Or at least that's what this web series is saying. I stumbled upon it, and holy God, is it funny. Being a single girl in a sea of coupled-up friends, there were plenty of "hell yeah!" moments for me. And for those of you who were part of the "bitch name" conversation so long ago, note the first imaginary friend's name. The moral of the story: when you're single, you almost always feel like the odd person out. Some of us are apparently more odd than others.
Check out the rest of the eps at imaginarybitches.com.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Shia's last name makes me giggle
Pretty much how I feel about the new Indiana Jones:
I'm not going to bust out any spoilers, but let's just say the supernatural element that's in the other movies is just too much for me to swallow in this one. As my friend Addie says, "TRISTE!"
I'm not going to bust out any spoilers, but let's just say the supernatural element that's in the other movies is just too much for me to swallow in this one. As my friend Addie says, "TRISTE!"
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Raiders, march
So I tried to organize a band of folks to go see the new Indiana Jones tomorrow. Response was tepid, because everyone wanted to see it with their spouse or had already seen it or heard that it sucked, but I'm going anyway. This time it's really not about the gang, it's about seeing the latest installment of a movie series I positively adore (well, except for Temple of Doom). And apparently it's supposed to springboard Shia LeBeouf's character into an adventure series of his own. Rock on.
I have to say, though, that every time I try to slate something, especially during the day that doesn't involve adult beverages and staying out 'til 4 a.m., and the majority are all, "Mehhh," it really makes me want to quit suggesting anything.
We need a cruise director, dammit. And maybe some social initiative.
I have to say, though, that every time I try to slate something, especially during the day that doesn't involve adult beverages and staying out 'til 4 a.m., and the majority are all, "Mehhh," it really makes me want to quit suggesting anything.
We need a cruise director, dammit. And maybe some social initiative.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
I must be doing something right
I've had about 5 hours of sleep, and am currently debating about whether to go to the gym. And here's the backstory.
Lori emailed me last night because our friend Meghan was throwing our friend Addie a party for her nuptials this weekend. Originally it was at a restaurant, but Meegs shifted gears and decided to host at her casa. I was up, doing my "last night off" thing, which includes loud music in my headphones and about 20 different tasks on my computer, and Lori wanted to make sure I had the 411 and was coming. So I asked her to give me a wake-up call at 10 a.m. to get my butt moving.
Now some of you may think, "Gee, that's kinda late to get up," but consider that I didn't even hit the pillow until about 4:30 a.m. at the earliest. Plus the usual tossing and turning at 8 a.m. when the kiddo upstairs awakes and starts sprinting around the house. So 10 a.m. came pretty early, but I cruised to the party. It was lovely, if you were wondering.
After the party, and here's the crux of the story, I went back to Lori's to hang until she had to leave for work. She just got a Wii Fit, and has been hearing about Raeanne's crack-like fixation with hers. One of the things you do when you set up a profile is do a bunch of testing to determine your "fitness age," rather than chronological. Ladies and gentlemen, my fitness age is 31, three years younger than I am. Hell yeah!
So that's why I'm seriously considering going to the gym, despite the fact that I may actually fall asleep on one of the cardio machines. Consequently I should pick the ones you sit down on, rather than the treadmill, which I would stumble and face-plant on, or the elliptical, which would thwap me in the head with the hand thingys when I snoozed off and let go. Let hilarity ensue....
Lori emailed me last night because our friend Meghan was throwing our friend Addie a party for her nuptials this weekend. Originally it was at a restaurant, but Meegs shifted gears and decided to host at her casa. I was up, doing my "last night off" thing, which includes loud music in my headphones and about 20 different tasks on my computer, and Lori wanted to make sure I had the 411 and was coming. So I asked her to give me a wake-up call at 10 a.m. to get my butt moving.
Now some of you may think, "Gee, that's kinda late to get up," but consider that I didn't even hit the pillow until about 4:30 a.m. at the earliest. Plus the usual tossing and turning at 8 a.m. when the kiddo upstairs awakes and starts sprinting around the house. So 10 a.m. came pretty early, but I cruised to the party. It was lovely, if you were wondering.
After the party, and here's the crux of the story, I went back to Lori's to hang until she had to leave for work. She just got a Wii Fit, and has been hearing about Raeanne's crack-like fixation with hers. One of the things you do when you set up a profile is do a bunch of testing to determine your "fitness age," rather than chronological. Ladies and gentlemen, my fitness age is 31, three years younger than I am. Hell yeah!
So that's why I'm seriously considering going to the gym, despite the fact that I may actually fall asleep on one of the cardio machines. Consequently I should pick the ones you sit down on, rather than the treadmill, which I would stumble and face-plant on, or the elliptical, which would thwap me in the head with the hand thingys when I snoozed off and let go. Let hilarity ensue....
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Historical, rather than hysterical, fashion
So I was watching a History International channel show on Henry VIII's building projects (don't judge me), and they flashed a picture of Anne Boleyn. And something hit me.
After Googling, I am apparently the last person on earth to realize this, but there's something very familiar about Anne's necklace in the portrait that was made just before they chopped her head off. It's Betty Suarez's necklace from Ugly Betty!
After Googling, I am apparently the last person on earth to realize this, but there's something very familiar about Anne's necklace in the portrait that was made just before they chopped her head off. It's Betty Suarez's necklace from Ugly Betty!
Two girls who've gotten a raw deal from the pretty people....
Thursday, May 15, 2008
The song remains the same
So Saturday I was able to attend my friend Trey's birthday party. Trey and I were in the marching band, a.k.a. Boot Camp, together and haven't seen each other since 1996, and it was really great to see him again.
Trey was part of a quartet of trombone players we simply referred to as "The Trombones." This is funny to me now, because there were at least 10-12 other trombone players in the section, all good people whose names we knew and spent just as much time with. But Trey, James, Brandon and David were singular boys who stood out from their section and most of the band. They were raucous, funny, bawdy, daring, and mischievous, but could also be kind, loyal, dedicated, talented, and thoughtful. They were both comic relief and musical anchors of our ensemble. Those of us fortunate enough to be in the "Pride of Lion Country" drumline spent about 3-4 hours a day a few yards from these guys, and just grew to love 'em. there are really a thousand stories from literally a hundred people about them. Here's one that's all mine.
My senior year, the fellas all had girlfriends at Homecoming, and as were most band kids, they were strapped for cash. Mums for girlfriends were mandatory at our school, and they were each facing a hefty $35 minimum for a bare-bones, plain mum. They knew that my crafty friend Anja had taught me how to make really good mums, so they asked me if I could do them a big favor and make mums for their girlfriends if they footed the materials bill, which would be next to nothing compared to having one made. I was really honored that they trusted me that much for something that important, because, let's face it, if you give your girlfriend a crummy mum she's got to wear all day in front of her friends, you'll be having an early night after the game.
I spent most of my free time for about two weeks trying to make the best mums I could for them, knowing that they could be in serious hot water if these things sucked. My mom was really amazed and swore they looked like $75 mums, and helped me pack them carefully into boxes for the boys. (Little did I know a few years later, she'd be calling her from her flower shop wanting step-by-step on my technique.) Showtime came Friday morning in the band hall, when I was to make the delivery on the down-low, so that they could spring them on their girls a few minutes later, and no one would be the wiser that they hadn't broken the bank. The surprise was on me, however, as they'd thrown in and gotten me a really pretty mum as a thank-you. And of all the ones I got over the years, and the one I got that day from the guy I dated, I treasured that one the most. Because it was from dear, sweet boys who were my brothers, and have now grown up to be dear, sweet men.
Watching Trey with his lovely wife Cyndi, in their beautiful home being happy, surrounded by friends who enjoy life as much as they do, is really all I could have wished for him. And I'm really, really glad I took a vacation day to see it.
Trey was part of a quartet of trombone players we simply referred to as "The Trombones." This is funny to me now, because there were at least 10-12 other trombone players in the section, all good people whose names we knew and spent just as much time with. But Trey, James, Brandon and David were singular boys who stood out from their section and most of the band. They were raucous, funny, bawdy, daring, and mischievous, but could also be kind, loyal, dedicated, talented, and thoughtful. They were both comic relief and musical anchors of our ensemble. Those of us fortunate enough to be in the "Pride of Lion Country" drumline spent about 3-4 hours a day a few yards from these guys, and just grew to love 'em. there are really a thousand stories from literally a hundred people about them. Here's one that's all mine.
My senior year, the fellas all had girlfriends at Homecoming, and as were most band kids, they were strapped for cash. Mums for girlfriends were mandatory at our school, and they were each facing a hefty $35 minimum for a bare-bones, plain mum. They knew that my crafty friend Anja had taught me how to make really good mums, so they asked me if I could do them a big favor and make mums for their girlfriends if they footed the materials bill, which would be next to nothing compared to having one made. I was really honored that they trusted me that much for something that important, because, let's face it, if you give your girlfriend a crummy mum she's got to wear all day in front of her friends, you'll be having an early night after the game.
I spent most of my free time for about two weeks trying to make the best mums I could for them, knowing that they could be in serious hot water if these things sucked. My mom was really amazed and swore they looked like $75 mums, and helped me pack them carefully into boxes for the boys. (Little did I know a few years later, she'd be calling her from her flower shop wanting step-by-step on my technique.) Showtime came Friday morning in the band hall, when I was to make the delivery on the down-low, so that they could spring them on their girls a few minutes later, and no one would be the wiser that they hadn't broken the bank. The surprise was on me, however, as they'd thrown in and gotten me a really pretty mum as a thank-you. And of all the ones I got over the years, and the one I got that day from the guy I dated, I treasured that one the most. Because it was from dear, sweet boys who were my brothers, and have now grown up to be dear, sweet men.
Watching Trey with his lovely wife Cyndi, in their beautiful home being happy, surrounded by friends who enjoy life as much as they do, is really all I could have wished for him. And I'm really, really glad I took a vacation day to see it.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Workin' it on out
Wednesday Angela and I hit the gym. I tried out the 24Hour Fitness on William Cannon, which, miraculously, is open 24 hours. (Take that, Great Hills/Arboretum 24Hour Fitness.) I really, really liked how the weight machines are set up, and the layout in general, so I went back last night. This is huge, as I absolutely hated every moment of being in the gym I had been going to.
My annoyance for the entire staff of the 24Hour at Great Hills was heightened yesterday when I swung by to get some meal replacement bars. As usual, the stupid male trainers were acting like teenage boys with too much testosterone, bouncing a volleyball back and forth with some pretty desk girls while I was trying to get someone to ring me up. And as PrettyDeskGirl was scanning said items, he made a huge show of throwing the ball up in the air and making a dramatic move as if he was going to spike the ball.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how these tools behave. That's why I hate that damn gym. Every time I go in, male trainers are horsing around in the lobby like 5th period Health class, when they have a trainers lounge just right off the lobby they could take this to. They're playing with their phones, or pulling the pigtails of the girls that are "working" at the desk, and it's all just so asinine and unprofessional. And these jackasses are supposed to be instructing ME? I mean, turn six already.
So I think that's why I'm loving this William Cannon 24 so much. At 12:30 a.m., there's no one there other than people who want to work out. No teenage-boy trainers flexing and jumping around in front of the female staff, trying to act and look cool like some John Hughes 80s-movie mating ritual. And I might actually get the pool to myself, a large girl's dream.
KICKASS CLICK OF THE WEEK:
It's called Ex-Boyfriend Jewelry, and it's not just an e-Bay-esque site for girls to get rid of the material remainders of the colossal wastes of oxygen they used to call their man. These girls also dish on their exes. Fab-u-lous! Where the hell was this site in 1996 when I was trying to get rid of my engagement ring...
My annoyance for the entire staff of the 24Hour at Great Hills was heightened yesterday when I swung by to get some meal replacement bars. As usual, the stupid male trainers were acting like teenage boys with too much testosterone, bouncing a volleyball back and forth with some pretty desk girls while I was trying to get someone to ring me up. And as PrettyDeskGirl was scanning said items, he made a huge show of throwing the ball up in the air and making a dramatic move as if he was going to spike the ball.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how these tools behave. That's why I hate that damn gym. Every time I go in, male trainers are horsing around in the lobby like 5th period Health class, when they have a trainers lounge just right off the lobby they could take this to. They're playing with their phones, or pulling the pigtails of the girls that are "working" at the desk, and it's all just so asinine and unprofessional. And these jackasses are supposed to be instructing ME? I mean, turn six already.
So I think that's why I'm loving this William Cannon 24 so much. At 12:30 a.m., there's no one there other than people who want to work out. No teenage-boy trainers flexing and jumping around in front of the female staff, trying to act and look cool like some John Hughes 80s-movie mating ritual. And I might actually get the pool to myself, a large girl's dream.
KICKASS CLICK OF THE WEEK:
It's called Ex-Boyfriend Jewelry, and it's not just an e-Bay-esque site for girls to get rid of the material remainders of the colossal wastes of oxygen they used to call their man. These girls also dish on their exes. Fab-u-lous! Where the hell was this site in 1996 when I was trying to get rid of my engagement ring...
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