Wow, the posting don't stop here on the MySpace. But since we're all friends and everything I thought I'd share a bit of joy-slash-anxiety with all of you.

My mom is moving to Bizzle County.

Dun-dun-DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!

Mom called me from her apartment in West Memphis less than two weeks ago. "Your brother is moving in with his girlfriend in Indiana," she said. "So I've decided I'm moving up there."

My first thought: FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. FUCK. FUCK FUCKITY FUCKFUCK.

My second thought: Well, West Memphis is pretty high-crime area and I sure have been worried about her living by herself over t here.

My third thought: YAY! Her best friend lives here! She has a network of friends here! It'll be spectacular!

My fourth thought: FUCK! YAY! FUCK! YAY! YAY-FUCK!

There's a lot of factors going into this. I've been on my own here for the past three and a half years. With no biological family and just a giant network of friends and the crazy people who live in my computer, I've ruled the roost of my family name.

But no longer. There's going to be a mom here. Who will check in on me, who will want a key to my apartment, who will be crawling up my nether regions every so often.

It will be a change, that's for sure.

But I think it will be a good one. I'm glad she has her own friends and is getting her own place and she's not living in my town, because she won't be driving me insane all the time. I'm glad she'll be in a safe community. And I'm glad I'll have someone to ride with to family gatherings.

But still. Yep.

She'd better not keep me from my adopted families here in town, though.

In other news, thanks for the support the other day. I feel a lot better. It's a day-to-day thing. I posted something yesterday that I soon deleted because it was so angry. And right now I really don't have anything to be angry about.

I have my dad back in my life. My mom is moving here. I've got great friends close by and far away.

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I made a very tough decision to say some goodbyes and cut loose some bonds yesterday. Let me make it clear, just in case anyone was wondering — I harbor no ill feelings toward anyone. At the same time, I have to look out for my heart, and I have to look out for the hearts of others.

"If you love someone, set them free." Sometimes in order to look out for others, you have to set them free and set boundaries or else the negative energy and the bad feelings take over and it just isn't good for anyone involved. The attempts to patch things up become pointless.
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Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Winter, Happy Kwanzaa, Good Yule, happy couple of days off.

And check the blogspot blog sometime today. I'm going over there in a little while to post the coolest gift-wrapping idea ever. :)

Love!

This is one of those days when I feel like posting something that is from the heart and estrogen-filled.

Say what you will about Madonna, but this is probably one of the finest songs Madonna ever wrote (along with Guy Sigsworth, let's give credit where it's due.)

This is for the dudes who just don't understand and the women who have been there.




Lyrics here.

Here's a secret for you fellas:

Girls like to play a game called "There's your boyfriend." It's kind of like slug-bug, only involving humans.

And yes, it is mean-spirited, yes, I am laughing at the expense of others, and yes, I am going to Hell.

Usually, the best place to play this game is at a Super Wal-Mart in a really redneck small town.

All you have to do is just walk across one of several dudes.

He could be four popped collars cool.



He could have a really sweet mullet.



He could be that emo kid you see outside Snot Topic at the mall.



All you do is, be the first person to say, "There's your boyfriend!" and you win. It's as simple as that.

Another awesome place to play this is on Internet dating sites. All you have to do is wait for some schlub to send you a message like the following one I got yesterday:

=====RandomDouchebag wrote=====
hey whats up hun.. i see ya looked at my profile... but ya didnt leave me a message... what didnt u like..

=====I wrote=====
um, the hat?

=====RandomDouchebag wrote=====
that hat lol, u dont like the red sox..

=====I wrote=====
no, i just think it looks silly when someone wears a baseball cap to the side.

=====RandomDouchebag wrote=====
well i can send ya some diff pics but their a bit revealing some of em lol and id need either ur email or phone to send em to..

=====RandomDouchebag wrote=====
cuz i got a few pics without my hat but i also got a few pics without my shirt, then i also got a few pics with nothing on at all lol..

=====I wrote=====
no thanks!

Forward it to your friend along with the subject line, "Your boyfriend." It's awesome.

Come to think of it, this online dating thing is actually pretty fun.

 You know, I should totally be used to meeting celebrities by now. Hell, I met Bill Clinton when I was 8. I met Neal Schon of Journey when I was  12. Willie Nelson waved TO ME at one of his shows, I had the lead singer of Cracker sign my ticket stub, and Doug Martsch from Built to Spill handed me his set list.


I figured that with all of these experiences, in which I am just this crazy, neurotic fangirl who doesn't know what to say, that eventually I will be able to make some sense to these people and prove to them that i am real.


Well, tonight, while in Lawrence, KS, that chance arrived when Jason and I walked into the Borders acrsos the street from where The Breeders were playing.


We enter the store and look at the displays, and immediately Jason goes up to me and said, "That's the deal sisters."

And I look up and shonuff, it is the deal sisters standing across the table from me.



Now, it's late, but I'm thinking Kelley (the one I met) is on the right. Kim is in the left, I believe.

See, Kelley has a new knitting book coming out, so Jason figured we'd have our way in. but he never knows what to say to celebrities either. So Jason decides to throw me in as bait.

"Hey, Kelley," he said.

She looks at me and I cup my mouth with one hand and whisper, "We're going to your shoooooow!"

She cups her mouth with one hand and whispers, "Okaaaaay!"

So Jason said, "Hey, my friend here's a yarnie (Yarnie? I've never considered myself a yarnie, but okay) and we were just wondering when you're book's gonna come out."

"Oh, you are too?", Kelley says to me. And I can just smile like an idiot, looking at this girl who was only closer to me when her photo was glued onto the cover of my high school diary.

So basically I keep nodding and smiling and being a dork and Kelley goes on and looks for her book.

But yeah. I met the chick who sang "In the shade, In the Shade" in Cannonball. I met the chick who could probably give me some awesome tips on knitting. I could have told the chick that I am a lefty and it concerns me in learning how to knit and that she might want to put something in her book about it. And I wanted to tell her all these things and how I admire her as being a gutsy woman in a man's rock world and I just didn't say shit. I think Jason had to wipe drool off my chin when it was all over.

But the good thing is that because bellesouth was already taken over on etsy, I was having trouble thinking of a new store name for when I start selling my yarnish goods on the store.

So at some point, yarnee.etsy.com will be up and running. (Yarnie was already taken, but the "EE" adds my first and last initials to the mix. Clever, huh?)

Thanks Jason and Kelley. And, Kelley, sorry for being a total spaz.

Today while covering an assignment at work, OEP took me out for a beans n' cornbread lunch.

We got to talkin' about his new project for the Daily Planet that includes lots of photos of the Mountain Boomer, also known as the Collared Lizard, also known as some latin scientific name that neither OEP nor I can pronounce.



And so then he said "I think I could start a cult following."

"I think you could be a great cult leader," I said.

OEP chuckled.

"No, I mean it. I mean, you've just got this face that belongs in a made-for-TV movie. I could totally see Tommy Lee Jones playing you."



And then he went on this rant about some movie he saw with Tommy Lee Jones and Steven Seagal in it that really sucked.

He disagreed with Tommy Lee Jones playing him.

"Who do you want to play you in the story of your life?"

"Burt Reynolds," he said.



"Naw, man. Have you SEEN Burt Reynolds lately?"

"Naw."

"Oh, he's had some bad plastic surgery," I said.



So as we're leaving assignment, we're walking away and OEP says, "I think I'd be better as a cult figure than a cult leader. You know, hidin' out, layin' low."

"Uh-huh," I said.

"People woul' wawn-der if ah even exist."

Little do you know, one-eyed photographer. Little do you know.

I just showed OEP a the photo of the Burt Reynolds of today. "Man, that's painful lookin'. Naw, he cain't be in mah movie," he said.

So, I bet you're all either thrilled that I haven't written anything or wondering why I haven't written anything in a couple of days. (Two days? Oh dear goodness!)

Well, here's the thing - the Daily Planet is having a parking lot sale next weekend and I've decided to make some scarves to sell.

So while I was at the HoLo gettin' novelty yarns to scarf with, I bought this thing called the Knitwit on the ultra-cheap.

Now, the Knitwit promises quick afghans and scarves and stuff "with no knitting or crocheting!" and allegedly can make these adorable little rosettes that just pop off and can connect and all this shit.



And you can either use them to embellish your crafts or link them together to make stuff.

Anyway. I made scarf No. 8 of the week(!!!!) and I've spent all evening trying to figure out this fucking knitwit thing and I'm ready to just shove it somewhere unsavory.

Blah. This reminds me of the time I bought a $20 beading kit at wal-mart, made the ugliest necklace in the world and never beaded again.

I also bought a pompom maker. Those are fun but what in the hell do I do with little bitty pompoms?

Oh, and in other news, I've been watching Newhart reruns and boy, howdy, do I ever love this show.

Cable.

Waking up and coughing up a lung each day.

Fighting over the covers.

Cigarettes.

Love bugs fucking up my car.



Store-bought haircolor.

Sitting through shit-tastic movies in hopes of gettin' some.

Writing papers.

Studying for tests.

Window A/C units.

My 1993 Mercury Topaz.

Friendster.

The way my ass feels after riding a bike for two hours.

Plastic grocery bags.

My best friend from third grade.

Drinking every weekend.

Having to fill up my gas tank once a week.

Really bad sex.

Mailing my bills.

Washing my dishes in the sink.

Ronald Reagan.

Finding myself in the mosh pit at music shows.

Wet N' Wild makeup.

Paying $50 for a bra.

My first couch.

My last kiss.

My evil Republican stepmother.

Sloe gin.

30-minute commutes.

$1 PBRs on tap.

The self I was three years ago.

The self I was two years ago.

The self I was one year ago.

But I do miss my family and faraway friends. I think that's about it.

Lemme preface this by saying that although I talk about how awesome bacon is, I really don't eat it that much. I don't keep it around the apartment at all. It's messy, it spoils, it's gross to handle and we all know the raw stuff is better when cooked than that microwaved bullshit.

But in all seriousness, I've been listening to the radio and reading the news a lot and there's a big issue that's facing us - the ever-increasing cost of food.

With the oil barrel skyrocketing to a record $115, the cost of oil automatically trickles down to the cost of food production and distribution.

Worldwide, the cost of food has shot up 40 percent just since the middle of last year!!! It's caused riots, protests, people waiting in line for hours upon hours for a stinkin' loaf of bread!

And meanwhile, we here in America are being lured to buy bagel twinkies.



Yesterday, U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon urged the world to take action on this.

"One thing is certain, the world has consumed more than it has produced" over the last three years, he said.

And I'm not certain how these needs can be met. i've spoken before on how I think genetic engineering might not be such a bad idea, because genetic modification helps crops thrive in climates where they might not otherwise live.

Meanwhile, I've been thinking about this food shortage while visiting the store and carrying my adorable green mesh bag to put all my groceries in. And yesterday I went home buying no convenience foods, a whole bunch of couscous and a bunch of spinach because I figured it would be a cheap and healthy way to sustain myself.

And I keep thinking - am I going to need to go to the health food store and just buy a whole bunch of grains in bulk?

So - has anyone else been reading up on this food crisis we're facing? It's some scary stuff. I'm no expert on this, so do you have any ideas on how to address this problem?

What is the deal with all these friends of mine having April birthdays? I can't keep up with the lot of you but I know there's one hell of a lot out there. I swear I've sent birthday greetings to about umpteen people this week.

Anyway, so tonight I went to celebrate my dear pal Jason's 30th birthday. Amongst great company and excellent food, we laughed and laughed and were fortunate to be among the students headed out to the prom.

Dude, y'all should have seen the dude in the white tuxedo. He was down with Night Fever, I swear. Like I swear I heard a Gibb brother playing bass every time his feet moved.

Anyhoo, after dinner, Debbie dragged me across the mall, where I went with her to Journeys, which is probably the Hot Topic of shoe stores, and then we headed to the Mac counter and played dress-up for a while.

And I was all prettied up and very impressed with how I'd done my eye makeup.

But sadly I made it home before 9 p.m.

It really is sad. My eyes look really good tonight. And I did it myself! HOOAAH!



I'll take my makeup off in a little while. I feel like being girly for now.

(hey, what happened to the thingie that lets you tell people what you're watching? I'm watching Seinfeld Season 5, BTW. Because I am awesome.)

True story!

Texts I sent to a friend this morning:

8:48 AM

You were in my dream last night. So was Kyle McLachlan.

(thought process ensues)

8:53 AM

Oh, I should probably claify that nowhere in my dream was a midget talking backwards.




He has yet to respond.

My gynecologist is so charming. She's petite, she's nice, she's sweet - but dangit, she needs to change the photos on her ceiling.

Going to the gynecologist is never fun, but every gal needs to do it. The crazy thing is that at my gynecologist? Whenever I lay down on that table and await being in the most awkward position I'll ever be in under bright lights, My head looks straight up to the ceiling and nine times out of ten, this is what I will see:



Some stupid fucking Anne Geddes flowerpot kid.

And that's what makes my trip to the cooter mechanic the worst of all. The end.

Last night I had every opportunity to be drunken and crazy and obnoxious and make out with strangers last night.

But I didn't. Instead, I opted to go home early, much to the dismay of my good ol' pal Debbie, and I spent my evening after 8:30 p.m. crocheting and watching TV show reruns.

Some call it boring, I call it responsibility.

And debbie, who told me she'd drive me home, ended up staying up way past everyone's bedtime and passing out on a friend's couch. So I'm kind of glad things worked out the way they did, because I got to sleep and she got to party and that's fine with me.

Right now I don't really feel in touch with the bar scene. I feel like I'd much rather sit in a small group and have a few beers and actually be able to hear one another's voices than go into some giant crowded bar or club and dance like an idiot and slobber all over some random guy.

It's no longer fun or appealing to me to do that. Not to say I won't ever go back to those days again, because we all need to unleash at some point or another.

That and I'm reluctant for any drunken hookups, since mine have only ended up in disaster and more notches in the belt of unfortunate "you're not my girlfriend but I'll have sex with you anyway"-type relationships.

That and booze is expensive. Man, is it ever.

But for the four hours I did get to hang out with strangers last night, it was good. We all laughed over a few beers. It was awesome.

I should hang out in Fayettevizzle more often.

Hey, remember when Real Time with Bill Maher included actual comedians? Yeah, that's how it was the first season of the show.

This is one of the segments from it. It made me pee my pants today just as much as it did five years ago. (RSS folks will need to click on the post to view the video.)

It features Jerry Minor and Craig Robinson.

I'mo go put some new pants on while y'all watch this.

My new favorite number is "squillion."

It seems I hear or read it all the time. Especially in my line of work.

The first time I read the number "squillion," it was a story about how much more the President was asking Congress for war funding.

It was like he was saying, "Now, I know we're $9 trillion in debt, and I know we've had to cut out various government programs, like, oh, education,  but we need to stay the course, nine-elebben, nine-elebben...and that's why I'm asking you for another SQUILLION DOLLARS."

A lot of people like to throw around the number "squillion" as if it means something. I think Dr. Evil once tried to blackmail the U.N. for it, and they just laughed him off.

But the number can be used for a lot of things! Like, say you want to build some Big Fucking Thing in town and you want some investors.

"The Compact Disc Jewelbox Historical Museum will attract approximately one squillion visitors each year."

You can use the word if you really want to quit your job and you don't want your current boss to even try to make a counter offer.

"Yeah, they're paying me a squillion more dollars to do the same job."

You can use it to make up statistics when you're arguing politics online.

"There are a squillion Americans without health insurance."

"Studies show you are a squillion times more likely to commit tax fraud if you are raised by same-sex parents."

"The U.S. Population is expected to reach a squillion by 2026. How are we going to have the resources to accomodate this rapid growth?"

So, when in doubt, just whip out a squillion here and there and everyone will think you're smarter than you really are and everyone will listen to what you have to say.

And your IQ will, like, immediately shoot up by a squillion points. For realz.