It makes an excellent addition to your Festivus celebration, as well.

Why is is that all the really good things are only available to us at Christmastime? Lit up houses, 24-hour marathons of brilliant movies, free days off for non-essential federal workers courtesy of our generous Commander-in-Chief? (I totally got Christmas Eve off and I love it!)

Well now there's one more item to add to the list: Starbuck's Limited Edition Dark Chocolate Peppermint Mocha Frappuccino. I purchased a four-pack last night, frankly, because I liked the red on the packaging. What a brilliant decision on my part! This stuff is a Christmas delight. Rich chocolate, refreshing peppermint, and more caffeine than you could shake a stick at with your jittery hands. Go now! Get some!

And to all those people who think Starbucks is trying to take over the world, I say let them. As long as they provide me with delicious, caffeinated treats, I will happily be their robot slave.

Apparently the Chinese think I'm selfish

So here's the fortune I got with my sweet and sour chicken tonight:

"Perhaps you've been focusing too much on yourself."

What the crap?

Oh man, I got so played.

So I was trolling the Sci Fi channel website, trying to find out when they're going to supply me with a new season of BSG, and I saw a preview for a TV movie, Tin Man, a modern take on the Wizard of Oz. It looked interesting and I like Zooey Deschanel and I really like Neal McDonough, so I decided to check it out. Things were going smoothly, but as I approached the two-hour mark, and I started to get this feeling, like "Hmmm, how are they going to wrap this up in the next few minutes?"

You know that feeling. Nothing good ever comes of that feeling. That feeling immediately precedes the "To Be Continued" screen. So I was annoyed that it was a two nighter thing, but I somehow got sucked into the second night anyway. Imagine my shock, nay, my horror, when it all happened again. I was approaching the four-hour mark, and that awful feeling came back. I sat up on the couch and shrieked, "How can they be doing this to me again!" I checked the TV guide, found that the third night was the last, and buckled down to invest two more hours, because I was not prepared to cut my losses. After four hours I deserved to see how it ended.

Well, my long national nightmare is finally over, and now I realize that I just invested six hours, six hours in something that wasn't all that great. It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't great, or even terribly good. That's time I could have invested a repeat viewing of Pride and Prejudice, or half of Band of Brothers, or 12 consecutive viewings of that episode of Sports Night where Isaac takes Luther Sachs to task on the air for supporting a university that flies the Confederate Flag. Oh man, that episode is so, so good.

And now I find out that the new season of BSG isn't coming until March, when I was previously promised January. Oh Sci Fi, you got me good. You played me like a cheap piano. I hope you're proud of yourself!

It is a truth universally acknowledged that annoying dead people should stay dead.

Okay, Heroes people. This is simply not fair. For so long I've been waiting for a certain annoying someone to finally bite it, and just when it looked as though that someone was gone from my TV forever, you had to revive that certain someone with some magic blood. (I promise, potential viewers, the storylines on this show are actually better than I'm making them sound.) That is not fair! You can't kill someone and make me do the happy dance and then just undo it all. It's just not right.

I've been waiting for that fake accent to make everything good again...

So I finally got caught up on all the Heroes episodes I missed while in Europe. Do you all remember when I squealed and squee-ed and was just generally obnoxious in my delight that David Anders was guesting on Heroes? And then I asked if it was possible that he could become a regular character and fabulously evil? (Well, I did. I said it. It’s all right there in a previous post.) Anyway, to quote Penny Lane, it’s all happening! David is out of 1600s Japan (don’t ask), into the present day, looking like a regular character, and totally being evil. At the same time, the second season of Heroes has finally ceased to suck. Coincidence? Doubtful.

It makes me wonder if I have predictive powers. Very specific predictive powers, applicable only to snarky British characters.

Dude, I really can find a silver lining in anything

So, this is what my cellphone voicemail message currently says:

"Hi, this is Allison. Leave me a message. Oh, and here's a very important piece of advice: Never fly Air France. They will lose your luggage and then they will steal from it."

The silver lining? I'm glad it was the French who screwed me over, so at least I can still look on the Italians with fondness.

Hands off the drawers, Frenchy.

So, all day I've been trying to get Amanda to be more upset about my luggage saga, to share in my righteous anger. It took the tale of some pilfered booze to really ignite the rage:

"A bottle of wine is missing? Ok, NOW I'm furious! What if some weird Frenchman stole your underwear? Gross! I don't even want to think about that!"

Indeed, Manderz. Indeed.

So, Air France is evil.

I'm not sure if you all were aware of this, but Air France is evil. Evil like Satan. And people who have audible conversations in movie theaters. I despise Air France. I despise them like Hitler! And movie theater talkers! Eeeeeeevil!

If you've guessed that this outburst means I still do not have my luggage, more than a week after arriving home from Italy, you'd be correct. Melis doesn't have hers either, but at least she has a working Fed Ex tracking number, which is more than I can say. Those evil people lost my luggage, do not know where it is, and do not have the huevos to tell me so. Vile! Wretched! EVIL!

And can I just ask, how does one lose a piece of luggage that is the color of a pumpkin and the size of an Oldsmobile? That's a special brand of incompetence. Or evilness.

So, if you don't mind doing without essential items such as battery chargers and contact solution, and you don't mind doing laundry at a rate of frequency reminiscent of the Gilbreth family, by all means, fly Air France. But if traveling in concert with your luggage is something that's important to you, avoid this evil airline like avian flu. Tell all your friends! Tell anyone who will listen! Even tell people you don't care for. No one should inflict Evil Air France on other people, no matter how annoying they are. Not even if they talk in movie theaters.


**Update: Melis just called to say she received her luggage. However, it looks like it served a tour in Bosnia in the early-90s, and there's a bottle of wine missing. Not broken. Missing. Evil and thieving!

I HATE Air France.

I am so jetlagged, I might be asleep right now and dreaming that I'm typing this.

Well, I'm back from Italy. I thought I'd have a fabulous time, but I could not have even imagined how fabulous it would end up being. Go! Go to Italy now! You're only punishing yourself if you don't!

I haven't begun my episodes yet, but I can tell you I had a gelato for every day I was there, Melis heard the news about Barry Bonds' indictment on CNN World News and did the happy dance in our hotel room, Rick Steves is some kind of mad genius, Gram loves gondolas, Lisa loves scarves, Linda loves her travel pillow to a degree that disturbs Kristen, apparently I'm rather melodramatic and animated even by Italian standards, our photos will soon be appearing on the wall of our favorite restaurant in Rome, and Jackie says, "Stay away from the spotted meat."

That's good advice, folks.

Sono così spiacente ho battuto quello sopra ed ho fatto un mess.

I’m going to Italy soon, and aside from learning the Italian for, “I’m so sorry I knocked that over and made a mess,” I’ve been reading about the country from whence my ancestors came, and I’ve learned some interesting stuff:

Italy is the world’s largest producer of lemons, and as such, there are plenty of lemon-based drinks, dishes, and pastries to be tried. And I’m going to try them all.

The lines to see The Last Supper in Milan are ludicrous, and we have Dan Brown to blame for it.

For every Venetian resident there are two pigeons and four rats. Great. It’ll be just like being back on the Subway.

The Roman Catholic Church claims that the actual body of the actual Apostle Peter is actually buried under St. Peter’s Basilica. Sorry dudes, I just don’t buy it.

Pope Benedict XVI does not grant private audiences. That practice went out with the death of John Paul II. But I’m still hoping to catch a glimpse of the popemobile when I’m at the Vatican, bullet-proof bubble and all.

Venetian gondolas travel about three miles an hour (the same as walking) and are always painted with six coats of black paint, because in the 17th century the Doge enacted a law to eliminate competition between nobles for the fanciest boat. Well, sorry for you if your gondola gets stolen.

Police Officer: Describe the missing boat.
Screwed Gondolier: Well, it’s black…

I am a Fanilow

Anyone who tells you they don’t like any of Barry Manilow’s songs is lying to your face. I know it’s not really hip to like him right now, unless you’re over the age of 60, but I am not afraid to stand up and say it. I think he has so many great songs (that’s right, I said GREAT) and there has to be at least one for everybody. Weekend in New England is my Manilow tune of choice right now because it’s beautiful and sad and lovely, and the part where it builds to crescendo at the end is so much fun to sing at the top of your lungs in the car, attracting the attention of fellow motorists who wonder why you look like you’re going into convulsions at the wheel. (See also: Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me by Mel Carter.) Weekend might be too cheesy for some people, but who doesn’t love Copacabana? I know it’s more reminiscent of Miami, but I think it’s so awesome in that “Las Vegas in the 70s” way, like men in sharp suits and women in sequined gowns swilling gin and rolling hard eights at the Craps table. If you don’t like Copa, you’re not old enough or knowledgeable enough to understand how cool Vegas was in the 70s and you need to go rent Casino and sit in awe of Sharon Stone’s costumes and eye make-up. Hottest spot north of Havana!

Also, there was that awesome Star Wars Cantina parody that just makes the song even cooler.

Oh, I’m sorry; did I wander onto the set of the Jerry Springer show?

The weekend before last Amanda’s sister got married and Amanda came home to be in the wedding. The wedding was a really lovely affair, despite the fact that the hardwood floor, when wet, became very slippery and I fell. Twice. It was like karma biting me in the butt, since I fell right in front of Chris and if you know me at all, you know one of my chief entertainments in life has been to laugh hysterically when Chris trips, shrieks like a little girl, and hits the ground while his shoes fly in two different directions. However, I was not the only one to fall at the wedding. Chris himself fell twice, one other reveler spent more time on the floor than on his feet (though that had more to do with the beer in his system than the beer on the floor), and at the end of the night you could watch the dance floor and see a person drop out of sight approximately every nine seconds. Good times.

The next evening Amanda came over to watch the long-awaited Rock of Love reunion show. I eagerly anticipated all sorts of cat fighting and hair pulling, but I was bitterly disappointed by a shocking lack of such antics. Even Heather and Lacey were polite and conciliatory toward each other. Heather even apologized for calling Lacey a prostitute in front of her parents. How boring. Boo! But, it is a truth universally acknowledged that whenever one would-be shockfest lets you down, another springs up from out of nowhere to take its place.

The facts are these: For the past two months Amanda has been dating this guy, David, and she’s been really happy about her relationship. They got along really well, he was very kind and considerate, and she was even thinking about asking him to come home to PA to spend New Year’s with her. When she flew back to Houston after the wedding weekend, David picked her up from the airport. She thought he was behaving a bit strangely, but she was exhausted from her trip and put it out of her mind. The next day things seemed normal. She and David were back to texting each other throughout the day and they’d made plans to get dinner and see a movie that Friday. All day and evening on Thursday he was MIA. She heard nothing from him on Friday, and he stood her up for their date. On Saturday she went to dinner with her girlfriends, where “trashing David” was the most popular item on the menu, but on Sunday when she still hadn’t heard anything from him, she decided to take action. She got onto his MySpace page and emailed the young lady who was at the top of his friends list. She told the girl (who I’ll call Doris, since I didn’t ask Amanda what her name was) that she was a friend of David’s and asked if she knew if he was okay. Doris wrote back immediately saying David was at the gym and asking Amanda how she knew him. When Amanda wrote back that she had been seeing David for two months, Doris wrote back to say they needed to talk.

For the next two hours Amanda and Doris talked on the phone, comparing schedules and trading stories about David that sounded remarkably similar. He’d been dating Doris since May, living with her since July, and lying like a pathological lying liar since the day he emerged from his mother’s womb. When he got back from the gym Doris asked, “David, who’s Amanda?” David claimed he didn’t know anyone named Amanda. From the speakerphone Amanda shouted, “You have GOT to be kidding me!” He proceeded to deny everything, claiming that his ex-wife put somebody up to this. And the saddest, most pathetic part? Despite enough proof to convict OJ, Doris still wasn’t sure who to believe. Oh, Doris, Doris, Doris. Please, love yourself more than that.

After all these shenanigans, Amanda went to the gym and did some boxing. Hopefully Doris learned that she’s better off alone than badly accompanied. And ladies, I advise you to steer clear of all men named David in the greater Houston area, just to be safe.

And that's why you don't tattoo a guy's name on the back of your neck.

You know, when I told my sisters that I watch Rock of Love, they looked at me with disbelief and pity. Melis recovered her voice enough to spout, “You watch that?” She was clearly appalled. But you know what? Now that my not-so-secret shame has come to an end, I regret nothing. Where else can you see the awesome pink-haired girl walk away with it all, while the nasty I’d-rather-let-the-man-I-“love”-go-into-insulin-shock-than-cut-short-my-dunebuggy-ride stripper takes off in a trail of hairspray and profanity, wondering how she can get this ill-concieved tattoo removed? Sure the show was trashy, but we all need a little trashy in our lives.

Also, I’m not entirely convinced Heather wasn’t a bit of tranny.

I’ve been waiting for that fake accent to come back into my life…

Hey Alias fans, are you all aware that David “Julian Sark” Anders is on Heroes right now? Even better, he’s playing a snarky British man. That’s right. The accent is back! When I saw his name in the credits, I squealed so loudly they heard it in Richland.

Is it too much to hope that he becomes a regular character and goes fabulously evil?

There's a reason William Shatner's face wigs me out

So, I was in Gallina’s yesterday, waiting to pick up my lunch (Buffalo chicken salad, extra Buffalo sauce), when suddenly the theme music from John Carpenter’s classic horror film Halloween filled my ears. I recoiled and started looking around me like a schizophrenic who is hearing voices for the first time since she went off her meds. I was searching for the source of the music and wondering if I was just imagining it. It turns out that the final jump into the abyss of insanity that I have been anticipating for so long had not come at last. It was just the cell phone ringtone of some sicko two tables away. As I tried to recover my composure, the old man next to me in the takeout line regarded me with caution while he mentally mapped out his exit strategy.

You may recall that this is not the first time I’ve been startled by a Halloween theme music ringtone. A few years ago I was browsing in a small bookshop in Greenwich Village when that ringtone sounded, causing me to drop my book and hastily exit the store. This was in daylight, people. That music is so frightening, so disturbing, so inherently wrong that I cannot maintain any sort of self-possession in its presence. Please, for the love of decency, Americans, STOP choosing that theme song for your ringtone! Choose something more cheerful, like the Jaws theme or Tubular Bells.

Ding dong, the witch... well, you get the idea.

At last, our long national nightmare is over. Lacey has finally been ejected from the Rock of Love house, unfortunately without the Prozac-fueled meltdown I so eagerly awaited. That was a shame. I have decided to comfort myself by imagining her limo ride home, complete with screaming, tears, vodka, and unintelligible blather.

And wow, I didn't think I'd ever find someone so immediately unlikable as Lacey, but her father filled that role with no effort at all. Assuming that pompous jackassitude requires no effort. At least we now have unassailable proof that mental illness is hereditary.

Do I smell minty?

I should. I just splattered myself with about 17 ounces of original flavor Scope.

Kinda makes you wonder about the circumstances under which he wrote Every Rose Has Its Thorn...

Well, this week’s Rock of Love did not disappoint. I waited with evil glee all week to see Lacey get totally smashed and fall off the bar as she crawled across it (like a “cracked out cat” as Jes put it) in the most embarrassing display of public drunkenness since Courtney Love threw her compact at Madonna at the VMAs and then tumbled head over heels off the interview stool after revealing a past romantic liaison with Ted Nugent. And just when I got over cackling with delight at the sight of Big John carrying Lacey’s trashy, vomit-plastered self out of the room, I was rewarded with the hilarious prospect of a drunken Brandi vomiting through her napkin while Heather gobbled down oysters as though they contained a secret ingredient that would grant her immunity in the next elimination round. I don’t care what anyone says, this show is hysterically funny.

However, the best moment of the night was reserved for Bret’s heartfelt confession that Brandi said one of the most touching things he’s ever heard, just after he pulled her vomit-covered head out of the toilet. It was slurred and laden with profanity, but apparently it was touching. Why is this not part of NBC’s Thursday night comedy line-up?

Next week, the Heather-Lacey alliance finally explodes in a most spectacular fashion (whee!), and right in front of Lacey’s dad. I can hardly wait!

It was kinda like the time I got a charlie horse, jumped out of bed, and took a header into the wall.

So, my parents are the biggest baby hogs (yes, even worse than me) and I’m constantly trying to find crafty ways to outfox them and get more time holding Jules. Sometimes my efforts pay off and sometimes they just bite me in the butt in an extraordinary fashion.

Today, I was catching a ride to my parents’ house from church. As we neared the house, I saw my mother take off her seatbelt, grab her purse, and sit forward in her seat, obviously so she could leap from the car and get to the baby faster than me. So, of course I shouted “Dibs!,” took off my seatbelt, and likewise prepared to make a hasty exit. I opened my door while the vehicle was still moving, bounded from the car, and ran across the lawn, up the porch steps, and face first into the locked front door. My mother enjoyed a hearty chuckle and Jules was sleeping anyway. Not my best day.

I'll see your tiny white cardigan and raise you a 3-inch long pair of patent leather Mary Janes

So, I’m an aunt now and I’m terribly excited about it. Julia Diane was born on August 30, after she and her mother gave us the scare of a lifetime. I learned on that day that Melis is great in a crisis and I am the opposite of great in a crisis. I simply slip into a fugue state. But now that Jules and Jen are doing fine, I have begun to think about the obvious implication of all this: how much stuff can I buy for my little cutie?

I am telling you, it’s a whole new world for me. I used to be blind to the Children’s section in stores; now I’m pretty sure it emits a subliminal tone that summons me to it, beckoning me to find the prettiest little dresses and hats and purple corduroy pants. Oh, I’m so stoked that Jules is a girl because the girlie stuff is just plain more fun to buy than the boys' stuff and nobody can deny that. I can’t wait for Christmas.

True Friendship!

What is friendship? Aristotle said something about a single soul dwelling in two bodies. Yeah, whatever. I think friendship is demonstrated in things like telling your friends about awesome places like Savannah’s Southern Take-out. I was recently introduced to this place by people who must truly love me; otherwise they’d have kept it to themselves. Savannah’s is located on Scalp Avenue, it’s exclusively take-out, and it’s just fabulous. They have good southern cookin’, everything is homemade, and everything is delicious. We had ribs, barbecued chicken, candied yams, collard greens, mac and cheese, barbecue beans, and cornbread. Then we played Spite and Malice and whined about how full we were. It was like being in the Deep South, but without the wretched heat and 18-hour drive.

Because everything is homemade, they sometimes run out of stuff so you should call ahead if you have a big order. I suggest you eat your collard greens with your cornbread, the way the girls in Mississippi taught me to do it.

Things I Have Learned While Helping to Put Together a Crib

1. Pay attention to where you set down that Allen wrench.
2. Electric screw guns are roughly as essential to life as oxygen.
3. When someone eagerly stands back and allows you to engage the locking pins over the base board, it’s because he knows that the process will bend back and/or split your nails and he is taking advantage of your naiveté.
4. When you perform this task on camera, you are creating a semi-permanent record of your clumsiness.

You really ought to know about this movie

So I created this Excel spreadsheet to track all my DVDs and books because I am a freak. The DVD one is a thing of beauty because I have columns detailing the genre, format, and special notes so that I can do things like separate out my Coen Brothers movies in a jiffy. There’s also a column to track who gave it to me if it was a gift and, most importantly, who has it if it was lent out. I spent quite a bit of time on this since I have such a ludicrous number of DVDs that they really ought to preclude me from having a Netflix membership, but I love Netflix so deeply that I don’t even let thoughts like that bother me. So, imagine how I felt when all my planning and freakish organization failed me as I looked for my Suicide Kings DVD to no avail. It turns out I lent it to Josh before I even made the spreadsheet and it’s now packed in his DVD boxes in his new house in Virginia. I’ll be getting it back soon, so that’s cool but that brings me to the point of this post: Suicide Kings is such a fantastic film, people.

Suicide Kings is one of those movies that most people don’t seem to know about. Most people I know, anyway. When I find someone who has seen that movie and loves it like I do, I feel like I’ve found a kindred spirit. It’s like, “Ah, you love Suicide Kings, so now I feel like I understand you and we will never run out of things to talk about.”

I just love Christopher Walken and Denis Leary so much that I couldn’t believe my luck when I found them in the same movie together. It is utterly quotable in almost any situation, except for the fact that it is laden with so much profanity, but after years of movie watching I am pretty much desensitized to profanity, so that’s really not a problem for me. (Sorry Mom.) If you are also moderately desensitized to profanity and have a love of awesome movies and/or would like to never run out of things to talk about with me, go rent it!

Simon Pegg, marry me!

I recently rented Hot Fuzz and was reminded just how brilliant Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright are. They’re like these super-cool guys who are so funny and clever and even cooler because they’re not trying to be cool or even aware of their supreme coolness. Nick Frost, too. Extremely cool. This led me to, once again, pull Shaun of the Dead off my shelf, because any evening watching Shaun of the Dead is a good one. You should totally go rent these movies. Watch Shaun first and then Fuzz. Have a Pegg/Wright/Frost evening and then be sad that you’ll never be as awesome or clever or funny as these guys.

I had SUCH a great day today

I had the BEST time in New York City today. We (me, Melis, Brian, Jackie, Kristen, and her friend) drove in to see Rent now that the original actors (Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp) for the two main characters are back for a limited run. The show was amazing, just amazing. These guys have such wonderful chemistry and such a great rapport on stage. They also appear to not have aged in the last decade. I don’t know if they’re sleeping in Tupperware or bathing in the blood of children, but they looked great. We were among the last to leave the theatre and Jackie (who had never seen the show before today) looked over and said, “Um, isn’t that the guy? Isn’t that one of the originals?” Sure enough, Anthony Rapp was standing ten feet away, waiting to step outside the see the mob of screaming fans waiting on the sidewalk. Nice catch, Jacks. We were happy to catch a glimpse of him because the mob outside was so huge, there was no seeing anything out there.

That evening Kris and her friend were seeing an off-Broadway play and Jackie and Brian scored standing room tickets for Jersey Boys, so Melis and I were on our own. We tried to get lottery tickets for the evening show of Rent, but failed. We headed to TKTS and, after much deliberation, settled on Xanadu. We were very unsure of our choice and even tried to trade them in at one point. What a foolish mistake that would have been! The show was awesome. Hilarious, clever, great music, great cast (including Cheyenne Jackson! Anyone who has seen All Shook Up knows exactly what I’m talking about.) This show is great! Go see it! But the best part was after the show. We went to the stage door and met Cheyenne. What a lovely, gracious (completely freakin’ adorable) guy he is. He signed our Playbills, took a photo with me and Melis, and was all enthusiastic when she told him that she directed All Shook Up for her high school. Melis and I walked down the street giggling like the 12 year-old girls that we secretly inwardly are. It was pretty awesome.

Then Melis had the bright idea to head down to the Rent stage door to see if Anthony and Adam would come out and sign our Playbills. Xanadu is a short show and we were out way before the others, so we had some time to kill and thought that we could beat the crazy mob to good spots for seeing the Rent guys. On the way down to Rent we stopped at a newspaper stand for a drink and I had an incredible stroke of luck. My favorite gum (cinnamon flavored Freshen Up) is impossible to find in Pennsylvania but there, lo and behold, sat 8 packs of it. My eyes widened, my heart raced, I pounced. I gathered up all 8 packs and the little old Chinese lady behind the counter gasped in shock. Then she pulled out her stash from below the counter and asked if I wanted more. I said, “Yes, I’ll take two more. So that will be 1 bottle of water and 10 packs of gum, please.” The guy behind me said, “Is that the gum with the liquid center? Man, that stuff is hard to find.” Seriously dude. I look for it everywhere. I was even hoping to stumble upon it in London. Now I am so stocked up, and I walked down 7^th Avenue, giddy with my good fortune.

Then it was on to Rent. We got there in plenty of time to get a front row spot on the barricades they set up to handle the crazy crowds by the stage door. About 20 minutes later, the show let out and the people who had rushed like madmen from their seats were horrified to find there was already a crowd, three people deep, at the barricades. More and more people swarmed in and started shoving us against the barricades like it was a Who concert in Cincinnati. Let me take a moment to explain, in case you’re not familiar with this show, that Rent fans are the most fanatical, semi-psycho fans on Broadway. It is a huge deal that Anthony and Adam came back, and it’s really tough to get tickets right now and people go crazy to see them. The crowd pours into the streets, the NYPD has officers there, it’s pandemonium. And Melis and I were at the front of it all.

Anthony came out first. He was very polite and reserved and kept thanking people for their enthusiasm. The crowd went so crazy and I thought we were going to flip the barricade over and end up, face down, on the ground at his feet. He signed our Playbills and spent a lot of time with the crowd and was very gracious. I told him I have liked him since Adventures in Babysitting (“Oh Thor, mighty god of thunder!”) and he, somewhat disappointingly, did not respond with “Ya think?” I guess you can’t have everything. Then Adam came out and the crowd went wild. Girls were screaming, “Adam, marry me!” He had to stop signing autographs to ask people to calm down and take a step back so those of us at the front didn’t get crushed. He also spent lots of time with the crowd and was completely adorable. Then the NYPD had to step in and push the barriers back and do some crowd control, which basically consisted of screaming at people to stop pushing. It was pretty fabulous.

Oh for pity's sake, I am so dumb

I drove to the Gibsons' tonight to spend the weekend. About 30 minutes into my trip, I called their house to check what their dinner plans were. I talked to Uncle Giz. The conversation went thusly:

Me: I'll be there around 8:30. What are your dinner plans?
Giz: Where are you now?
Me: Ebensburg.
Giz: Ebensburg?
Me: Yeah, Ebensburg.
Giz: Why are you in Ebensburg?
Me: (silence, as I contemplate my stupidity)
Giz: Ebensburg? E-B-E-N-S-B-U-R-G? Ebensburg?
Me: Ummmm, yeah?
Giz: Why are you in Ebensburg?
Me: Because I am so freakin' dumb!

And then Uncle Giz had a hearty chuckle at my expense, and then he made a joke about my stupidity and involving the city of Erie, and then I hung up on him.

But wait! I'm even more stupid than you realize. I was driving up the Johnstown Expressway and I got to where the highway splits and I thought to myself, "I need to go through Windber." And then I thought to myself, "No, that's the way to Chris' house. Instead I should go through Ebensburg." As if Chris' house (in Harrisburg) is not on the way to the Gibsons'! Clearly I have some sort of brain disease.

Okay, fine. FINE.

I ate the shoe cookie.

Life's full of tough choices, innit?

So, I'm sitting here eating a really good cookie and, because I am clumsy, I dropped the last two bites into my shoe (I'm sitting here in my socks.) So, now I'm trying to decide if I should eat the shoe cookie or throw it away.

Boy, Ursula, you weren't kidding.

I did not steal this

I love Ikea. I love to walk through the Showroom and imagine what my house would look like all sleek and modern and Swedish-looking. And then I like to go down to the Marketplace and buy cheap batteries and rugs and decorative boxes and chocolates. I would spend all my free time there if I lived near one. I really identified with that guy in Fight Club.

My favorite cheap things to buy are Ikea shopping bags. The ones you use in the store are yellow, but they started making them in blue and selling them for 99 cents, probably to stop people from walking off with their yellow ones. Let me repeat that: 99 cents! That makes me want to find random Swedish people and kiss them so much. I bought my first one last year and used it to haul laundry to my Mom’s house when my dryer was broken. Aunt Linda saw it and promptly accused me of stealing it from the store. I was suitably insulted and then explained the color difference. She persisted in insinuating that I was a thief and continues to do so to this day just to amuse herself. I now own 5 of these bags and I’ll probably be going back for more. They are so fantastic. I keep one in the car for emergencies and use one to store crap in the basement. I use them all the time. They’re great for hauling groceries into the house, hauling board games to Gram’s or Uncle Denny’s on picnic days, or even as an overnight bag. I arrived at Chris’ house for the weekend with my stuff in one and he called me a hobo or something, but I don’t care. I'm leaving for the Gibsons' tonight and I'll arrive with my stuff contained in one of these bags and I will probably be called a thief again.

They are awesome. They hold so much and they fold up so small, so you can use one as your overnight bag and then you can toss a folded one into your overnight bag so you can use it to haul home all the crap you buy when visiting your friends because you're all just a bunch of shopaholics who really need help. But these bags really are fantastic. You should definitely buy them. I love the Swedes!

What little patience I had is gone and it’s all Apple’s fault

I just got The History Boys movie soundtrack from Amazon. I was utterly disgusted that it was not available on iTunes because my iPod has spoiled me into thinking that I should be able to have whatever music I want immediately. Giant Eagle is also partly to blame because I buy iTunes gift cards whenever I go grocery shopping, telling myself that I’m only upping my gas reward points. Then I always have a money credit on my iTunes account which allows me to purchase music with reckless abandon. Oh man, I have spent so much money.

Anyway, History Boys was not available on iTunes, so I had to go through Amazon and, instead of getting the album in the 90 seconds it takes to download, I had to wait an entire six days and it was monstrous. But now that I have it, I cannot stop listening to Samuel Barnett’s rendition of Rodgers and Hart’s Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered. I love Rodgers and Hart so very much and I love, love, love Samuel Barnett’s voice. It’s so clear and beautiful. And I love his particularly English pronunciation of words like “laugh” and “half.” So. Very. Delightful. I love English people. The piano accompaniment is marvelous as well. I remember watching the movie and seeing Jamie Parker’s fingers fly so deftly across the keys and cursing myself for never learning to play an instrument. (I was not born under a musical planet.) Guys, I cannot stop listening to this song. I can currently be seen walking the streets of Old Westmont with my iPod and this deliriously dreamy look on my face as Samuel Barnett’s voice swells in my ears. So worth the 6-day wait.

I’ll bet they used animals to test Prozac

Okay, so I’m hooked on the show Rock of Love. It’s so embarrassing that I have to just come right out and say it quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. I blame Amanda. It all goes back to the time she was visiting from Texas and we stayed up till 2 AM eating pancakes and watching a Flavor of Love marathon in which Flava Flav somehow (and I still don’t know how) restrained himself from taking that giant clock necklace and smacking New York across her smug face. Needless to say, I was rooting for Deelishis. Now that show was hilarious, particularly when New York’s certifiably crazy mother tried to lure her daughter from the Flav house by pretending to have a terminal illness. Sadly, the ruse failed about 17 seconds in because Mama York didn’t think far enough ahead to come up with a name for her fake disease. I mean, syphilis would have been the obvious choice as it would also account for the insanity.

Anyway, all this is to say that the show was great fun in a “I really shouldn’t admit I watched this to anyone” way and Amanda got me hooked. So, when I saw that VH1 was doing a similar show called Rock of Love in which former Poison front man Bret Michaels looks for love among a group of women too young to remember when Every Rose Has Its Thorn hit the airwaves, I had to check it out. Oh man, jackpot! This show is hysterically funny in a horrifying way. The women are almost all incredibly stupid and/or continually drunk. The exception to this rule is Jess, who is smart and funny and has awesome pink hair that I covet and wish I could pull off. I am rooting for her, but I also really like Brandi M, because even though she spends much of the show in a drunken stupor, she is so funny. She has a biting, caustic wit that would serve her well as a writer for The Daily Show. Jon Stewart should really look into that.

Lacey is clearly the “New York” of the show: totally insane and convinced that she is awesome when, in reality, she is just an awful, awful person. I’m certain the producers are instructing Michaels to keep her on till the end for ratings purposes. I look forward to the season finale where Lacey gets the boot as she so richly deserves and hopefully runs off to refill her Prozac prescription. Also, she’s one of those really obnoxious PETA people who get all in your face about eating meat, like, shut up crazy girl, I like steak!

The show is about half over by now, but I recommend trying to catch a marathon of it sometime in the future. If you’re so lucky as to do that, definitely make yourself some pancakes.

Elections are coming! Order that dress!

So Jenna Bush is engaged. She needs to set a date, like now. I would so totally have a White House wedding. How many people get the chance to do that? She’s a fool if she doesn’t.

Mad Men

I am so happy I found this show. It’s really well written and acted, but mostly it is such a delight to look at. Everything and everyone looks so pretty. The furniture has that sleek, “modern for the 50s” look. All the women are decked out in pencil skirts or crinoline and cinched waists. All the men are in smart suits and crisp white shirts. It makes me wish Brylcreem was back in style.

The guy playing Don Draper looks so great with his slicked hair and his five o’clock shadow, he’s like Cary Grant. I don’t want to see him out of costume, I don’t want to watch any interviews with him, I don’t want to think about him being from our time.

Tonight’s episode opened with Don and his wife returning from an awards dinner and he was in a tux with the bowtie undone like a Rat Pack member and she was in a fabulous sequined gown with long satin gloves and a fur stole. It was like a Hitchcock movie. One with Grace Kelly. The show is on AMC on Thursday nights at 10, and you should really check it out, if only to see some gorgeous clothes and décor.

I'll try not to make this too obnoxious

Nik's in Louisiana, Becky's in China (CHINA!), Amanda's in Texas (which may as well be China for all I get to see her), and there's a continual exodus of cousins to the West Coast. Everyone's all over, so if you want to know what's going on with me, you can check here.