Bean, Bean the Dancing Machine

I love my friends. I reaaaaally do.

Ode to (legal) crack in a can.

i need coffee to jumpstart my morning. a hungover afternoon calls for the caffeine in a diet fountain beverage. but at night, my catalyst of choice recently is sugar free red bull. my first taste of the not-so-tasty-but-oh-so-fun-drink was from a british military guy in a 7-story club in london, while it was still illegal in the states. but i recently rediscovered the drink, and away we go...! one morning after a night of drinking at a citizen cope concert, i awoke to find my face cleared of makeup, my pajamas on, my entire apartment (all one room of it) straightened up. considering i had come home a bit tipsy the night before, i was shocked at my accomplishments. i immediately assumed that i must be becoming manic, but then i realized i had chugged 3 red bulls while at the concert (thank you, smedelicious). and thus the energy drink love affair was born.

the other morning, i awoke to find a sealed-and-addressed envelope to a distant relative. my red bull-fueled night mania was continuing. it's so a-some.

real drugs? so unpretty (most of the time). sugar free red bull? pretty as a picture. a really hyper picture.

Old Man, We Love You

the post below was awesome, but i could add a few more straws to break this old man's back...

when flip flop girl or i burp (which happens from time to time when you are a goddess) our little elderly friend of 26 years is so shocked, repulsed and speechless that you would think that we just broke a puppy's neck in front of him. this reaction only encourages us to be more free with belches. just today, Flip let one rip over the phone while talking to him and she was stunned when she didnt automatically hear his high pitched squeam or receive a lengthy lecture about "being a lady". she had to ask why after a second or two of silence.

...his reply..."yes i heard that...and i'm choosing to ignore it."

i rest our case.

Old Man-isms

Someone I know acts as though he is an 80-year-old senior citizen instead of a 26-year-old man in his prime. Below are a few tid bits about him that comprise his geriatric personality.

The other day, he and I were walking on a crowded street at lunchtime. We were mid-conversation when he abruptly stops and says (in an excited voice) "Oh! A quarter!" He bent down to pick up the discarded coin, annoying everyone that was directly behind him, and then he stood donning a satisfied grin.

When neighborhood kids loiter in his backyard, he uses a hose to scare them away, as if they are stray alley cats.

He says "effing" or "the F word." I have also heard him refer to a mean woman as a "B."

He insistantly explains to pizza parlor employees how he wants his pizza prepared and boxed, as if they don't know that when he says "to go" they should put it in a box instead of in the trash. To add insult to injury, he talks to them as if he is describing the fine points of molecular biology.

He is unreasonably distrusting of ceiling fans.

He drives below the speed limit.

He has a pill bottle that is the size of a milk gallon. This is only one of the dozens of pharmacy-related items he keeps on his person at all times.

He scoffs at any bed fabric that is below 600 thread count.

His doctor is on his speed dial...on his cell phone.

He is best friends with the 911 operators because he calls when anything out of the ordinary occurs.

He has been known to lay down extra sheets on his bed before doing the nasty.

Dear Mr...Walgreen?

something has been really bugging me the last few weeks. walgreens, a drugstore giant, has bought happy harry's, the darling of delaware pharmacies. as referenced by NotoriousALG here , mr. harry levin and his big head are part of delaware's collective conciousness, and i think it's sad that it's changing. change bothers me. i love hh. i loved pumping my legs on my huffy bike with my friend bansky when we were ten, to go waste money on twizzlers and jewelry that would turn our skin green and bad nailpolish. oh, happy harry's, how i loved thee. i know your name will stay the same, but your soul will be changed forever.

Forever and Ever, Amen.

The other night, I was talking to my next door neighbor who is attending a Dave Matthews Band concert this evening and it got me thinking....I really miss Dave Matthews Band. They were probably -- like a lot of us -- my first musical love. The first band that I was really "into," as my Dad said. The first band that I felt compelled to buy a t-shirt at their concert. Oh no, wait. I lied. That was Blind Melon and it was black and I wore it to shreds.

For those of us that were in high school during the mid-90s, Dave Matthews Band provided us a welcome departure from the R&B and (up for debate) bad rap music of that era. I will never forget the first time I heard "Satellite" or when I got "Under the Table and Dreaming" for my 15th birthday. I also got red suede Sambas, which rocked. And a pair of leather loafers that were later chewed by my volleyball coach's stupid dog, but that's neither here nor there.

When Dave Matthews Band came to your town (or close enough to it), it was a gd thrill to go to the concerts. This was before they sold out stadiums. This was when you put on your best J.Crew men's sweater, Birks, and bought stickers in the parking lot. I think a DMB concert was the was the first time I ever had a beer.

Once I got to college, I moved away from DMB as they sold out stadiums and started to release a lot of live albums -- which were great -- but something was lost. I love their old stuff so much. I just downloaded a slew of songs onto my iPod and I am so happy about it.

I think it's time to rediscover the glory of "Recently", "One Sweet World," and "Crash Into Me." It's just so good.

Oh, the unpretty irony.

not two hours have passed since that last post, and i went into a shoe store on chestnut. what to my wondering eyes did appear but a sign that said "only umbrella's go here!" do the words "go here" belong to umbrella? argh. so unpretty.

Now, I'm no Vento from Geno's, but...

...there nothing that irks me more than a misplaced apostrophe. "its" is for possession. "it's" is for "it is." get it right or pay the price. i can overlook a quickly dashed email or even a memo. but a printed sign-- or worse, a tattoo like the numbskull in the photo-- with a misplaced apostrophe? come on. that's the epitome of american ignorance. (that's an exaggeration, i know.) but seriously, if it's permanent, proofread! (now, i'm not perfect by any means. but i was an english major. so i can get righteous over punctuation if i wanna.)

The Big F-U to Gloria Steinman

I have never been a girl who dreams of weddings or marriage. I never even owned Beautiful Bride Barbie as a child. That was too boring for my imagination (my Barbies got around). I think the mindset of not wanting to settle down until later in life is quite common these days among the female population. Moreover, I have always been proud of my family for not pressuring me to find "the right guy." Recently, however, I got a large dose of reality - 1950s reality.

A couple weeks ago, my mother and I went shopping for a new bed. Harry, the master of all things mattress, asked how long we expect this bed to last. My immediate reaction was, "As long as possible, dumbass." My mom took one look at me, as if she were sizing me up, and replied, "I'd say about four years." While I was trying to wrap my brain around this random answer my mom supplied, Harry and she exchanged a knowing look. As Har was leading us to the four-year beds, I stopped dead in my tracks and asked, "Wait, are you thinking that I will be getting married in four years and will need a bigger bed?!?" Harry butt in and said, "That seems about right. What are you? 21?" If any of you read my 23rd birthday post, you know how I now feel about the mattress master.

The next day, I went to the bank to change my accounts over into my name. I was again accompanied by my mom (because yes, my accounts were still in her name). So the girl helpeing us, who is about 23 or 24, was listing the various savings account options I could take advantage of. She said that the best thing for me to do was to take Option #1. It is a simple account - does not require a minimum balance, a small interest rate. She said that this was a perfect option for my life right now (I start to smile, feeling proud of my "life right now"). Then she says, "Because in like two years when you get married you and your husband will probably get a joint account and you can figure out what suits you best then." (My smile disappears) When we leave my mother says, "At least I gave you four years."

Frisky Feline Felon

bet you didnt know how unpretty pussycats could make your life.

Case in point...
Lewis the cat was sentenced to two years home detention by a judge yesterday, and his owner, Ruth Cisero, was sentenced to two years probation.

I got this from CNN.COM. You have to read it to believe it:

Cisero had faced a charge of reckless endangerment. Neighbors complained that Lewis the cat's long claws and stealth have allowed it to attack at least a half-dozen people and ambush the Avon cosmetics lady as she got out of her car on her neighborhood rounds.

Cisero had rejected a previous offer of accelerated rehabilitation if she agreed to euthanize Lewis.

Janet Kettman, one of Lewis' victims, has previously said she and her neighbors on Sunset Circle are always looking over their shoulders in fear the stalker will strike again.

"He attacks from the back," Kettman said. "You never see it coming. He has six toes on every foot, which constitutes a very formidable weapon."

"Also, he gives out mixed signals," Kettman continued. "He would sidle against you and purr. You bend down to pet him and he'd attack you."

The case drew national attention. Lewis has appeared in People magazine and his own page on the social networking site MySpace.com.

But Cisero said Tuesday she would prefer to have never had the attention.

"I never thought it would come to this," she said. "It's been an absolute nightmare. It's ruined my life."

The dark side of an American sport.

no one ever talks about it. but every woman is afflicted. this is the dark side of bowling: broken fingernails. three of the ladies in my party today at the bowling alley cracked their nails in those dangerous balls. we're not just being vain; oh no-- cracked nails (even short stubs like mine) hurt! i was at another alley a few months ago, and much to my disgust, the lanes were littered with nails. so unpretty. watch out ladies.

Yeah? And Your Point Is?

So, I get paid once a month. Which means when it gets to t-minus 8 days (like today), things get pretty intense. It's go-time and it means that I have to stretch my remaining bucks throughout a weekend and the beginning of another week. You would think that after having worked for this once-a-month company, I would be more akin to save, but that's just not me. As I once told a good friend's father, "Ya know how I see it? I have an entire lifetime to pay off debt." I think this mindset may be a small piece of the reason I wait for the trainers at my gym to turn their backs so I can take more than my allotted share of free fruit from the bowl that greets me every day.

Until next Thursday, I will pay for my coffee in change. I will stretch my cash out this weekend at the beach. I will mooch like you've never seen. Case in point? My Mom brought me lunch today.

I am 25. I own a house. I am relatively self-sufficient. But when it comes to buying groceries, I missed that boat. My roommates and I have been known to wittle our refrigerators down to its barest of bones and then look at the box of baking soda and consider eating that before going to Acme. So when my wonderful mother told me she was headed out to her house during lunch I said, "Why don't you whip up one of those wonderful chopped salads and drop it off to me?" I know, pathethic. But you must understand that I am a desperate gal. I can't live on Orbit gum all day.

So she did it. And I loved it. And the kicker?

"What are you doing for dinner?"
"I don't know, Mom. Want me to come?"
"Sure."
"Can you make paella?"
"You're pushing it, sister."

Come On Christina!

why can't Christina Aguilera get it right just once? i mean, what the f?!

she always comes so close to being cool again, but there's always that something (be it hair, wardrobe, ghetto accent, boyfriends) that voids the whole attempt.

no one has ever denied that she has an unbelievable and sort of freakish voice for a little white girl. britney sounds like a chipmunk on meth when you compare the two ex-mickey mousers. but one thing brit USED to have over christy was likeability.

well, we all know that ship has sailed. so one would think this is the perfect time for christina to suit up and get back in the game and take over the world of girls 13-21 (and gay guys). and she is trying...i just saw her new video and its a sin...i know exactly what she was going for, but it didnt work because of one thing. i don't believe her as for real. i never have. she always seems like she is trying so hard to be someone else; whoever she thinks you want her to be.

i know its been said many times, many ways...but please, just be yourself. how unpretty.

What's in a Name?

I hearby renounce my blog name. It was chosen on a whim by a friend, and I did not mind it until today. I have always been a huge supporter of flip flops. I loved the way they look, I loved the way they flip, and I loved the way they flopped. But today, a horrible, ghetto, penguin-like troll tainted my love of the simple rubber shoe. As she waddled across the street with an air of WT that is unsurpassed by anyone else I know, she was preceded by the sound of her sandals. She has ruined the sound of my favorite shoe. As you can tell by the picture, I am not too happy about this.

Pa? Ma? Mary? The homestead's on fire.

because i am wearing a somewhat confusing big flouncy skirt today, i signed an email "laura ingalls wilder." my cubemate was utterly confused. she didn't know laura ingalls wilder, the ingenue of "little house on the prarie." she didn't experience pa's trials on the homestead, she didn't weep when mary lost her vision, or rejoice when mary married almanzo (also blind). she didn't smile with nostalgia every time pa called laura "half-pint." she didn't swoon over dreamy albert, or shiver in fear at mean-on-the-outside-but-kind-on-the-inside mrs. oleson. she never cursed snotty nellie oleson. i think she missed out on the full house of the 1800's. don't you? it was so a-some.

It Was Just Kinda Strange.

When I got home from work this evening, I cooked up my usual boy-food-dinner and flipped through the channels to see what was on TV. My sister (and roommate) will not let me get Comcast, so I actually have to manually flip through the channels. Waiting for channel 99 takes too long and I have the attention span of a flea.

I was faced with Kirk Cameron a.k.a Mike Seaver a.k.a first crush with permed mullet from 80s sitcom gem "Growing Pains" telling me why I needed God to save my soul. I couldn't believe that Mike Seaver was telling me why prayer would guarantee me a space in heaven. It absolutely creeped me out. This guy was once on a show where his best friend's name was B*ner. Of course, I watched it for another three or four minutes, but it was totally bizarre. Then they featured him doing this "man on the street" bit at a mall where he asked questions like, "Where do you think you'll go when you die?" and "Do you believe in the afterlife?"

I think he should stick to shows where he gets a perfect score on his SATs because he filled out the bubbles in the shape of a rocketship. Or was that Family Ties?

Show me that smile again.....don't waste another minute on your cryin'.

I can handle love of my life Tony Danza having a shortlived talk show. But Kirk Cameron pushing the religion product on me? Too weird.

Ode to a root vegetable.

well, it's been about three minutes since i slobbered all over my keyboard while typing about food... so here's my little ode to a deep red root vegetable, the beet. i have always loved the beet, even eating slices of pickled beet straight out of the jar. but, much to my delight, these days the beet has a certain cache. beets are en vogue! just like artichokes, figs, and lately, honey, beets are now all over fancy menus. (my superior tells me this is because they are dirt cheap, oh well.)

but watch out. cause these delicious root veggies stain. and red stains are so unpretty.

The Dark Side

if you have not seen Donnie Darko yet, do yourself a favor this weekend and rent it. it is one of the most fucked up, beautiful, creepy and surreal movies of the 2000s.

starring my celebrity boyfriend, Jake Gyllenhaal, this movie was written and directed by Richard Kelly (Domino, Visceral Matter, The Goodbye Place).

i could try to explain the plot line to you---that jake plays a troubled teenager plagued by visions of a large bunny rabbit that manipulates him to commit a series of crimes, after narrowly escaping a bizarre accident---i could try and say that, but you just need to see this for yourself and make your own judgments as to what the hell this movie is about, because i've seen it 10 times and i still am not completely clear about it.

i know one thing-its a great waste of your time.

Oh, so good. Now my belly hurts.

yesterday, i noticed the milk in my cereal tasted much more delish than usual. also, it coated the spoon. surprising, as i only buy skim. when i was ready to put the bowl in the sink, on a whim i checked out the milk. doi. i used half-and-half in my cereal! no wonder it was so delish. anyway, i suggest you try it someday. you might get bloated, but it was an a-some dairy way to kick off your day.

And speaking of Britney...

...whatever happened to j. timbs? i used to (shame-faced-ly) rock out to his falsetto so much that my mom started to know the words. (she still says "bye, bye, baby, bye bye" thinking that she is the 6th member of in 'n sync). i think "cry me a river" was his bitter end. then the armpit-scratching, burping, farting cameron came along (with that annoying i'm gross but endearing schtick) and we haven't heard from mr. frosted-tips in years. he was cheesy, but he could make me shimmy and shake like shakira.