my friends love eating at the puffy muffin. i don't love the congealed cranberry salad scene, but i go with them. because somehow, i always end up spewing chicken salad from my nose when we eat there. sometimes it's because we are sitting next to rascal flatts and they are wolfing jello salad. sometimes its the blue haired ladies who are sharing half a sandwich. sometimes it's sunday morning and i'm still drunk- whatever. i spew.
and spewing from orafices is a good thing.
unless you sit on said orafice.
which is what reminded me of the puffy muff.
i had surgery on my muff organs, and this made me puffy.
who knew that a human could gain 10 pounds in 48 hours? i entered the surgery center monday morning weighing 125 and weighed in on wednesday at 135.
this equates to 2 clothing sizes up (of which i don't own).
this equates to irrational crying (of which i don't do).
this equates to me trashing the percocet (of which constipates).
if someone had told me my ankles and face would swell like a pregnant lady, i may have kept the squirmy little cells that tried to turn my muff into a petri dish for st. jude's.
and i would have eaten more to earn it.
4.07.2008
3.21.2008
my league
1.) Looks - 9 ( i need boobs)
2.) Humor - 10 (have you read my blog?)
3.) Cleanliness - 5 (have you been to my house?)
4.) Intelligence - 9 (check my GRE score)
5.) Income - 3 (i can't even talk about it)
6.) Manners - 6 (depends on the audience)
7.) Interests - 10 (i like to eat things i find on the side of the road)
8.) Experience - 7 (have you met my family?)
9.) Attentiveness - 2 (huh?)
10.) Chemistry\ Personality - 10 (again, have you read my blog?)
2.) Humor - 10 (have you read my blog?)
3.) Cleanliness - 5 (have you been to my house?)
4.) Intelligence - 9 (check my GRE score)
5.) Income - 3 (i can't even talk about it)
6.) Manners - 6 (depends on the audience)
7.) Interests - 10 (i like to eat things i find on the side of the road)
8.) Experience - 7 (have you met my family?)
9.) Attentiveness - 2 (huh?)
10.) Chemistry\ Personality - 10 (again, have you read my blog?)
stolen from brian in minneapolis
sometimes my friends read my blog.
sometimes brian from minnesota reads my blog.
sometimes i read his.
sometimes i wonder if brian and i know the same people,
if he was searching through blogger profiles bored as hell one day
and stumbled upon my rants,
if liking the same book brought us together,
or if he's the scary motherfucker married guy
who lives in my neighborhood
and he's faking with the entire cold state.
i just think about it sometimes, is all.
today i am stealing his blog and playing with it.
because i like it, alot.
HERE's HIS BLOG:
We have often heard people say, "Whoa she is way out of his league." Which usually means that one of the dating partners is much more attractive then the other. However, the reality is that there are 100's or 1000's of leagues and you are in several of them at the same time. For example you may be in the great looking league but also in the dumb as a box of rocks league and in the generous league. Are you with me so far?
This explanation assumes that you grant a few common terms.
1.) That there are multiple leagues that people belong to. Income League, Attractiveness League, Humor League etc.
2.) That there are varying levels of how much someone belongs to one of those leagues. For example you can fall somewhere on a scale of 1-10. I am a 7 in looks btw.
Now here is how it all works. This is a fun experiment to do with your friends at a bar. Write on a napkin these ten things. (Or pick 10 others that are important to you order does not matter)
1.) Looks
2.) Humor
3.) Cleanliness
4.) Intelligence
5.) Income
6.) Manners
7.) Interests (Hobbies or things that make you interesting)
8.) Experience (Amount of things you have had to overcome)
9.) Attentiveness (How well you pay attention)
10.) Chemistry\ Personality
Now rank your self 1-10 in each
Have your friends do the same.
Take all the totals...come on you haven't forgotten all those Stats lessons have you?
sometimes brian from minnesota reads my blog.
sometimes i read his.
sometimes i wonder if brian and i know the same people,
if he was searching through blogger profiles bored as hell one day
and stumbled upon my rants,
if liking the same book brought us together,
or if he's the scary motherfucker married guy
who lives in my neighborhood
and he's faking with the entire cold state.
i just think about it sometimes, is all.
today i am stealing his blog and playing with it.
because i like it, alot.
HERE's HIS BLOG:
We have often heard people say, "Whoa she is way out of his league." Which usually means that one of the dating partners is much more attractive then the other. However, the reality is that there are 100's or 1000's of leagues and you are in several of them at the same time. For example you may be in the great looking league but also in the dumb as a box of rocks league and in the generous league. Are you with me so far?
This explanation assumes that you grant a few common terms.
1.) That there are multiple leagues that people belong to. Income League, Attractiveness League, Humor League etc.
2.) That there are varying levels of how much someone belongs to one of those leagues. For example you can fall somewhere on a scale of 1-10. I am a 7 in looks btw.
Now here is how it all works. This is a fun experiment to do with your friends at a bar. Write on a napkin these ten things. (Or pick 10 others that are important to you order does not matter)
1.) Looks
2.) Humor
3.) Cleanliness
4.) Intelligence
5.) Income
6.) Manners
7.) Interests (Hobbies or things that make you interesting)
8.) Experience (Amount of things you have had to overcome)
9.) Attentiveness (How well you pay attention)
10.) Chemistry\ Personality
Now rank your self 1-10 in each
Have your friends do the same.
Take all the totals...come on you haven't forgotten all those Stats lessons have you?
3.19.2008
heart cooks brain
i cried today. wtf?
i swear i need to just get my uterus removed.
or put it in a box.
i'm not using it or anything.
i swear i need to just get my uterus removed.
or put it in a box.
i'm not using it or anything.
3.18.2008
turn turn turn
the snow has melted. the trace animal likes to flick me on the head: like i am his 12 year old sister.
and the sun is bright. so i've called in sick with the doctor to independently study a virus i've not been able to shake. maybe on a patio with maguaritas?
i'm ready for what comes next and it keeps getting tangled in with the effects of past storms. in this tangle i've discovered that dogs over 4 pounds sometimes wear barrettes.
and i think it's cute.
oh.
and i'm plotting the coupe of a local gov't office.
and the sun is bright. so i've called in sick with the doctor to independently study a virus i've not been able to shake. maybe on a patio with maguaritas?
i'm ready for what comes next and it keeps getting tangled in with the effects of past storms. in this tangle i've discovered that dogs over 4 pounds sometimes wear barrettes.
and i think it's cute.
oh.
and i'm plotting the coupe of a local gov't office.
3.08.2008
man hunter
it snowed 5 inches last night... a serious anomaly for nashville night life.
normally, the only flakes nashville sees tend to fall from the gelled locks of the early 40's crowd that populates the trace (a bar which happened to close last week due to some tax issues). poor almost-old-men. now they will have to find somewhere else to hunt urban cougars with silicone boobs and impending appointments for their first eye lift.
anyway, last night i didn't get to see the start of the storm. i was at the yazoo brewery pub with my red-haired friend and two guys who were scouting new habitats since the closing of the trace. i don't think they'll make yazoo theirs: too much patagonia and patchouli. however, i am seriously considering making a temporary nest there. the guy to girl ration was about 25:1. and i do like a hiker type.
oddly, i can tolerate this flake from the trace. although he was camouflaged in an early 1990's pelt of light washed jeans and plaid ralph lauren, he was intelligent for his species. community minded. funny. and reasonable to look at, in a 90210 kind of way.
maybe it was the snow; maybe it was the beer; maybe it was the fact that love is not even in the forecast for an epoch(an early winter cold front killed all spring buds on this hydrangea). whatever it is, the snow is melting and i'm loading my gun.
it's not been 24 hours and he's foraging education articles from the tennessean to present to me.
oooh.
he just texted.
wow.
this species is destined for extinction.
normally, the only flakes nashville sees tend to fall from the gelled locks of the early 40's crowd that populates the trace (a bar which happened to close last week due to some tax issues). poor almost-old-men. now they will have to find somewhere else to hunt urban cougars with silicone boobs and impending appointments for their first eye lift.
anyway, last night i didn't get to see the start of the storm. i was at the yazoo brewery pub with my red-haired friend and two guys who were scouting new habitats since the closing of the trace. i don't think they'll make yazoo theirs: too much patagonia and patchouli. however, i am seriously considering making a temporary nest there. the guy to girl ration was about 25:1. and i do like a hiker type.
oddly, i can tolerate this flake from the trace. although he was camouflaged in an early 1990's pelt of light washed jeans and plaid ralph lauren, he was intelligent for his species. community minded. funny. and reasonable to look at, in a 90210 kind of way.
maybe it was the snow; maybe it was the beer; maybe it was the fact that love is not even in the forecast for an epoch(an early winter cold front killed all spring buds on this hydrangea). whatever it is, the snow is melting and i'm loading my gun.
it's not been 24 hours and he's foraging education articles from the tennessean to present to me.
oooh.
he just texted.
wow.
this species is destined for extinction.
3.05.2008
the bachelorette
lined up in the queue for this week's episode of the bachelorette are...
an MD who is the obsessive true love crush of a best friend. he likes to talk about "blacks".
an art lover who sat on the porch drinking tea and reading the hollywood issue of vanity fair last sunday. um, he also wants to take me to see the full monty next friday. at the local JCC.
a 41 year old insurance sales manager who played high school football with my brother.
can i hurt a friend and kiss a racist?
can i ignore a full monty?
can i be the trophy wife of a germantown high school football player?
tune in next week for the next episode of the bachelorette.
hey, ABC started it.
an MD who is the obsessive true love crush of a best friend. he likes to talk about "blacks".
an art lover who sat on the porch drinking tea and reading the hollywood issue of vanity fair last sunday. um, he also wants to take me to see the full monty next friday. at the local JCC.
a 41 year old insurance sales manager who played high school football with my brother.
can i hurt a friend and kiss a racist?
can i ignore a full monty?
can i be the trophy wife of a germantown high school football player?
tune in next week for the next episode of the bachelorette.
hey, ABC started it.
3.03.2008
wilco part 2
icanteventalkaboutit.
FYI- describing this concert is like describing love; impossible. Like you can never explain it to someone else. I am still to overwhelmed to make much articulate commentary about Wilco at the Ryman, but here goes...
I have had some good times in life.
I have seen some great shows.
I've seen Wilco before and loved it.
But Wilco at the Ryman was the best it may ever get.
And I'm okay with that.
Jeffy Tweedy wore a Manuel (or manuel inspired) white suit with cardinals and roses sequined upon it. He looked perfect- not like some ass who wants to dress up to be in Nashville; he was Nashville. His voice was spot on, completely clear in a way I hadn't noticed it could be. The Ryman is Tweedy's (and Wilco's) venue, most clearly shown when he came out for the first encore and sang acoustic.He can also carry a melody through a jam like nobody's business- which is a little hard to notice on records.
Nels Cline is a fucking guitarist. The man is the shit blend of jam rock, wa wa pedal fabulousness, and rock star. He's the perfect addition to the band and his style violates the ears in only the best ways. I love him with Wilco, in a way I hadn't (cause I'm not the biggest Sky Blue Sky Fan and I blamed that on him). No more blame.
And John Stirratt was rockin. I wore lipstick for him, but he didn't see it from the stage. I'll have to stalk later. Oh yeah- he's talented, too.
Anyway... until the first encore (and there were 2), most of the balcony sat in the pews. Not in the way that showed they weren't into it, but in the way that showed every person was LISTENING. The encore brought the house to their feet and the crowd became part of Wilco; like sang with them as a chorus. beautiful.
As well, they were filming the performance, so we really got the best of Wilco. I will own this footage at some point. Wilco played from every album and made a case for their excellence by proving that in their breadth of style, the depth lies in their consistent creativity and excellence.
My concert mate was new to Wilco and liked them enough before. He's been around the concert bush a few times and called it the best concert he has ever seen in his life. It was definitely the best concert the Ryman has ever seen.
Done.
For now.
FYI- describing this concert is like describing love; impossible. Like you can never explain it to someone else. I am still to overwhelmed to make much articulate commentary about Wilco at the Ryman, but here goes...
I have had some good times in life.
I have seen some great shows.
I've seen Wilco before and loved it.
But Wilco at the Ryman was the best it may ever get.
And I'm okay with that.
Jeffy Tweedy wore a Manuel (or manuel inspired) white suit with cardinals and roses sequined upon it. He looked perfect- not like some ass who wants to dress up to be in Nashville; he was Nashville. His voice was spot on, completely clear in a way I hadn't noticed it could be. The Ryman is Tweedy's (and Wilco's) venue, most clearly shown when he came out for the first encore and sang acoustic.He can also carry a melody through a jam like nobody's business- which is a little hard to notice on records.
Nels Cline is a fucking guitarist. The man is the shit blend of jam rock, wa wa pedal fabulousness, and rock star. He's the perfect addition to the band and his style violates the ears in only the best ways. I love him with Wilco, in a way I hadn't (cause I'm not the biggest Sky Blue Sky Fan and I blamed that on him). No more blame.
And John Stirratt was rockin. I wore lipstick for him, but he didn't see it from the stage. I'll have to stalk later. Oh yeah- he's talented, too.
Anyway... until the first encore (and there were 2), most of the balcony sat in the pews. Not in the way that showed they weren't into it, but in the way that showed every person was LISTENING. The encore brought the house to their feet and the crowd became part of Wilco; like sang with them as a chorus. beautiful.
As well, they were filming the performance, so we really got the best of Wilco. I will own this footage at some point. Wilco played from every album and made a case for their excellence by proving that in their breadth of style, the depth lies in their consistent creativity and excellence.
My concert mate was new to Wilco and liked them enough before. He's been around the concert bush a few times and called it the best concert he has ever seen in his life. It was definitely the best concert the Ryman has ever seen.
Done.
For now.
wilco at the ryman 03.02.2008
Via Chicago
Blood of the Lamb
Pieholden Suite
California Stars
Company in my Back
You Are My Face
Side with the Seeds
Pot Kettle Black
Shot in the Arm
She's a Jar
Handshake Drugs
Impossible Germany
It's Just That Simple
Pick Up the Change
Too Far Apart
Nothingsevergonnastandinmywayagain
Jesus etc.
Hate It Here
Walken
I'm the Man Who Loves You
--------encore 1--------
Someone Else's Song (Tweedy w/o amplification)
Misunderstood (amazing)
The Thanks I Get
Red Eyed and Blue -> I Got You
Monday
--------encore 2---------
The Late Greats
Blood of the Lamb
Pieholden Suite
California Stars
Company in my Back
You Are My Face
Side with the Seeds
Pot Kettle Black
Shot in the Arm
She's a Jar
Handshake Drugs
Impossible Germany
It's Just That Simple
Pick Up the Change
Too Far Apart
Nothingsevergonnastandinmywayagain
Jesus etc.
Hate It Here
Walken
I'm the Man Who Loves You
--------encore 1--------
Someone Else's Song (Tweedy w/o amplification)
Misunderstood (amazing)
The Thanks I Get
Red Eyed and Blue -> I Got You
Monday
--------encore 2---------
The Late Greats
2.15.2008
happy valentines day
so for valentine's i went out for vodka, video trivia, and fried pickles.
i love my body. my body does not love me right now.
as i was driving home, i tried to wrap my mind around love. this is always a good idea after three drinks. in a review of the people i have loved (like loved with a capital L) i came to two. these two are buffered on two men i have obsessed over.
like an obsession/love/love/obsession appetizer.
literally.
high school obsession.
college love.
adult love.
adult obsession.
it's kind of like a fried pickle. i mean the greasy outer layer is in no way good for me, but it's so damn enticing. i chase it around the plastic basket, suck it off the pickle and ruin my tongue on how
way
too
hot
it is.
inevitably, the freaky batter screws my stomach up and kills my taste for pickles- which really is the part that i love the most. i mean, i love dill pickles. like a jar at a time love.
and, i love these men. but the obsessions before and after are fucking up my gut.
i love my body. my body does not love me right now.
as i was driving home, i tried to wrap my mind around love. this is always a good idea after three drinks. in a review of the people i have loved (like loved with a capital L) i came to two. these two are buffered on two men i have obsessed over.
like an obsession/love/love/obsession appetizer.
literally.
high school obsession.
college love.
adult love.
adult obsession.
it's kind of like a fried pickle. i mean the greasy outer layer is in no way good for me, but it's so damn enticing. i chase it around the plastic basket, suck it off the pickle and ruin my tongue on how
way
too
hot
it is.
inevitably, the freaky batter screws my stomach up and kills my taste for pickles- which really is the part that i love the most. i mean, i love dill pickles. like a jar at a time love.
and, i love these men. but the obsessions before and after are fucking up my gut.
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