This is the snowman Aron and I made over spring break. His name is Lou. He is short. He loves Quentin Tarantino movies. Someday he plans to retire and travel to Florida. He likes danger. He enjoys the occasional martini.

Also, we built Lou with the dog outside so that she wouldn't be scared of it. Within hours she forgot what it was, and was too afraid to go outside. THEN my mom tells me she doesn't like the snowman. That the snowman scares her. That it looks like my old dog. Yeah. My snowman looks like my old dog. That’s right. I live with a crazy person.

"Do I intimidate you Rose???" - Lou

And by O I mean Oprah. Last night Kate, Aron and I were watching the Opera special where Oscar winners interview each other. It’s a hard task you know, with all the thinking and talking. First George Clooney and Juliet Roberts interviewed each other. Really great, two very attractive people talking about attractive things. Next was Russell Crowe and who I think was Nicole Kidman, but may have been a pasty talking string bean. So the conversation is getting very personal, Russell Crowe didn't throw a punch the entire time. Then Nicole asks Russell something like, "What is the most significant kiss?" I was expecting something romantic, something that would make Nicole swoon. Now I will state Russell Crowes answer exactly how Kate and I heard it...

Russell Crowe: "The one that comes after I do"

This was followed by an understanding nod from Nicole. Well, here Kate and I looked at each other like, "DID HE JUST REALLY SAY THAT????" Did he really just talk about THAT on an Oprah special?Then Aron looked at us like we had lost our minds, and they flash to a Russell Crowe's wedding scene. What he really meant was, 'The one that comes after 'I do'"Kate and I are pervs. Big pervs.

When I was a child I developed an amazing ability to embarrass myself. I would trip, run into things, say stupid stuff, and do pretty much everything that would lead to me running away in tears. I guess you could say this is why I was so shy for so long. Throughout the years, this talent has not subsided. In fact, I get better and better at it everyday. Whenever I think of the times in my life I showed particular jack-ass like behavior, one event come to mind. When I was in White Lake Cheerleading we were doing a cheer where you had to kick your legs up in the air. I particularly enjoyed this cheer and was rather excited to do some kicking. In the midst of all the excitement my shoe flew off my foot and into the stands. I can still remember the feeling of my foot being suddenly liberated from its Ked-like prison. It landed in the front row in front of an old couple. This is when I saw my mother dash out of her seat to grab it. The crowd roared with laughter. My mother handed me my shoe from the stands and said, “Its ok!!!” I think that my mother could sense that I wanted to liquidate like Alex Mack and hide underneath the bleachers with the dirty sucker sticks. By saying, “its ok!” I think she was really saying, “Please don’t be traumatized by this unfortunate event”. How was I suppose to go back to “We’re from White Lake couldn’t be prouder” after such an emotionally dreadful occurrence? HOW INDEED!
This is just one example of the many mortifying events of my life. I would go on in detail about the times my fly has been undone, or the time I farted in class, or the time I almost passed out in front of the entire MCC staff, or the time I fell down the greasy metro steps in Paris, but I’ll leave that to your imagination. Now you may say that it is no big deal, that everyone does stupid things once in awhile. Well how can you explain that every time there is a sporting event I get hit in the head/butt/boobs with a ball? In elementary school it was always those red rubber balls of DEATH. You know the ones I’m talking about. When they hit you it felt like a stinging hell-fire for 5 hours.
I want to know other peoples embarrassing stories. Sure, we all have had the unfortunate moment when Mr. Eslick called on you and you struggled to say something… anything.. that sounded some what intelligent but merely made a comment about how Cat Stevens is a terrorist (yay Taylor Hughes!). I want to hear something really embarrassing. Terrifically embarrassing. So that I know I am not the only one who has felt the urge to liquidate.

Birthdays are events that come once a year in which one celebrates the day they were ripped from a mother’s amenities included womb and brought into society. Most of us were born in hospitals, some at home, some in cars stuck in traffic, maybe even a Wal-Mart or two. No matter what, all beings suffer from the let down that is the birthday. My 20th birthday was July 28th. Not only did I have to suffer from the awful fact that I am no longer one of teenage youth, but also the random “suckiness” that is a birthday. Now, you may be saying to yourself, “suckiness” is not a word. And I would have to agree with you.

You see, when ones birthday draws near, a sense of anticipation consumes the individual. Try as one may, the imminent arrival of the day is coming, and one can only imagine the glory that waits. Perhaps you will awake in the morning with a sudden realization of all things. You will become wiser, respect all cultures, and have a general concern for humanity. Alas, you will awake on your futon the same as the day before, then go to the gas station and put $60 in your SUV.

You will then proceed to your work, school, local store, crack house etc. in hopes of running into some birthday joy. Any individual you run into you feel the overwhelming urge to announce, “GUESS WHAT? ITS MY BIRTHDAY AND NOT YOURS HA-HA!” Some may be able enough to suppress such urges, but other like myself will not and in return be given and half-hearted smile and the response, “that’s nice”.

Any chance you get, you will use the excuse, “Well, it’s my birthday”. You will feel the urge to sit in the middle of the floor in the mall, not tip your waitress, sit around naked, whatever. Also, this is used when getting out of sticky situations. I.E. hitting a pedestrian with your SUV. Well, it is your birthday and all.

If you are lucky enough, friends and family will join together to celebrate this event. You will think that they really want to do this. In fact, they do not want to be there, and are only there for the cake and are totally pissed because they are missing Crusin’. So you’ll get some presents, some candles you don’t want, a half used bottle of lotion, and some Swiss Miss Cakes your grandma got in the clearance section. You may even received everything you asked for, an I Pod, a Plasma TV, motorcycle, yarn, whatever floats your boat, but you still will not be satisfied.

If your friends have no time for a real life, they might even throw you a surprise party. But it won’t be a surprise, because everyone expect and surprise party on a birthday, even if you don’t get one.

Birthdays are the most unsatisfying day of they year. I don’t care how humble of a person you are, you always expect a little more. So I’ve come up with what I feel is a suitable situation for a birthday event.

You are dressed up in the most magnificent attire ever... paid for by PBS and NPR (Hey, we’re always giving them money). A celebrity of your choice enters your home. (Serenading is optional, but strongly recommended). You and your celebrity then go sky diving and both land safely on the ground. The celebrity then tells you how good looking you are, even after just jumping out of a plane. (Making out with the celebrity here is also an option, but not recommended in cases such as Dennis Franz). The celebrity of choice then presents you with a check for 1 million dollars. The celebrity then tells you that he does genie work on the side, and grants you three wishes. After reviewing the Terms and Agreements that go with the wish doing, the celebrity of choice will then disappear into a cloud of smoke.

This is the only proper way a birthday will feel satisfying.

I am grateful for all the presents I received, but you cannot deny my words.

*WARNING* Unsatisfied birthday’s often lead to the “self-gifting” in which an individual buys something he or she doesn’t really need but thinks is necessary.

Exhibit A: CROCs... So ugly, yet so orthopedic!


Happy birthday to me...

I will no longer call today the 4th of July. I declare this day for as it truly is...

Happy America’s Independence from Great Britain and King George III Whom Restricted our Freedoms and Lead to a Declaration of Sovereignty In Which We Commemorate by Cooking the Animal Protein of Bovine Beasts by Smothering in Sweet and Tangy Sauces and Finally Igniting Explosives to Demonstrate our Patriotic Dignity...Day

I will no longer call today the 4th of July. I declare this day for as it truly is...

Happy America’s Independence from Great Britain and King George III Whom Restricted our Freedoms and Lead to a Declaration of Sovereignty In Which We Commemorate by Cooking the Animal Protein of Bovine Beasts by Smothering in Sweet and Tangy Sauces and Finally Igniting Explosives to Demonstrate our Patriotic Dignity...Day

I have never thought I would be so bored as to update my blog. But here I am in the computer lab of MCC. Only a few of these people are actually trying to get their work done. The rest are looking up soft core porn on MySpace or playing Zuma. Which is the best game every.

Today I handed in 23 pages worth of typed notes to my poli sci teacher. I didn't realize until last night that it was due today. Yes, my mother bought me a $90 agenda and I used it for a week.

I just ate the most magnificent chicken Cesar wrap and brownie in all of man kind. MCC might be kind of a dumpy school (excluding the new area) but dammnn can they make some good brownies.

Some creepy as dude just sat down in front of me a stared me down for like 20 seconds. Oh god... he's an aggressive typer.

Right now there is an extremely obese man sitting next to me looking at... what else? MySpace. He looks to be about 30 and of course he is looking at teenagers. Obese Creepy Man! Coming to a computer lab near you.

OH LORD. Now Creepy Staring guy is talking to himself. JESUS WHY DO I ALWAYS ATTRACK THE FREAK SHOW?

There is a guy next to me looking at big breasted black women on MySpace.

In the future, we will all live in pods and only interact through MySpace. MySpace will nourish us, bathe us, and of course help us interact with sluts and people pretending to be celebrities.

This is why I am taking a pre-emptive strike. No MySpace for me. And you may say, "but isn't MySpace like a blog?" and to you I say yes. True. But MySpace is like the Wal-Mart of blogs. Full of smut and illegal immigrants.

Ok, so I really can't make a valid connection between illegal immigrants and MySpace but I had to give it a shot.



BEHOLD THE ONLY THING GREATER THAN YOURSELF!!

This is my attempt to try to update this blog more than twice a year.

Today I was driving to astronomy. The class that reminds me everyday that if we aren’t going to be killed by massive asteroid impact that the world will eventually burn up. Truly uplifting.

So as I was driving I passed some large road kill. Road kill doesn’t bother me unless it’s a cat or a dog or some other domesticated fuzzy animal. But this road kill was an owl. I am completely distraught. I really like owls. They’re really pretty and sometimes they smoke pipes and wear spectacles.

Then I had to pass some rapist van going 55. You know the vans I’m talking about. The kind that are yellow/brown with a lot of space in the back where the “puppies” are held. So I casually passed the van and was stunned to see a large pack of wild turkeys.

The turkeys blended in with the woods, so I did not see them at first. These turkeys decide that now would be a good time to cross the road… even though there is a rapist van and 95’ Ford Taurus heading their way.

This one turkey takes the lead. I look at his other turkey friends like I expected them to scream, “HEY MAN LOOK OUT”. So I slam on my breaks and they make that awful noise that is usually followed by the sound of a crash.

So the leader of the pack takes flight, which isn’t saying much for a turkey. All the other turkeys freak out and run back into the woods. Alas, the rapist van hit the turkey.

I was not sad. In fact, this situation made me think about incredibly DUMB turkeys are. It also made me think of how hunting turkeys like my brother do is really pointless. They are such dumb animals that you could walk right up to it and hit it on the head with a rock.

I have provided a picture of a turkey in remembrance of the one that got hit by the rapist van. It is not THE turkey, but it is just as stupid.

Rest in peace you dumb bird