RECAPS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Xavier and Louann spent most of the night side by side at the bar, reminiscing about their brief, but passionate, secret love affair. He teased her about her incessant whining and humongous feet, and she poked fun at the way he cried after both movies and love making. For an hour, they laughed and had an okay time before they fell silent, each silently cursing the other for bringing up the ridiculous past.
Louann gulped down the last of her Vodka-Mountain Dew and smiled smugly. “Poor Xavier,” she started. “You poor man. You’re so devoted to me, and yet so, so alone. I guess I owe you one more unforgettable night.” Xavier choked on his Cosmopolitan. He was embarrassed for her, and a little hurt at her implications. She still didn’t realize it was HE who was taking pity on HER, not the other way around. “You idiot,” he laughed. “What makes you think I want anything from you? You’re the one who will be sleeping alone tonight, honey.” He had spoken so loudly that the bartender chuckled to himself behind the bar. Both stared stubbornly at the other before Louann, humiliated, pulled on her horrendous zebra-striped fur coat and stomped out of the bar.
She hadn’t gotten more than 10 feet from the bar before she was jumped. One of the men poked a gun in her back, while the other snatched her Prada bag. The men were young, Louann noted. And kind of cute. As the two men debated whether or not to make her hand over her tacky – and probably fake – jewelry, Louann batted her eyelashes and tried asking the gun dude for his number. “Is this broad crazy, bro?” he asked his accomplice. “I don’t know, yo, but we better get outta here before we find out for sure!” Louann chased the two men for 5 blocks, pleading for both her purse and a date, before giving up and walking home.
She had no money. No ID. No Tic Tacs. It was near dawn when she arrived back at her house. She walked inside and expected an avalanche of insults and punishments to be hurled at her by her parents. But it was quiet.
A couple hours later, Louann sat at the breakfast table eating her usual dodo bird eggs and unicorn sausage. Her dad, Lou, came in the kitchen and asked, "What the hell are you looking at?" Louann shrugged. She could tell he had been up late, fighting with her mother. His eyes were puffy and glassy and his voice was hoarse from yelling. She asked her father if he wanted any juice. He ignored her.
“Where the hell did your money-grubbing mother go?” he finally demanded. Louann finished her eggs. "All I know is that she is supposed to be going to yogilates this morning and then having a long, solo day at a super fancy spa on the other side of the tracks before meeting you and you alone for a private dinner on your private yacht.” Lou considered this, and silently wondered why Louann suddenly had taken such an interest in her mother’s schedule. He also wondered why Louann had gone to such lengths to plan this crazy, whacked out private date night for her parents, when he knew all too well how much Louann hated them both. He brushed aside his suspicions and went back to ignoring Louann.
When she heard her father’s car drive away, Louann breathed loudly. She had set the trap. The neighbors would know her parents had fought that night. She had gotten the gun to Xavier, and though she had lost her purse with the rest of Xavier’s money in it, she felt confident that he would do what she asked. And if all went according to her haphazard, blatantly obvious plan, her mother would be dead by sundown, Xavier would be headed to prison, and Louann would finally have everything she ever wanted.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Teacher's Pet
So tonight I was working on a little blurbity writing thing for my mom. She asked me to write a little farewell thing to her good friend, and my former band director. He actually taught every kid in my family. So at first, I was all “Hmm…I don’t really remember high school all that much. Wait, I WAS in band, wasn’t I?” Needless to say, it was a slow start. But then all of a sudden, I started having these memories of all the things, I guess you could call them LESSONS, I learned in school. And wouldn’t you know it? Apparently TEACHERS had something to do with it.
A few of my friends now are teachers. It. Is. Weird. First off, I always assumed all my teachers (until college) were like 100 years old and had no life outside of ruining my day with tests. I have a distinct memory of imagining my 5th grade English teacher – who was my favoritest teacher ever – grading papers all night every night and perusing the yearbooks to get to know her students in her spare time. But now, I know the truth: some of them sit down with a bottle of wine, and mindlessly assign B’s and D’s to papers while they watch American Idol. But then they also say things like “I need to think of a good way to explain fractions.” And then they brainstorm all these crazy fun things I would have LOVED to have done in my math classes as a kid. I find myself wishing my friends could have been my teachers. That would have ruled.
I had World’s Worst Teacher in first grade who smacked me on the knuckles with a ruler because I colored something wrong (my mom promptly removed me from the class), and then there was Every Single Math Teacher I Ever Had who I hated, but besides them, I’ve totally loved my teachers. Not surprisingly, the best one (mentioned above) was my first English/Writing teacher. She smelled like cigarettes all the time and had these long pointy finger nails that she’d poke into your head if you goofed off. But guess what? No one ever goofed off twice. Anyway, she taught me about prose and imagery and tone and using adjectives effectively. She picked me to read the part of Juliet when we started reading Shakespeare, and then, as if she were my own little Cupid, picked the boy I had a crush on to read Romeo. I just loved her.
In high school, there was my teacher who announced, on the very first day, “About 90% of you will fail my class. If you think you are in that 90%, please get out.” And then like 5 kids dropped the class because they believed him. But he was lying, and he was hilarious, and he was one of my greatest teachers. He taught me AP European History and I think I understood that better than regular ol’ American History.
In college, my writing classes were taught by grad students. One of them was actually a “working writer”, in that she was actually writing for publications on a regular basis. AND GOT PAID! She wrote (under a pseudonym) for various, eh hem, adult magazines. I was like star struck by her. And when she complimented me on the story I wrote about how much I loved my own butt – yup, that’s Big Ten University education right there, folks – I knew she just got me and I loved her ever since.
There's something really comforting about finally realizing that all those teachers who I loved and admired so much actually had lives outside of me. You know, they didn't just sit alone and concern themselves with what I was going to wear to school the next day like I used to assume. And then all day they'd be all inspiring (and a little scary sometimes). After I graduated and told people I got my degree in English, people always asked "So, are you going to be a teacher?" (as if that's all English majors are good for) and I'd be all disgusted and say "Ugh, no way! Work with kids all day?! PUKE." But I don't think very many people sit around and wax nostalgic about how a Sales Coordinator changed their lives as a kid. Consider this my good deed for the day, though: Thanks, teachers. I guess you're pretty okay. Now, if only you'd just shut up about getting summers off...
A few of my friends now are teachers. It. Is. Weird. First off, I always assumed all my teachers (until college) were like 100 years old and had no life outside of ruining my day with tests. I have a distinct memory of imagining my 5th grade English teacher – who was my favoritest teacher ever – grading papers all night every night and perusing the yearbooks to get to know her students in her spare time. But now, I know the truth: some of them sit down with a bottle of wine, and mindlessly assign B’s and D’s to papers while they watch American Idol. But then they also say things like “I need to think of a good way to explain fractions.” And then they brainstorm all these crazy fun things I would have LOVED to have done in my math classes as a kid. I find myself wishing my friends could have been my teachers. That would have ruled.
I had World’s Worst Teacher in first grade who smacked me on the knuckles with a ruler because I colored something wrong (my mom promptly removed me from the class), and then there was Every Single Math Teacher I Ever Had who I hated, but besides them, I’ve totally loved my teachers. Not surprisingly, the best one (mentioned above) was my first English/Writing teacher. She smelled like cigarettes all the time and had these long pointy finger nails that she’d poke into your head if you goofed off. But guess what? No one ever goofed off twice. Anyway, she taught me about prose and imagery and tone and using adjectives effectively. She picked me to read the part of Juliet when we started reading Shakespeare, and then, as if she were my own little Cupid, picked the boy I had a crush on to read Romeo. I just loved her.
In high school, there was my teacher who announced, on the very first day, “About 90% of you will fail my class. If you think you are in that 90%, please get out.” And then like 5 kids dropped the class because they believed him. But he was lying, and he was hilarious, and he was one of my greatest teachers. He taught me AP European History and I think I understood that better than regular ol’ American History.
In college, my writing classes were taught by grad students. One of them was actually a “working writer”, in that she was actually writing for publications on a regular basis. AND GOT PAID! She wrote (under a pseudonym) for various, eh hem, adult magazines. I was like star struck by her. And when she complimented me on the story I wrote about how much I loved my own butt – yup, that’s Big Ten University education right there, folks – I knew she just got me and I loved her ever since.
There's something really comforting about finally realizing that all those teachers who I loved and admired so much actually had lives outside of me. You know, they didn't just sit alone and concern themselves with what I was going to wear to school the next day like I used to assume. And then all day they'd be all inspiring (and a little scary sometimes). After I graduated and told people I got my degree in English, people always asked "So, are you going to be a teacher?" (as if that's all English majors are good for) and I'd be all disgusted and say "Ugh, no way! Work with kids all day?! PUKE." But I don't think very many people sit around and wax nostalgic about how a Sales Coordinator changed their lives as a kid. Consider this my good deed for the day, though: Thanks, teachers. I guess you're pretty okay. Now, if only you'd just shut up about getting summers off...
Monday, February 7, 2011
9021Ohhhh! I Get it Now!
Eeee! My friend Taylor is, at this very minute, having a baby. Gross! I mean, yay! I asked her how it was going, and she texted me back, "I just got an epidural. I love the epidural man." Haha. I'm so excited for her! I can't wait to see a bunch of naked baby pictures very very soon. Congrats, Taylor!
Welp, it's another night indoors, safe from the frigid biting wind that eats my face off every time I even look out a window. Sanna and I are crashed in front of the TV watching World's Girliest Shows. It's been made glaringly obvious to me lately how different TV has been since the boys moved out. With them, it was all MANswers and reality shows and Family Guy (oh my!). But now it's E! News, Teen Mom, and Lifetime movies. Tonight is the girliest night of all though. Later is Gossip Girl, but first is the train wreck that is the revamped 90210. To give you an idea of what we're dealing with here, I just heard this line from a girl who recently gave her illegitimate child up for adoption: "I am a teen former drug addict pop star on the cover of all the tabloids. I can't be a MOM, but I can be a reality star." Right.
So yeah, the new 90210, just like the old one, has the liars, the cheaters, the drug addicts, and the money. The premise is the same, too. The hilariously naive family from the Midwest moves out to West Bev, and gets a serious reality check when they see how them rich folk live. Poor, dumb Midwesterners. Then, voila! They are beautiful and end up fitting in just fine, because they are also rich. But this new 90210 has more gay people and celebrity scandals and fewer Jason Priestly's and old lady Ahhhhndreas. More trust funds, less side burns. Most importantly, though, the new one has no Ian Ziering, and I think we can all appreciate that.
Full disclosure: I lost interest in the original 90210 after probably the second season or so. Yes, I totally loved Brenda and the whole Walsh clan, because they were fresh off the Minnesota toboggan - Minnesota? They're just like me! And I thought I was destined to marry Luke Perry. But I didn't understand the entire context of the show. Like what "abortions" were, or what it meant that Dylan "cheated on" Brenda. What, like in Scrabble? That just didn't sound like such a big deal, geeeeez. So I bailed on the gang at the Peach Pit and went back to my obsession with Paula Abdul.
When I joined my sorority like 10 years later, the show was still on, but it had gone through quite the transformation and I was more disinterested than ever before. Now the whole gang was all living on their own, and wearing lots of dark eyeshadow, and just sleeping around. Plus, Kelly Kapowski had joined the cast, and it would appear that the virginal Donna Martin was no longer virginal, and we were expected to take Brian Austin Green seriously as a DJ and/or rapper. Really? Riiiiiight. But I forced myself to watch it, because all the girls in my house loved it. I had missed the last decade of the show, so I was a wee bit behind. I sat there in the informal living room at the House, surrounded by girls who were saying things like "Wait, didn't he JUST have a baby with so and so?" or "God, I can't stand the way she did that one thing to that guy and then they both got that disease!" I never spoke a word, but uttered fake gasps of disbelief as needed. I still just didn't get it.
Alas, I FINALLY got sucked in to the new 9-0. I've seen exactly 2 1/2 episodes but I'm pretty caught up, and I already know that Silver used to sleep with Teddy, who just came out and is now dating Ian, and Naomi was raped by some dude who then tried to blackmail her and attack her, but she took him down by - crazy! - spraying hair spray in his face. Girl power! And it actually makes so much sense to me this time around. And while I could appreciate the adorable floral print overalls and kicky sunflower hats of the old episodes, the fashion on the new version is far superior. Balenciaga AND Givenchy? Yes, please!
And to think, I could have missed out on yet another interpretation of life in good ol' Beverly Hills. But thanks to the overflow of estrogen seeping in to every nook and cranny of my house, I was spared the humiliation of not knowing what Lori Laughlin is up to these days.
Okay, I know that I've probably lost 90% of you by now. I know many of you are all "Uh, I could not care less about this show, and I have no idea what the Peach Pit is." And, like you, I used to think I was better than those crazy kids at West Beverly. But like the eternal love of Dylan and Kelly, once I got a fresh taste I just couldn't stay away. Stupid fake teens, with your fake problems, and fake noses...why can't I quit you?
I will say this for sure, though. The old theme song is WAY BETTER than the new, waterier version. Sometimes you just can't improve on the original.
Welp, it's another night indoors, safe from the frigid biting wind that eats my face off every time I even look out a window. Sanna and I are crashed in front of the TV watching World's Girliest Shows. It's been made glaringly obvious to me lately how different TV has been since the boys moved out. With them, it was all MANswers and reality shows and Family Guy (oh my!). But now it's E! News, Teen Mom, and Lifetime movies. Tonight is the girliest night of all though. Later is Gossip Girl, but first is the train wreck that is the revamped 90210. To give you an idea of what we're dealing with here, I just heard this line from a girl who recently gave her illegitimate child up for adoption: "I am a teen former drug addict pop star on the cover of all the tabloids. I can't be a MOM, but I can be a reality star." Right.
So yeah, the new 90210, just like the old one, has the liars, the cheaters, the drug addicts, and the money. The premise is the same, too. The hilariously naive family from the Midwest moves out to West Bev, and gets a serious reality check when they see how them rich folk live. Poor, dumb Midwesterners. Then, voila! They are beautiful and end up fitting in just fine, because they are also rich. But this new 90210 has more gay people and celebrity scandals and fewer Jason Priestly's and old lady Ahhhhndreas. More trust funds, less side burns. Most importantly, though, the new one has no Ian Ziering, and I think we can all appreciate that.
Full disclosure: I lost interest in the original 90210 after probably the second season or so. Yes, I totally loved Brenda and the whole Walsh clan, because they were fresh off the Minnesota toboggan - Minnesota? They're just like me! And I thought I was destined to marry Luke Perry. But I didn't understand the entire context of the show. Like what "abortions" were, or what it meant that Dylan "cheated on" Brenda. What, like in Scrabble? That just didn't sound like such a big deal, geeeeez. So I bailed on the gang at the Peach Pit and went back to my obsession with Paula Abdul.
When I joined my sorority like 10 years later, the show was still on, but it had gone through quite the transformation and I was more disinterested than ever before. Now the whole gang was all living on their own, and wearing lots of dark eyeshadow, and just sleeping around. Plus, Kelly Kapowski had joined the cast, and it would appear that the virginal Donna Martin was no longer virginal, and we were expected to take Brian Austin Green seriously as a DJ and/or rapper. Really? Riiiiiight. But I forced myself to watch it, because all the girls in my house loved it. I had missed the last decade of the show, so I was a wee bit behind. I sat there in the informal living room at the House, surrounded by girls who were saying things like "Wait, didn't he JUST have a baby with so and so?" or "God, I can't stand the way she did that one thing to that guy and then they both got that disease!" I never spoke a word, but uttered fake gasps of disbelief as needed. I still just didn't get it.
Alas, I FINALLY got sucked in to the new 9-0. I've seen exactly 2 1/2 episodes but I'm pretty caught up, and I already know that Silver used to sleep with Teddy, who just came out and is now dating Ian, and Naomi was raped by some dude who then tried to blackmail her and attack her, but she took him down by - crazy! - spraying hair spray in his face. Girl power! And it actually makes so much sense to me this time around. And while I could appreciate the adorable floral print overalls and kicky sunflower hats of the old episodes, the fashion on the new version is far superior. Balenciaga AND Givenchy? Yes, please!
And to think, I could have missed out on yet another interpretation of life in good ol' Beverly Hills. But thanks to the overflow of estrogen seeping in to every nook and cranny of my house, I was spared the humiliation of not knowing what Lori Laughlin is up to these days.
Okay, I know that I've probably lost 90% of you by now. I know many of you are all "Uh, I could not care less about this show, and I have no idea what the Peach Pit is." And, like you, I used to think I was better than those crazy kids at West Beverly. But like the eternal love of Dylan and Kelly, once I got a fresh taste I just couldn't stay away. Stupid fake teens, with your fake problems, and fake noses...why can't I quit you?
I will say this for sure, though. The old theme song is WAY BETTER than the new, waterier version. Sometimes you just can't improve on the original.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Was There Some Sort of Sporting Event On Tonight?
So, the Super Bowl is over. I'm drained from eating my face off and cheering for a losing team I have nothing invested in. In lieu of a traditional blog, I'm posting pics from our Super Bowl party. Note: My camera is jacked. I don't know what I did to it, but I messed up the settings so the pics are questionable. Oh well, enjoy this little peek-a-boo into my life. Also, it's like proof that I have friends. Yay!
Fooooooood!
Well, yes, as a matter of fact I DID make these wontons myself!
Based on my availability of black and yellow socks (go Hawkeyes!), I decided to be a Steelers fan for the night. That didn't work very well.
So then a few peeps decided to shotgun a beer outside. Here they are, pulling the triggers.
The knife they used to open the beer cans was carefully placed in the porch.
Here are a few of my loverly friends who came by: Allyson, me, Liz, and Kim.
Here's the group.
This is Geo's friend KG's dog, Grey, snoozin'.
Just when we were almost ready to fall into a food coma, these guys came on the TV and spiced up my life. I'd like one of these outfits for when I go walking at night.
Through it all, though, I represented my Vikings.
Then the food was gone...
The beer cans were empty and stashed all over the house...
And night was a huge success. I don't care who won, actually. I just don't. But I'm going to miss football every Sunday. How long until preseason starts???
Welcome back to the week, everyone. Let's do it.
Fooooooood!
Well, yes, as a matter of fact I DID make these wontons myself!
Based on my availability of black and yellow socks (go Hawkeyes!), I decided to be a Steelers fan for the night. That didn't work very well.
So then a few peeps decided to shotgun a beer outside. Here they are, pulling the triggers.
The knife they used to open the beer cans was carefully placed in the porch.
Here are a few of my loverly friends who came by: Allyson, me, Liz, and Kim.
Here's the group.
This is Geo's friend KG's dog, Grey, snoozin'.
Just when we were almost ready to fall into a food coma, these guys came on the TV and spiced up my life. I'd like one of these outfits for when I go walking at night.
Through it all, though, I represented my Vikings.
Then the food was gone...
The beer cans were empty and stashed all over the house...
And night was a huge success. I don't care who won, actually. I just don't. But I'm going to miss football every Sunday. How long until preseason starts???
Welcome back to the week, everyone. Let's do it.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Future's so Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades
Halleluiah! You guys? The SUN...was OUT...TODAY. I dug around in my purse, and had to take out my Kindle, my planner, my phone charger, my Kate Spade card holder/wallet, my keys, my iPod, a coin purse, a pair of mittens, and a pack of gum, but I finally found them. My Sunglasses. I haven't gotten to use my sunglasses in, well, many many moons. But oh! The glorious sun has decided to make a much anticipated cameo in Minnesota. And believe you me, I was in desperate need of the Vitamin D. I ran outside during lunch, with my mittens on, my full-length, down, enormo-coat zipped up, and the hood pulled up over my head, and just stared straight up at the sun. I willed the 4 square inches of my visible face skin to absorb all the vitamins and warmth and loveliness possible. I put my sunglasses on and it felt almost alien to have them on my face again. But there they sat, for 7 glorious minutes before I had to run back inside and thaw out my eyelashes.
That's something I always forget about in winter: sunglasses. I NEVER need to use my sunglasses in winter, unless I'm driving and the hazy sun somehow still manages to bounce right off the snow and directly into my corneas like I'm an ant at the mercy of some bratty kid with a microscope. But that almost never happens anyway. Usually I'm tucked inside work or my house or a bar, far away from the bitter cold of the ruthless Outdoors. So when I put my sunglasses on today, I was finally convinced that Spring is definitely right around the corner.
I need to buy new sunglasses, though. The ones I have now are, obviously, Kate Spade. And though I love them, due to my habit of tossing them into my purse with keys, pens, and apparently open switchblades, the lenses of the glasses are totally scratched beyond repair. There is nothing, in this blogger's humble opinion, dumber than dropping a huge chunk of dough on sunglasses. Sure, they may be cute or cool or like 3-D or something, but unless it says "Will not Break When Your Friend Ally Sits on the Them" or "Lenses Are Made Out Of Diamond", it's such a waste. I love the $5 sunglasses at Heartbreaker. Soooooo cheap! Sooooo cute! And somehow, they NEVER BREAK. I just straight up lose them. I'd go into cardiac arrest if I bought like a $750 pair of sunglasses and accidentally left them in the bathroom McDonald's. Good bye, money. Good bye, useless status symbol.
I bought Geo a pair of sunglasses for Christmas. He is a legit sunglasses hoarder. He has at least 6 pairs just in his car at any given time. Anyway, so Geo and I watch this show called Sons of Anarchy on FX (if you aren't watching this show, you are bad at life). It's about a motorcycle gang who have hearts of gold. (Sort of. They like deal drugs and run guns and hang out with, eh hem, ladies of the night, but it's SOOOOOOO good.) Whatever, the main character, Jax - played by the very yummy and drool-worthy Charlie Hunnum, wears these sunglasses on the show whenever he's on his Harley. Geo wanted them soooo badly. So one day, I looked them up. I found them, and they are legit. They are old-school authentic motorcycle glasses that have been around since the 50's. The best part? Eight dollars. Eight little bitty dollars. So, I ordered them and was ready to lie my face off and tell Geo they were mad expensive. However, apparently he had already done some of his OWN research, and confessed that he was already planning on ordering like 10 pairs of them so he had them every where at all times.
For all intents and purposes, sunglasses are basically disposable, though. That's why I think spending a ton of hard-earned cash on something you're just going to sit on anyway is crazy. That doesn't change the fact, though, that I need some new ones. I like the obnoxiously large ones, too. Geo says they make my freakishly small head look smaller. I'm pretty sure that's an insult, but whatever. They also leave horrible sunglasses tans in the summer. But I just figure it's a highly effective way of preventing premature aging of my eyes, and also hiding hangovers . And Punxutawney Phil basically guaranteed that I'll be laying out and drinking Mojitos by the Lakes in no time, so I need to be ready!
Alright, loveys. I'm signing off for now. I hope you have a bright, sunny, and wonderful weekend!
That's something I always forget about in winter: sunglasses. I NEVER need to use my sunglasses in winter, unless I'm driving and the hazy sun somehow still manages to bounce right off the snow and directly into my corneas like I'm an ant at the mercy of some bratty kid with a microscope. But that almost never happens anyway. Usually I'm tucked inside work or my house or a bar, far away from the bitter cold of the ruthless Outdoors. So when I put my sunglasses on today, I was finally convinced that Spring is definitely right around the corner.
I need to buy new sunglasses, though. The ones I have now are, obviously, Kate Spade. And though I love them, due to my habit of tossing them into my purse with keys, pens, and apparently open switchblades, the lenses of the glasses are totally scratched beyond repair. There is nothing, in this blogger's humble opinion, dumber than dropping a huge chunk of dough on sunglasses. Sure, they may be cute or cool or like 3-D or something, but unless it says "Will not Break When Your Friend Ally Sits on the Them" or "Lenses Are Made Out Of Diamond", it's such a waste. I love the $5 sunglasses at Heartbreaker. Soooooo cheap! Sooooo cute! And somehow, they NEVER BREAK. I just straight up lose them. I'd go into cardiac arrest if I bought like a $750 pair of sunglasses and accidentally left them in the bathroom McDonald's. Good bye, money. Good bye, useless status symbol.
I bought Geo a pair of sunglasses for Christmas. He is a legit sunglasses hoarder. He has at least 6 pairs just in his car at any given time. Anyway, so Geo and I watch this show called Sons of Anarchy on FX (if you aren't watching this show, you are bad at life). It's about a motorcycle gang who have hearts of gold. (Sort of. They like deal drugs and run guns and hang out with, eh hem, ladies of the night, but it's SOOOOOOO good.) Whatever, the main character, Jax - played by the very yummy and drool-worthy Charlie Hunnum, wears these sunglasses on the show whenever he's on his Harley. Geo wanted them soooo badly. So one day, I looked them up. I found them, and they are legit. They are old-school authentic motorcycle glasses that have been around since the 50's. The best part? Eight dollars. Eight little bitty dollars. So, I ordered them and was ready to lie my face off and tell Geo they were mad expensive. However, apparently he had already done some of his OWN research, and confessed that he was already planning on ordering like 10 pairs of them so he had them every where at all times.
For all intents and purposes, sunglasses are basically disposable, though. That's why I think spending a ton of hard-earned cash on something you're just going to sit on anyway is crazy. That doesn't change the fact, though, that I need some new ones. I like the obnoxiously large ones, too. Geo says they make my freakishly small head look smaller. I'm pretty sure that's an insult, but whatever. They also leave horrible sunglasses tans in the summer. But I just figure it's a highly effective way of preventing premature aging of my eyes, and also hiding hangovers . And Punxutawney Phil basically guaranteed that I'll be laying out and drinking Mojitos by the Lakes in no time, so I need to be ready!
Alright, loveys. I'm signing off for now. I hope you have a bright, sunny, and wonderful weekend!
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Story Hour! Part Two
Last week on Story Hour: We met Louann, a seemingly idiotic woman who, until recently, lived a charmed life. She has been on the run from law enforcement and finds herself on a deserted island. She broke her own leg and keeps having flashbacks to Xavier and a mysterious murder.
After a night of disturbing dreams, Louann awoke with the sun. She fondly recalled the mornings in Bali when she watched the sunrise after a night of partying with the sketchy locals she had met in town on her frequent solo visits out to the bars. The headache she had now, though, was not from tequila and rum, but from the throbbing pain in her leg. The bone was reset but her leg was covered from knee to ankle in deep bruises. When she tried to stand up, she collapsed the moment she put weight on her scrawny little leg. She sat back down on the yoga mat she had stashed in her boat. Defeated, she knew she would have to stay put for awhile.
Back on the main land, Louann's parents hardly noticed she was missing. Her father, Lou, had been crazy busy at his job in Nigerian Business Opportunities. He had perfected his "I need your help getting my money out of a trust, and as thanks, I will give you $4.2 million!" emails and was well on his way to acquiring the company who makes those "Congratulations! You just won an iPad!" pop up ads. Louann's mother, Ann (see what I did there?) had always been crazy harsh on Louann. Instead of feeding her that fatty baby formula as a baby, Louann's mother instructed the nanny to feed Louann Slimfast. She didn't want no chubby baby. When Louann started growing in to her looks at 16, her mother got insanely jealous of the youth and beauty of her daughter and vowed to ruin Louann's life. After trying to poison Louann's vodka smoothie one morning, Ann was admitted, for the first of many times, to the looney bin.
The night Louann stole the rowboat and left, her parents had had a huge fight over finances. They were hemorrhaging money after Louann's mother had started paying off the doctors who kept insisting she needed to stay in the hospital. Lou had threatened to cut Ann off. Ann threatened to cut Lou up. They argued all night, and didn't notice Louann stealing her dad's glock and strolling out of the house at 3 a.m.
While Louann was leaving her house, Xavier was across town at a hipster bar, drinking PBR ironically, smoking a cigarette, and listening tobad hipster-y live music. He was handsome, no doubt. He had broad shoulders, the slightest hint of a 5 o'clock shadow, and thick black hair. That he could charm the robe off a nun would not be an overstatement. He, not surprisingly, worked in some obscure position at some generic advertising or marketing or graphic design company or something similarly cliche. But he made good money that he spent lavishly on skateboards and faberge eggs. Was he gay? No one knew for sure. Xavier was a lifelong bachelor, who was rumored to have bedded both Blake Lively and James Franco. But that night, at that hipster bar, he was interested in one thing, and one thing only. Louann and the money. Oh, wait. Two things. I guess he was interested in TWO things.
As Xavier finished his beer and his smoke, the bar door swung open and all the hipsters in the bar groaned as the outside noise interrupted their self-obsessed conversations. As Louann walked in the door, the terribly whiny band (mercifully) stopped playing and stared at the creature before them. Her long black hair tumbled past her slim shoulders, and her skin was smooth and golden - but kind of orangey too. Like the inside of Butterfinger. She looked around and her glassy, bright green eyes spotted Xavier. As she walked towards him, every one in the bar stared. She was beautiful, but she also looked like she'd be sticky.
Louann air-kissed his cheeks in that super stupid way people who want to appear rich and cool do, and then she pulled the gun out of her Prada bag to show Xavier. He nodded, took it from her and dropped it in his pocket. Then she handed him a crumpled up wad of cash. "Is this all of it?" he asked. "No," Louann said, "but you'll get the rest when it's done." Before she could walk out, Xavier invited her to sit for a drink. She hesitated, briefly remembering their passionate history together, but decided one drink wouldn't kill anyone, would it?
After a night of disturbing dreams, Louann awoke with the sun. She fondly recalled the mornings in Bali when she watched the sunrise after a night of partying with the sketchy locals she had met in town on her frequent solo visits out to the bars. The headache she had now, though, was not from tequila and rum, but from the throbbing pain in her leg. The bone was reset but her leg was covered from knee to ankle in deep bruises. When she tried to stand up, she collapsed the moment she put weight on her scrawny little leg. She sat back down on the yoga mat she had stashed in her boat. Defeated, she knew she would have to stay put for awhile.
Back on the main land, Louann's parents hardly noticed she was missing. Her father, Lou, had been crazy busy at his job in Nigerian Business Opportunities. He had perfected his "I need your help getting my money out of a trust, and as thanks, I will give you $4.2 million!" emails and was well on his way to acquiring the company who makes those "Congratulations! You just won an iPad!" pop up ads. Louann's mother, Ann (see what I did there?) had always been crazy harsh on Louann. Instead of feeding her that fatty baby formula as a baby, Louann's mother instructed the nanny to feed Louann Slimfast. She didn't want no chubby baby. When Louann started growing in to her looks at 16, her mother got insanely jealous of the youth and beauty of her daughter and vowed to ruin Louann's life. After trying to poison Louann's vodka smoothie one morning, Ann was admitted, for the first of many times, to the looney bin.
The night Louann stole the rowboat and left, her parents had had a huge fight over finances. They were hemorrhaging money after Louann's mother had started paying off the doctors who kept insisting she needed to stay in the hospital. Lou had threatened to cut Ann off. Ann threatened to cut Lou up. They argued all night, and didn't notice Louann stealing her dad's glock and strolling out of the house at 3 a.m.
While Louann was leaving her house, Xavier was across town at a hipster bar, drinking PBR ironically, smoking a cigarette, and listening to
As Xavier finished his beer and his smoke, the bar door swung open and all the hipsters in the bar groaned as the outside noise interrupted their self-obsessed conversations. As Louann walked in the door, the terribly whiny band (mercifully) stopped playing and stared at the creature before them. Her long black hair tumbled past her slim shoulders, and her skin was smooth and golden - but kind of orangey too. Like the inside of Butterfinger. She looked around and her glassy, bright green eyes spotted Xavier. As she walked towards him, every one in the bar stared. She was beautiful, but she also looked like she'd be sticky.
Louann air-kissed his cheeks in that super stupid way people who want to appear rich and cool do, and then she pulled the gun out of her Prada bag to show Xavier. He nodded, took it from her and dropped it in his pocket. Then she handed him a crumpled up wad of cash. "Is this all of it?" he asked. "No," Louann said, "but you'll get the rest when it's done." Before she could walk out, Xavier invited her to sit for a drink. She hesitated, briefly remembering their passionate history together, but decided one drink wouldn't kill anyone, would it?
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful...Unless I'm Also A Bad Person
I’d like to talk to you today about chicks. Ladies. Broads. Muchachas. The Fairer Sex. Uh, has anyone else noticed how BRUTAL we can be to each other? We can find something physically wrong about ANY OTHER GIRL. Cankles. Muffin Top. Horse Face. Stretch Marks. My roommate Sanna insists that this negative behavior only happens in Middle School, but I totally disagree. I think it happens all the time, but now that we’re adults, we’re much more covert about it. We’re like stealth little beyotches, set on tearing other women down flaw by flaw. I’ll admit it: I’ve done it. And trust me, YOU do it too. But I’m going to stop doing it. It’s just so cruel.
Here’s the thing. Last night, my mom emailed me and she was all “OMG, loved your blog tonight! Hilarious! Um, but do you think you could maybe lay off yourself for a minute? You know, stop making fun of yourself nonstop and maybe try saying something nice about yourself every once in a while?” I thought about it. I fell asleep being like “You know, I’m going to blog tomorrow about awesome I am. Like, how funny I think I am, and how I can be smart, and how I can cheer almost anyone up at anytime, and also? I clean up pretty good too.” But I woke up this morning and I was all “Hold on there, Vanity Kane (OMG, if you got that pun, I’ll love you forever), none of that is exciting at ALL.”
Seriously, would you guys read a blog about someone who loves themselves way too much? No, because then it would be written by Angelina Jolie. Or Gwenyth Paltrow. Or that chick Sarah I went to middle school with. The point is: No one is perfect. And people who THINK they’re perfect are in for a big wake up call. I mean, okay I probably should try and lighten up when it comes to myself, but that’s not the problem out there. The problem is that we just annihilate each other’s self esteem whenever humanly possible. Women have it hard enough trying to take over the world from those violent, non-feeling menfolk, getting good roles in Hollywood that don‘t involve naked dancing scenes, and trying to make a decent lasagna without fending off criticisms of our body or face or other physical attributes. Yet, all over the place, I hear girls talking about the physical flaws or differences of other women, which apparently gives us free reign to rip them apart. Like someone's size, or how bad her eyebrows look, or how they’d never be caught dead wearing those shoes. Really, ladies? REALLY?
Now, I’m not going to go all “I’m awesome because of these 638 reasons” because that’s just not me. I really enjoy making fun of myself. I definitely don't need someone ELSE to help me out. But I’m also not going to sit and listen to a girl say “Well of course she was mean. Did you see her thighs?!” I heard someone say that about a stranger not too long ago and I wanted to slap the girl who said it. I blame her parents. The problem is, we’ve all said something like that, and someone somewhere has said something like that about each one of us. But I just don't get where we get off putting someone down flat out because they have messy hair, or wear jeggings.
With that said, I'm not all "La la la, everyone is awesome." Here are the things that ARE legitimate reasons to dismiss someone from your life. (I base these solely on the behaviors of the men around me. They have great friendships, and they don’t talk about each other‘s back fat.) I will choose to not be friends with someone if: They have a really horrible sense of humor. They can’t carry on an intelligent conversation (or at least pretend to). They think they are perfect. They can’t admit when they’re wrong. They complain all the time. They are racist or sexist or other similarly hate-fueled “-ist” that just makes them a horrible person. These are all personality traits that say a lot about a person. Guys will be friends with other guys if they like the same things or can make an awesome joke. Simple as that. You just don’t hear guys being like “Yeah, he’s cool and everything, but have you seen his GUT? Gross. He sucks.”
Yeah, I think it’s fine to rib on someone because of the person they ARE. It’s just so….so, CLICHÉ to rib on physical traits. Aren't we more creative than that? There are enough things wrong with everyone without having to point out things that unchangeable or different. I’d rather be hated for my moodiness than my hips. I think I’ve earned it. I think I’m pretty good at getting to know someone before I decide why I can’t stand them. And I’d expect people to do the same for me. Believe me, I’ll give you plenty of reasons to go running for the hills. But (here you go, Mom) despite my many, many flaws, I'm loyal and kind, and I'll make you laugh (or I'll make you enough vodka tonics until I make you laugh).
Maybe it's not just a girl thing. Maybe I've been lucky enough to know a bunch of guys who aren't shallow. (Maybe that's WHY they're friends with me.) But I think we should just all take a deep breath and stop picking each other apart based on genetics. Maybe we should pick on people who deserve it. You know, like Fun Haters. Man, I hate those guys...
Here’s the thing. Last night, my mom emailed me and she was all “OMG, loved your blog tonight! Hilarious! Um, but do you think you could maybe lay off yourself for a minute? You know, stop making fun of yourself nonstop and maybe try saying something nice about yourself every once in a while?” I thought about it. I fell asleep being like “You know, I’m going to blog tomorrow about awesome I am. Like, how funny I think I am, and how I can be smart, and how I can cheer almost anyone up at anytime, and also? I clean up pretty good too.” But I woke up this morning and I was all “Hold on there, Vanity Kane (OMG, if you got that pun, I’ll love you forever), none of that is exciting at ALL.”
Seriously, would you guys read a blog about someone who loves themselves way too much? No, because then it would be written by Angelina Jolie. Or Gwenyth Paltrow. Or that chick Sarah I went to middle school with. The point is: No one is perfect. And people who THINK they’re perfect are in for a big wake up call. I mean, okay I probably should try and lighten up when it comes to myself, but that’s not the problem out there. The problem is that we just annihilate each other’s self esteem whenever humanly possible. Women have it hard enough trying to take over the world from those violent, non-feeling menfolk, getting good roles in Hollywood that don‘t involve naked dancing scenes, and trying to make a decent lasagna without fending off criticisms of our body or face or other physical attributes. Yet, all over the place, I hear girls talking about the physical flaws or differences of other women, which apparently gives us free reign to rip them apart. Like someone's size, or how bad her eyebrows look, or how they’d never be caught dead wearing those shoes. Really, ladies? REALLY?
Now, I’m not going to go all “I’m awesome because of these 638 reasons” because that’s just not me. I really enjoy making fun of myself. I definitely don't need someone ELSE to help me out. But I’m also not going to sit and listen to a girl say “Well of course she was mean. Did you see her thighs?!” I heard someone say that about a stranger not too long ago and I wanted to slap the girl who said it. I blame her parents. The problem is, we’ve all said something like that, and someone somewhere has said something like that about each one of us. But I just don't get where we get off putting someone down flat out because they have messy hair, or wear jeggings.
With that said, I'm not all "La la la, everyone is awesome." Here are the things that ARE legitimate reasons to dismiss someone from your life. (I base these solely on the behaviors of the men around me. They have great friendships, and they don’t talk about each other‘s back fat.) I will choose to not be friends with someone if: They have a really horrible sense of humor. They can’t carry on an intelligent conversation (or at least pretend to). They think they are perfect. They can’t admit when they’re wrong. They complain all the time. They are racist or sexist or other similarly hate-fueled “-ist” that just makes them a horrible person. These are all personality traits that say a lot about a person. Guys will be friends with other guys if they like the same things or can make an awesome joke. Simple as that. You just don’t hear guys being like “Yeah, he’s cool and everything, but have you seen his GUT? Gross. He sucks.”
Yeah, I think it’s fine to rib on someone because of the person they ARE. It’s just so….so, CLICHÉ to rib on physical traits. Aren't we more creative than that? There are enough things wrong with everyone without having to point out things that unchangeable or different. I’d rather be hated for my moodiness than my hips. I think I’ve earned it. I think I’m pretty good at getting to know someone before I decide why I can’t stand them. And I’d expect people to do the same for me. Believe me, I’ll give you plenty of reasons to go running for the hills. But (here you go, Mom) despite my many, many flaws, I'm loyal and kind, and I'll make you laugh (or I'll make you enough vodka tonics until I make you laugh).
Maybe it's not just a girl thing. Maybe I've been lucky enough to know a bunch of guys who aren't shallow. (Maybe that's WHY they're friends with me.) But I think we should just all take a deep breath and stop picking each other apart based on genetics. Maybe we should pick on people who deserve it. You know, like Fun Haters. Man, I hate those guys...
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