Police...

I'm officially on vacation and ready to leave tomorrow morning. After a lengthy phone encounter with the "helpful" folks from Travelocity, I am leaving two hours earlier than originally planned. I realize I should go to bed, but instead I'm watching REINDEER POLICE!!! That's right!

Reindeer police and wine is on the agenda tonight when I should be getting my beauty sleep for a grueling 15 hours of travel complete with two stopovers throughout this great United States. In the North of Norway, thousands of reindeer still roam about freely. The Reindeer Police patrol reindeer and Norwegian bearded ladies. The reindeer belong to herders who work in extreme conditions like their ancestors. To solve conflicts among these herders, a special police on snow mobiles patrols the great north.

If you are pre-comatose and can't sleep tonight, perhaps Reindeer Police can help you.

In case you don't want to sit through all 51 minutes of Reindeer Police, here is my brilliant, wine-induced commentary on two minutes of said video:

Whining...

Or, in this case, "wine-ing," as in a post about wine, but that doesn't look very good on the title. It makes it look like I spelled it incorrectly and I pride myself on grammar and spelling.

It's a very sad day today as I realized I've developed an allergy to wine, specifically Virgin Vines Shiraz. For the last few months, I've consumed a fair amount of this wine because I found it on sale at the wine store. Subsequently, for the last few months, I've broken out in unexplainable hives.

After a particularly nasty bout with hives a couple of months ago, I went to a dermatologist thoroughly convinced (after consulting Web M.D. and self-diagnosing) that I needed treatment for scabies. I made them give me scabies medication, not because I believe I am a dirty scabies girl, but because there simply wasn't any other explanation. Web M.D. said I had scabies, I had scabies! I figured that maybe my feather bed I bought last winter was the culprit and that wayward scabies had hijacked their way into my bedroom. (Think recent "deadly spider found in Whole Foods bananas" story.) Incidentally, the scabies medication didn't help or do anything, but it was still nice to know that I was scabies-free. My next thought was perhaps scurvy, but I eat oranges. And I'm not a pirate.

At work today, I had an out-of-the-blue "a ha!" moment when I figured out that my current few hives began Friday night after I drank a couple of glasses of Virgin Vines Shiraz. I didn't down the whole bottle, as I'm known to occasionally do, which is why I have just a few hives. I thought maybe I got caught in some freak pre-summer, zero-humidity megamosquito attack while enjoying some time outside, but now I think it was the shiraz. Then I came home and found this about wine allergies, "The symptoms of a sulfite sensitivity reaction vary from mild to life-threatening. The most common symptoms are mild and involve a skin rash accompanied by redness, hives, itching, flushing, tingling and swelling." Yep, that's me.

Damn you, dirty shiraz. Why must you taunt me so? So, now what do I do? Further test this allergy theory by drinking my last bottle of Virgin Vines "just to make sure" I'm really allergic? Pawn it off on someone who isn't destined to never again drink shiraz? Get tested again for scabies?

Damn you, sulfites. Damn you, Richard Branson.

Mactanna...

Just when I thought I'd seen it all, I ran into some Hannah Montana Mac n' Cheese, or what I like to call "Hannah Mactanna," today.

Now you too can eat Miley for dinner; with 100% real cheese! (Not surprising) And the only price you'll have to pay to eat Miss Cyrus' box is $.70 and 280 calories per serving. What a bargain!

I just wonder why the directions are written in an accent straight from the backwoods of Arkansas? From the box of Hannah Mactanna: "Kids In The Kitchen. Whatcha Need: A Little Help from Yer Mom Or Dad and?6 Cups Water, 1/2 Tbsp Unsalted Butter, 3 Tbsp Skim Milk. How to Do It: 1. Bring 6 Cups of Water to A Boil. Stir In The Macaroni. Boil For 6-8 Minutes Or Until Tender. 2. Once Cooked, Drain Water from Pan In A Strainer, Then Put Macaroni Back In Pan. 3. Now Add Your: 1/2 Tbsp Unsalted Butter, 3 Tbsp Skim Milk, Contents of Cheese Packet. Stir It Up Well. Enjoy! Yup! You've Done It! Time to Eat Yer Macaroni and Cheese!"

Yup! Time to eat yer macaroni and cheese!

Gym...

I have been working out like a crazy lady lately, but couldn't continue at the gym last Saturday when I looked around after my dance class and saw this:

I call this photo "Banana Hammock."

Advice

I stumbled across a Web site the other day, thatsnotcool.com, that teaches young folks about the pressures that technology can put on dating, i.e. texting, sending racy photos, etc. Now, I stress this site is for young folks, but maybe more adults should look at these videos too. I will now do my civic duty by presenting to you a video called "Text Monster."



While there is much talk lately on how the recession is contributing to better love lives and relationships (who wants to be poor and alone?), I believe that technology is making it more difficult to actually date in order to find the one you with whom you want to be poor and alone.

I propose that people need to practice "retro dating," you know, where the guy calls you up, asks you out and you talk rather than text.

First rule of "retro dating?" I believe that going out rather than hanging out is the best way to get to know someone. Dating is not sitting in your pajamas, sans makeup, in your cluttery, little apartment. This is hanging out, and in the beginning stages of dating, hanging out is not sexy. Going out need not be expensive either, hell, I'd be happy with a Sizzler salad bar or an evening ride on an ATV followed up by even a decent cocktail or glass of wine. The point is, you get to know someone by doing stuff, not schlepping around. There are plenty of nights to schlep when the two of you are in the throws of a recession-sparked poverty party; hanging out should not happen until you have gone out at least a few times.

Secondly, I think a new focus on creating a Mix Tape (Mix CD) would facilitate this idea of retro dating. While it might be expensive to bring your new date flowers and spend cash on a dinner, why not throw together a few of your favorite tracks to reveal a bit of yourself to your new sweetie? Granted, this could be a deal breaker when you find your new blonde, blue-eyed Adonis has a thing for a quaint combo of Cher and Young Jeezy, but there's a chance you might just get some new music out of it.

I once went out with a guy who on our first (lunch) date brought me a CD he burned of Grant Green. Knowing I was a fan of jazz music, I thought this was extremely thoughtful and I ended up discovering a new side of jazz guitar. I still have this CD, and though I'm haunted by his handwriting, I love the music. While that may sound extremely pretentious and snarky, I had encounter with a different guy and Martini Ranch. Amazing how a concept band fronted by a pre-Wierd Science Bill Paxton can still make me swoon. Still.

My point is, what have you got to lose? If your date's music really sucks, who couldn't use a new silver coaster? And if your tastes in music aren't compatible, isn't it better to find that out sooner rather than later?

Now, I don't profess to know all the particulars of dating, but I do know that I've had enough frustrating encounters with the opposite sex to offer these few helpful tips. For some reason lately, I feel the need to help humanity and what better way to give back to the planet by helping them find the sweetie I can't seem to find myself? Those who cannot do, teach, and at this point in my life I feel I have a Ph. D. in serial monogamy.

Ham...

I am severely disturbed by the new Boost Mobile commercial which features two talking pigs dining on ham. I don't know, maybe it's not even new, but I've never seen it before. In fact, I don't even know what the pigs were saying about Boost Mobile phones because I was totally freaked out by the fact they were chowing two giant plates of ham while saying they're "Just enjoying the flavors of a fallen friend."

The pigs also appear to be dirty.

So many questions this commercial makes me ponder: Why are the pigs dirty? Are we to assume these dirty pigs are not Jewish? What's more, why does this cell phone company believe that dirty cannibal pigs will make us want to buy cell phones? Am I reading too much into this commercial? Am I wearing pants?

Bliss...

I finally treated myself to something nice.

Got the vapors...

Just before bed tonight, I watched Mythbusters and saw something so strange, so awesome, I laughed out loud on my couch:

The Tennessee Fainting Goat.

While I once visited Tennessee and saw creatures I'd never seen in Utah (fireflies) I did not see one of these crazy goats. According to Wikipedia, "A fainting goat is a breed of domestic goat whose muscles freeze for roughly 10 seconds when the goat is startled. Though painless, this generally results in the animal collapsing on its side." Apparently this is caused by a genetic condition, with a hilariously funny outcome. Here, have a look:



I pass out when I'm happy, tired, scared; I wonder if I have a little fainting goat in me. If this is the case, I ask kindly that you don't refer to me as "stiff-legged goat."

Reuniiited...

...and it feels sooo good.

I came home the other day for lunch and found the maintenance crew outside and was able to tell them the green shovel they likely "found" against my front door was mine. I was very polite, but firm, telling them since this was the second stolen shovel this year, I would like it back if they have it.

'Lo and behold, I came home from work and there was my shovel.

I might sleep with it tonight. I love you, shovel.

Shovel envy

I still don't get how to do kind of outdoor maintenance activities. I live in an apartment so I don't have to water, grow or mow a lawn. Someone else takes care of all those pesky leaves that are too chickenshit to hold onto a tree branch through the winter. I don't do windows. But whenever it snows, I am responsible for either shoveling my walkway and back stairs, or trudge through the elements through the spring thaw. Which is actually in August here since my place faces in completely the wrong direction.

Earlier this winter, my mom was nice enough to get me my own shovel and ice melt jug so I could make sure my Dooney bag and I didn't fall down the outside stairs in an icy display of pain. After the first few snows, I decided that the little bit of shoveling wasn't really so bad... after a few beers... and when you slip and take a digger into a snowbank, the alcohol numbs the pain. Ah yes, beer shoveling. But I digress.

Two snowstorms after I first used the shovel, my new red shovel, the shovel came up missing along with a third of a jug of windshield washer fluid and less than half a tub of ice melt. I know it was stolen by some unruly neighbors who had just moved, and I hope they mistake the ice melt for course salt and use it to rim a margarita glass.

Eventually, my mom took pity on me and, since I refuse to ever go into a Home Depot, bought me a new shovel. A pretty green shovel. A new shovel so heavy-duty it was sure to withstand even the wettest, bloppy snow. I used this shovel for a few more snows, and then this week welcomed a little spring. When I got home from work on Tuesday, I noticed there were maintenance people who had been seemingly cleaning up my yard area, pruning the trees and raking up leaves.

And using my shovel. I know this because the shovel had moved slightly from right next to my door to a few feet away.

Yesterday, I got home from work and noticed there was more raking and general yard clean-up, and the shovel was leaning against my door after having clearly been used.

Today I got home, and my shovel was gone. Gone was my shovel. I picture some plumber-crack-clad maintenance person soiling themselves with maniacal laughter as they slowly caress my shovel while driving away in their dirty truck. I am devastated. I loved that shovel. It was a good shovel, and I refuse to go to Home Depot to get another.

Did the yard clean-up guys abscond with the shovel, or are there darker forces in play? For instance, I just watched The Strangers the other night and I'm wondering if maybe the shovel was one of the creepy movie killers. I already haven't slept without a light on since watching that movie, now do I wonder if the shovel is going to show up in the middle of the night, wielding a knife to secure my untimely demise. I picture the scene something like this:

*Knock, knock*

Holly: Hello? Who's there? *Looks out the door near the window and sees the outline of a snow shovel silhouetted by the porch light*

Shovel: Is Tamara there?

Holly: *Clicks the deadbolt* I already told you, there's nobody here with that name. Please go away.

Shovel: Oh, sorry. *Shovel shuffles off down the sidewalk*

*Holly proceeds to shrug off the incident and drink a beer (big surprise), but the camera pans over and we see the blurred image of a scary shovel wearing a bag-like mask over its handle, inside the house.*

*Fast-forward to a highly suspenseful series of events where Holly hides from the mask-wearing shovel, defends herself from the mask-wearing shovel and eventually gets tied up and ultimately stabbed by the shovel*

Holly: *Tied up and bloody, waiting to get killed* Why shovel? Why are you doing this to me?

Shovel: *Without feeling, still wearing the scary mask-bag over its handle* Because you were home.

*Shovel stabs Holly and the movie ends*

(Apologies to those who have not seen The Strangers, I might've spoiled the whole movie for you.)

One day I'll live in a place where shovels can roam free, where they can sit beside a door and not get taken against their will, where I don't have to go to a Home Depot.

Until then, I'd like to find the shovel-stealing jerks and hit them upside the head.

Bad Karma?

A few years ago when I was on the radio and consistently reading stories about Britney Spears and Madonna jumping on the Kabbalah train, I decided to look into the mysterious belief. While I've never been religious, I was at a point in my brain where I wondered if maybe I should have some kind of spiritual structure in my life. After reading, I ordered a packet of red Kabbalah strings, which one ties around their wrist to ward off the "evil eye."

According to their Web site, the "evil eye" is "a very powerful negative force. It refers to the unfriendly stare and unkind glances we sometimes get from people around us. Envious eyes and looks of ill will affect us, stopping us from realizing our full potential in every area of our life." Okay, so that didn't sound good. I wanted to reach my full potential, I didn't want evil forces in my life, more importantly, I've kind of always had chicken not sit well with me and figured maybe a spastic colon was the embodiment of the "evil eye." What could it hurt to tie a little piece of special string around my wrist? And it was very trendy, too.

That was four years ago, and since then the Kabbalah Center in Los Angeles won't leave me the hell alone. Every couple of months, they give me a call and pitch me on spending more money with their organization. Every time they call, I politely listen and then tell them I'm just not interested in learning more and ask that they remove me from their calling list.

This afternoon, they called for what I hope is the last time. I didn't even listen to their speech. I said, "I've asked you repeatedly, for years now, to quit calling me and I am not interested in your organization," and then I hung up. Just like that.

Now I have to wonder if telling the Kabbalah Center to bite me is bad karma? What's worse is that I ate chicken for lunch and have to teach a dance class tonight. We'll see what happens.

Womanizer?

I couldn't go to sleep early like I wanted tonight, so I made a grilled cheese sandwich and drank some red wine. In the haze, this song came to me:



Any song featuring the accordian and beer bottle percussion is okay by me.

Blurry Sanders

I am not a fan of fast food, in fact, I seldom eat it. This week has been an exception since I got two Happy Meals trying to find a Hello Kitty watch. But I could go for weeks without it. This is big for me, the girl who used to, in high school, go with her friends to KFC for "the vat" for lunch. "The vat" was an extra-large order of french fries. That's it. For lunch. I agree with Mike Meyers in So I Married an Axe Murderer that the Colonial puts in his food an "addictive chemical that makes you crave it fortnightly" with his "wee beady eyes."

Since then, I don't eat "the vat" or anything like that because I'm trying to wear a Princess Leia slave costume for Halloween this year. I especially don't eat at KFC since I had really low blood sugar one day and ingested a packet of fake butter to keep from passing out. Instead I barfed.

Anyhow, I thought it was really interesting that Google Street View has started blurring any faces in their photos-- including the Colonial. The Colonial has made me see blurry, but that's because my head was hanging over the toilet.

Not a Drag...

Hi. My name is Holly and I'm a reality television-aholic. I never realized I had it this bad. Until tonight. Tonight I have to fully disclose this addiction.

At first, it started out with an occasional episode of Survivor, maybe a little Fear Factor here and there in the early 2000s, but as reality shows became more popular, I found myself watching more. Soon, I learned I needed more reality television, campier reality television, the more awful reality TV the better, to get my fix. In my life, I have sat through entire seasons of bad reality shows like Top Design, Shear Genius and even The Pick-Up Artist.

I have seen entire marathons of MTV's My Super Sweet 16, three seasons of Rock of Love, every dance show out there: So You Think You Can Dance, Dancing with the Stars, Randy Jackson Presents: America's Best Dance Crew. You name the reality show, and I've watched at least one episode. I watch back-to-back episodes of America's Next Top Model, Project Runway, Tori and Dean. On occasion, I watch lesser-known reality shows like MTV's True Life or Two-a-Days or A&E's Vegas Showgirls: Nearly Famous, sometimes even Bravo's Work Out will satiate my craving. Occasionally, I will watch a show on television, while watching another online-- only occasionally though.

I have watched Britney Spears' Chaotic. I have watched Cathouse. That said, I do have standards. I will not sit through anything with Scott Baio, Dr. Drew, any married Bradys or combinations thereof.

I believe my love for reality television started way before the reality trend of the early 2000s. It's possible my obsession began in the 80s with Battle of the Network Stars. I used to watch those stars in their glittery leotards while they flew through the air with the greatest of ease, and I would sometimes pretend I was a competitor. Sometimes I still dream of glittery leotards and wish I was an American Gladiator, but that's more disclosure than I would like to admit right now. I can't pinpoint the precise time when I first started consuming reality TV, but I know I can't stop. I know I've seen it all. That is, I thought I had seen it all until tonight.

Tonight I saw something that boggled my mind. It rocked my reality television world. I will never be the same. Tonight, I watched my first episode of RuPaul's Drag Race.

RuPaul's Drag Race, where I heard RuPaul say that the winner will be the next drag superstar and be, "hotter than Tyra wearing a fat suit in July." Yes, RuPaul tells the would-be stars to "work it, girl." And I want to "work it" as well. If RuPaul's Drag Race is wrong, I don't want to be right.

The basic premise of the show is that the girls complete challenges, then are judged by RuPaul in a final lip synch show where they "lip synch for their life," and in the end, one queen is eliminated. It's your basic reality show formula, but in this show, the loser is told to "Sashay away."

So my reality television obsession continues, and one day the desire might be quelled. Until then, I will stick with RuPaul. Yes, I will "Shantay and stay."

Keywords...

I'm always interested in how people find my little blog here on the internets. While it's possible I've threatened with physical harm some people into loyal readers, others stumble upon my blog and soon become ensnared in my World Wide Web.

Here are some keywords you can use to find me in case you forget my URL:



Apparently I write about nipples, a lot, and people search nipples, a lot. I also write about not just normal nipples, but flapjack nipples. I believe I referred to Mariah Carey once as having "flapjack nipples" and now it's a great way to find my blog! I also like a good slipple (nipple falling out, on someone else, not myself) and it seems there are internet searchers who agree.

And why does "Kevin Rose" not show up in my keywords since my 2009 goal was to get a date with him, all starting out by mentioning him as often as fitting?

Long fingernail lady

I got an email from a very reliable source who worked decades ago at a place where this lady shopped. She writes, "Her fingernails weren't quite that long when she came thru my checkstand, but I remember her telling me that she was unable to do housework and that was a good incentive for her to keep the ratty looking things. Also, it was apparently a turn-on for her husband. Gross, gross, gross! I guess she has to start over now. Hopefully she will clean her house first."

It seems all good things must come to an end. Apparently the world record holder for the world's longest fingernails lives in Utah, and a car accident caused her to lose her prized possessions. During the recent crash, she was ejected from the vehicle and broke a nail. She was very lucky she wasn't more seriously injured. Still, it is tough to buckle your seatbelt when you're trying to rock 28 feet of ghetto fingers. (Click here for the Salt Lake Tribune article on this accident)

At least now she can pick her nose!

Oh Grate! (a pun, not misspelling of the word "great." you'll get it if you read on.)

A few weeks ago, I went into this new store called Shoe Carnival figuring it sounded fun (Carnival!) and full of shoes (Shoe!); it's fun, and full of shoes, it's SHOE CARNIVAL!

Notsomuch. It scared me. It scared me quite a lot. I couldn't get three feet into the store before a "helpful" salesperson obnoxiously yelled to me, "HI! WELCOME TO SHOE CARNIVAL! WHAT CAN I HELP YOU FIND?"

Taken aback, I sort of said I didn't know, but if I did, I'd be sure to have them help me.

Rounding a set of shelves, I ran into another salesperson. "HI! WELCOME TO SHOE CARNIVAL! WHAT CAN I HELP YOU FIND?" I replied, "Yeah, still doing okay. I'll let you know though if I'm not..."

Frightened, I went to the boot section and tried on a few pairs. The prices were decent, and though the quality of shoe was mostly crap, I was pretty impressed by the cute styles. And if you're going to waste money on poorly-constructed, trendy footwear, it might as well be cheap, poorly-constructed, trendy footwear.

Now, remember this place was called Shoe Carnival? Every five minutes, an employee would get over the loud speaker, "WEEEEEEEEEELCOME TO SHOE CARNIVAL! THIS IS A REMINDER YOU HAVE JUST FIIIIIIIIVE MINUTES TO GET YOUR BUY ONE PAIR GET ONE PAIR HALF-OFF DEEEEEEEEAL. BUT FIRST! LET'S SPIN THE DEAL WHEEL!" Deal wheel?

"HI! ARE YOU STILL FINDING EVERYTHING AT SHOE CARNIVAL?!?" came up behind me, scaring me like the voice belonged to those two freaky twins in The Shining.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHH! YES! I'M JUST LOOKING!!!" Shoe Carnival was loud. Shoe Carnival was scary. Shoe Carnival was a giant clown, ready to hold my hands behind my back and bite my throat with its long, pointy teeth.

Hurrying toward the discount racks in the back of the store, I found two pairs of totally uncomfortable, fairly cute, completely cheap shoes for $6 each. Several more loudspeaker announcements and $12 plus tax later, I left Shoe Carnival, screaming into the night.

Why do I talk about this? I got one of the shoes stuck in a grate outside my apartment tonight. I don't know how, but the heel got so tightly wedged down into the grate that I couldn't pull it out. I literally had to unbuckle the shoe off my foot and leave it while I took all the stuff I was carrying inside.

Half barefoot.

In the snow.

I finally got the shoe out of the grate, but not before taking a picture. Good thing the burgundy patent-leather Mary Jane was cheap, because I'm certainly not going back to freaky Shoe Carnival to replace it.

Loose furniture

We saw this sign outside a furniture store at lunch today, and I'm left wondering exactly what is Hooker Furniture:




Does this furniture turn tricks? Have slip covers which are too short for daylight hours? Does it have clear, lucite legs that light up when pressure is applied?

It is 40% off, however, making it cheap Hooker furniture.

Owned!

Tonight I made my final car payment. Ever. While it's taken many many years to pay it off, it's finally done. And since I paid for a major overhaul on it a couple of months ago, I'm hoping to get a few more years with it-- without a car payment.

I celebrated tonight by going to the gym and then grabbing a bottle of wine for a celebratory glass of vino when I got home. While driving home, the SLCPD decided to run a red light and nearly take out my newly-paid-for vehicle. Now, I understand the benefit of a classic "approach without lights and sirens" call, but should they be approaching without lights and sirens to the detriment of everyone else on the road?

Much less those who thirty seconds earlier just threw their last vehicle payment into the post office?

And because I saw him speed for at least 15 blocks northbound on 900 east after, I figure that I was just lucky to get out without major damage.

Best of...

I think I'm pretty damn funny. I hope you do too. Many current readers might not realize that I started this blog in February 2005 as a supplement to stuff I talked about on the Morning Zoo on 97.1 ZHT. So as a four-year anniversary to "Beyond the Air: Radio Free Holly," I present to you my favorite thoughts, quotes and chunks found throughout the years.

From June 23, 2005:
"Yes, nothing says 'Happy Birthday' quite like a bunch of burning tampons!! This is a quick-fix that would make MacGyver proud. Now, if only they could build a bomb out of Tampax and hand lotion!!"

From August 1, 2005:
"I wore some cute, cotton Aberbcrombie pants last summer to a remote, and it was hot, and any sweat looks like a little bit of pee. In fact, I believe our remote tech accused me of peeing but I am grown up enough, as is Fergie, to know when to use the bathroom."

From February 10, 2006:
"During the Viennese Waltz performance, the dress got twisted, my nipple popped out and got caught over the left side of the dress, and my partner twirled me around for all to see."

From August 31, 2006:
"You can't see it very well, but it's true, there is a place called 'Jo Jo's Munch House' on State Street in Salt Lake City."

From September 12, 2006:
"Jeff from the O2 Oxygen Spa in Salt Lake came in tonight and juiced us up. I chose 'Serenity,' a combination of lavendar and I believe eucalyptus. I feel mellow. I also would like a pizza, a bag of Doritos and maybe a Slim Jim..."

From September 26, 2006:
"I would rather stick a hot letter opener into my nasal cavity than ever run for public office, which is good since my job is technically a conflict of interest."

From November 11 2006:
"True to form of being the most graceful klutz I know, I lit my hand on fire and proceeded to drop the flaming stuff onto my favorite Hello Kitty blanket. Remember in the 70s how acrylic bedding was a fire hazard? Apparently it’s still a fire hazard in the year 2006. In a flash, I threw open the patio door and tossed Burning Kitty outside and like a drunk idiot jumped on it—all while wearing slippers."

From February 13, 2007:
"Don’t marry a guy that has Satan Worshippers as friends. They will just inevitably want you to birth the new Anti-Christ."

From March 15, 2007:
"Whenever a designer is booted off the show, head judge dsigner Jonathan Adler tells them, 'See you later, decorator!' And with a little wave and wiggle of his fingers, the contestant is bid adieu."

From July 31, 2007:
"Today, Michelangelo Antonioni went to the big sound stage in the sky. He was an amazing director who made 'Blow Up,' one of my favorite films. I was first turned onto this movie by someone for whom I will have an eternal soft-spot, so I'm wondering if I love the movie because it reminds me of him, or if it's really a brilliant film."

From September 5, 2007:
"If you are dating someone and that someone happens to die, do not keep their old bras out on your shed workbench. It will make the person you might later date question your affection for them, and that will be the start of a slow spiral down the proverbial relationship toilet."

From September 30, 2007:
"Instead of throwing away the whole mess, plate and all, I decided to try and break apart the upper part of the chip-wad and eat it. After a couple of bites, I realized that not only does fat-free "cheese" turn into titanium when put on chips and microwaved, but it also tastes like shit."

From October 29, 2007:
"I thought, 'Is this my test? Now am I supposed to dig a key out of a guy's colon to get out of here?' To no avail, I had to sit there and endure the stinging sensation while I watched a small Asian woman with a razor blade scrape foot-heel skin off an 80-year-old lady. It was sensory overload."

From November 11, 2007:
"I saw some guy's junk. Right there, three ab benches away from me. Some random guy's junk, just out there for the world to gaze upon. It was bad enough that his shorts were shorter than something out of Studio 54 circa 1978, but as he was doing his ab crunches, his legs were bent and splayed open like a sweaty crab."

From December 9, 2007:


From January 10, 2008:
"Midway through brushing my teeth I noticed that the buckwheat husk was filling my apartment with a delightful organic and slightly lawn-ish scent. By the time I finished brushing my teeth, I thought, 'Wow, the buckwheat husk. It smells like burn... shit!' I ran downstairs and saw that the buckwheat husk had ignited in the microwave and though the filler itself 'WILL NOT BURN!' the material covering the outside most certainly 'WILL FREAKING BECOME TINDER!'"

From January 31, 2008:
You've got to read it in its entirety to do it justice.

From February 15, 2008:
"On the morning of Valentine's Day I left him a 12-pack of Miller High Life for a gift because I had no idea what to get him. That night, he punched me in his sleep because he thought I was either 1) a stranger 2) an intruder or 3) the Vietcong. I was too tired to drive home so I slept in the guest room. On Valentine's Day. Alone."

From April 6, 2008 (Live Blogging Rock of Love finale):
"7:05- I felt bad for Daisy until a shot of her walking revealed her thong underwear sticking out of her jeans."

From April 10, 2008:
"Having thrown up at the gym several times in my life (there was this one time when I thought that drinking a 32-ounce chai before running on the treadmill was a good idea. There was also that one fake bacon incident...), I didn't think anything of it, until I passed out at the grocery store."

From June 6, 2008:
"There I stood, marinading in 'Regular,' mad that not only did I stink, but seeing all that gas pooling on the pavement was like flushing a wad of twenties down the toilet."

From July 23, 2008:
"Last night, I had a dream that the guy I'm dating buried me in a hole with a large Starbuck's latte and a Hickory Farms Yard O'Beef like you would get at a mall kiosk during the holidays."

Crap! Got to run and go to dance now, stay posted for more of my favorite quotes.