Remember A Year Ago...

When I did a moment to moment blogging of The Grammy's? It was the most fun I've had blogging in...like, ever. That and people kept coming back to see it months later which makes no sense and we all know what a whore I am for stat kickers. Whatever, I'm all about judging celebrities as well. Let the judgements begin. also, can't explain why this underlined. too tired to figure out how to undo it. blargh.

-Let's start by skipping Lady Gaga because it's just too easy. WAIT. It just became a dirt-face-off with Elton John. I don't even know the song. No one's paying attention anyway. They're just wondering if she's keeping all of her magical powers in her green glitter shoulder pads this evening and if this number will end in faux-blood and tears.

-I'm sorry, didn't Greenday play 21 Guns last year, too? I can appreciate their attempt at an EXTREME AMOUNT OF BACK UP SINGERS, but seriously. A song is a song.

-If they don't stop promoting this craptastic "When In Rome" movie, people might actually go see it which will only end in the Apocalypse. Also, is Josh Duhamel drunk because he acts like he has no clue he's even on stage?

-Je-SUS Taylor Swift stop acting so G.D. surprised every time you win something. I mean, I LOVE her...and that statuesque blue glitter gown she's wearing. But come on. It's in the bag, sweetheart. Your competition is Carrie Underwood and that's it. You have a 50% chance of robbing The Grammy's this year.God. When do I get to start wearing blue glitter gowns? When will I win a Grammy?

-Then Beyonce sang. And the entire world stopped for a moment mystified by her thighs and vocals. Thighs first, though. GIANTSQUEALINGBRAKESOUNDS why is she singing Alanis Morrisette?! And with the White Snake hair whip...oh lord. I mean, don't get me wrong, she is OWNING this song. She's just also scaring all the little children. And the small part of me stuck in the 7th grade who is a die hard Alanis fan with my best friend Jill, jamming to Jagged Little Pill in my mom's van. NO ONE UNDERSTOOD US IN THE 7TH GRADE, IT WAS A TUMULTUOUS TIME IN OUR LIVES.

-I was going to tell Pink that no one was buying her Mother Theresa of Vegas outfit, but of course, she's essentially naked in stripes and sprinkles. Oh, and now she's wet.

-How ridiculous is it that the entire time Black Eyed Peas is performing, with Fergie's metal corset/crotch cover and intense strobe lights and the silver shoulder pads of....oh crap, what are the other band members names....anyway, all I can think about...and I mean ALL I CAN THINK is that "i'mabe" is not a word. Not even a little bit. Not even a smidge.

-Challenge: Name one song by the Jonas Brothers that hit the radio last year. Oh that's right, Radio Disney doesn't count. Ohhh, swoongasm, Lady Antebellum is playing. Side note: I recently made "Need You Now" my ringtone, which is only slightly confusing as I stole it from my mother and every time the phone rings, we look to one another first as if caught up in a frantic dare of "Is it yours or mine?" when neither of us wants to be the one to get up and look. I don't know why we bother. 99% of the time it's her. I'm sorely unpopular and people hit her up for cash often. Sorry, sorry, my point being is that Lady Antebellum is fantastic and The JoBros blow me.

-Wait, what? Best Comedy Album is a category? LAME. OHSAVEUS Weird Al Yankovic is still ALIVE??? LAMER.

-Poor Norah Jones' Grammy moment was ruined by some technical difficulties in the video department. Also, how does one decide what the record of the YEAR is? Like, of all the music the entire year, Kings of Leon REALLY was the ULTIMATE record? That's just false. Not true. Incorrect. And what does this prove? That Twilight girls have taken over the world. Fear not Obama-opposers. 2012 brings Stephanie Meyer as president, tax cuts for those who donate blood and Church of the Latter Day Robert Pattinson's.

-Katy Perry is NOT dressed like fruit. Surprise. Alice in Chains looks close to death.

Not surprised. Green Day STILL SINGING 21 GUNS. surprise, surprise. Also, why must they dress like they're characters in a Tim Burton movie? We get it, you've been edgy and cool since I was a twinkle in Baby Jesus' eye. Put on a pastel, it will not kill you. I PROMISE. You look like you're starring in Tim Burton's "A Nightmare before Edward Scissorhands sent you back to Wonderland". But nerdier.

- Taylor Swift and Stevie Nicks. I didn't actually see that coming. I mean, I should have. I don't have much more to say about it. It's completely lackluster and no one is even wearing a cool dress or hooker boots. You Belong With Me features a banjo suddenly and sounds mildly folky and childish. What is HAPPENING child?? 3 years of hard work led up to this craptastic moment of blonde boredom?! I refuse to comment any further.

-Who IS this fugly band with loads of talent?

- Myself and FactorygrlAshli spent the entirety of the Michael Jackson tribute discussing our undying lurv for Jennifer Hudson, how fantastic yet flashy Carrie Underwood's dress is and how pissed off we were that we a) didn't get 3D glasses and b) were suffering from nauseousness from said 3D experience. Alright, it might have been more me than her but I don't like to be alone in my complaints. So thank you darlin.

and just like last year, my interest in the Grammy's came to a screeching and deafening halt. I'm sorry, I don't listen to rap and r&b or classical, big band or know who the old dude is on stage that can't seem to get the envelope open. I can't even be bothered to see album of the year or watch Mary J. Blige and I'm pretty sure I like her. She's got spunk.

Also, I hate to be a party pooper Jay-Z but I'm not the only fool who remembered you retired a number of years ago. You know what happens in retirement, right? You go away and never come back because you've died. Those are the rules. Just ask any old person.

tirednowthanksforthelovegrammys. until next year.

No Personal Space

My sister made Snowcoming Court today. For those of you that don't know, Snowcoming is like the new Homecoming except it's freezing out officially and only hookers would stand outside with that little amount of clothing on for the sake of making a buck or looking pretty.

My sister is not a hooker, I'm just a little bitter. It's not that I don't love her although I suppose if this had happened to you, you might feel it was in the realm of possiblity. It's just that she came home last night all giggly about how she was telling her friends how weird I am and all the 'crazy little things I do to her' occasionally and how one friend, in SERIOUS AND DIRE CONFUSION, asked her, "Uh is your sister....you know, Special Needs?" and the amount of horror captured on my face the second I heard that relayed back to me was mildly like the horror you're about to see here:

If you'll excuse me, I have to go shower now. And immediately move out of my parents house.
Congrats Afton, on making SnowCourt!

A Conversation On Pogs

Scott: You should blog about fads.

Me: What do you mean?

Scott: Like, you could do a post called "Remember Pogs?"

Me: Well, yeah, I remember pogs. What else would I say?

Scott: Oh, you know. You could be all "Wow, weren't pogs weird? Remember when they were popular?"

Me: And that's it?

Scott: Well, then you could do a new fad every couple of weeks.

Me: Like...what kind of fads?

Scott: Ugg Boots.

Me: But people are still wearing Ugg Boots. I'M still wearing Ugg Boots.

Scott: Ok, what about those weird rubber shoes?

Me: WHAT rubber shoes?

Scott: Crocs or something. Yeah, yeah, and every week you could call it 'Flash from the Past with Ash'!!

Me: So you want me to talk about old fads every week.

Scott: Sure.

Me: Like, a wikipedia of fads.

Scott: Exactly.

Me: I have to go now.

Scott: Great idea, huh?

Me: YUP.

Scott:...you don't like it, do you?

Me: What? I LOOVVEEE it.

Scott: Yeah...we'll see if you actually post about it.

done and done, Scott. Done. And. Done.

She's Rich Enough For Better Writers

I've been raving about the Carrie Underwood CD for a few days now because, well, it's peppy and I'm bored. It's the kind of music you can put in on a Saturday when no one else is home (or if you're me and unemployed, EVERYDAY IS SATURDAY!) and jam out like nobody's business.

However, as upbeat and peppy and fun as it is, homegirl needs to speak with somebody about her music because, from what I can tell, six year olds who are reading Hop on Pop and have learned the basic essentials of rhyming are sitting in a room somewhere with pencil, paper and a writing prompter yelling "make it about love!" and then just let them loose.

For instance, I freaking love this song. But the words actually go:

"I'll move on baby just like you,
when the desert floods and the grass turns blue.
When a sailing ship don't need her moon..."

and so on and so forth until I'm pretty sure she's used every possible combination so she can warble "ooooooohhhh" for as long as possible. This won't stop me from listening to it, of course. I'm gonna play this CD until the dogs know all the words and then I can take them on Montel just like that dog who says 'I love You'. Except..you know, my dogs will say "I would not like them in a box".

Behold

Sir Barnum-Mom's Big Boy-Earp.

I wish I was kidding that she actually had that put on his AKC papers, but alas I am not. For simplicity's sake we call him Barney because anyone who spends more than fourteen seconds with him will realize he is not a Barnum. He is a Barney through and through.

I could list all of Barney's great qualities. How big his eyes are and how sweet he can be when you have something he wants. How he's built like a really gangly, black giraffe and how he's slower than a box of rocks underwater but I won't. I think his greatest quality is his skiddishness. The poor sweetheart is a lamb in wolf's clothing. Neighbors run from him in frantic yelps and cries of "Get that wild animal!" whenever they walk by because his greatest offense thus far has been sniffing so hard in your ass crack that you're pretty sure you're being molested, but you kind of also like it. He's just too stupid to hurt anyone.

There was the instance where my mother called me to say that the dogs were standing with her in the kitchen while she was making dinner one evening and when she pulled one gallon bag from the Ziploc container on a high shelf, two came out accidentally. The second floated down, much like a napkin in the breeze, but Barney was standing directly underneath and when he caught sight of it, scrambled out of the kitchen so fast and with such fear that we were sure he was shouting internally "HURRY THEY'RE BOMBING! NAZIS, WITCHES, THE HUMANE SOCIETY, GET THE KIBBLE! SAVE YOURSELVES, SAVE YOURSEEEEEEEELLLLLVVVVVVVEEEEEEEESSSS" and my mother was all "What the F are we going to do with Barney?"

The real reason I'm writing about him today is two fold. One has to do with the video we took of him last night in his prime. He loves nothing more than to stand up on two legs and lean on someone so that he can smell them furiously in their eyeball and then proceed to lick every square inch of skin that might have a trace of facial oil or blush on it because it tastes oh so good. The second is because as sweet as he can be, I almost killed him in a fit of rage this morning.

I've been home with my family the past few days which means that during the day the dogs, who are normally kenneled, get free range and are running around wildly while I play my Carrie Underwood cd and it's just all madness. Therefore, my mother bought them rawhide, a rare treat, so that they would keep calm and collected while I unloaded the dishwasher and ran around cleaning in my underwear (You're WELCOME for that visual, you naughty thing). So I hand them rawhide this morning, skip merrily on my way and don't look back until the cd needs changing.
At which point I notice the monstrous pile of dog puke laying on the rug by the back door and Barney is all weepy eyed like, 'Ash I don't know how this happened, it went from so good to SO BAD" and I was like "Are you f'ing kidding me Barney, how do I even clean this up?" and in a fit of frantic running around and wetness I pick UP the rug with said puke and all I can think is "This is DIRTY must get CLEAN" so I take it downstairs, dripping ALL THE WAY, to the laundry room and promptly dump it in the washtub where the laundry is done.

It was at this point, immediately after dumpage, that I realized our downstairs washtub doesn't have a garbage disposal or giant gaping hole for said regurgitated kibble and bits and that I have to scoop it all BACK OUT WITH MY HANDS into the nearby garbage. Just to go back upstairs and have to Shamwow the entire floor where it dripped from the back door and now, I've realized, that I truly love Barney but holy crap am I grateful for every day that I don't own a small child.
Enjoy this video of him in true Barney form.

I'm Sorry...Set WHO On Fire?

In part laziness/part excitement over this still fantastic looking movie, I had to find the other song that was advertised at the end of the trailer. It's called "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead" (yeah...have fun with that one) by the band Stars. Don't try just googling "Stars". Trust me...you'll end up with the band LAST. Just go here instead.

Tell me you don't love the "Big Band" atmosphere of this song. I mean, he's playing a tuba for the love of Pete. And while it's a slow start and I don't think that ice skating has ever skeeved me out as much before, the chick singing out of nowhere in the middle really takes the cake.



I like them. I think I'll keep them.

Dreading The Middle Of February

Let's not talk about the impending doom that is Valentine's Day. Let's instead discuss about how by then one of my wonderful friends will have set me up with the perfect Valentine who will inevitably buy me this. Then, let's talk about how the first time he makes a major mistake in our relationship (I give it a month...even delicious Valentines make mistakes) he'll have to take me on an ACTUAL hot air balloon ride.

And then the next time he messes up, he'll have to buy me the moon.
Dude, I'm a girl. I didn't say I liked the rules, but I follow them. Just like when my best friend Kelley's future husband messes up for the second time he'll have to buy her all of Paris to make up for it. We didn't say we liked these demands.
But Rules are Rules.

Are You Frightened By Perfection?

I'm obsessed with Bryan Greenberg. I mean, this is a serious obsession kids. Remember back when Bring It On came out and I was head over heels in love with Jesse Bradford and won that signed photo of him from his website which I kept up in my college dorm right next to the photo of my ever precious family and the cat I had since I was twelve?

Yeah, it's that kind of obsessed. If you don't know who he is, he played Uma Thurman's too-young boyfriend in Prime and also, some really nerdy sweetheart in that weird SAT movie with Scarlett Johanson, whom we NEED to discuss later because I'm beginning to think that her marriage to Ryan Reynolds is a farce and honey, if you're not really appreciating the goods you need to LET HIM GO FOR THE REST OF US.

Anyway, he has this adorable new movie coming out called The Good Guy in which he plays, you guessed it, a delicious and good guy. You know, loves book clubs and works hard and wears really cute blue polos like he truly does work at Blockbuster and it's even kind of attractive. Plus, Alexis Bledel is in it and can I just say that my girl crush on her is a little out of control? The girl has eyes like a doe caught in headlights witnessing a murder while on stage at the Copa Cabana during amateur night.

Anyway, you can watch the trailer for it here:

But the real reason I'm talking about it is because this weird band called PlushGun does the music for it and I'm completely obsessed. I don't even understand the lyrics really, but I can't stop listening to it over and over again. I'm pretty sure it needs to go on my iPod for workout tunes. It says it's from "We Need Girlfriends" and I haven't investigated that enough to know if that's their album or a tv show or what, but fear not! I'm on the hunt. And in the mean time I'll probably download it illegally somewhere.

*Update: just KIDDING. Who downloads music ILLEGALLY? Certainly not me,mom...FBI...Baby Jesus...it was a joke. I'm totally going to amazon to buy their stuff here. And then I'm going straight to church to pray for all those crazies who steal music. Eegads.

Grace Potter & The Nocturnals

I came across these crazy hippies on an episode of One Tree Hill like, two years ago, which I'm not even ashamed to admit. It is only RECENTLY that OTH has jumped off the deep end. I can't even go into it right now; you can't just get rid of Peyton and Lucas and think that the repercussions aren't going to be ASTRONOMICALLY DISTRESSING to your ratings. HELLO, they started the sh-

I digress. What's important here is that Grace and her hippy friends play live shows like you wouldn't believe, because that's all I can find on YouTube which irritates me. When I'm sullen, I like to listen to Apologies and when I need to get ready in a hurry and only a four minute shower is possible, I like to play Mastermind because it gets my ass in gear. Listen to them here. (BLAH BLAH BLAH MYSPACE I KNOW I KNOW!) Rave about them in Comments. Go see them live in Maine in March if you can.

DayDream Believer

What is it about this dress that screams "You Must Have Me!"?? I mean, I've been looking at it for quite some time this morning with my morning coffee and I've come to several conclusions.
1. It's the color of putty. You remember Silly Putty, right? It's totally that color after you drop it in dirt.
2. It's shapeless. I have no idea if this girl has a waist or breasts and since those are defining features of "you are female, yup" I think they're kind of necessary.
3. I absolutely have to have it.
I mean..the sleeves are puffy pieces of chiffon and you won't be able to tell if I'm a chick or a dude in putty dirt but I just keep envisioning one day being invited as if by fluke to some sort of low-scale award show. Like, The ESPY's. I have no CLUE what happens at the ESPY's except that everyone is in a tizzy and I would like to wear this dress there and drink multi-colored punch and hang out with A-Rod to see what all the fuss is about.
However, that means that I will also have to work on buying some hair and legsfordays such as this chick. Because if you couldn't tell she was a lady by the boobs and waist, the pout certainly gives it away.

Dotjr

I can't imagine that is this individuals real name, but perhaps his Dad's is Dot or something and therefore, it's legit. Who cares really, because this kid sings like an angel. His stuff is so obscure that I literally had to buy him off of some UK music site this past summer and the only way you could go see him is if you lived Ireland (lucky Irish punks....fist the landscape and now this). However, if you go to his Myspace (I know, I KNOW UGH MYSPACE GROSS EW get over it, this is what we have to work with) you can listen to his hit "Stars Fall Down". He's so adorably Irish or British or accented in some way that it might sound like, "Stars all Die" which...hell, that's depressing, but I promise it's not. And also, if you ever come across your husband singing "Love Song For Everyone" to your child, go ahead and just get him a commemorative plaque for Greatest Decision You've Ever Made In Your Life award.

Pizza Smoothie

I think it's the combination of too much wine and this ginormous t-shirt I convinced myself I could sleep in comfortably last night in a fit of shedding all of my clothes and getting into bed quickly, but whatever it is I got up at a 5:30 again this morning. I mean, we could blame it on the wine hangover and my extreme thirst where I literally dreamed about water bottles with holes in the bottom, but I don't really want to go there. Going there is admitting I have a problem. I don't have a problem. I like wine and there's nothing wrong with that. QUIT CALLING MY HOUSE, AA.

So in my fit of waking up early, exchanging my outfit for a t-shirt that didn't drown me and having enough water to feed thirty seven house plants for a year, I turn on the television for some company and wouldn't you know it? NOTHING ON except really old episodes of Angel and paid programming. Sorry David Boreanaz, but I've totally seen you slay that green individual with the nose spikes more than once, I'llpassthanks.

And I'm truly getting into the groove of the Ab-swing-you-about-machine-infomercial when a PSA comes on. A man, silently, takes a piece of pizza from a box and puts it in a blender. Adds some marinara sauce from a jar. Sprinkles some mozzarella and for the finishing touch, licks his fingers and hit's PUREE.

And I'm all, "Dude, where is this going? Oh man, they're not going to show some drunk driver who had his jaw smashed in, are they, and can no longer eat solid foods? YIKES. These drunk driving messages are getting brutal, I mean I get that they made a mistake but I do NOT want to see someone without any teeth, I had a grandma once and whenever she would pop those suckers out it was horri-"

But that's not it at all. He turns off the machine, pours it in a glass and sets it on the table for a kid. With braces. Who smiles at him in appreciation.

AND DRINKS IT. HE DRINKS THE PIZZA SMOOTHIE. And the message?!?!?!?!:
"Be a Dad today."

.........

................

....................
What. WHAT. I mean, where do I start? Because I could come out swinging with "OHMIGAWD HOW COULD HE EAT THE PIZZA SMOOTHIE?!?" but really, I'm pulled in so many different directions. Like...are they advertising being a father? Was it for sperm donations? Knock-Up-Your-Girlfriend-Today-For-Tax-Cuts at H&R Block?
Or, lastly, if it really was just a message on how to be a good dad....WHAT THE F. That is a TERRIBLE father! How about some oatmeal, huh, pops? How about a nice cold FRUIT smoothie to help those braces, or something with a banana in it for nutritional value? If my future husband (God help you, whoever you are) ever feeds my kid Pizza Smoothie for breakfast...whooo boy. And the worst part? Some poor bastard somewhere in like, Idaho (poor Idaho) just saw that commercial this morning and is now facing the possibility of a lynching from his wife because she caught him with the pizza sauce and a blender.
Ugh. Pizza Smoothie.
Still shuddering.
Blech.



gross.

Protecting Your Shit

If it weren't for etsy.com I would probably spend the majority of my day looking at the latest celebrity websites, trying to figure out the awe and wonder that is this Snooki character. I mean...I don't get it. She makes one comment about a Bumpit and suddenly she's as famous as the next messiah.

Regardless, I can't read about her anymore, particularly since I saw a picture of her on TheSuperficial where she is totally making out with some homeless person and showing all of her bits and pieces. Shameful. I mean, I've done that too but seriously....doesn't make it any less shameful.

MOVING ON: due to etsy's wonderfulness, I would be surprised if I found a single item I had to own on any other website in the near future. Which means that if you can't stand the concept of handmade items crafted by talented women in the great U.S.A. for reasonable prices to boost our economic distress then you should probably skip my entries. And also, purchase this as soon as possible, you traitor.

I purchased this bag from JanineKingDesigns on etsy around Christmas of '08 because my mother, in a fit of Christmas bliss, bought all of us 17 inch laptops and it turns out that Walmart is less than agreeable in helping you tote that shit around. What's great about this bag, besides the fact that it's gorgeous, is that it seriously has protected my laptop against anything and everything. Tsunami's and the day that I left my back window open when going through the carwash included. The best part? She custom makes them for any type of computer or kindle or macbook or even tiny robotic baby you have purchased instead of risking having a real one. Which, frankly, I can't blame you for.

The Sixers

Kelley, in a fit of what I like to call "Being at work but not actually working" sent me maybe, well...if I had to guess....about sixty eight thousand emails the other afternoon as she went from Youtube to Youtube listening to hunky guys playing the guitar. If you're a chick, don't even pretend you don't do this. A dude and a guitar is hot and you know it.

Behold, Stephen Kellogg and The Sixers. I've been to their website and while I can't find an album to buy of theirs, I have been looping the same five songs that they offer nonstop while doing my homework and drinking coffee because it's so stinking upbeat and fantastic that I can't stop. I found this video of him and can I just say, that if I spent even one day a month with the outlook this man has on life I would be an all around better person.

I mean, it would at least get them to consider me at the gates of heaven for about fourteen seconds before they remembered about the time that I got my best friend so drunk on boxed wine and then immediately abandoned her in a random bathroom puking her guts out because I was worried about the possibility of throwing up by default of being too close to her. But for those fourteen seconds...seriously, they'd hand over the golden wings of "You're not half bad".

This dude. He's not half bad.


**Edited Due To Mental Handicappedness: I found their Cd's! You can buy them on their website here or Amazon.com here. I'll be currently shopping for the ability to not be such a blind dummy here.

Between The Minds

It's a piano. MADE OF BOOKS.


Quickly, someone get me Jack Savoretti's twitter.

How Twitter Changes My Life

I've just woken up from a terrible dream in which my mother, I KID YOU NOT, planned our next family vacation to the moon. And I was, naturally, freaking out and asking her all kinds of questions like, "What if I don't want to go?" and "What will the flight be like?" and the best yet, "When did they start giving clearances for family vacations to the MOON?" and SHE SAID, "When they found water there, duh," and I was so disturbed because it was the first family vacation we had taken in decades, actually, and all I wanted was to go to Myrtle Beach and lay in the sunshine and instead I was going to be forced to wear some terrible space suit after a nine day flight to the middle of nowhere in space. She kept looking at me like I was crazy, like, "Hello, this is something to add to your list of things you did in life that nobody else got to do - go to the moon!" and frankly, I'm still a little disturbed. My point being that this post might actually come off sounding a bit neurotic or overexcited at the simplicity of my life. I'm secretly thanking God with every letter I type my mother isn't making me go and that Myrtle Beach is still within the realm of possibility.

Nay, the real reason I'm posting is because last night something INCREDIBLE happened. Something so other-wordly it's BIGGER than the moon.

Gofugyourself.com twittered at me.

Yes, it was as glorious as it sounds.

Before I get too ahead of myself, I need to back up and explain that I'm not exactly star crazy. I mean, I'd probably jump a little in my seat at Ihop if I saw Brad and Angie across the way with nine thousand pancakes and nine thousand kids but in no way would I ever get up and go over there and be all, 'could you sign my flapjacks for me please thankyousomuchiloveyou" because, hello, that's rude. They're just trying to enjoy their syrupy goodness.

BUT TWITTER. Twitter is so fantastic because as of October of last year I got to reply to Rosi Golan...yes THE Rosi Golan about how much I love her music and SHE RESPONDED BACK. It was quick, it was simple, it was fantastic. It allowed me to tell her something I've wanted to tell her since I picked up her cd without invading her space at The Olive Garden or spilling something on her at a Taylor Swift concert she also happened to be attending.

So last night, I'm minding my own business, watching Jeopardy (and really kicking the category "Name that Musical"'s ass) when Gofugyourself twitters about...movies, or something. I'm not actually sure, I had to go back a little bit to investigate further. Behold:

fuggirls Dudes, I'm sorry. But "Valentine's Day" looks like the poor man's "He's Just Not Into You." THAT'S NOT A COMPLIMENT. - J

which she then followed up with:
fuggirls To clarify: He's Just Not that Into you is the poor man's Love Actually. VD is the poor man's HJNTIY, ergo VD = the REALLY poor man's LA - J

Now, let's disregard the fact that I totally disagree with this statement, because I am amped as F to go see Valentines Day. I LIKE when a thousand stars get together unnecessarily for a love story. I am a sap for such nonsense. I'm looking forward to seeing TayTay kiss onscreen so that perhaps I can decipher what went wrong in their chemical romance that has OK! magazine screaming 'IT'S OVER!!!!!' in the aisles of Walmart where I dissolve into tears with a bag of peanut M&M's crying to myself, "Whhyyy....whhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?"

But I digress.
So I simply twitter back something light hearted and witty. You know, the way you always picture yourself being when you run into a celebrity at Costco and you're both in the toilet paper aisle trying to figure out if it will work the way the bears on that cartoon commercial say it will.

a2earp @fuggirls how long did it take you to make that 140 characters?

IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWED BY:
fuggirls @a2earp At least a couple minutes longer than it should have. :)

and that was how Twitter got me so f'ed up with joy that I proceeded to go to bed and dream about my family vacation to the moon. It may seem small to you, but to me it was everything. ONE GIANT STEP FOR MAN KIND.

I love gofugyourself. They are passionate about clothing and witty and hysterical and never care what others think about their opinions because they stand by them wholeheartedly. Kind of like my best friends. View them here.
I suggest going straight to anything they might have written about the kids from Twilight or Claire Danes in the past year. They're fantastic.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to call my mother.

Swoonage

I posted this ring on my best friend's Facebook wall earlier this morning with the following question posed:

"Is it wrong that the terribly cheap yet hopelessly romantic hippy in my soul, if proposed to, would say yes to this and take off with said equally poor hippy in the back of a van forever?"

because it is in the foreseeable future that I would do that, to the dismay of my mother, for this piece of jewelry. There's something about understated beauty that kills me. If you're also into the beauty of love rather than the beauty of knock-out diamond, you can find it here on etsy.com. However, if you're simply appreciative of it but more of a Tiffany's girl, I completely understand. The hippy in me is totally outweighed by the Tiffany's in me. And trust me, you'd like the Tiffany-me better anyway. She's got spunk and is great in the sack.

Screaming Email

I woke up extremely late this morning to the following message in my inbox:

Subject: the music!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DON’T STOP IT COMING!!!!! ADDITCTED!!! MUST. HAVE. MORE!!!!!

Love you tons!

me

And I was overjoyed at my fanclub shoutings that I immediately went to my iTunes and began digging.
The following is some fanmade video for Swell Season which is actually the new Once band which is actually...Glen Hansard and Marketasklsief Slarvsaghasdres (sorry, Mar). I have a post coming in the next few days that involves Beth, myself and a 'bucket o'paint' as she so kindly put it to the person she was buying it from, but in the mean time this is the band we listened to nonstop during our hard work painting her room on Saturday and I had to share.

It is a simple song, really. It's repetitive and quiet but as Beth and I so equally gushed the other afternoon, there is something about the way that these two harmonize their voices that make us believe in true love and possibility. Which leads me to something I forgot to say the other day.

I remembered in the car yesterday while driving between my homes that I had one last Wish For You for the New Year that I had forgotten to express. Perhaps it's because it's the biggest of all and I wasn't sure how to approach it. Perhaps it's because it's my greatest endeavor for this year. For this decade. For my life.

Whoever you are...whatever you do...you deserve love. I need you to know that right now as one of my readers, as one of my friends. You have a beautiful soul. You have things about you that make you funny and attractive and special (not in a "quit eating the paste" special- thank you Rory Gilmore) and because you possess those things I only wish you the best in finding your other half.

My Wish For You #4: Be Loved. Love in return. Never settle. And while those seem like simple ideas that you'll come across in every Rom-Com you'll ever find starring Cameron Diaz and some unsuspecting bastard that she will likely scare due to her high energy sheer blondeness, it's true. It's undoubtedly true.

I hope to find the kind of love that you just can't live without and in fact, I want to hear those words. "I can't be without you," and if you're one of those folks who is freaked out by desperate measures and words of true love, you need to get over it now because true love is desperate and a little bit scary. Ok, a lot a bit scary. "What if I start to find his dirty underwear on my floor?" scary. Embrace it. Dwell in it. Take a long and steamy bath in it until your fingers are pruny with it.

Play this song when you find it and truly believe in the possibility that you were molded from the same parts - that your arms were meant to hold this other being and finally...FINALLY everything fits. Sure it's messy and there's fighting and neither of you are flawless but above all...above everything else at the end of the day, it fits.

And for the love of God, someone help me figure out how to spell this chick's name.

Musicsplosion

Now that I can recommend music with absolutely no limits, my mind has spontaneously combusted with everything I want to share. Most of it is stuff that I've unfortunately pushed on friends already but for those of you that haven't had the joy of experiencing Radical Face, please don't be afraid by the beard. Yes, this man is hit. Yes, he is slightly gap-toothed. Yes, he sings like an angel.


If you call me and I don't answer, it's because this song makes me want to break out the Native Dance gear and twirl about the room non-stop like I'm on an acid trip. Good music can do that to you.

I Mean, Clearly He's Upset With This

I was seriously ready for bed. I've been up since five thirty when I started watching the Ricki Lake documentary "The Business of Being Born" and can I just say, that business is horrifying. Home birth is exciting and awful and you get confused when watching it because half of you is reverting back to when you were four and a half and wouldn't it be so neat to put a swimming pool right in the livingroom of your house and the other half of you is like "Oh sweet lord, she isn't swimming for enjoyment, is she? Nope...she's totally screaming...screaming and bleeding and CLOSEUPOFTHEHEAD I'm never having sex again where do I go to get that sewn up permanently??!!"

Anywho, after watching that horrible wreckage of a film first thing this morning, I am seriously spent, done-zo, ready for sleepy time at a whopping eight thirty pm. So I began my normal bedtime routine for Facebook stalking everyone I know. And that, my friends, is when I came across this:


I still don't even know what to do. Do I laugh? Because it's so funny, but is that fair?? To him, I mean. There are honestly sixteen pictures or so of this stinkin' adorable dog wearing every dog-sweater known to man on my friend's page and it's so hysterical I can't tell if I even feel bad for the poor bastard. THE BOOTS. DOES ANYONE ELSE SEE THE BOOTS??? He looks like he's walking on giant blue thumbs with velcro straps and his FACE. HIS FACE IS SO CLEARLY UNAMUSED it's just that much better.

I won't be able to sleep now. Flipping through these adorable photos is like my Ricki Lake movie this morning - so awful and yet so intriguing.
Is that a metaphor no one's done yet? Dressing your dog is like having a home birth?
So terrible, it'll change your life forever.

Thanks, Ali, for making my day. Mushu is fantastic.

Hello, 1999. I've Been Missing You.

Does anyone remember Jessica Andrews? She was a huge hit when I was high school for like twenty seconds, asking "Do You Want To Kiss?" at some carnival in California. I remember watching that music video for the first time and thinking to myself, "UGH. Why did I let Dave Jokerst give me my first kiss on the Brennan's porch last year when I could have had THIS?! It's a ferris wheel ride followed by making out in a convertible...and there's a photo booth for even more ideal moment capturing!"

Really, whoever made that music video was a genius.


Alas, we all learn from our mistakes. Jessica's was when she got a little weird, skinny and boy-haircutted on everyone and disappeared for about a decade. She's back though...at least, according to this music video she is. Can I just say that I've listened to it about twelve times on repeat this morning because there is nothing on television besides "My Step Mother Is An Alien" (a classic, but still...too early for such shananigans) and I think I like it. In fact, I know I do. Someone find it for me on iTunes because I can't get it anywhere and I will not be denied.

Also, please don't ask me how badly I want her hair and eye makeup.

Just don't bother.

Ladies And Gentlemen, We Have A Winner

I totally love this layout. It's EXACTLY what I've been looking for. I mean, except for the Spanish. The Spanish stuff I really can't figure out but I'm currently having a blog expert/what exactly is HTML genius figure it out for me who is ALSO unemployed (dude...we have to stick together) and hopefully it will be gone or at least changed to Portuguese by tonight. I'm pretty sure I have more Portuguese followers than Spanish ones.

For all my Portuguese readers: "Ola! Desculpe, onde fica o quarto de banho?"

In other news, I babysat for a total of twenty six minutes yesterday and apparently, that's enough time to almost witness the death of a child. It started so innocently too. Observe.

Child: Ashley, can you cut me up some carrots?
Me: Of course, dear child. (Chopchopchop) Voila! Bon Appetit (hello...for all my French readers, duh)
Child: These are great! (munchmunchmunch)
Me: Wow, you really love carrots. You look like a little rabb-
Child: HACK! COUGH! HACKHACK DEATH WHEEZ!


And then she threw up that carrot in the kitchen sink and I was like "Holy CRAP am I never having children. How did this happen?! You're TEN. I thought you mastered chewing by now!" and it was such a pain in the ass to explain to her mother how a healthy afternoon snack went to awry and from now on I'm only looking for positions where I am no longer responsible for the life of another. In any way, shape or form. This pretty much limits me to a profession in stapling papers together and I'm cool with that.

Please excuse my horrendous construction

Of course, I'm never happy with the layout of my blog and that is because until I design my own I will forever be picking on the hard work of others. It's what I do. It's like going out to a restaurant and being all "wow, that chef is high because this chicken alfredo pizza is rank' and then being all "MAKE chicken alfredo pizza? Are you JOKING? Does it come in a box??"

So in the mean time, please enjoy as the colors change and the font is too small to understand and you're temporarily blinded by my insanity as I've had too much coffee and, therefore, too much ambition. Not to mention, I'm still unemployed. Do you know what too much coffee and unemployment can do to a woman? Here's a hint: I considered starting my own "Tie-Dyed Underpants" line this morning. The demographic of hippies in need has to be huge...right?

I also spend my days applying for jobs that make absolutely no sense and watching terrible movies. Today's combination? I'm so happy you asked. Junior starring Ahnold and a spot to teach IB English in Ireland. I can honestly say that when I came across this position I was like..."Dude they have schools in Ireland? I thought it was strictly beer and hills there" but sure, kids in Ireland need an education too, right? Later today I'm planning on putting together a resume to teach scuba diving in Indonesia and watch Striptease starring Demi Moore and her kids. I feel like that combination really works. It will encourage me to get into a bathing suit state of mind. I mean, I've been trying to consider the wetsuit and it just does not work for me. How does one wear an entire outfit made of rubber? Doesn't that pull on things? What if you have an itch? What kind of undergarments are acceptable for such an ensemble? And most importantly...do you actually get wet in a wetsuit or do you take it off to reveal a completely dry body because you're coated from head to toe?? GOD I look ridiculous in those scuba masks. Maybe this isn't going to work out after all...I mean, I'm desperate to be employed but even I have standards.

I'm going to Wiki wetsuits. Someone please find me a hobby.

I Am THAT Girl

Welcome to the New Year! Full of promise and excitement! I hope this post finds you working hard at the office, sporting a new pair of pumps and a cup of joe, while pretending to be putting together that Excel spreadsheet your boss needed BEFORE Christmas and yet you've been on Facebook all day and, behold! Ashinpitt/The Zoo has updated! Excel spreadsheets be damned!

Perhaps, though, I shouldn't be wishing you into the ideal situation instead of wishing you OUT of an un...ideal(?) situation. Take me for example. I hope that no one else is currently sitting in their pajamas in the basement of the house they live at, blogging while making no income and eating Special K straight from the box while drinking cold coffee. See? Unideal.

If someone were to stop me on the street today and ask me what's new in my life I would have to say that awful, dreaded, 'I can't believe these words are coming from my lips...my over-educated, hard working, 'the economy has ruined us all' lips.

"I'm between jobs."

Because, seriously...I am. I am THAT girl. I have reached the all time low in employment. I went to working FOR FREE to working NOT AT ALL.
And it's not like I'm destitute. It's not like I have no food or clothing and living on the streets. I can still go to Target and get tampons and Progresso soup. But the concept of being unemployed is daunting. The people I live with get up every day at 6:30 and are gone before I've even considered waking up in the realm of possibility. The coffee is cold by the time I go upstairs. Fresh snow is on the ground. My mother has sent me twelve emails asking if I'm dead.

So my Wish For You #3 in the New Year: Moolah
and really, I don't care how you acquire it. Get creative. Set up a pie stand on the end of your driveway. Sell all your unused lotions from under your bathroom sink. Take pictures of people's children at family gatherings and refuse to give up the print without a profit. Become secure in your lifestyle so that each paycheck doesn't make or break you. You'll be grateful you did.

I firmly believe that 2010 will be the year I get my dream job.

Eh, I get A job. Alright, 2010 will be the year I take "Street Walker" off my resume, at least.
In the mean time, enjoy what unemployment means to me. That's right. CUPCAKES.
(Fear not! I was too unwilling to part with the tub of Double Whipped Chocolate frosting in my clutches to let it be a part of the picture.)

And for double your pleasure, double your fun, I thought a little tune-age was necessary to kick off the new year.

**Edit: Oh, for the love of great crap. I love this song, truly, I do but I have never seen the video before today and can I just say that you must go to YouTube.com right now and watch it based strictly because the people in the woods with the big hair and the clown make up are just too fantastic. I stand by my choice. My creepy, big-haired, 'is that chick wearing a tuxedo??' choice.

The Beginning

2010 to begin on Monday.

For now, please enjoy all that 2009 was for me.


*No copyright infringement intended.
The Temper Trap - Sweet Disposition