2005 in review

As the year comes to a close, I have decided to cast a glance backwards at it. I must say that I’m ok with waving goodbye at 2005. But I’ll just go over some of the highlights here. Some of these categories are a direct rip-off from Brian’s site. So you should go read that. Gotta support those Pocatello kids.

Best TV show: Arrested Development (is this cancelled?)

Best new TV show (non-“news”): God, I clearly need to get out more because this award goes to Related on the WB. The British husband calls his wife Jenny and he sounds just like Forrest Gump (Jin-nay). So I guess the Brits don’t so much have sexy accents, as they sound like retards.

Most politically incorrect moment: That last sentence.

Best new TV show (“news”): The Colbert Report

Best Movie: 40-Year Old Virgin. Hands down. That's how I knew you were gay, when you said you didn't like this movie.

Best Song: I don’t listen to music radio too often. I liked The Killers around March, when I was listening to some morning show every day in a pathetic attempt to win some free movie tickets off their trivia show. Which I did. So there. This year, though, I did rediscover my love for Roy Orbison.

Best Party: Filip’s birthday party. Well done to the Rhetts, who hosted, to Cynthia, who organized the surprise aspect of the surprise party, and to Michael, my designated driver. And to vodka. Well, well done, vodka.

Best book: Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, by David Sedaris. It wasn’t new this year, but this is my list.

Best author that I found this year: Kate Atkinson. Go read Case Histories.

Most memorable moment: All of my moments in Elvis-a-Rama. And I’m ok with that.

Moment I would like to forget: Not too many details here. Let’s just say it involved a creepy person, and me having to call my friend Paul over.

Best meal: Damn, I have to say it. Baked ziti. And you know who you are. Wasn’t I promised some swordfish, too?

Best dessert: Oh, come on. Like we don’t all know that I’m going to say pumpkin cheesecake. Sigh. I guess I have to wait until my birthday for more.

Best birthday present: I enjoyed most of my gifts this year, but Toni takes home the prize for knowing me the best on this one. She bought me the Brady Bunch Christmas album on vinyl. Good job to her for getting three of my favorite things in one present.

Best Concert: Ok, I enjoyed Paul McCartney’s concert greatly (as I should have since it was the most expensive concert in the history of humankind) but Scot Bruce wins this one. And judge away. I don’t care. I love Scot.

Best surprise: My brother’s engagement shocked the living hell out of my whole family. But congrats to them both, and I got a new sister out of the deal.

Best purchase: My new car. Not that I had a choice, since my old one broke down at the dealer’s and I was 10 hours from home. But I still love it, and its kick-ass keyless remote. I am all pimped out with my Chevy Cavalier.

Best vacation: Clearly, Vegas wins this, but I give an honorable mention to the long weekend I took this fall with my father and stepmother, camping outside of Mackay.

Best sale of the year: Some record store in Spokane closed last March, so I made a killing on some albums. And maybe a “’68 Comeback Special” VHS. And maybe some other Elvis souvenirs.

Best day: The day I clocked out of work for the last time at the summer internship from hell.

Best thing I did with my dog: A close second would be the sock incident, but first place goes to walking her in the snow. By snow drifts. Uh, yeah. That's all you need to know.

Best thing about having my own blog: Being able to put my OCD to good use and type up lists.

Have a good new year everyone. I'm going to go get ready for the ball (how many times do you think I'll be able to say that in my life?).

Gorillas, and dinos, and boredom. Oh my!

So I went to King Kong last night and have decided to review it. If you don't have time to read the whole post, I can sum it up for you in one sentence. It sucks. Hard. (Ok, that was two sentences.)

Before I begin my review, let me just preface this by saying that I never saw the original. But if it's half as retarded as this one, I'm ok with that. And I don't care if I reveal intricate plot twists in this review. Also, *spoiler alert*, Kong dies at the end. Sorry if this ruined it for everyone.

First, the movie is three hours long. When the final credits rolled, the first thing I said to Maryanne and Sarah was, "You know what that movie needed? An editor." I'm pretty sure a lot could have been cut from that film. The fight with the Tyrannosaurus Rex was faaaaar too long. And boring. Just kill the damn things.

It's sad when my favorite part of the movie is the candy I purchased at the concession stand. I do love me some Raisinettes. No, wait, I take that back. My favorite part of the movie is when Jack Black announces, "I am touching The Beast." I was the only one in the theatre who snickered at that.

Let's see, back to the dinosaurs. There were a lot in the movie, and the genius behind me kept announcing what each of them was. "That's a Triceratops." "Oooh, there's a Stegosaurus." "Hey, they put in a Brontosaurus."

Thanks, jackassosaurus. Very impressive that you know your dinosaurs. Your third grade teacher is smiling somewhere that you remember them from the retarded film strip we all had to watch. Loser.

And what was up with Naomi Watts putting her hand over her chest when she said, "Beautiful," to Kong? And then he repeated the motion back to her later. Is Kong Koko? Was she teaching him to sign?

Here's what I learned from the movie: Gorillas like blondes, vaudeville acts, and sunrises. Kong probably also likes long walks on the beach.

Me, I like pina coladas.

And getting caught in the rain.

So, my overall on the movie is that you probably don't need to see it. Jack Black was its only redeeming quality, and even he wasn't that good in it. Miscast, but I love him so I don't care. So because of him, I give King Kong this final grade: in his paraphrased words, this movie passed. But just barely. Know what it got? F+. Click.

Quick notes

Just a few things:

A) I'm having buyer's remorse. I'm pretty sure the dress is going back. Damn.

B) Watching TV last night, I saw a commercial that said "Two and a Half Men" was the number one comedy in America. Damn, damn.

C) I went to a movie today. By myself. I have never done that. See me being all rebellious. Of course it was kind of a kid's movie, and a matinee, so I shouldn't be surprised that the theatre was filled with loud (and occassionally smelly) kids. Surprised, no. Annoyed, yes. Although one kid (I'm guessing around 3 or 4) stood up and LOUDLY announced, "I have to go potty, Mommy, and I don't want you to go with me!"

You gotta respect a kid who already realizes that those functions don't need witnesses. Stand up for your rights, kid. But if you would rather things be private, don't announce them to all the viewers of "Harry Potter."

All is bright

I think I've had enough time to recuperate to now sum up my Christmas weekend. I ate a lot. And drank a lot. And ate some more. And maybe a bit more.

So the weekend actually kicked off Friday, which was Maryanne's birthday. I'm slowly trying to teach her how to enjoy her birthday. My advice centers around three main points: (1) advertise the day for weeks, or even months, prior to the actual date, (2) don't do anything that could be classified as "work" on the day, and (3) eat lots of cake. She obeyed one of these rules.

But I will say that the birthday cake (which I did not make) was ab-so-lute-ly delicious. Words cannot describe. I love cake. Maryanne did let us put birthday candles on the cake, but there was no singing. Perhaps word has leaked back to her from my "Tainted Love" incident.

After taking out a bottle of champagne and one or two of wine, we went to a movie. Thus endeth the birthday celebration, at least as far as I can remember.

Maryanne had to recover, since the next day was Christmas Eve at her house. I opted to not do the family thing this year (and avoiding a 10-hour drive was a good choice, I've decided), but I did call my family and talked to each of them on the phone. Here is a list of the people I talked to: my dad, my step-mother, my sister, my sister-in-law, my step-brother, his wife, my 5 year-old niece, my 3 year-old niece, my other sister-in-law, my brother-in-law, my 11 year-old nephew, and my 9 year-old niece. Thank the Lord my father didn't try to make me talk to the 2 month-old nephews.

I just wanted to say Merry Christmas to my immediate family. I was supposed to be helping with pre-dinner arrangements, but my "don't worry, I'll be quick" phone call turned into about 40 minutes of semi-awkward conversations with people I don't know that well. Oh, and one of my nieces informed me that Santa was bringing her "everything." Bad news for her: I spent a few days with her this summer, and she is on the naughty list. But I still love her.

Ok, so Christmas Eve dinner was fairly intimate with only 6 of us. It was incredibly good. So, to show my appreciation, I ate a lot. I hate to be rude.

My contribution was a messed-up dessert that my ex's mother always makes. I assisted her in making it many a'time, and she always told me that I didn't listen when she was instructing me on how to make it. Turns out she's right. I blew this dessert.

Luckily I made up for it by painting an ornament for each of the guests, and making another for them out of modeling clay. I'm crafty. In every way.

After dinner, we played Guesstures. I love this game, but I am a curse for whichever team I am playing on. I have never won. But I once gave a memorable rendition of "lingerie." Then we played some drinking game that was cleverly disguised as a board game.

We had a designated driver, for the record. Who got pulled over not once, but twice, on the way home. He actually had to do a road-side the first time, because the smell of alcohol in the car was overwhelming, according to the officer.

But we all made it home safely. And thus endeth Christmas Eve. I have some leftover pie to go eat now, so perhaps I will write more later.

Financial irresponsibility

Here's my head-up for everyone: if you hear me complaining about how I can't afford snow tires for my car, feel free to bitch-slap me. And call me a dirty whore. I will have earned that. (Uh, not literally.)

I went shopping with my friend Robin today. The goal of the shopping trip was two-fold: first, to allow Robin to spend her gift cards (which she did not do) and second, to get caught up since she lives in the Dirty South now and we only see each other a few times a year.

By the way, "Dirty South" is a phrase she taught me today. I plan on using it. A lot.

Watch me use it in a sentence: "Women in the Dirty South like to use hairspray and watch Golden Girls."

Now watch me get bitch-slapped by Maryanne. What are the odds that I could use that phrase twice in the same post? Pretty damn good.__Pretty.___Damn. ___Good. (That's an impression of one of my professors, and only a few people will be laughing at that. If you're not, you should be. It was dead on.__Dead. ___On.)

Ok, back to the shopping trip and my lack of snow tires.

I'll sum up more of the trip later (including my pimp hat), but here's the background you need to know before I get to when you can slap me. This Saturday is New Year's Eve and because I'm all about kickin' it with the homeboys, I am going to a fancy dance. A fancy-pants dance, for which I need a fancy-pants, formal dress. (For an added bonus, it is called the Snow Ball. Mmm. Hmmm.)

I found one today that kicked some hard-core ass. I plan on wearing it with some of the highest, strappiest, fanciest, bitch ass heels that I own. And then I will own the Snow Ball.

Back to the first sentence in this post, though. The dress was pretty damn expensive. And out of my price range. But it was hot. And not just hot, hot. I mean H-O-T, hot. So I bought it, thus ruling out any practical purchase of said snow tires. If I get in a car wreck this winter, please to be burying me in my new dress.

My bitchin' new dress.

Christmas cuteness

Between my title for this post and the pictures I have put with it, I'm sure you are all running off to gag. But a few of you might be thinking wrong things about the ticking of biological clocks. Sure, these two babies look all cute and stuff, but I've seen them drooling. And *making messes*.

But they are cute.

These are my two nephews. Yesterday was their first Christmas, and my sister-in-law just sent me pictures of them with the stuffed animals I bought them. Drew is with the giraffe, and Mitch is the one with the elephant. And at first glance, I thought Drew's mouth was all misshapen, before I figured out it was a pacifier. Whew. I don't want a nephew with a freaky mouth. Close call.

I'm sure their parents think it's all cute and stuff that I got them stuffed animals. When they get older, I'll buy them loud video games and water guns. I have to retain my title of cool aunt, even if I have to buy it. Let's hope it doesn't come to buying cigarettes and beer.

I just pictured little Mitch holding a cigarette, and it made me giggle. I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell just for that.

Anyways, I just told someone a few hours ago that I wasn't going to do three posts again in one day, since it suggests that I really have nothing to do. I just proved myself wrong. I do like to prove people wrong, so I guess that feels kind of good.

But I did want to share these pictures, because I found them mighty cute. Somewhere all of my friends are smirking. Christmas revelry stories to follow at an undisclosed time.

Oh, Ralphie

Enjoy this little Christmas treat. If you're afraid of rabbits, don't be too worried. I made it through the cartoon without screaming. But seriously, it is very funny. Consider this a late Christmas gift.

Christmas Memories

Merry late Christmas, everyone. I'm hoping you all had a nice day and ate all things pumpkin. Now you are probably sitting at your desk at work or home, and feeling semi-sick from overeating or overdrinking, but thinking to yourself, "It's so sad that Christmas is done for this year. How I wish someone would write something up on it, celebrating her favorite things of this time of year."

I'm nothing if not a giver.

I love lists. And I tend to become very reflective at this time of year. Those two things have combined to provide this wonderful accounting of Christmas favorites and unfavorites. OCD meets Christmas meets me putting off doing work.

Favorite holiday movie: A Christmas Story (I triple-dog-dare you not to love this)

Least favorite movie: It's a Wonderful Life (every time a bell rings, I hate this movie even more)

Guilty-pleasure holiday movie: A Very Brady Christmas (so, so bad and I love it so, so much. What were you thinking I'd put, Debbie Does the North Pole?)

Favorite Song: "O Holy Night"

Favorite "non-traditional" song: "Santa Claus is Back in Town" as sung by Mr. Elvis Presley. My favorite line is, "Hang up your pretty stockings, turn out the lights, Santa Claus is comin' down your chimney tonight." I think it might have a double meaning, but I'm not sure.

Least favorite holiday song: "Jingle Bell Rock"

Guilty-pleasure holiday song: "All I Want for Christmas is You" (by Mariah Carey. Good Lord, I'm seeing how pathetic it looks just typing it up.)

Favorite holiday duet: Bing Crosby and David Bowie singing "Little Drummer Boy." The only thing better would have been Robert Smith teaming up with Mandy Moore and singing "Do You Hear What I Hear?" In my opinion.

Favorite family tradition from childhood: We were allowed to open one present on Christmas Eve, and the three of us searched diligently under the tree for a box that sounded like a toy. Sucked if you wasted your Christmas Eve gift on a pair of pants or some other *practical* gift.

Favorite Christmas Carol adaption: While Scrooged almost wins this one, I have to go with the Mickey Mouse version. Goofy as Bob Marley is good stuff. Nothing is better than hearing a ghost say, "Garsh!" I'm a loser.

Red versus burgundy: I'm all about the burgundy decorations.

Colored lights versus clear: I like them both. I like Christmas lights in general, but only in the designated Christmas time period. And if you have those huge, blow-up decorations in your front yard, there is a special place in hell for you.

Favorite ornament on my tree: I love all my Elvis ornaments, but I have a picture ornament from 1983 with a photo of my parents. It receives a place of honor, year after year. Plus, my dad has a beard in it and my mom is totally dressed in her awesome 80s clothes, southeastern Idaho style.

Favorite Christmas dinner food (non-dessert): Turkey. Ohgodsogood.

Favorite dessert: Derh. Pumpkin pie, although I think pumpkin cheesecake is probably edging that out. I have a cheesecake upstairs in my fridge as I type this. I'm having a Homer Simpson moment right now, with my eyes glazed over and my mouth open. Mmmm. . . pumpkin cheesecake.

Least favorite food: Canned cranberry sauce. Ew. Anything you serve that still has the lines from the can frightens me.

Favorite gift from childhood: I could be all about the 80s and say my Cabbage Patch Doll, but I think it's going ot have to be a stuffed animal (that I named Cotton Ball, creative minx that I am) my grandmother gave me. I think I loved it so much because she usually gave me clothing. She was one of those grandmothers.

Weirdest gift: My dad randomly gave me a hammer for Christmas when I was a junior in high school. Just what every 17 year-old girl needs.

Most thoughtful gift: I inherited some crystal figurines from my mother, and a few years ago my dad picked out some more to increase the collection. He was very excited when I opened that gift, since he was the one who also began my mother's collection. It was the cutest thing ever to watch his face when I opened that gift. And to picture him going into the store to get those.

Lamest gift ever: My former sister-in-law gave me three pencils one year. That was it, three pencils. As an added bonus, all day she had been announcing how much money she was now making at her new job. Oh, and the pencils were from her university. Where she had graduated from FOUR years before. She also lived nowhere near this school, so I'm pretty sure that she just found the pencils around her house. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the love from that gift. Got it, Beth, you did not like me. But you did like subtlety.

Ok, that's it for my list. Aren't lists fun?

Spying's only cool if you're Chevy Chase

Spying is bad, um-kay.

Read this story to see what top intelligience guys have to say about W.'s latest on national security. If you're too lazy to click on the link (hey, no judgement. I'm currently watching Gilmore Girls. And loving it.), then just read this quote from one of said smart guys:

"It's drilled into you from minute one that you should not ever, ever, ever, under any fucking circumstances turn this massive apparatus on an American citizen," one source says. "You do a lot of weird shit. But at least you don't fuck with your own people."

Or Mr. T. You don't fuck with your own people or Mr. T. And you don't put Baby in the corner.

Nobody puts Baby in the corner.

Menage-a-trois

Wow, some people are going to be fairly disappointed with this post after that title. What can I say, I'm just a big tease.

The title is in reference to the fact that this is my third post of the day. I love, love, love being on pseudo-vacation. I also love, love, love this picture. It might be the best thing I have ever seen.

And true.

Kind of makes you think, huh?

But according to Bob Barker, there is a huge abundance of kittens in the world, which is why you are to be spaying and neutering little Muffy. So either God is turning a blind eye, or people just love kittens more than themselves. And a big thanks to the friend who sent this picture my way.

Anyways, the real reason for this post is that I just realized that the girl who lives next door to me in my duplex is gone for the next three weeks. Which means I can sing as much as I want in the shower. And as loudly and off-key as is possible. And I will. Happy week to Christmas to me!

No Wire Hangers! Ever!

My holidays are fully complete! I went to a Christmas party tonight and I met (I swear to God!) . . .

Christina Crawford!

Oh yes. I did.

I was on my least creepy behavior, but it is widely known that I am a celebrity whore so I really had to rein myself in. I did force my host to give me the intro, and it took everything in me to not do Faye Dunaway impressions or do lines from the movie (which I love, love, love!) so I don't think I scared her.

Jealous? But wait, there's more! Christina starred in a movie with Elvis. I'm only one degree away from the King!

What a great day.

First Blood

I went Christmas shopping yesterday. All day. Which I enjoy, but I saw some bizarre human behavior. Why does holiday shopping make people so angry/crazy? People would get semi-threatening.

The best I thing I heard all day was when some guy was telling his wife, "I should have clocked that old lady with her Ipod." That was all I overheard, and I spent the rest of the day wondering (a) what the old lady had done to earn such anger and (b) why the old lady had an Ipod.

My friends then got to witness my full OCD while sitting in the parking garage. I happened to notice that the clock on my car stereo was two minutes faster than the clock on my cell phone. I wanted them to match up. Exactly. So I tried to fix this, while not running over my fellow shoppers or wrecking into the huge SUVs that took up two spaces. In my defense, it took us over 20 minutes to get out of the garage and this incident occupied me for three minutes.

Unrelated question, when did Aidan Quinn's career get so bad that he has had to resort to making a TV sitcom called "The Book of Daniel"?

Bad jobs

So the other night, a few of us were talking about jobs we have had. One of the worst I have ever had is working retail in the men’s department at J.C.Penney’s. My manager was constantly telling me to wear shorter skirts and flirt with the older men. Clearly in Pocatello, sexual harassment doesn’t exist, because it is always 1953.

Anyways, one of the highlights from that job was when I was tapped to be a public relations associate. That’s a fancy way of saying I got to wear costumes and wander around, greeting kids.

I rocked at that job. Oh yes, I said rocked. Because in my world, it is always 1987.

I dressed up as quite a few characters over my two-year tenure at Penney’s, including a bear, a cookie, and (the holy grail of character dress-up) Barney. For those of you who don’t know, Barney is a big, purpley dinosaur who sings gay songs and loves kids. But not in an inappropriate way. Allegedly.

I got fired from this job, by the way.

One day, I was bored with walking around in the Barney costume and waving at kids (and doing this little Barney dance, which don’t even ask me to perform for you, because I won’t. Maryanne.), so I wandered over to visit one of my friends. She just happened to work in the lingerie department. And I thought it would be funny to hold up a naughty little negligee to my Barney body. I laughed. My friend laughed.

The store manager who just happened by right then did not laugh.

Thus endeth my dressing-up days at J.C.Penney’s.

Pullman is flocked

Pullman has magically transformed over the past few days. I'm sure the more poetic of us could describe it better, but to me it looks like Santa's Wonderland at the local mall.

A freezing fog came through the Palouse on Tuesday, and the whole area is now frosted over. It is breathtaking (like the winter weather version of Elvis in his black leather outfit from '68), but it looks completely fake. It really does look like a department store has gone crazy with the artificial snow and has sprayed all the trees with it. It is sparkling and glistening, and to prove how weird it looks I have included a picture. Please to be looking at that and then agreeing with me.

Nice postscript: I took this picture from my front step and just ran out barefooted. I was busted for doing this (since I am constantly lecturing people to wear their coats, or gloves, or socks--oh, Laura, who doesn't wear socks in December?--I'm sure it was fun for this person to catch me not following my own advice) because I left my nice little footprint on the porch. Ah, walking in a winter wonderland, sans shoes.

Christmas Balls

So Maryanne came over to my house to bask in the beauty of my Christmas decorations. Or to pick me up for dinner. Whatever. Either way, I forced her to admire my beautiful tree and oooh and aaaah over my ornaments.

Instead of appreciating them and their celebration of this holy holiday, she pointed out that my tree was rather dirty. And not dirty as in "Get out the Comet or 409," but dirty as in, you know, dirty. She looked at an ornament that is a snowman sitting, and you put him over a Christmas light so the glow from the light reflects on him. Well, the light pokes up from his lap and it does look like the snowman is a little too excited for Christmas. She next moved on to an innocent candle ornament that she swore was too "fleshy" colored and looked like a ::male appendage:: to her. Then she pointed out that this cute little mouse ornament, that my parents bought back in the good old seventies, was all about the dirty. It's supposed to be a mouse tucking another one into bed, but now whenever I look at it, all I see is Maryanne's dirty version where the one mouse is giving the other a nice holiday BJ. And I don't mean Bell Jingling. Or do I?

Damn, that might be the dirtiest thing I've ever typed.

Ok, and the last ornament is dirty. My sister decided a few years ago to buy me two dog ornaments. One is female and the other is male. Very male. And that's all I'll say.

So that is the porno-ization of my tree. Thanks Maryanne. My tree makes me ashamed. Ish.

Wasting my morning

Ok, I should be reading something, but instead I'm sitting watching Kelly and Regis. Why? We don't know.

But can I just say that I might be in love with Jack Black, who is their guest today. He's enough to make me want to see "King Kong." Which, I'm sorry, outside of Jack looks incredibly dumb. What's up with the dinosaurs? And Jack is the only man out there who can still get away with saying, "Not!" and not looking like the world's biggest loser.

Added sidenote: I just saw a commericial for McDonald's gift cards for Christmas. FYI, to all of my friends, if you get me a McDonald's gift card for Christmas, the friendship is over.

Winter fun

So two things from today that sum up why I should stay inside my house. By myself.

First, I was driving around town this morning doing errands and listening to talk radio. When it went to commercial, I switched over to CD. Unfortunately, I have to crank up the volume when my stereo is on talk radio, so when I went to CD the music came blaring out. I happened to be at a stoplight. And I happened to have "Tainted Love" in. And I happened to be stopped at the light next to one of my students. Who heard the loud eighties music and looked over. Again, unfortunately, I didn't really realize how loud the music was and by the time I figured out that a) it was very loud and b) people were staring, I was already singing along.

As soon as I saw the student, my choices went rapidly through my mind. First, I could turn down the music and give the student an embarrassed wave hello. Second, I could just go with it and nod to the kid, and then keep playing loud Soft Cell. Third, I could pretend the music wasn't emanating from my car, and fake out the student by grabbing my cell phone and pretending that I wasn't lip-synching but rather that I had been talking on my phone all along.

I went with option three.

Because I am a retard.

Second, I went for a bit of a walk today. I glanced down at my dog yesterday and was stunned, yet again, by how fat she is. I started thinking about her weight problems and her neurotic nature and decided that the two are intricately linked.

My dog is fat because she doesn't have high enough self-confidence. Of course, I call her Fatty everyday. My sister says that if my dog was a human, she would be a cutter.

Anyways, I decided that something needed to be done about the fat issue. Maybe if she slims down, she can start loving herself more. And the cat less. So we are going to be taking daily walks, until the weather warms up to the point where we can actually jog to burn off the Kibbles. On her.

So we go for a walk and can I just say that apparently I missed the memo that if you live in Pullman you are not to shovel your walk. Ever. Seriously, maybe one in every ten houses had a clear sidewalk. And I'm being optimistic here. And they weren't just snowy walks, they were icy, dangerous, break-out-the-cane-yet-again walks. But I survived. And the one time I did fall, only some little kid saw.

My fat little dog makes quite the spectacle, though, when we are out for walks. She runs to the absolute end of the leash and the brain on her can't figure out that maybe she'd quit choking if she'd just drop back a few inches. She also *relieves* herself every 20 feet. It is very charming. And since it is so cold, she has to wear her sweater. As you can see in the above picture, for today's walk I chose the least gay one she owns. But the horizontal stripes are not slimming on Fatty. We might have to rethink the fashion choices for her.

Oh, and she tried to eat a rock on the walk. She's not just a looker, that one.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

Ok, so back to Vegas. I arrived at the hotel on Friday and checked in. I don’t remember so much of the rest of that night, except that I ate a delicious dinner courtesy of my traveling companion. Except when I say that I ate my dinner, I really mean to say that I drank most of it. Which would explain why my memory of that night isn’t that great.

I do remember stopping at a piano bar, and I’m pretty sure I was singing along. Loudly. And most likely off-key. But probably very enthusiastically, too. I’m a firm believer in the Vegas rule, though, that whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. I don’t think that I was up on the piano, if that makes everyone feel better. There was no Michelle Pfeiffer moment for me, thank you.

So the next morning clearly began with a headache. But I couldn’t be sidetracked with that, since Saturday was essentially my Christmas morning, as going to the Elvis museum was on that day’s itinerary.

First, though, I needed some good, solid food. Unfortunately, I decided we should eat at Caesar’s Palace. The place I wanted to eat at closed for lunch, so we had to wander around for a while. Apparently “Caesar” is Latin for “freakin’ maze.” It took us a while to a) find some place to eat and b) get the hell out of there. And that hotel is where the mafia stays, I’ve decided. I saw the people in there, and I’ve seen the Sopranos. They were the same, and I’ve never heard the f-bomb dropped with such passion and frequency, and in totally unnecessary ways. Example: “That fucking wall is nice.” “Fuck me, there’s the map.” “Well, fuck, my son said he wanted that toy.” Classy.

Oh, and pseudo-celebrity spotting: Pete Rose was in Caesar’s signing books.

Quick question: where did all the whores go? The Vegas I remember was literally littered with them, up and down the strip. I hate the Disneyification of Vegas. When I go there, I want to see me some whores.

Ok, so after Caesar’s it was on to Elvis-A-Rama. I swear to God that’s the name of the museum. After hiking for about 29 miles, thanks to the advice of completely drunk Vegas worker #1, we found the place (but not before listening to a cab driver berate it). But nothing could ruin this for me.

When we walked in the doors, I swear that I heard a choir of angels singing. And I’m pretty sure I lit up like a Southern Baptist at a revival. I have found my home.

The museum was Awe. Some.

Go there next time you’re in Vegas. And you might see me working there. Or just worshipping at the altar of the King. Until you can go there, go see the website. I touched things that Elvis touched at this museum, by the way. Which means that Elvis and I are essentially likethis. Ah, Maryanne, I see that line again. I see what you mean. For those who are interested, by the way, the official blue suede shoes are located at Elvis-A-Rama.

After the museum, as any cultured person knows, comes the museum gift shop. After a lot of money spent later, and some eye-rolling on the part of my traveling companion, I had purchased my souvenirs. These included a Christmas tree ornament of ’68 Comeback Special Elvis, two wall hangings, some magnets, and a shot glass. Of course, my favorite purchase was my t-shirt with a rhinestone Elvis on the front. Which the cashier advised me to wear with some black pants and I would look “Classy and yet cute.” Thanks, crazy Elvis-cashier lady. Yes, I think I will wear my new shirt to a fancy restaurant, because you suggested it.

But you can’t top a black shirt with a silhouette of Elvis in rhinestones.

Oh yes, here was the point in the day where my traveling companion decided to tell this lady—who did seem to be a few cans short of a six-pack—all about me. He told her that I lecture on Elvis in my history class, that I’m a huge fan, etc. He thought we should bond. Much appreciated. Although it did garner me a job offer. I knew my degrees would come in handy some day.

Ok, I’m done typing on this. Really this visit was the highlight of my trip to Vegas. But I still have the McCartney concert to cover, including my new buddy from there and how Paul apparently “burned” me. I’ll finish that up later, as well as highlights from my drive home. Right now, I’m going to go stare at my newest Elvis ornament.

Aquadoodle

Ok, so there’s a new drawing/artistic toy out there for the kids. It’s designed to make the parents happy, since there’s no mess attached to it. You put water in this marker pen and then can draw on a pad, which apparently you can reuse until hell freezes over. Sounds great, right?

It’s called Aquadoodle.

The commercial made me laugh for ten minutes. My parents weren’t huge on the restroom euphemisms (although we would use the phrases “number one” and “number two” but my mom drew the line with “BM” which is my personal least favorite) but my grandparents used “doodle.” So Aquadoodle just sounds so gross to me. Way too vivid of imagery. And you draw with the Aquadoodle? You hold it in your hand and draw with the Aquadoodle.

The song for the commercial makes it worse, too. “I can doodle, you can doodle” and “You can doodle on your pets.” Ew, ew, ew. How is doodling on your pets a selling point?

In other news, I saw "Walk the Line" last night. Two very enthusiastic thumbs up. Everyone should go see it. Go. Now.

Social behavior

I love the end of the semester. Technically I still have one week left, but for all intents and purposes I am done, done, done.

Which is why I felt no guilt for going to the holiday party last night.

And whoever suggested Jell-O shots for my contribution to the party is a freaking genius. I did decide to take shots, and to be festive I used strawberry and lime Jell-O. I then set up a Christmas-themed display, placing the shots to make a Christmas tree. It’s all about presentation. The shots didn’t even last five minutes, and they were the first thing gone at the party. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen faculty taking Jell-O shots.

Some lessons learned from last night:

1) As much as everyone enjoys swing dancing, that particular type of dancing does not work with every type of music. Who swing dances to disco? Two people at this party, apparently.

2) Some people own the Jackson 5 on CD. And these people just might be my heroes.

3) Vodka + wine + gin does not make me sick. Good to know.

4) If you don’t want to dance, don’t walk through the pseudo-dance floor on your way to the bathroom. Fellow students will grab you, pick you up, and swing you around against your will.

5) You should always, always, always take an Elvis CD with you to parties. Just in case.

Good times.

Vegas, part I

Since the temperature outside is once again bordering on Arctic, it has made me all the more willing to look back on my desert vacation. That’s how I think about Vegas now, and the desert is looking good. Today down in Sin City, it is a balmy 58 degrees (ok, that just seems balmy compared to the 8 degrees it is here now). Added to that, my patience with Pullman is growing thinner by the minute.

So my vacation.

First fun stop was in the airport, where I kept setting off the metal detector. Body cavity searches aren't nearly as romantic as movies make them seem, just to let everyone know. And I had to remove my shoes, because, as the Einstein behind me pointed out, I could possibly hide bombs in them. Off they came, I passed through my final check (and the airline discovered I'm not a terrorist), and headed to the gate. So since I’m a tad bit anal about time, I had some time to kill in the airport. As I sat there reading my book, some girl laid down on the seats in front of me in the terminal. I didn’t notice her until the couple next to me started snickering. The sleepy girl was wearing VERY low-rise pants, and she was completely thonged out. Great fun. Very appropriate, especially considering the position she was lying in.

And that couple.

He looked about 60. She looked somewhere in her late twenties. I assumed they were a cute father/daughter out for a fun Thanksgiving trip. Until his tongue was down her throat. And I saw the HUGE rock on her finger. Ew. But good for him. Trophy wives are fun for everyone.

Ok, so I arrived in Vegas and to save money, I caught the airport shuttle instead of a taxi. As about eight of us crammed our way into the shuttle, some guy’s cell phone rang and he proceeded to talk LOUDLY for us all to hear. Here was his portion of the call:

“Yeah, tickets are bought.”
“Sure, I’ll go check in to the BELLAGIO and meet up with you.”
“No, I just need to drop off my bags at the BELLAGIO.”
“Yes, I’m on my way to the BELLAGIO right now.”
“Oh, it was expensive to stay in the BELLAGIO, but I’m on vacation.”

Ok, dude, we got it. You are staying at the Bellagio. And it’s a pricey hotel. Good for you Richie Rich. Funny that you are riding the $5 shuttle with the rest of us, though.

Alright, that’s enough for now. As Heidi Fleiss always says, you gotta leave ‘em wanting more. Rest of Vegas to follow when I’m not bored with typing. And sorry about the capitals. It just didn't feel like an italics sort of day.

Hollywood gossip

Valerie Bertinelli and Eddie Van Halen are getting a divorce. Does anyone else find this incredibly sad and a tad bit disconcerting. Man, first Nick and Jessica and now this. If only all couples could look to Britney "I'm a big, white-trash pseudo-whore" Spears and Kevin "Damn, I'm the luckiest, no-talent man ever" Federline for how to make a relationship work.

What is wrong with Eskimos?

Holy Mother of God.

I think one of my ears fell off on my way into school this morning. It is so damn cold here. Are earmuffs back in style, per chance?

Speaking of style, apparently 1983 is back. Yesterday I saw some girl in a white mini-skirt (oh yes, I said mini-skirt) with purple tights. Purple. Tights. Added to that it was around 15 degrees outside.

Today's temperature is not supposed to get above 20 degrees. Ok, duly noted that Alaska is officially marked off my list of possible places to live. I still can't feel my face. When is spring again?

Recipes

So I have a holiday party to attend later this week. And I need recipe ideas. I prefer to make desserts, mainly because I prefer to eat desserts. Does anyone have any brilliant ideas on an easy dish for me to take? Oh, and I want tons of compliments from the other people at the party, so it better be good.

I just flipped through my Elvis cookbook (oh yes, I own this) but I didn't really see anything in there, since I really don't want to give everyone at the party a heart attack. And his Southern Sweet Potato Pie didn't really appeal to me either, although a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich might be just the ticket.

Goodbye November

Wow. Ask me anything about Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, or Samantha. That’s what happens when you’re stuck inside with the flu for five days, you become a Sex and the City expert. You also become stir-crazy and think of the many ways your furniture could be rearranged, but since you are all tired and ache-y, you just pop in the next season of a former TV show.

I’m hoping to leave the house tomorrow. For more than just shoveling my walk. Pullman got hit with about 20 different snow storms this week, and today was the first day I felt up to shoveling my sidewalk. I’m pretty sure we had over 18 feet. Winter has arrived.

Anyways, so I’ll briefly recount the last half of my Pocatello trip. Clearly things picked up in the Gate City, as I stopped posting. Toni came back into town on Tuesday and saved me from killing myself by massive My Fair Brady overdose. We went shopping (not our best choice to unleash ourselves on the poor workers at Home Depot; we get a bit giggly together, and Toni dances in aisles), ate a lot of food (after convincing some poor waiter at the fifties restaurant that I’m a bit of a kleptomaniac, just where Elvis memorabilia is concerned) and got caught up.

I don’t think Toni’s daughter enjoys us together, but her college friend sure did. FYI, whenever I’m in Austria, I have a free place to stay. My charm translates well, apparently, and we’ll see how I do internationally.

Toni also filled me in on her definition of evil, and I think I skated by. In Toni’s world, hell is when you have just cleaned a countertop, and then use the same sponge to clean the wall, transporting whatever stain that was on the counter to the wall. My version of hell is elevator music, Liza Minnelli impersonators, and soft ice cream. To each her own.

Let’s see, after spending two days with Toni, I caught up again with my sister-in-law and the two nephews. They still do nothing, except guarantee us faster service when my father takes us out to eat.

My stepmother had to work on Thanksgiving, so my father and I ate a very casual meal together. After gorging myself (and I have no shame here) on pumpkin pie, I headed back over to Toni’s, since I hadn’t seen her husband yet this trip. I also heard rumors that there was more pie there. I love me some good pie.

The next day, I went to Salt Lake City (which is second only to Pocatello for fun, fun, fun) to spend a few hours with my cousin before catching my flight.

So that’s my holiday recap. Here are the lessons I have learned: 1) don’t plan a week in Pocatello without making definite plans with people, 2) no more family holidays without a large supply of alcohol, and 3) it is ridiculous that pumpkin pies are only “in season” for a few months a year. And I don’t care what other people say, Starbucks pumpkin scones are the nearest thing to heaven this world will get now that Elvis is *dead*.

I got a fever . . .

I think I have been asleep for 72 of the last 84 hours. What a way to end my vacation, by getting the flu and taking another four days off work/school. Do you think my department will remember me when I stroll in after three weeks of absence? If not, do I have any obligation to continue working there? As an added bonus, before the evil flu completely possessed my fragile little body, I had half-way decorated my house. For the holidays. So now there are Christmas decorations sitting everywhere, and empty boxes, and things out of place, and I am far too tired and ache-y to deal with it. My OCD mind might blow up soon if I don't get better fast enough to clean up.

Anyways, I have watched season seven of Friends, season one of Scrubs, and seasons one and two of Sex and the City. Who is the marketing genius that decided that absolutely no good television shows can be allowed on prime time on Wednesdays and Thursdays? I'll cut CSI some credit, but my Nyquil was kicking in a long time before that came on. And why is Joey still on?

Anyways, I'm feeling semi-better today, but my voice is still all Kathleen Turner-ed out and I'm still pretty stuff-headed. And a big thanks to Maryanne and Sarah for getting me some groceries the other day, since Pullman was hit with a snow storm and there's no way I could have managed to get my car out of the driveway while riding my Dayquil high. And another thanks to those two for not mocking my food choices. We all get weird cravings when we are sick, right?

On the bright side, we all realize what today is, yes? Light a candle, eat some Oreos, and say a little prayer of thanks.

Thanksgiving recap and Vegas updates to follow when I feel up to it.