmill...Ima need it after some REAL southern cookin'

There's nothing more fun than a drunken sing-a-long to Dixie. Try it with a bunch of southerners on Fourth of July...that day I probably could have told you the big Southern Generals in the Civil War but probably not found my hometown on a map. I'm a traitor I know.

In the south, they don't call the Civil War the "Civil War" no no...it's "war between the states." I giggle when I learn about how they teach basic history in places like...you know...France, England...and the deep South in the great US of A.

Also, I have developed a secret infatuation with the music of such country western bands and artists such as...John Denver (who doesn't love Country Roads), Alabama (dixieland delight anyone? Anyone???) and Alan Jackson (he's like effin' Jimmy Buffet from Texas. It's great.) My family unfortunately, being the rednecks they are from Vermont, will tell you that I've always loved country music but that was only when I was younger and...had no taste in tunes. I blame southern boys for bringing me back to my...music roots.

And speaking of Southern Boys...have you HEARD those accents??? I mean...talk about being able to make you weak in the knees with a simple "hey y'all.." Geez. Gimme a fan!

Unfortunately, for as much as I love my lil' fling with the South, I know I'll be back to the North sooner (hopefully rather than Later). I mean, in January? It gets to be 20 degrees but no snow. No no...just rain.

Washington, DC is kind of the bastard child of the south. They call it the city of "Northern Hospitality and Southern Efficiency"...Southerners don't live the GO-GO-GO! lifestyles of us northerners, and well Northerners aren't known for their manners so go figure. If it wasn't the bastard child and would stop straddling the line and pick a side, we might be able to make this a little more long term but I don't think I could ever say ya'll seriously, nor do i think I could ever grow to love grits - that icky breakfast food.

For now, I'll stick to my JCrew, pearls and listening to country music...that's about as Southern I'll get but once I throw back a couple beers, and start cursin' like a sailor, my lil "I want to be southern too" facade is all over.

So that's all for me. I hope I was a reasonable substitute for meghan and all her fabulousness, but if you want more "i wish i was southern action" hop over to my blog! Happy Spring everyone (and by spring, it's 90 degrees out with an unreasonable level of humidity for April....I think we skipped that season :( bah!)

Sloppy Firsts

When Megan mentioned she was going on her fabulous Trip of Northern Aggression, the words of Michael Scott immediately sprang to mind. “Abraham Lincoln once said, ‘If you are racist, I will attack you with the North.’” I could really go for some colored greens right about now…

(Side note: We’ve come a long and weird way since the Diversity Day episode of The Office. I loved last night’s bizarro episode, but that never would have flown two or three seasons ago.)

(Side note to self: Gretchen, you don’t just launch into a critique of your favorite show without properly introducing yourself!)

Oh hai! I’m Gretchen, a.k.a. Gretch-a-sketch if ya nasty. I’m your Friday Fill-in!

Traditionally, I make top three lists. Without further ado, here are the Top Three: Reasons I Adore Megan…

1. Hello, cute shoes! The pictures speak for themselves.

2. She makes me laugh and I’m always secretly thrilled when people that make me laugh are willing to be my friend, too.

3. She’s super sarcastic, but also incredibly sweet to send me books when I need good reads.


Confession time: I’m a virgin guest poster…this is my first time. I think it’s only appropriate to tell you all ('scuse me, y'all) about another first time. (Disclaimer: I’m really, really Mormon. Therefore, this is going to be a very PG-rated story, but in the good Pixar-way, not in the lame Disney-sequel-way.)

I’m talking about the huge event in every young LDS girl’s life—leaving the VL club.

It was October of my senior year of high school. (Back story: Six months earlier, I met a boy we’ll call Denny. We met at a…you guessed it…Denny’s in SoCal during band tour. I was an orch dork, he was 100% band geek.) I asked him to the Dogpatch Dance (my school’s version of Sadie Hawkins) and had a decent enough time. It was a reaaaaaalllly long date, so by the end of the night I was pretty much sick of him and ready to go home. Naturally, we went out again three weeks later and held hands.

There was a whole lot of convoluted high school drama for the next few months. I won’t bore you with the details, we’ve all been there. ANYHOW, exactly six months to the day after the dance, we were hanging out with some friends. It included a movie and Jamba Juice. At Jamba, Denny and I split a Raspberry Lime Sublime and shared the same straw.

Holy cow, this was a big deal to me at the time. You see, we’d been side-stepping around the kissing issue for a good two months or so. We were both chicken, so nothing transpired. I thought for sure he’d take the initiative during Band Tour 2: Electric Boogaloo, but NO.

But this night, I knew for sure something was going to happen. There was a long walk around the park and a longer walk up to the doorstep (at least, it felt like it). I’d be make this clear right away—the doorstep scene? Was about thirty minutes long. About ninety-nine point seven percent of that was spent either a) talking about the fact that we should just get the kissing thing over with already or b) in silence, awkwardly hugging. Add this to the facts that the whole neighborhood could watch if they felt so inclined and that my parents could possibly hear the whole thing from the bedroom window equals one very surreal experience.

Basically, our conversation went something like this:
G: Thanks! I had a great time tonight.
D: Hey, me too! So…uh, you know that thing I’ve been wanting to do for a while? Do you think we should? [The word “kiss” was never said the entire night.]
G: I dunno…do you?
D: Yeah, but I mean, how…um…how do we go about this?
G: I don’t know! You’re the guy in this relationship.
D: Well, you’re the brains!
G: sighs Okay, well, um, maybe we just…I don’t know, are you sure you want to?
D: sighs Yes, I’m sure.
G: Okay then.

This is where I nervously lick my lips and pull away from the hug to face him. Then I freak out and go back into the hug stage. We repeat this about twenty times, which is NOT an overestimatation.

Finally, it gets to the point where I know I have to just get it over with or I’d go inside and nothing would ever happen. So, I face him and begin to slo-o-o-o-wly lean in. (The whole 90-10 Hitch rule wouldn’t come out for another year or so. This was definitely a 50-50 effort.) Once our mouths meet, there was a slight attacking on my part, because I want a good first kiss, dangit! However, I think his train of thought went, “Choo-choo! All aboard for the Awkward Express! Next stop: Gymclassville. Your conductor would also like to note that apparently just touching lips is enough to count for a first kiss." Holy miscommunication, Batman! I stop, because he isn’t kissing me back. Not good. There’s a fair amount of tense laughter and then he has the gall to suggest we try it again! Oh yeah, he also adds, “My way or your way?”

Me: what the huh? Your way, I guess.

This time goes slightly better, but it’s still just a peck.

Repeat AGAIN.

Curfew rolls around and I start to go in to my house. He stops me and asks me if he can kiss me goodnight. It’s short, but really quite sweet. I step inside, check in with my mom, and get ready for bed. I look in the mirror and I believe my exact thought was, “Wow. That was weird and not really very fun. What’s the big fuss?”

The kissing definitely improved, although things didn’t work out with Denny in the long run. And there you have it, internet. I’ve told that story a million times over to roomies and friends, but never seen it all written out like that. Feel free to cringe, since I know I did.

Come and say hi!

Because you all takes too much time to say...

Howdy, y’all! I’m EP from Stylish Handwriting, and today, I’m holding down the fort while Megan continues her Trip of Northern Aggression.

And since Megan is (kind of) visiting my neck of the woods, I want tell y’all about some Southern things. Because I am a Southerner despite my Louisiana friends calling me a Yankee AND there’s something fun and sweet and soft about the drawl even though my voice doesn’t show it.

I COULD tell y’all about our granma’s and ma’s (and maybe our own) ability to fry a chicken or a turkey like y’all wouldn’t believe and our love for some home-cooked, tasty grub. (OK, the first part is stereotypically Southern and doesn't hold true some of the time, but you'd be surprised how many great cooks there are down here).

I could also write about Southern hospitality and how I think it’s one of the greatest things in the world. I mean, how many other places in the world can you walk around on a (football) game day and be offered a plate of food AND a beer by strangers because you “look like a poor, starving college student?” Yes, please, I would LOVE a third helping of your jambalaya, thankyouverymuch. Is it cool if my friend Emily grabs a plate, too?

But what I really want to say?

I love the contraction and second person plural pronoun y’all. A lot.

OK, please don’t stop reading. I promise there is a better reason for it than me loving whenever Brit Brit slurs it every once in a while. Because I like to think it sounds prettier when I say it than when she does. And it sounds a lot prettier than the way it looks/reads.

Y’all is one of my FAVE utterances. It works in SO many different contexts. And you’d be surprised just how many times a true Southerner can use this word in a string of thoughts.

Don’t worry – I won’t try to impress y’all with my fabulous y’all-writing skills (even though everyone should know that my y’all-speaking skills are much stronger). Y’all should already know that once I get on a roll with this, y’all will be thrown out numerous times. I can guarantee it. And this gets really, really bad whenever I have had a little too much to drink.

A born and bred Tennessean, I grew up thinking y’all was a word everyone used. But whenever we visited the Pennsylvanian cousins, my sister and I were mocked because, apparently, we “speak slow” and they don’t understand why we use y’all. Because their second person plural, you-uns, makes SO much more sense. *rolls eyes*

Twenty-three years later, they still don’t understand, and the mockery continues.

But it got me thinking today. Why DO we use the word y’all and, more specifically, why do I love it so?

Well, I certainly don’t know its history and the first man to utter it, but I can tell you it’s a whole HELL of a lot easier than saying you all. Or you-uns.

And in my opinion, y’all flows beautifully. And, as a Southerner, I appreciate words that float off the tip of my tongue, sound sweet and are relatively easy to say. That’s why I like to say ‘preciate instead of appreciate. And I don’t call it a soft drink, a soda, a pop or a Coca-Cola – I ask for a Coke, even when I want a Dr. Pepper, and specify after I’m asked ‘What kind of Coke?’

The way I see it, y’all is my ONE word to show I am a true Southerner. And I use it with pride because I can. And y’all will notice that whenever I let myself go, I say it a whole hell of a lot.

So please don’t judge me just because I adore this word and wrote it, like, a million times here. (OK, only 19, but who’s counting?)

Y’all will find that when you start using it, it’s hard to stop. And maybe Megan is being indoctrinated right now so when she comes home from her Trip of Northern Aggression, she’ll have a little Southern-ness about her.

OK, probably not, but it’d be fun to hear/read a California girl saying y’all. Am I right, or am I right?

Heaven in some incomprehensible packaging

Yo yo! Wow, I am WAY too white to say that. Let me start over.

Hi, this is Arielle from Good things come to those who whine bringing you your very first guest post while Megan is out on her, dun dun DUNNN, Trip of Northern Aggression! I wish all my vacations had cool names.

Today I'm going to introduce you all to the wonder that is ASIAN SNACK FOOD. If you've already experienced Asian snacks, or are lucky enough to have experienced Asian snacks while actually understanding what the crap it says on those crazy packages, you are a fortunate, fortunate individual. If not, the following will change your life.

I live in New York, and yesterday after work I had to go down down to Chinatown (what a good name for a song - Down Down to Chinatown) to run an errand. Since I'm hardly ever in the area I decided to make it worth my while and stop by the supermarket to pick up some of my favorite fun treats. Here is a sampling of what amazing things they offer:

Tiny chocolate-filled koalas! (Note: no actual koalas were harmed in the making of this product).

To be honest, I don't even know what this is. The girl ahead of me in the checkout line put it back and I snatched it up. It looks like some kind of delicious panda cookie. Made with real pandas! Just kidding. Actually, I might not be. You never know with these things.

Wasabi peas! If you read my blog (AND YOU SHOULD), you'll know that I had a run-in with these yesterday. And actually, that wasn't even the first time. I overdo it pretty much every time I eat these. They aren't that crazy of a snack but still delicious. Anyone remember those Bud "WHASSAAAAAAP" commercials from back in the day? The "WASAAAAABI" one? Priceless.

POCKY! Pocky is wonderful. They're tiny biscuit sticks covered with some kind of flavored cream. This is the "Lovely Halloween" pack. Because Lovely Halloween is only 6 months away - better stock up on your pumpkin pocky NOW. Doesn't that strawberry guy look kind of frightening, by the way? I may have nightmares about him.

Turds in a box! Okay, I didn't buy these. I would never even consider it. It really looked like they just got a bunch of people to poop in a box. I decided to skip over these and a bunch of other stuff. Like shrimp-flavored chips. Not my thing.

I hope you enjoyed this festival of fun. This cornucopia of crazy, if you will (I sadly can't take credit for that phrase). Go run to your nearest Asian market and treat your tastebuds. NOW. I promise you won't regret it (unless you buy the box of poop, I can't vouch for that).

T-minus three days!

Oh yes...I am excited. Wednesday morning, GP and I will be on our way to Atlanta, where we will do all sorts of crazy-fun things, and then over to Charleston for a wedding, and then back to Atlanta for our departure on Sunday. Because I am a genius, and think that revisionist history is charming, I have decided that I am going to call this journey The Trip of Northern Aggression. Even though I am not technically a Yankee, I am decidedly not very southern (despite my love for beignets and iced tea and magnolias). And GP is from New York, so I will claim his Yankee-hood as my own. I am hoping that we will get to experience a ton of unique Georgia/South Carolina stuff, and I know that we will have great hosts to guide us to all the fabulous stuff we'll be doing (GP did go to school in Atlanta, so I expect there will be less novelty for him). There will, of course, be a long rehash of all the awesome stuff we did while we were there, as long as numerous photographs of us standing in front of Important Southern Places (maybe the ADPi Executive Office? So magical!).

There will also, in the meantime, be a few awesome guest bloggers-- and if you are interested in being one of the Chosen Awesome, let me know, because there are a few days on which there will be no T&CT posts, and that makes me feel itchy.

Running faster and jumping higher than ever before!

With these!



Actually, very little running and jumping was done today, but I like to think the pink stripes would enable a little extra physical prowess.

Nothing much of note today-- though I did try on my several dress options for the wedding we'll be going to in Charleston next weekend, narrowed down because there are a few that are fitting a little strangely. As in...not. Maybe it's time for the gym, in between glasses of wine and smears of goat cheese. Just maybe. The dress, in case you are wondering (and I know you are!), is a black Calvin Klein that I found at Marshall's for super-cheap, because that is how I roll. A bit of pleating in the front, with a modified halter neck, and the bonus is that I will get to wear a regular bra. Score! There will be gold shoes, of course.

Oh! Speaking of this upcoming vacation/trip/out-of-town-being, I was thinking of potentially having some guest bloggers do some posts, so that I don't have to be all anti-social while I am soaking up the charms of the South. Any volunteers? I may be able to sweeten the deal with some souvenirs...

This is what I get for reading...

I totally just spoiled the end of Into the Wild. Sorry! Seriously, though. Did we not think the hugely self-righteous, poor-little-white-guy prick main character was going to go...into the wild...and just emerged all enlightened and shit, fine and healthy? No, we did not. Eddie Vedder does not participate in soundtracks for films in which this is the ending.

I am hoping that GP doesn't punch me in my sleep.

P.S. Emile Hirsch looks a bit like Wolverine with that hair and beard, no?

Los fill-ins del viernes

Yeah, I just rocked your face off with my Spanish skills. Let's move on, shall we?

1. The last time I lost my temper, I was probably annoyed with GP for not doing something for me. Wait, that makes me sound like a crazy person; let me amend this to say that he either left the toothpaste in the wrong bathroom or refused to clean up
something that was "mine," even though it was part of a chore he was doing. Truthfully, I do not really "lose my temper"...ever. There is usually only glaring and maybe some degree of slamming around, then we're back to normals after about four minutes.

2. Passive-aggressive management is what I'm fed up with! See: earlier posts from this week. We will not be talking about it anymore, because it makes me pensive in a bad way.

3. The next book I'd like to read is Proust and the Squid. Although this is a cheating-answer, because I started it about two months ago, and just haven't found my way back into it yet. So, officially, it is the book I'd like to finish next. I am also welcoming any book suggestions. Oh! Has anyone read I Was Told There Would Be Cake? I am hearing good-ish things about it.

4. My two-day work week next week, and Odyssey to the South are what I'm looking forward to. Cannot wait! We leave Wednesday for Atlanta, drive to Charleston on Friday, and then are back to Atlanta on Saturday...with a baseball game, trip to the aquarium, and wedding in between! I cannot promise any great blog action, but will probably bring my computer, so we'll see what happens.

5. If you can't get rid of the skeleton[s] in your closet, buy them funny wigs and put them in your living room! That way, you will have a couple great conversation pieces that you can discuss before things get too awkward with houseguests. Really, having a sense of humor about the skeletons is the best way to go.

6. The best thing I got in the mail recently was a magazine trifecta today! I am a compulsive magazine-subscriber, and today, Allure, Real Simple, and Self arrived. Looks like my weekend is booked!

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to making Cook's Country beef teriyaki and watching a movie with GP, tomorrow my plans include going to my mom and stepdad's house to wash my car and weed through some stuff I have there, and bring back an amount small enough that GP will let me bring it into the apartment (I think he is hoping for an amount like "nothing"), and Sunday, I want to go to a Bridal Fair/Extravaganza with a friend! Yes, it's true, I have engagement/wedding envy. I get to pretend to be her maid of honor, and there will be a fashion show (but probably not at lunch).

What are you up to this weekend, internets?

Wild diva

First,


Got these in the Fashion District in downtown LA, which is a truly horrible and depressing place to be. Los Angeles is the only city I've been to in which the downtown area is seriously the least desirable part of it-- and that's saying something, for a place as never-ending and sprawly as LA. At any rate, these are flats, but have a funny little heel that slides around on slick floors (was the reason I almost fell down at a super-nice Napa restaurant when GP took me there for my birthday two years ago, so embarrassing), and makes an authoritative clacking sound when I walk anywhere that is uncarpeted. Also, the brand name? Wild Diva. Seriously. Probably the most awesome shoe brand name, ever. That's what $7 will buy you in downtown LA.

Back in blonde

Well, not that I was that far away from it, in the first place. Really, highlights are an expensive pain in the ass, my the Vietnamese lady who does my hair is always like, "You look like model!" when she finishes, and it makes me happy. So, shut up. It's better to be blonde now that I don't live in LA anymore, because slightly less than all of the women here have my same haircolor. You know, because I like to be different from at least some of the other girls. There will be a picture at some point, when I am more interested in arm's-length photography, or I can coerce GP into taking a picture of my new, pretty hair...

Oh, and random: the salon has a tv with DirecTV service, and for whatever reason, it is always tuned to WGN. Um, hello, this is San Jose, folks. Our channels start with a "K," mmkay? The strangest part of this whole foreign-television thing is that the news was on while I was in there, and there was all this coverage of UFO sightings in Gary, and tons of pope coverage, whereas here the UFO sightings happen in Bonny Doon, and people are more into protesting China than hangin' with the pope. The weather came on, too, and I just imagined those slightly-less-than-proficient English learners being totally confused. Rain? Temperatures lower than 75? These weather guys are totally off!

Ok, the peroxide is bubbling into my brain. Time to watch my stories. (It is Thursday, you know.) I leave you with this, which is an exaggerated version of the place I get my hair cut (it is an all-purpose beauty destination!).

It Girl

I have been tagged by Tipp for the "Six Truths/Facts/Quirks About Me" thing, so here goes nothin'...

The rules:
Rules are:
* Link to the person that tagged you.
* Post the rules on your blog.
* Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
* Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
* Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

1. I am more likely to cry when I am angry than when I am sad. Sad? I get pretty quiet, shut down, don't want to be around anyone. But, angry? Begin the waterworks-- I think it's the frustration element of being so mad, yet so unable to express it in any way that I can wrap my brain around. You know, except for a good old Angry Blog Entry.

2. I am a horrible, terrible person when it comes to the exercise portion of the "healthy living" thing. I want to do it, I know I should do it, and I feel guilty that I only do it about once or twice a month. The size of my ass isn't enough to convince me to hop on a treadmill, apparently. I am hoping that I can find some motivation or way to distract myself from the Pure and Complete Torture of Working Out before I am that lady who has to be lifted out of her apartment with a crane so that she can appear on Maury. Please halp.

3. I couldn't bring myself to drink more than a sip of beer before my junior year of college. It completely disgusted me. Since then, however, beer and I have become friends, and I love the thought of a Blue Moon with an orange wedge on a summer Saturday, or a Sierra Nevada at a baseball game. Hell, even the seasonal Sam Adams is generally acceptable. Yes, I am a slight beer snob...but that's ok with me.

4. This is pretty obvious to anyone who has ever spent more than twelve seconds with me, or probably read anything that I've written, but oh well-- I am really, really judgmental and critical, sometimes to the point of slight cruelty. While I feel guilty about this at times, I mostly wish that people understood that I have the power to turn that same judgment and criticism back in on myself. So, as much as I might be over-judge-y with others, trust me, I am the same way with myself. So...shut up.

5. I hate speaking on the phone. I don't think it's because I am overly self-conscious about the way my voice/"accent" (yes, I am from California...it's not exaggerated, but I am told that I "sound like I am from California"), but rather because part of my first out-of-college job required calling people and trying to sell them/their children "memberships" at my tutoring center. Granted, they had provided the contact information, but I still felt like such a sleaze. I much prefer email, IM, texting...carrier pigeons, smoke signals. Seriously. I hate the phone. Even for doing things that I know I need to do, like dinner reservations or hair appointments. I can't explain it.

6. This is a poorly-kept secret: I love, love, love Disneyland. If you haven't, you need to read GP's Disneyland trip report (because we are nerds, and he seriously wrote this epic theme park narrative instead of doing work yesterday) to understand the depth of this love. I prefer the California park because I am a California supremacist, and because I love the immediacy of all of the park's attractions and its ability to completely envelop you in the experience of being there. As someone intensely interested in storytelling, I love the continuity of the "story" of the park-- everything is intentionally arranged, scented, flavored, and presented, just for you (and thousands of your Goofy-hat-wearing brethren).

All right. I am hereby tagging...
Michelle, of Michelle and the City
Renee, authoress of A Beautiful Day in the Reneeborhood
Confessions of a Jersey Girl's Rachel Elizabeth
Nicole of More is Better
Emily, over at Sea Legs
EP of Stylish Handwriting, who I cannot stop tagging and awarding things to

Don't cry at work; it's unprofessional

Hello, friends. I had a bit of a crummy day at work, so there is very little that I want to report about the day-- it was lame, despite my best pink-and-white Tretorn efforts. (But I did not cry. I am pretty good at Keeping It Together.)


Note: shoes photograph larger than they are. I assure you my feet are regularly sized.

If you need some entertainment, or just want to get to know the man behind the initials a little better, head over to GP's site-- he's finally getting around to posting an "epic" trip report of our Disneyland visit in January. About time, no?

Twu wuv

So, there has been this thing going around, and I want to play, too! Previous participants include the lovely Tipp, Michelle, Brandy, Brooke, and MissK, so you know this was a boat that I had to get on. If you haven't already, you definitely need to do this-- having just finished mine, I was pleasantly surprised at how much my mood had improved. So nice to remind oneself of how much there is to be thankful for, you know, in a way that does not make others want to gag or anything. Oh! And don't forget: this puppy has to be about you, not a single person you know-- no husbands, daughters, pets, or moms. The point is to write about how you define the things you love, not how they define you. (Although I suppose ultimately that is also what ends up happening. Anyway.)

I love being a girl. I love that I have the power to choose the way I want to live my life, to change my haircolor on a whim, and to constantly surprise myself and others with what I am capable of. I love not feeling guilty for loving my eyelash curler, and I love knowing how to successfully use a hammer and a level. I love Philosophy Falling In Love perfume, Ponds moisturizer, and DuWop Lip Venom. I love deciding to scrap the beauty routine on a Sunday and sit on the couch with a ponytail and sweatpants (American Apparel, if I must). I love that I have a very particular routine during which everything is scrubbed, moisturized, brushed, and treated before I can begin a normal day—it helps me get through the first part of my morning and out of the apartment at a reasonable time.

I love organization and office supplies. I love file folders, Post-Its, and Dr. Grip pens. I love the smell of a brand new notebook, waiting to be scribbled into. I love cutting and pasting, writing reminders to myself, and thinking of new ways to arrange things. I love color-coding, cross-indexing, and alphabetizing.

I love food. I love shopping for it, washing, opening, preparing, and creating new things with it. I love that the sum of a recipe is generally greater than its parts, and I love each and every part that goes into my favorite things to eat. I love cooking for myself, and for other people. I love inviting people into my home to feed and entertain them, and I love to bring food places, especially work, where I am convinced that I can continue to curry favor through cupcake-giving. I love always having a snack on hand, because you know what I am like when I don’t eat (that is to say, Crazy Lady From Hell).

I love California in the spring and fall (although I can’t really complain too much about winter and summer). I love the sense of purpose that the fall brings, even though I have been out of school for a couple years and have nothing to do with summer reading lists or new syllabi. I love transitioning from too-warm and sweaty in the summer to just right and crisp in the fall, when I can finally break out sweaters for the aesthetics as opposed to plain old need. I love changing out of those same sweaters in the spring and back to the flip-flops that await me like old friends, their quiet slapping sound following me as I walk to my car and open the sunroof, which I can do because, dammit, I live in California and it’s practically the law. I love to sing along with songs on the radio that I love to pretend were written about me. I love going to the beach before it becomes miserably hot, not to swim (heaven forbid!), but to take a book that I’ve already read and skim through its dog-eared pages while I make sure that my beach snacks are carefully guarded from scheming seagulls. I love reading, becoming so engrossed in the world created in those pages that I can tune out everything around me.

I love nights out with friends almost as much as I love to stay in on Friday nights. I love to talk too loudly because of ambient bar noise, to high-five when they play “Sweet Caroline” and “Livin’ on a Prayer,” to feel the effervescence of my gin and tonic, slightly spiked with lime. I love to wait all week just to have that “night in,” even though the previous four or five nights have also been “in.” I love to scroll through our movie selection and take 40 minutes to choose the perfect one, or cycle through the entire weeks’ episodes of Martha, just because I can.

I love sleep. I love falling asleep, and I love waking up after a full night’s sleep. I love that I rarely need my alarm clock to wake me up, and I love that I don’t have to set my alarm for a crazy-early time. I love taking up too much of the bed, kicking off covers in the middle of the night. I love my seemingly never-ending parade of pajama pants.

I love traveling and being in new places. I love to fly, I love to drive, and I love trains. I love the sense of possibility when I pull my suitcase off the baggage carousel. I love adjusting my schedule to the rhythm of being away from home, to the rhythm that places unknown possess. I love seeing and buying brands of food, clothing, and toiletries that I am completely unfamiliar with, just to make sure that I am fully experiencing everything. I love to people-watch, and to imagine the world that exists in everyone that inhabits this new, strange place.

If I had a million dollars...

...I would probably buy most of the things listed in my bi-weekly Shop It To Me email. I'd start with these...

Givenchy, courtesy of zappos.com, a steal at $333.

Then, of course, this Calvin Klein number, which is under $200!



Somehow, I can't justify spending over $100 on a top, even this cute DVF one.



I am, however, now accepting opinions on the following "sweater." Come on, it's only $40! And don't worry, I will probably wear a shirt under it.



P.S. Today my shoes are boring. But here you go, anyway. I love that my job lets me get away with these. Screw you, business casual!



Note: black flipflops + black carpet = wtf shoes

The reason I am snickering distractingly

...during GP's self-inflicted "work on my class project" time.



I am stationed on the looooove seat, drinking white wine and laughing like a crazy lady at this and this. You're welcome, internets.

Ashton Kutcher hosts SNL; or, I Wish I Could Have Kept on Forgetting

Oh, you guys. I was thinking that the Ashton Kutcher/Gnarls Barkley SNL was next weekend, so I went about my usual Sunday and up-until-now-on Monday business, ignorant of my lack of recap duties. Thanks to Tivo, however, everything is ok—I am home from work, have posted the obligatory shoe picture, have rotated all the coasters on the coffee table precisely 40 degrees clockwise, and am ready to roll! (Note: OCD tendencies exaggerated for effect)

So, Ashton Kutcher. I am not among the population of Women of a Certain Age who find him terribly dreamy; in fact, until recently, I have found him pretty annoying and basically repellent. Anyone seen Punk’d? Yeah, me too. Hated every freaking second of it. Seriously, I would rather have had bamboo shoots slid underneath my fingernails than watch his lame ass pop into the frame, screaming at some celebrity or other. Luckily, the days of both the production and airing of Punk’d (I will kindly ignore the egregious misspelling of the title, I think it’s supposed to be “hip” or something. Who knows, with the kids these days) have ceased, and Mr. Kutcher has married Demi Moore and they lead a quiet, Kabbalah-centered life in which he takes short breaks to tell Elle about the sex conversations they have with Demi’s children. Gross. And while he had his moments on That 70’s Show, I was always much more of a fan of Topher Grace and the guy who played Red, than I was of Kelso. The point here is, I am scared, terrified of what Ashton will end up doing to/on SNL. I am hoping for a Target Lady sketch, and I am afraid the days of Deep House Dish have passed (which makes me sad, because “Ooh wee, T’Shane!” had become one of the favorite catchphrases of the GP/MS household, mainly the MS part). Let’s see what you’ve got, Ashton Kutcher.

Cold open: C-SPAN upcoming programming includes “Think-Tank Nerds discuss some topic no one cares about,” followed by “questions from even nerdier audience members.” Sounds like a winner. Please let there be some Ashton Kutcher in glasses! Because you know that that means he’s a nerd. Ok, so it’s the testimony of David Petraeus, played by Will Forte. I believe the French (and my ever-profane father) would call this a “clusterfuck.” Petraeus and MCain (Darrell Hammond) talk about the “goals” that have been “met” in Iraq, and it’s more depressing than funny—especially given the actual “progress” that’s happened. Amy P. as Hillary C. lies that she opposed the war from the beginning, and even since 1970, and I cry a little inside and think of Tuzla. Oh, and for all interested parties, the Iraqi National Museum of Antiquities will remain in Iraq, not moved to Wheeling, West Virginia, where there is ample parking and an Applebee’s. Petraeus gets a little starstruck by Obama, who will be the next president (I know, right?)—Fred Armisen’s impression leaves me a little cold, because he has the cadence and everything down right, but something about the accent is off. I am as bored by this sketch as I am by regular C-SPAN.

Enter Ashton, doing some air guitar in a way that makes me want to dry-gulch him. Hard. He is wearing a scarf, and it’s his third time hosting SNL?!?! What. The. Hell. Well, I do love me some Beauty and the Geek. He’s talking about producing, and it is now my dream that Lorne Michaels comes out and gives him a wet willie. It doesn’t happen. Demi Moore shows up instead, and why isn’t she hosting? I would prefer that, I think. The writers won’t let him in—let me say again that I am in hardcore l-o-v-e with the SNL writing staff. Haha, the “joke” is that everyone hates Ashton Kutcher. That is hilarious. I fake-fake hate him, too! The funniest part of this “monologue” is when Andy Samberg asks Kenan Thompson if he has any weed (a staple of good comedy), to which Kenan responds that he might, after the “light [in the camera] goes off.” Best part, mostly because Ashton Kutcher wasn’t present—GP, who is “working” on his thesis, agrees.

There is some bullshit movie coming out with Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcher, which I imagine is a pure distillation of all my most-hated celebrities in film form. If only it were created by the writers of such gems as White Chicks, the Scary Movie franchise, and [Insert Random Genre Here] Movie franchise. Can you believe the same guys did all that? I mean, the “Let’s put together some marginally humorous lines from other successful movies and call it a parody! Is Carmen Electra available? Who am I kidding, she always is…” school of film writing and directing is what’s keeping our kids addicted to drugs, I’m fairly sure. (Sorry for the vitriol—my blood is just all angried up now)

The Cougar Den. Hmm, I wonder if this is where we will see Demi Moore. I will vote “yes.” There is a lot of age-inappropriate clothing, on Deirdre (Amy P.), Jacqeline (Kristen W.), and Toni (Casey W.) as they talk about seeing shitty movies with their young boyfriends, followed by “blowjoys” (“It’s certainly not a job!” Gross). Kiki DiAmore, who is fucking goddamn Cameron Diaz with her big stupid mouth and complete lack of talent shows up, wearing a curious blend of animal prints, and shaking her stupid, skinny, no-hipped ass. I scream. Seriously, you guys, I screamed in the study. It was inappropriate study behavior, but I had to do it. I need warning if she’s going to be on my television. I gather my strength to get through the rest of the sketch…Cameron D. has a Charo accent and some enormous bra inserts. The “breasts” outperform her. Girl, I have seen Charo on The Surreal Life, and you are no Charo. Charo would cuchi-cuchi you into oblivion. Also, let it be known that you can do Kegels while talking—no break necessary! I could be doing them now, you’d never know. Ashton blands around in some tennis whites and a headband…and it is an express, one-way ticket to Lametown.

May 10th, Shia LaBoeuf and My Morning Jacket. I love me some LaBoeuf, and have never heard of the band. You guys are pretty hip—what do we know about them?

Cowboy Ashton, who I would at least like to make “dance” by shooting at the ground near his feet (too mean? I submit that it is not!), brings us into a sketch where Kenan is the bouncer at a velvet-rope club that I swear is either called “Tat City” or “Fat City.” Please, please let it be Fat City! Kenan is hesitant to let Ashton (playing himself, really showing his comic range) into the club. Various lamewads are let in, and Ashton is not, despite name-dropping himself. In principle, I love this sketch. There was too much Kutcher, though.

The Andy Samberg Love Machine (here, as Clementine) brings us “Daquiri Girl,” a charming tune that has a text scroll in the foreground about how there was a major musician signed up to do a new Digital Short, and bailed. Whatever, I give “Daquiri Girl” a solid C+.

Activia Yogurt Lady (Amy P.) and Ashton Kutcher are excited to meet Jamie Lee Curtis, who is crazy about Activia yogurt. They are all very jokey about JLC keeping her top on, and I am here to tell you that we do not need to see any naked older ladies around here. Also, this is ostensibly a commercial about a yogurt that makes you poo. Neeeeext.

Gnarls Barkley. Bleep-bloop. I dig your rockabilly hair, Cee-Lo. Also, Danger Mouse on piano? Holla!

Weekend Update! Yay! Rumsfeld gave the Bush Administration a “List of Horribles,” which they have succeeded brilliantly in…accomplishing. American Airlines cancelled a shitload of flights, but luckily not the one that my friends had to be on for a wedding in OKC this weekend (that second part is not reported, however). Tips on air travel from Kristen Wiig as Judy Grimes—we learn that she is probably on some above-therapeutic level of uppers, and is also “just kidding.” It is not very funny. NYPD will be steroid testing, High School Musical 4 is in the works, and Charlton Heston is dead. Nicholas Fehn appears for some political “comedy,” which is quite reminiscent of the FREE! COMEDY! SHOWS! that happened every Monday night at a bar near the UCLA campus. The headliner was often the bang-your-head-against-a-wall, smash-your-pinky-toe-with-a-hammer, completely unfunny Godfrey. That is all you need to know.

Ashton Kutcher…giving a piggyback ride to himself, leads into the Dudes Meeting Up in a Bar For Some Domestic Beer. The jukebox plays “Amy,” they share varying degrees of humorous anecdotes, then bust out with some sweet Village People costumes when “YMCA” comes on.

A chocolate bar sneaks up on a bum who is digging through the trash, then stabs him and runs away. “Death by Chocolate.” I am…scared? Confused? Not. Laughing.

The Mellow Show, with our host Jack Johnson (of course it is Andy Samberg, with bare feet, a douchey man-necklace, and an acoustic guitar) from the sunny shores of Oahu. Dave Matthews (Bill Heder) shows up, and they talk mellow stuff for awhile, each with a stranger speaking voice than the other. John Mayer (Ashton) arrives, and they poorly harmonize “introducing ourselves” pretty poorly. Can I please point out here that pot-smoking does not a mellow guy or gal make? Because some people do flip the hell out when they have puffed the magic dragon. Just sayin’.

More Death by Chocolate. Do. Not. Want.

More Gnarls Barkley. I am not in touch with What the Kids Like.

More Western wear from Ashton Kutcher, and we are at The Rusty Pony, which is a gross name for a strip club. The Gilded Lily, maybe? That sounds so nice and exotic and feminine! When I open the Gilded Lily, all real-friend and blog-friend lapdances will be half off—those poor girls have to make a living somehow! Drinks will be on me, though. Grown men, drinking shots of Jager? Mmm, maybe not. Oh, and also, it turns out The Rusty Pony is a. A quadriplegic young lady comes out and is assisted with her erotic dance routine—it seems opera-length gloves are hard to remove when one can’t move one’s arms or legs. Also, do strippers always do a running commentary? This does not even count as Dirty Talk. Rhinestone bustiers and a fringed jumpsuit make this sketch a candidate for the Best of the Episode.

Bearded Andy looks for his chainsaw, and we see what is hopefully the end of Death By Chocolate.

Sweet Jesus, it’s over. I’ll see you in a few weeks, where I am hoping we will get to see a redux of Even Stevens. Woo, original Disney programming!

Ordinary.

Had to get the Daily Shoe in at some point today...just plain old Converse All-Star low-tops (because what am I, 11? Seriously, I did have a sweet denim pair with the Tasmanian Devil on the side when I was about that age). A perfect Monday shoe, really, because you have to have something to build from, and when you're going to work in jeans and a North Face half-zip fleece pullover (see: Stuff White People Like), the Converse call out to you like a siren song from the closet.

Oh, and I am planning on jumping off the proverbial blogger bridge-- I'm working on a "love" list, somewhat inspired by the Converse. Other things I am loving right now include: Papaya Mango Salsa with tortilla chips from Trader Joe's, the fact that we now have a desk in our study, and that I currently have a job to which I can wear Converse, jeans, and a fleece pullover and not get fired.

What do you love today, internets?

M is for Monday, and a new meme

Well, new to me, that is... Saw this over at A Study of Schoolbooks and Shoes, and thought, Hey, I am really dragging today, but can probably manage some searches in between various Very Important Event Planning Tasks (more on this later, of course). With this in mind, I give you...

1. Go to Photobucket (don't sign in-- Flickr is also a pretty sweet picture source, which you all know because you are Masters of Technology and the Interwebs)

2. Type in your answer to the question in the "search" box

3. Use only the first page

4. Copy the html and paste for the answer.

Here goes...

1. First name?


2. Favorite color?


3. Celebrity crush?


4. Band you're listening to now?


5. Favorite movie?


6. Favorite Disney princess?


7. Favorite alcoholic beverage?


8. Dream vacation?


9. Favorite dessert?


10. What do you want to be when you grow up?

That's right, a Lady Who Sleeps on Books. Oh, and sorry about the pic quality...I am too impatient to fix them.

Finally, in Other News, I was awarded the Blog of Distinction honor by Maxie, who may or may not be my identical mind twin (we also have the distinction of owning the same pair of NY&Co black patent peep-toe flats...you know, like eleventy-billion other people who regularly shop at malls). I hereby pass this award on to...


EP of Stylish Handwriting, another brain-twin of mine, who is willing to discuss episodes of The Office at length with me. What's not to love?

MissK, who previously rated T&CT "E for Excellent" (thanks again, by the way!), the authoress of Do Your Trick, Turn on the Stars, which is another of the 20sb that I am pretty much in love with.

Chris of Surviving Myself, one of the few guys in my Google Reader, for whatever reason. Perhaps because he is funny as hell, owns a cute puppy, and has a girlfriend on whom I have a mini-crush, because she posts tons of food pictures. I owe him a "thank-you" for commenting on multiple shoe-themed posts, as well-- so, thanks!

Arielle of Good Things Come to Those Who Whine, and not just for the swell blog name. If you aren't already, you need to check her out, because she is whiny in a fun way, not a way that makes you want to pinch her.

Jamie of Oh! How Lovely, another fabulous Chicago blogger, whose dog I covet and whose city has a bounty of cupcakes that she graciously writes about-- much to the chagrin of my drool-covered laptop. Sorry for that image, y'all.