Gerald Ford Dana Carvey SNL Tom Brokaw

I'm going to the Capitol early tomorrow to pay my respects. If anyone's interested in joining me, let me know. :)

So, did you have a crush on me too?

The request that I posted on MySpace earlier today was simple enough...

The year is coming to an end...so as a COMMENT on my page, leave one memory that u and I had together. It doesn't matter if you knew me a little or a lot, anything you remember! DON'T SEND A MESSAGE, LEAVE A COMMENT. Next re-post this bulletin and see how many people leave a memory about you. It's actually pretty cool (and fun) to see the responses. Re-post as "memories of us".

The funny thing is that apparently today is, "Let Lindsay know about your long-lost crush from fifteen years ago" day 2006. I know, I should be totally flattered, and frankly I am, but I think it's funny that the first two people to respond to my request for 2006 memories decided to use their few lines to tell me all about these crushes that they had on me when we were kids.

In response to them I say:

E - I knew. It wasn't a secret crush because a) even Aaron knew and he wasn't that bright and b) you were pretty damn obvious about the whole thing. I'm stoked that you're finally admitting now, I only wish you had done it about six or seven years ago. :( Then again, we weren't talking six or seven years ago so I probably wouldn't have gotten the message.

N - Um, who are you exactly? Best I can tell, you were a freshman when I was a senior, but if that was the case, then you're not who I thought you were (which is a tad disappointing because I thought that guy hated my guts and it would be wonderful to find out that he was actually doing the whole "hating because I care" thing after all this time). Anyway, wanna give me a hint here? Thanks!

Since the ego needs a little stroking (interesting weekend), if YOU had/have a crush on me that you'd like to share, feel free. If you're somewhat local, who knows where it'll get you. ;p

Today

So, an hour ago I had plans for the day. Not firm of course, but I was going to run some errands, hit Ikea, and maybe take in a chick flick that I've been dying to see.

Then, I decided that maybe I don't want to do that after all. There's no particular reason, but nothing sounds so good to me at this moment than hopping back into my PJs, ordering some sushi, and watching Pride and Prejudice, the four hour, Colin Firth (in all his Colin Firthyness) version.

I went out last night, I'm going out tomorrow, and while I may still see the movie I'm not going to make a decision about that until much later on.

So, if anyone needs me, I'll be home watching the lake scene over and over and yelling at Charlotte Lucas for accepting Mr. Collins and at Lizzie Bennett for not realizing that when a man who you think hates you says that he loves you in spite of himself, he probably means it.

Happy Holidays

I promise, the long year-end letter is coming soon, but I left my drafts at the office and I'm so not going back there until New Years. In the meantime, I just wanted to wish everyone Happy Holidays and a fabulous New Years!!

~ Linds

Drink of the Day

Just in case you were completely stumped as to what to order at the bar tonight, I thought I'd offer up this suggestion. No, I'm not going to share the name of this delectable concoction, but if you think about what day it is today, it shouldn't take too long to figure it out.

• 1 part Creme de Bananes (banana liqueur)
• 1 part Mandarine NapolÈon (mandarine liqueur)
• 1 part Kahl™a (coffe liqueur)
• Shake with ice in a cocktail shaker.
• Strain into a shot glass.
• Top with light cream and decorate with a maraschino cherry.

Strangely enough, I distinctly remember watching this on the UPB TVs, so that must've meant that winter finals week was MUCH later than I remember it being in 1998.

In case I haven't said it enough lately, I miss the Bartlet Administration.

The Soundtrack of my life.

I stole this from my cousin's MySpace bulletins. Since I'm still baking cookies, I've got some time.

If your life were a movie, what would the soundtrack be?

So, here's how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that plays
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool...


[OPENING CREDITS]: God Only Knows - The Beach Boys

[WAKING UP]: Bigger than My Body - John Mayer (Is this going to be one of those teen movies??)

[FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL]: Last Day of My Life - Phil Vassar (um, ok)

[FALLING IN LOVE]: Everyday - Toby Lightman

[FIGHT SONG]: Book of Days - Enya (fantastic - my big fight scene is clearly happening in The Lord of the Rings)

[BREAKING UP]: Me Against the Music - Britney Spears & Madonna (it's for the gym, ok!)

[PROM]: Ombra - Le Circque Dralion (it was an existential prom...)

[LIFE]: Young - Kenny Chesney (awww yeah)

[MENTAL BREAKDOWN]: This Will Be - Natalie Cole (yes, when I have my mental breakdown I want to be in the middle of If these Walls Could Talk 35).

[DRIVING]: Rid Wit Me - Nelly (I am not making this up)

[FLASHBACK]: The Jackal - Ronny Jordan (If you haven't seen CJ do The Jackal, then you haven't seen Shakespeare the way it's meant to be done.)

[WEDDING]: Today I met the Boy I'm Gonna Marry - Darlene Love (still not making this up! Though I would hope that I'd have met him before that day)

[BIRTH OF CHILD]: It wasn't his child - Trisha Yearwood (honey, we need to talk....)

[FINAL BATTLE]: Walkaway - Geri Halliwell

[DEATH SCENE]: High Enough - Damn Yankees (yep, I got nothing)

[FUNERAL SONG]: She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy - Kenny Chesney (I'll take things that don't make sense for $100, Alex)

[END CREDITS]: Who Loves You - Jersey Boys

One more thing for the resume

Mom, Dad, I know you always said you'd be proud of me for whatever I do, but I know that the honor I'm about to tell you about is something that I doubt you'd ever dreamed of for your little girl.

No, I didn't win Miss America (though I hear the Miss USA crown could be up for grabs in a few days), and I didn't discover the cure for cancer. This, trust me, is much, much bigger.

I am Time Magazine's Person of the Year.

To be fair, I should admit that I'm sharing the honor with about 50 million of my closest friends (and, really, they are...my MySpace profile says so), but it's still an honor to be considered above false presidents, great women, and the various and sundry despots (Pinochet, Hussein, Hastert, Foley) who could have been considered front-runners for the honor that you have raised me to believe is a benchmark for the success or failure of a particular year. The people who have come before me have included the greatest aviator of all time, the Duchess of Windsor, both of you (mom twice), presidents, popes, queens, dictators, and Bono. No, not Bozo the Clown, Bono the hot Irish rocker. Yummy....

I guess, if we're being honest here, the distinction of being named POTY bothers me a bit. The fact of the matter is that the honor wasn't given to all of us for doing anything more than sharing. Whether it's our blogs, our MySpace profiles, or a crazy video we put together for YouTube, all we did this year was observe the world around us and share our observations. Sure, together we may have taken down Senatorial Candidates and exposed Congressmen for the pervs they were, but we also dished about our dates, outlined our quests for girlfriends by the end of the year, came up with funny anagrams that ensured that you'll need the Rosetta Stone to talk to your eventual grandchildren, spoofed those PSAs that were supposed to teach us valuable lessons, and gave new soundtracks to childhood classics. Sure, we were creative, but I think you'll agree that we all could have done without someone hand-farting the Star Spangled Banner and Lindsay Lohan telling us all to "Be Adequite."

Something tells me that this wasn't quite what Al Gore had in mind.

So, while I'm accepting this honor under a bit of duress, I am, nevertheless, accepting the honor bestowed upon me and the rest of the "Web 2.0 generation." This is purely in the hopes that this will be the beginning of something beautiful and that the validation that we, the bloggers, the YouTubers, the Facebookers, the MySpacers, and yes even the drunkards from Late Night Shots have received from the main stream media will cause us to abandon our plans to produce yet another Brokeback Mountain parody and possibly use our influence for something good, like bringing another POW home.

A girl can dream, right? In the meantime, let me tell you about my latest date.

Year End Photos

I took/appeared in a lot of random photos over the last year. These are a few of the best (that survived the computer crash back in June).



Happy New Year!!

Today, I'm supposed to be hitting the gym, baking cookies, finishing a work project, and getting a dip together for my cousin's Christmas party later on tonight in Pennsylvania. In other words, was supposed to be "productive."

Productive, hee. That's funny. Clearly, none of that has happened. Instead, I can tell you all about what happened on General Hospital this week and, thanks to a totally random act of channel flipping, how the first episode of Star Trek: TNG went*.

Hrmm, perhaps it's not too late. Then again (dips aside), there's always tomorrow....

* As an aside to Wil Wheaton (should he actually return the favor of reading my blog one day), yeah I can see why everyone thought Wesley was the most hated person in the universe. Ten minutes in, even I was ready to kick your ass, and I'm a total pacifist.

I was driving down York Road today, listening to that station that doesn't have DJs so it plays random stuff when I heard:

Oh oh a oh oh
oh oh a oh.
Oh oh a oh oh
The Right Stuff

Instantly I was twelve years old, living in Italy and worshipping Jordan Knight like every other girl my age did back then, but probably won't admit to now.

Since I think that a trip to the past should be a shared experience, I turned up the radio, opened all the windows (not a problem since it's freaking 60 degrees out there!) and started dancing and singing along at the top of my lungs. I probably looked crazy, but the other drivers around my age seemed to appreciate it.

Sadly, it didn't last. Scarcely three minutes after the New Kids started singing, they finished and the commercials started. It was 2006 again, and I was made aware of the fact that I still hadn't moved anything more than my rear in the seat.

On men and cats

I love the insight that no sleep and a minimal amount of coffee can present on a morning that I'm supposed to be getting things accomplished at work....

I think I finally understand why single women of a certain age are so attracted to cats. I don't dare to call them spinsters because I am the proud owner of one and a half cats (the half is a loaner who will eventually move to NYC), and one day I will no longer be in my twenties. No, I'm not writing marriage off completely, but as I become more and more successful in my own right it's not the priority that it was when I was in college majoring in pre-wed.

Right, so the men and cats thing. I think it's because, deep-down, they are basically the same creature. Don't believe me? Consider this:

1. They ignore you all day, but when you're completely engrossed in something (or someone) else, they demand your attention with a vengeance.


2. They think with one major organ (cats, stomach; men, something else completely) and really don't give a crap if you're trying to get a little shut-eye when they want to meet their needs.


3. They never say much, but when they finally open up to you, you're expected to understand what the hell they're talking about.


4. They keep on bringing the same thing back to you (cats, fuzzy mice; men, "skills"), but you're supposed to fake the same excitement that you faked the first time.


5. They're most attracted to the person who wants nothing to do with them.

See what I mean?

Stupid reasons we dump men

My advertising friends will kill me, but this is cracking me up big-time, and I just had to share. I will happily swear on a stack of Bibles that this wasn't me....

Kept Pitching the Advantages of the Compact Model

20-something girl: I once broke up with a guy because he was too small.
Queer: Yikes.
20-something girl: It wouldn't have been a problem if he could have, you know, made up for it in other ways.
Queer: He wasn't creative?
20-something girl: He was in advertising.

--26th St, between 7th & 8th
via Overheard in New York, Dec 12, 2006

If nothing else, this just illustrates the stupid reasons that girls break up with guys. I'm guilty of it myself, and no, I'm not particularly proud of it.

I think the worst reason I ever broke up with a guy was because he wore clip-on ties. I wasn't in junior high when it happened, either, it was the summer I turned 21. It wasn't the ties in particular that turned me off so much, but the fact that it was the final straw in a long list of immaturities that turned me off of this guy. Frankly, the only reason I stuck around as long as I did was because I found his roommate insanely hot, and I wasn't sure how I was going to finagle seeing the hottie if Clippy was gone.

Sadly, as it turns out I didn't have to worry about it. To this day, I'm still not entirely sure how this came to be, but within a day of me finally offloading Clippy (for some bullshit reason that I'm sure sounded ok but didn't involve clip-on ties or the word "funner"), a message appeared on my answering machine from the hottie...

"Clip on ties, you've GOT to be kidding me. Never come back to our apartment again."Then again, considering that it was a wellness apartment at Vista Way, there wasn't a snowballs chance of that happening. Seriously, what was I thinking?

If you thought that I learned my lesson, think again. Just this year, I dumped a guy for the very reasons that the girl in the quote above ditched her man. Again, I SWEAR this wasn't me because he wasn't in advertising, journalism (mmmm, journalists), or any of the other so-called creative positions. If he had been, it may have helped, but we can't be sure. I did, however, make the mistake of telling my girlfriends exactly why I had dumped him -- a fact that came back to haunt me over dinner with my friend's new boyfriend one night. I was telling K's new boy that the "timing just wasn't right" between old boy and me, when either B or C suddenly went, "Timing, is that what you're calling it?" At first I had no idea what they were talking about; then I did....

I love my friends, really.

Right, about this "gourmet" thing

I’ve been thinking about this, and I think it’s only fair that we establish a few ground rules, oh lovely test subjects of mine. Really, I promise you that they’re for your own protection as there are a few things in this world that I’ve tried multiple times to make and, well, they just never turn out – usually for the same reasons.

We could talk about the 10-hour turkey, but that’s a story best purged from memory. I will say this: if I invite you over for dinner and you show up at about the same time as the pizza delivery guy, well, you’ll know that I’ve learned from that college experience and thrown in the towel. Believe me, it’s for your own good. Rule #1: tell me what type of pizza you like as a back-up. If there’s more than one of you invited for dinner, majority rules!

I promise you, it’s nothing I’ve done intentionally, it’s just that these items seem so incredibly easy to make that I just think that I can pop them in the oven and forget about them. An hour or so later, what I had envisioned to be a thing of beauty turns out to be a) a mushy pile of goo, b) flatter than the pancake I wasn’t intending to make, or c) charbroiled beyond recognition.

Most of the time, it turns out to be C, and those charbroiled little hockey pucks are usually brownies.

Thanks to some fabulous mixes out there, brownies should be one of the easiest things in the world to make. I remember when I was in high school – back when I had metabolism – that not a week went by without my parents or sister mixing up a yummy batch of ooey, gooey brownies for after-school snacks. I attempted it once, maybe twice, and after that, even the dog knew better than to wait in the kitchen for scraps.*

Somehow, though, I’ve never quite mastered the technique. I will say that I’m getting slightly better at it, but usually one out of every 10 batches turns out to be semi-edible, so really, we’re not talking about great odds here. Plus, the explanation of what happened to the brownies has gotten me into trouble at work. Did you know that, apparently, “Cajun Brownies,” is another term for “Hash Brownies”? Neither did I – until I was telling my coworkers why the promised treats (it was a birthday or something) didn’t come to work. I insisted that it wasn’t my fault because I had accidentally made, “Cajun brownies,” (meaning that the oven was on ‘broil’ instead of 350 – resulting in a layer of char that didn’t really add anything to the flavor), and the next thing I knew, I was being called into my boss’ office. I explained it away quickly, but it’s been five years since I attempted to make brownies for the coworkers, Cajun, “special,” or otherwise.

It goes without saying, then – Rule #2: Don’t even attempt to ask me to make brownies.

Even the diet ones or the ones from the EZ Bake oven. I promise you, if there’s a way to screw it up, I will find it. If, despite these warnings, you insist on brownies, I am more than happy to buy some for you (or you can buy some for me) from Fairytale Brownies (www.brownies.com – because it would be have to be that easy to remember). Now, these people know what they’re doing and have such confidence in their culinary abilities that they have no qualms about baking millions of brownies and shipping them all around the world. In addition to the traditional recipes, they’ve even kicked it up a notch and have perfected the art of putting such things as peanut butter and caramel in their brownies. Me? I’m still working on not burning down the kitchen with pecans. And Fairytale’s brownies come wrapped individually, so you can rest assured that I had nothing more to do with the preparation than the five minutes it took me to pick them out, give them my credit card, and press “confirm order.”

To be perfectly honest, I think it's best for all of us if we go this route. I can't guarantee that they're the "best thing" for the diet, but the absolute coolest part of WW is the fact that I can have what I want in moderation, and those brownie people are even helping me out with sugar-free selections. So really, yeah, I think this is the way we should go if you guys absolutely, positively want brownies.

Interestingly enough, I did learn that the brownie itself was born from a classic kitchen screw-up, and so I hold this story near and dear to my heart in the hopes that one day one of my own will make history (and not in that “Dateline NBC: When Kitchens Attack” sort of way). See, there was this harried woman in New England, Mildred Schrumpf, who was making a chocolate cake and either lost track of time, got distracted, or fell trap to any of the other excuses that I often use when I screw a recipe up beyond recognition. Either way, she forgot to toss the baking powder (no word if it was “Rolling’s Reliable”) into the mix. This resulted in a delicious cake that just happened to be on the flat side. Instead of wasting the ingredients or getting embarrassed, she just cut the dessert into little squares and tossed it on the table in a classic, “I totally meant to do that; if you don’t like it, tough,” sort of way.

Rule #3 (and this one is for your own protection I promise): Don’t ask me to pull a Mildred unless you're willing to disregard presentation. Because I will cut a slice out of whatever it is be sure that it’s edible or even safe to eat!

As I come up with more rules, interesting (read: totally banned) recipes, or cooking dramas (the fireman who lives next store has made me promise to warn him the next time I pull out the grill), I’ll keep you posted.

*Not that we regularly gave him scraps of chocolate because, as you know, it’s not good for dogs. But accidents happen, and he’s a fast-mover.

Did you know

That I spent a grand total of $1,200 on a gym and Weight Watchers this past year to lose a net total of a little under six pounds? If you think about it, that's $200 a pound.

If anyone else is thinking that's completely unacceptable, I'm right there with you.

Thinking back, there was really no reason for me not to lose more weight/tone up/drop the cholesterol. I wasn't on any medication, I didn't have food forced down my throat, and I had plenty of time to go to the gym.

Frankly, it all came down to motivation, or lack thereof.

I've made grandiose declarations before...I'm not going to do this or that until...and they never work. Invariably, I start revolting against my own way of thinking or get distracted by margaritas and write the entire week off.

It's not pretty.

I'm turning 29 for the first time in 2007, so it's more important that ever to get my body and finances in order before the big 3-0 hits. I've got big ideas (no firm plans yet) for my thirtieth, but I want to be in a place where I can actually, truly, and really, enjoy it.

Five years ago, I dropped 30# on WW with no problem. I was motivated by love, sex, and the excitement of the new program. I think if I can find that place again, I'll be able to do this over the next year (starting today). I'm not saying that I have to meet all my goals in 2007 (completing a marathon will probably take longer than 10 months), but I do have to make significant progress towards them and, above all, I have to make the $1,200 I'm spending actually worth spending. Another year of not making it worth it, and I'm going to have to make some significant changes in that department as well.

Oh the irony, giving up the things that will help you most of all because you can't "afford them" thanks to your lack of motivation in the first place. Hrmm, I believe that's the sign of a defeatest attitude, and I'm not sure that I like that.

So, I know we've covered this before, but I'm looking for help. I know that you guys probably are looking at me and saying, "What is she talking about, she's perfect." Well, I am in most areas(right. ego-check. moving on), but I'm telling you right now that I'm not sure that I'm as healthy as I can be. That's what I'm looking for most of all -- the opportunity to enter my next decade being more fit and healthy than I began my last.

I'm looking at the triggers that inspire me to veer off the path, and I'm realizing that a lot of it has to do with me not wanting to cook because it's "easier" to join everyone for Happy Hour, etc. I'm not entirely cutting out dinners out, but please understand that there will probably be a severe reduction in the number of them over the next year. Frankly, I'd rather attempt new recipes for my favorite "test subjects" (that would be you all) that are "low in points and high in adventure." I'm not saying that they'll all be Julia-Child worthy at first, but I promise to give it the "old college try" and never subject you to anything that's truly awful twice.

I'm also looking for recipes, and if you want me to try something that's not completely off the wall (we're talking Fear Factor here, not creamed spinach -- which I don't like, but I'll eat if it's in something that sounds good) or involves me purchasing $300 truffles, please send it on over!!

2007, the year that I become a gourmet or kill everyone trying. Just kidding! Seriously, this could be fun!!

Oh Holy Night

Even if you're not a regular viewer of the new Aaron Sorkin drama, Studio 60, you can't help but admire Sorkin's efforts to bring the people of New Orleans back to the forefront of our consciousness this holiday season.

In the episode that aired Monday, the show's regular trumpet player "called in sick" for the week, which turned out to be an elaborate plan on the part of the LA musicians to help out homeless musicians from New Orleans send a little money home for the holidays. The musicians are played by actual members of Tipitina's Foundation, a foundation for musicians displaced by the hurricane.

The song is supposed to be available for free from iTunes shortly, but in the meantime here's the clip from the show. Ignoring all the creepy "I'm coming for you Donna Jordan" bit, this is Sorkin at his best and I believe you'll agree that it's a beautiful arrangement of one of the most beautiful Christmas songs ever written.



Another random bit of trivia (that has nothing to do with Aaron Sorkin): "Oh Holy Night" was the first song ever broadcast over the radio. It was Christmas Eve 1906 when Reginald Fendessen played Oh Holy Night on the violin and read a passage from the Bible for ships at sea. In this age of XM, Sirius, HD, and CD Quality, it's simply amazing when you realize that for just a moment, a mere 100 years ago, the world stopped for a little bit of Christmas spirit sent from a little town in Massachusetts.

I wish I could pull this stunt...

Alas, I can't. :(

Picture This

You're wrapping up your old job, trying to move your family to a new town, and trying your best to make it a smooth transition into your new job. So, what's usually the first thing to go?

If you're me, it's time at the gym. Not so for our state's new governor, who I just spent the better part of an hour with huffing and puffing on the elliptical machines at the Downtown Athletic Club.

People were walking up to him giving their congratulations and asking for information about his primary agenda. I stayed out of that for the most part, but as I walked past Governor O'Hottie (much better ring than Mayor O'Hottie, IMHO) I did offer a quick congrats of my own. He was extremely gracious to all of us, and I see wonderful things continuing to happen in Annapolis come this spring.

To catch what?

Though the topic isn't funny, by far, you have to admit that this is the only Dateline program you watch. When I found this clip on YouTube, I had to share.

Hate Speech in Shades of Grey

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last two weeks, you’ve heard the story. If you haven’t, the basic premise is simple: Michael Richards (Seinfeld’s Kramer) got up in the middle of the LA’s Laugh Factory to do a set that wasn’t appreciated by certain members of the audience. In response to these hecklers, he unleashed a shocking racial tirade that would be best not repeated anywhere. Seriously, it’s not a pretty sight.

Almost immediately, Richards found himself raked across the coals (rightfully so) by members of the black community. In response, he went out and immediately began a round of apologies, most of which were deemed “insincere” in light of the new Seinfeld DVD hitting stores this week. Website after website called for the boycott of the DVD set, and it’s pretty much a certainty at this point that Richards is not going to “work in this town again” for a very, very long time.

Being that this is the third high-profile, hate-speech incident involving a member of the Hollywood community, the suggestion has been made that it would probably be better if we eliminated certain words from our lexicon entirely, namely the word that Richards used (starts with an “n” ends with outrage). While this is certainly an interesting option, and I firmly believe that hate-speech does not belong in my household, the fact of the matter is that part of the beauty of the Constitution is the right to express an opinion, no matter how incendiary. In other words, fundamentally, I must agree with Voltaire: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” We’ve lost too many of our freedoms in the last five years, for us not to embrace any example of free speech, no matter how disgusting we may find it personally. If you’re offended by someone else’s speech, leave or use your rights to make your own point. If we start censoring each other, we, as a society, are no better than the individuals who swore to uphold and defend the Constitution and then walked all over it in the interest of Homeland Security. And, by the way, parents, it is totally a good idea to use the idiots of the world to teach your children that “sugar-tits,” while certainly creative, is not a term that should be used on the playground or anywhere else in polite society.

What I find interesting, however, is that there seems to be an inconsistent message in Hollywood regarding what is and is not acceptable hate-speech. No, I’m not talking about the use of the n-word being “ok” when Richard Pryor features it as a part of his act, but “completely racist” when it’s Larry the Cable Guy employing the term. Sure, that’s definitely confusing, but I think the unspoken agreement is that if you’re a member of the group, you can use otherwise offensive terms as terms of endearment; if you’re not, prepare to see backlash if it comes flying out of your mouth.

Instead, what I’m trying to get my head around is the idea that Michael Richards is desperately trying to salvage his career while Isaiah Washington is still gainfully employed on TV’s hottest show and has not been labeled by TMZ.com as a “prejudiced celebrity” (they’ve got a slideshow, go check it out).

Scarcely a month ago, a message was sent by ABC that while “outing” someone as an African American is not ok, outing someone as a homosexual clearly is. In the midst of much hyped on-set brawl between himself and Patrick Dempsey, while using words that were of such an “extreme nature,” that the National Enquirer refused to publish his name (and when the bat-boy people refuse to tell the “full story,” you KNOW it’s got to be bad) and physical violence, Washington yanked costar T. R. Knight out of the closet and dumped his sex life in the laps of the American public. This wasn’t an In and Out/Tom Hanks Oscar speech situation here either. It was Washington, shoving Dempsey and screaming that he wasn’t his “little f**got” like Knight. Washington later issued a pat apology and the ABC spin machine released statements saying that the issue was “over.” Shortly thereafter, he cancelled his appearance on Ellen Degeneres’ show and headed to Oprah where he “explained” the incident away by claiming it was a “combination of fatigue, pride, and passion.” Knight, Dempsey, and the rest of the cast went along with it, and Oprah didn’t push the issue. When members of the online community suggested that Washington be fired (and possibly replaced by ER’s Eriq La Salle), Shonda Rhimes leapt to Washington’s defense and suggested that the people calling for Washington’s exit were themselves “racist” as they saw two black men as interchangeable. Really, I don’t think that was the intent of the original post, but then since I wasn’t the original poster, I can’t speak for them. However, neither can Rhimes – and she should have sought to clarify the intention instead of shooting her mouth off. After all, it’s quite possible that the poster simply wanted to make the point that on the Thursday night doctor show, La Salle is far superior to Washington as the overworked, stressed-out, brilliant surgeon – no matter what his skin color is.

The fact, however, remains that the double standard employed by ABC (surprising because most of my gay friends came into my life thanks to an internship with the Walt Disney Company) and the MSM simply must be addressed. Washington should be required to make the same efforts as were required from both Richards and Gibson after their incidents. Washington should appear on talk show after talk show begging for his continued success as an actor like society is demanding Richards do now. He should voluntarily remove himself from the cast for the time being and meet with members of the gay community like Gibson is doing with the Jewish community. He should issue an apology that sounds like less of an excuse and more of a sincere effort to make amends. ABC, Rhimes, and the cast of Grey’s Anatomy should stop trying to sweep the incident back into the closet and send the message that Washington’s speech was just as offensive and hurtful as that of the other actors who were stupid enough to open their mouths this year in “fatigue, pride, passion, and/or inebriation” (pick an excuse). I’m not saying that Washington be censored entirely, I’m just saying that what’s good for the goose should be good for the gander in the eyes of Washington’s employers and the show’s corporate sponsors and fans. Erase the grey zone and show the world that hate-speech, no matter who speaks it or who its victim is, has no place in our workplace, our living rooms, or our lives.

Let's review...

You do realize that whatever you put in the comments section of someone's Myspace account will be broadcast to the world, don't you? Good. Some people don't get this, and it's really sad when that happens.

My apologies to those of you who have already heard this story, but it's still bugging me.

Over the weekend, I checked my myspace account and learned that a friend of mine is "most likely" going to be shipped out to Iraq sometime before the end of the year. He wasn't making a big deal out of it, just decided to update us with his new address in Texas and mentioned that he wasn't sure how long he'd actually be there.

I was trying to send him a reply to his post when I accidentally clicked the wrong button and ended up at his profile. That's where I discovered the other piece of news that he hadn't decided to share with the masses (but his wife did!). Apparently, the two have been having some "problems," and while he's apparently trying to work things out, she's airing their dirty laundry all over his comments section. Even though she doesn't come right out and say it, it's sadly obvious what her comments mean. As we all know, I can be dense, but I'm not that stupid!

I'm shocked that he's kept them up there, but he's either not seen them or he doesn't want to take them down for fear of upsetting her. Either way, this is one of those dramas that probably shouldn't be played out in the online community, especially since there are kids involved.

The problem, of course, is how to handle this. Do I offer support, even though he didn't tell me himself (though he's left the comments online)?? Do I just pretend that I haven't seen anything? I'm leaning towards the latter, but then that could be my overwhelming reluctance to integrate myself in anything unpleasant.

And no, anyone who was going to ask, I'm not telling you who the guy is.

What time is the 3:00 parade?

For as long as I can remember, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade has been a part of my family's Thanksgiving tradition. As most of you know, my dad marched in Broadway's Longest Running Show as a Midshipman, but he hasn't been back (for the parade) since. With Jules in NYC this year, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to haul the Thanksgiving party train up to NY to experience the parade live and wander around the city staring at storefront window Christmas decorations and David Blaine's latest act of stupidity.

The plan was to head out to the parade route and take in the sites. The problem, however, is that I seem to have caught "something," and the rain isn't helping. So, I sent the family out into the elements, and I'm home, watching the Broadway shows (usually my favorite part since I can check out new stuff -- though I saw most of this year's offerings on the Tony's) and babysitting the felien. It's a pretty good trade-off if you ask me.

So, Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Whether you're braving the elements on the streets of New York, firmly ensconced in front of a television, or anywhere in between. I'll see you guys when I get back!!

Woot!

Just saw on CNN.com that the OJ book and special are both cancelled!! There is hope for humanity after all!!

Though, I will still probably boycott all of Fox anyway. Shouldn't be hard either since their shows, frankly, suck.

To Jesus, Mama, and Jennifer Ray

I love those weddings where you spend the whole weekend caught up in the love and excitement of the happy couple. They're especially fun when the Bride is emanating a glow that could probably light up Hampden's Miracle on 34th Street for a week and a half and the Groom is trying to "play it cool," but is clearly not succeeding. Make no doubt about it, these were two extremely excited people who were looking beyond the day itself and towards the next fifty years.

The title (and our table's toast) comes from Becca's conversation with her mother. Becs had left her keys somewhere in Baltimore, so her mom had to send her the other set. When Becca heard that Mama had found the keys, she exclaimed, "Thank You Jesus!" and her mother replied, "and Mama." It was cute, and easy to remember.

As with all the best things, the story is best told through photos and music. The video's a tad long, but it's their first dance song followed by a little something for the "casual shots."



One more quick message for the Happy Couple:

Walt Disney said, "When you believe in a thing, believe in it all the way, implicitly and unquestionably." Jen and Rob, you've probably figured it out by now, but you're not the only ones who believe in you. Frankly, you make it so easy to. You radiate when you're around each other, and your love extends to your family and your friends. Thanks for your love and support in so many ways. If we all could return even half back to you, you'll be set for a lifetime.

WWdN: In Exile: possible huge leonid storm this weekend

Just because I recommend getting all of your science facts and updates from a member of the Star Trek family...

WWdN: In Exile: possible huge leonid storm this weekend

If anyone doesn't have anything to do late, late Saturday night (like after the wedding and the after-party), I totally recommend this. I actually ended up going outside to check out the same 2001 storm that he's talking about and even though we were down near the lights of Dulles airport (and not the desert of California), we could still make out a couple of shooting stars.

Yes, I realize that it happens every year, but why put it off again? You'll be out Saturday night anyway, so just look up and take in the wonder.

Overheard in the office

While getting my hair trimmed last night, I overheard this conversation:

Stylist: So, do you need a passport to go?
Customer: Um, no, it's a state.
Stylist: No it's not. I swear, my dad goes every
year and he needs a passport.
Customer: No, Hawaii is a state.
Stylist: But what about Alaska?
Customer: Yeah, you don't need a passport for that
either.

As it turned out, the place her dad went every year was actually Puerto Rico. For the record, you don't need a passport for that either....

They're kidding, right

Ok, I'll admit it. I'm having a serious problem this year with the spirit of Christmas. Probably because, well, it's way too early and also because the average temperature this week has been hovering around 72 degrees. I respect Al Gore, I voted for Al Gore, but come on, if this is global warming, totally sign me up!

I'm used to it in the retail world. Usually, the body isn't even cold on Halloween when the retail elves swoop into a store in the dead of night and attempt to turn it into a winter wonderland. There's something oddly comforting familiar, right, just odd. About seeing a bleeding head on clearance next to a cherubic animatronic snowman. But, the last 28 years have taught me that yes, Virginia-girl, there is a Santa Claus, and the faster he arrives in stores, the better the holiday economic season will be.

Sometimes though, it moves too fast. Like yesterday. Yesterday morning, I went to Starbucks to get my first pumpkin latte of the season and found out that not only had they already replaced the selection with the peppermints, egg nogs and gingerbreads that scream "Christmas," but the decor had switched to a winter wonderland.

The disappointment I felt was like a reindeer kicking me in the face. However, I get it. I accept it. I'm saving the points. I'm moving on.

Or at least I thought I was until I returned from DC last night (where my friend and I shared dinner OUTSIDE because it was so freaking warm) to find this in my neighbor's front yard:


Yes, those are Candy Canes; yes, that's ribbon on the lamp-post; and yes, if you look closely you should be able to make out St. Nick himself on the front door.

Now, lest you think I'm about to steal Tiny Tim's crutch and run maniacally screaming down the street, I assure you that you're more than mistaken. I will get into the Christmas spirit. Just let me build up some enthusiasm for it. Let it get colder. Let the sights and smells sneak up on me. Let me wake up one morning to a freaking winter wonderland. Let Advent begin. Let that fat man make his way into Herald Square.

Christmas is special because it comes once a year. Let's keep it that way.

Random Observation

You’re pretty much guaranteed for a long day when the ladies room smells like Microwave Popcorn at 7:45 in the morning. 

A woman's place

Is in the House, the Senate, and the Supreme Court.

I saw that on a button sold at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History a few years ago, and I believe it completely sums up what happened last night. This is an exciting time to be a Democrat. This is an exciting time to be a woman.


One hunting trip between Dick and George, and this woman could be President!

I didn't say I was prompt...

But at least I'm finally posting the photos from my HS reunion.

The song is "Kings and Castles" by Michael Tolcher, and no, that's not me in the cover capture.


Cox 10 Year Reunion

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Happy Halloween

Not exactly, the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, but it's holiday greetings from YouTube just the same.

What's everyone going as tonight?

Knitting for a cause

I know some of you knit, and those who want to take up the hobby may be motivated by a good cause.

The Orphan Foundation of America (OFA) is looking for people to knit or crochet red scarves to be sent in Valentines Day care-packages for parentless college students. Scarves are accepted during the month of January, and the only real guidlines are that they have to be some shade of red and about 60" long.

The website has a pretty easy pattern to use, and any local yarn store can help with the details (if they're anything like mine, they practically give you things just for walking in there).

For more info, check out: http://www.orphan.org/red_scarf_project.html

As I told my WW group earlier, idle hands eat cookies. Knitting hands change lives. :)

Not that I've been posting much lately anyway

But I’m announcing here and now that I’m taking the month of November off from blogging and focusing my attentions on a project that I’ve always wanted to try. Namely, National Novel Writing Month.

This goal of this project is to begin and finish a 50,000-word novel between November 1 and November 30, 2006. That means an entirely new project (I’m going to have to wait until January to finish my project about Regency England), and yes, I’m a mite bit terrified. However, if I can pull this off, it will be a TREMENDOUS accomplishment, and after I spend the month of December editing, hopefully I’ll be able to really start pursuing the publishers.

A favor, please. Nothing will stress me out more than having to give updates on my progress. I’ll update you when I can, but please don’t ask how it’s going.

If you want to join in the “fun,” (I know most of you are brilliant writers!) you can sign up here: http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Good luck and happy writing!!

He...

May not get a third date as last night was a little less comfortable. He makes me laugh, and that's a good thing; but he also thinks I'm a little bit crazy thanks to my interest in the supernatural. I won't stop being interested in that particular subject, and he only got a three-year window into the entire history, but I could see the wheels turning.

There also seems to be a language barrier that I hadn't encountered before. The difference between "cuter" and "better" seemed to totally escape him. He thought my friends were talking about how they had "BETTER" undies, and I told him that they said "CUTER." I attempted to explain that BETTER implied that granny-panties and laundry-panties were in the regular rotation while CUTER was just a visual thing (hearts, flowers, polka-dots). He wasn't convinced.

We talked politics (a news story came on about NJ and gay marriage), and this is where I started to realize that the language barrier was a deeper issue than just polka-dots and granny-panties. Though he claims to be a Democrat, he kept insisting that gays should have the same rights as a married couple, but we should call the marriage something else. You know, to distinguish it from a "real marriage." I told him that the entire issue was based upon the fact that all the people who were suing in NJ wanted was a "real marriage," and for it to be recognized as such. Another "separate but equal" status was a little reminiscent of the 60s and the bigotry that existed in this country at that time.

Who said I couldn't formulate a good argument about issues that are really important?

I'm not 100% sure that he's not going to get a third. I'm not 100% sure that he is, either. We'll see.

Fantasy Baseball?

Sorry, no.

Baseball season has ended. For the O's fans, it ended around June 15; for the Mets fans, it ended with a guy striking out looking in the bottom of the 9th. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Either way, I'm not watching the World Series.

What I'm talking about here, kids, is Fantasy Congress. For those of you, like me, who get most of your daily news from Jon Stewart, hold firm to the belief that Bradley Whitford should still be running the White House instead of a SNL-knock-off, and spend campaign season figuring out ways to play drinking games while the election results are returned (check my blog for details about that), this game is perfect!

Even if you don't know anything about politics, you could always do what I did for Fantasy Football...pick a team based on name recognition and cuteness factor. To review: John McCain = IN (name recognition), Barbara Mikulski = OUT (cuteness factor). Either way, it should be an
interesting way to learn a little more about how a Bill becomes a Law than what the singing piece of paper taught us in 5th grade.

I've set up a league, and I'm inviting you all to join in. Like everything else in life these days, it's pretty darn simple:

1. Log on to the Fantasy Congress website: www.fantasycongress.org
2. Join the League: "StewartColbert 08" (owner mdsnbelle) with the
password "channel64."
3. Draft your team.
4. Sit back and watch as the points are determined.

To make it fair, I'm not going to activate the league until Election Day. Congress should be close to being back for their Lame Duck (otherwise known as the "I've got two weeks left, so screw it all") Session, and the game should be running in real time at that point. In the meantime: sign up, talk a little smack, and let's figure out if we're playing for bragging rights or something a little more substantive.

The invite is wide open.

Meet the Mets

Most of you know how the story ended last night, the NY Mets held off the St. Louis Cardinals until the last inning of the 7th Game of the NLCS. Then, with a single homerun, the Cards scored the two winning runs and the final Met struck out LOOKING at the ball.

Note to all ballplayers attempting a career in the majors: if you've been watching an umpire call a wild strike zone all night, you're known as a "home-run hitter," bases are loaded, you're two runs down, and there are two outs at the end of the ninth inning...YOU ALWAYS SWING AT THE BALL!

But that's the way the story ended. Now, let me tell you how it began.

It all started in a cow pasture in Cooperstown, NY. The year was 1839, and the bases were steaming piles of....

Eh, maybe we should skip forward a little.

The story I want to tell you is how I, a lifelong O's fan with a minor affinity for the Mets (thanks to the Tidewater Norfolk Tides being their farm team) ended up at Shea Stadium with a boy from college and 35k people having what can best be described as a group therapy session.

That is, of course, if group therapy is supposed to be a good thing.

It all started Tuesday night when I accepted a drinks-date with Jeff. Just a casual thing that was a bit of a relief after the whole Friday night minor-drama.

Wednesday, I called Ben to get his email address for a friend who's looking for a new job (she's fabulous if you're hiring). While we were on the phone, he mentioned the game. Granted, we weren't sure there was even going to be a Game 7, but, like me, Ben likes to keep his options open. Long story short, there was a Game 7.

This then posed an "interesting" problem for me. See, while I had accepted the ticket to the game (and I had promised to pay for it), I didn't have:

1. A place to stay in NYC
2. The necessary time off of work
3. Any clue how I was going to get out of my date with Jeff.

Problem #2 was the easiest to manage. I walked out of the office, promised my boss I'd make up the time I needed, and scored his agreement that I could work from "home" today. Yes, I'm in NY and my sister's firewall isn't exactly letting me get into the files that I need to actually accomplish anything, but my coworker sent me a few things, and I'm doing a lot of thinking. That works, right?

Problem #3 also seemed easy. I sent Jeff this fabulous little email saying that while I'd totally love to go out with him, it was a once in a lifetime (I'm an O's fan, remember) opportunity that I couldn't pass up. I figured it he was any sort of a guy I wanted to see again, he'd go along with it. And he did.

Problem #1 proved to be the hardest. Julia is committed to not having her house turned into "Hotel Charles," and while I respect that, I do have an open invitation from her fabulous roommate. The problem, however, was Ben. Julia didn't know who he was (she does now), and didn't want him staying at the house. Since I couldn't find a place for him to stay, the whole plan was almost abandoned. Which caused a couple of emails to be sent back to Jeff.

• Email #1: Was the one I mentioned earlier.
• Email #2: Was the one I asked Julia to send when she told me that Ben couldn't stay and then Ben decided that it would probably be "easier" if we bagged the trip altogether. I don't have access to my Gmail, so I thought I'd see if I could reschedule with Jeff.
• Email #3: Was the one Julia sent after I convinced her Ben could stay. I needed to cancel again (obviously).

Truth be told, I probably was better off staying in Baltimore. See, every time I get together with Ben, he forgets that we're not dating and tries to get me to kiss him. He's a nice guy, but NO. And the more he throws himself at me, the more that I realize that I want nothing to do with him. I'm going to give him a cooling-off period and then contact him around Christmas.

Funniest part of the evening happened on the train on the way home. Gotta love that post-game zone-out, right? I was sandwiched between a bunch of boys on the 7 when one of them starts bitching about it not being an "Express Train." I turn around and go, "There is no express train; there is only ZOOOOL." Didn't realize I was being loud, but apparently I was. Look for me, on Overheard in NY sometime this fall.

So, kids, no more baseball until the spring. Since the Mets, the O's and the Red Sox are completely out of it, there's no reason to watch the Series. I'll be back in February with a new Baseball Blog, so stay tuned!

BW3

I just heard this lady in my office talking about BW3 opening up in
Maryland. Assuming it was in Baltimore, I immediately started craving
wings. Not sure why, because I don't particularly like wings, but these
are different. Since, I can't make it down to the 'Burg this weekend,
I'm assuming that something in my subconscious saw it as the next best
thing.

So, I checked the website, and it turns out that the closest BW3 is
actually in Westminster. This is 23 miles away. Do I drive 23 miles
for wings? Something tells me that I shouldn't, but somehow I think
that this fall I'm going to find myself doing just that.

Halloween

My friend, Jen, is having her Bachelorette Party on Halloween weekend, so we're all going out in costumes.

I'm trying this on sometime this week. If it fits, I am SO wearing this....

Some Friday Nights

Are just meant to be forgotten. Like, well last Friday night.

Friday night, a friend of my friend's boyfriend (right, that makes us absolutely nothing) had this singles happy hour. So, a couple of us went and, as expected, it was full of attached people. One guy, Mike, seemed nice, so the friend with the boyfriend kept pushing me towards him. To the point that the whole group of us went to dinner.

So, while we were at the restaurant, Kristen's boyfriend (also-Mike) got a phone call. Turned out his friend, Jeff, was at the restaurant and he'd love to stop by the table. Jeff turned the corner, and I died. Bring out the dancing dolls...Jeff was the same guy from Tuesday night. That's right, kids, It's a Small World after all.

Got through a semi-awkward dinner, and after reviewing the potential fall-out, I think I'm relatively ok. I hope. Either way, it made for interesting conversation at Football on Saturday morning

At least until we saw the Jesus-man dragging the gigantic cross (with a wheel of course) across Patterson Park.

We're all going to hell, and I think Ryan's driving the minivan.

Am I the only one

Who thinks that the plane crash yesterday in NYC was less of an accident and more of a suicide? I've got practically no evidence to support it, but I've just got this nagging feeling that all is not as as it seems in this case.

2006 Election Night Drinking Game: The Rules

As promised, the rules to the 2006 Election Night Drinking Game!

The rules are fairly simple, and even a Macaca could probably figure this out. No, not THAT Macaca, as he's probably sitting drinking a beer at a victory party somewhere (plus, frankly, that word is mean), but the monkey itself.

The Basics: Pick a channel and a Party (Democratic, Republican, Independent, Whigs only if you're into that kind of stuff) and stick with it through all contested national elections. For the locals, just stick with who you voted for. Drink once if your guy wins, twice if he loses.

Simple right? I thought so. Now, in addition to the basic rules, drink once for each of these events:

• A state result is called with less than 20% of the precincts reporting.* (Drink twice every time the results are switched after that point)
• Anyone in your viewing party suggests turning on Jon Stewart instead.
• The channel you're watching misidentifies the Party of a candidate/major player (Chug if it's NOT Fox News)
• Any of the people I named drinks after "lose" their jobs (use that unknown guy who took Foley's place for his).
• You hear any network banter/stump speech that sounds like it was ripped off from The West Wing.
• Some actor/musician/celebreskeleton grants an in-studio interview in an effort to sound more "political-like" (Drink twice it's neither Bono nor a Baldwin, Chug if it's Paris or Nicole).

Finish your drinks if either of these happen (you'll need it):

• Someone makes it through a speech without mentioning Iraq or 9/11.
• The Republicans retain control of Congress.

All lawsuits, hanging chads, and wacky voting machines aside, the winner is the last man standing at the end of the night. If no one is standing, understand that that's probably because the Republicans are still in charge (because, really, who's not going to make a speech referencing Iraq or 9/11 these days?). After waking yourself up and discovering that no, in fact, it's not a dream start planning your move to Canada. I hear the Molson's delicious, eh?

* Just so we're clear, this is a personal pet peeve of mine!

The perils of a first date in a hotel bar

First, the basics...cute, smart, well traveled, only child. There were
a few nit-picky details that I thought were a little strange, but I'd
give this guy another shot.

The date started at 8:30, at a hotel bar. This is a nice bar, in a
nice part of town but I'm still confused a little as to why, with so
many options available, he would still choose a hotel bar. Get your
minds out of the gutter, people, I'm sure that that didn't cross his
mind going in!

Anywhoo, the conversation ranged from Europe to accents to in-breeding.
Apparently, he has this idea that Virginians marry young. I say that it
prevents in-breeding because when you're of a certain age in Virginia,
the only options available to you tend to be those family members who
haven't yet crossed the threshold into marriage. I, of course, was
joking, but sadly, I think he thinks I was serious (again with the
nit-picky details). Yipes!

For the record: No, I didn't share any stories about certain friends of
mine whose cousins are now dating each other (though as an aside to
anyone who doesn't know the story -- and I'm not outing my friend -- the
boy's from her dad's side, the girl's from her mom's side and my friend
is the common link between the two). I could have, but I didn't.

Around 9:30, I was ready to call it a night. We had talked for an hour,
had a good time and a few laughs, and I was confident in that I had made
enough of an impression that he'd be clamoring for another date by the
weekend.

Mike, however, had other plans.

For those of you who are thinking, "Mike? I thought she went out with a
guy named 'Jeff'! Is she using aliases again?" Yes, I was and no, I'm
not. Mike is the businessman from Chicago who basically hijacked the
date because he was "bored," wanted to "chat," and that's what people do
in a hotel bar when you're hundreds of miles from home and there's
alcohol involved. So, he opened his mouth and then wouldn't shut the
hell up. Over the course of the next 90 minutes, we heard about his
kids, his business, Mayor Daly, real estate, and social security.
Money, kids, and politics, of course, are all topics you never want to
talk about on a first date. Thanks to Mike, we covered them all. Gee,
thanks, RANDOM STRANGER!! Worse, I had mentally shut down at 9:30, so
my contributions to the conversation, though at times impassioned,
didn't always make a whole lot of sense.

So much for the good impression.

Basically, I don't know where I stand with this guy (Jeff, not Mike --
Mike, I'm pretty sure, liked me quite a bit). I'll do the "thanks for
the lovely time email" tonight and then I'll hope that he judged me on
the first half of the evening, not the second half of the verbal
threesome. If I passed, I'll be picking the next location.

And, believe you me, it won't be a hotel bar.

2006 Election Night Drinking Game: The Drinks

Stock up on that vodka, gin, rum, and mixers...Election Day is almost here!

The drinking game is coming, but first you'll need the drinks. Depending on what side you're on, you'll need a different set of supplies. For extra fun, make sure to order the drinks by their "official Beltway Names!"

The drinks are real, guaranteed to make a 16 year old page do all sorts of dirty, dirty things*, and can all be found in The Bartender's Black Book: Fourth Edition. I'm going to make you buy the book yourself, but to make it almost as easy as Monica or the people advertising "random encounters" on Craigslist (You know who you are!), I gave you the page numbers.

Go forth, stock up on booze, check back for the drinking game, and add your own suggestions in the comments!

Drinks for Republicans

• American Sour (9)
• George W. Bush - Artificial Intelligence (11)
• Michael Brown - Hurricane (58)**
• Mark Foley - Wanna Probe Ya (132)
• Condi Rice - PMS (93)
• Dennis Hastert - Dark Secret (33)
• Katherine Harris - Banshee (13)
• Dick Cheney - Shot in the Dark (110)
• Scooter Libby - Spy's Demise (116)
• George Allen - White Baby (135)

Drinks for Democrats

• Betsy Ross (15)
• Bill Clinton - Banging the Captain 3 ways on the Comforter (13) (also known as a Gary Condit and a Ted Kennedy)
• Hillary Clinton - Empire State Slammer (38)
• John Kerry - 38th Parallel Coffee (123) (also known as a John McCain)
• Patrick Kennedy - Smooth Driver (113)
• Cynthia McKinney - Skull Cracker (111)
• Nancy Pelosi - California Mother (26)
• Bob Woodward - Deep Throat (34) (also known as a Monica Lewinsky)
  

* Not that I'm suggesting that you make a 16 year old page do dirty, dirty things. Clearly, that sort of behavior is reserved for members of Congress and people who obviously don't watch Dateline NBC. If you're going to make someone do dirty, dirty things, make sure that they're at least 18. I'm just saying...

** And if you didn't see that one coming, I'm sure there's a job opening at FEMA for you in Emergency Preparedness...

My sister makes me laugh

For the record, it hasn't been 4 months.

I accepted a date for tonight, and since my friends always complain that I don't provide details, I decided to issue a "Personal Press Release" just so that everyone's in the loop.

It was clear, concise, and included all of the pertinent information. However, leave it to my personal publicist to edit the release in such a way that she better be glad that I can run fast in heels -- especially since I had downed 96 ounces of water by 10 AM!

Her take on my "event" tonight:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
10.10.06

(Baltimore, MD)—Lindsay F., 28, Single Girl Extraordinaire, today announces relief in her four-month dating drought, with the acceptance of a dinner date from “Jeff.” Jeff (last name withheld), 33, is a Project Manager from Baltimore. The date will take place tonight. For privacy reasons, the would-be couple has withheld the location of the date and asks the paparazzi to refrain from seeking them out.

Ms. F. expressed excitement about the upcoming event, releasing this brief statement: “Thank God Jeff came along. I was about ready to request famine relief aid from Brad and Angelina. I’m going in with an open mind and a cute skirt.”
# # #

EDITOR’S NOTE: Full review and photography will be released tomorrow on Ms. F’s blog http://drama-duchess.blogspot.com/ :)

The publicist got it wrong, no photos are coming. As for the review, we'll just have to see about that, won't we?

The Internet is for...

Just in case you've forgotten, here's two reminders of what the Internet is REALLY for.

The Drunk Guy wishing QVC a Very Happy Anniversary


The Computer Animation

I should be too old for this...

But, apparently, I'm not.

Sometimes I wish I had just sucked it up, kept the relationship that I had my senior year alive, gone on to marry the guy, and hopped out of the dating pool. Sure, he spent more time with the professors in his PhD program than with me, and he had at least three more years in Blacksburg before we could move back to civilization, but I'm pretty sure we could have been happy for at least a few years before I killed him.

Alas, I didn't. And now I fear I'm stuck with the rejects from the shallow end.

Case in point, I'm back on one of those popular online sites (sorry, I'm not going to say which one), and I keep getting emails from people I know/dated in the past. This is a particular problem for me because, as we've discussed, I seem to attract a lot of "Georges," and therefore, being on these sites seems to encourage the "I always loved you from afar" type of emails that make the existing relationship difficult. Seriously, guys, if you didn't ask when it was free, what makes you think that the fact that I'm a paying member changes anything? If you had the crush, and you didn't open your mouth before now, please don't assume my appearance on an online site is any indication that I'm seeking you out specifically.

There should be a rule that says that even if an ex/friend/coworker is "introduced" to you by the system, you get a free pass to ignore it. The system can use all the algorithms in the world to tell you who you could be attracted to, but it'll never be able to tell who you've already befriended or rejected. There's a human element involved and, assuming that you actually ARE a human, only the two of you can be equipped to make the decisions necessary to ignore the computer's attempts at matchmaking.

Considering what the computer has sworn I'd be interested in, in the past (twice-divorced, two kids, no education), the human element is extremely important. Just trust me on this one.

Exceptions to this rule do exist and include a) people I haven't seen in way too long, b) people who have been on extreme makeover or won the lottery in the last few months, or c) the ex-boyfriend who dumped me when I was fat and now that I'm skinny is looking to reconnect.

Anyone who falls into the "C" category, however, does so at his own risk. The second that I realize that you're superficial enough to only want me back because I'm less of a woman than the one you remember, revenge is mine. And, if this blog is any indication of how snarky I can be when crossed, you've been duly warned.

The problem, however, is that when I haven't been crossed or loaded up on a few glasses of wine and some painkillers (like now -- gym accident, don't ask), I come across as a very sweet little gal, who most men interpret as being interested, when I'm simply being friendly. I think it has something to do with the fact that my military upbringing required me to make friends fast. Therefore, when I see someone hanging on the edge of a group, I work to bring them in. If they're a guy and they've got any sort of self-esteem problem at all, this usually brings problems for me in the form of emails, phone calls, and cyber-stalking (even when the only way they've gotten my information is from group emails or tricking another friend into giving it up). However, knowing how frustrating it can be to be on the outside looking in, I can't help it.

But back to the boys on the random internet dating sites. Most guys don't get how much of a problem this can be, but now that most of the sites feature that whole "who peeked at your profile" feature, it makes things just a little awkward.

Like today. Today, I was on the site when I came across a profile name that looked a little familiar. Couldn't place it, so I opened the profile. It was an acquaintance I haven't seen in a few years. Nice guy, but I was never really attracted to him. Lots of reasons, that I can't really remember right now, though. As soon as I realized who it was, I closed the profile. No messages, no winking, no harm done, right?

Wrong. Even though I always try to do my cyber-stalking offline (saves on the heartache when I come across a hot ex or I want to anonymously check out a profile with a spectacularly bad picture), I kinda wasn't. Within minutes of me leaving the profile, the boy emailed me asking if I wanted to have a drink. All because he saw that I had checked him out. But I didn't. I checked out the profile, but I spent less than 30 seconds on the profile because I realized who it was as soon as I opened the profile. Unfortunately, the online system never tells the guy how long I spent on the profile, just that I did.

Aside to anyone who works for one of those sites, that would be a fabulous enhancement!

So, now I find myself walking the fine line of sucking it up and going for the sake of going (thus encouraging something that has a snowballs chance) or letting him down as easy as I can without making it too terribly awkward on the off-chance I run into him at a later date. Though I seriously haven't seen him in over a year, this is a smaller town than you'd think. Believe me, it could happen.

I should be too old for this crap.

But, apparently, I'm not.

I talk good, I'm Microsoft Word

At our book exchange the other day, I picked up this fantastically funny book called Grammar Snobs are Great Big Meanies. I'm sure there's some punctuation that I'm missing in there, but really I don't care right now.

The book is all about the rules of grammar, but surprisingly, it's not the dry read that anyone who survived high school English would expect. The author is funny as hell, and thanks to her I'm paying more and more attention to the grammar in my work documents. The blog, however, is more of a stream of consciousness and will not be grammatically correct unless it happens by accident.

Not that you needed to know that.

As part of my continued efforts, I turned the Microsoft Word grammar-checker back on to catch anything that my careful reading didn't.

Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I got this as a correction...

I've seen some bad grammar in my day, but I'm not sure I've ever seen anything THIS bad. Especially from a program that's supposed to be helping a person ensure that his or her grammar is correct.

We've heard complaints about the spell-checker, so as a warning to the high school students who happen to find this blog, I say this: STAY AWAY FROM MARK FOLEY . DO NOT TRUST THE GRAMMAR CHECKER!!

That am all.

Best Laid Plans

Thank God, I didn't start taking my clothes off.

Since I have a Jaycees meeting tonight, I thought it would be a great idea to stay late at work, hit the gym, and then go straight to the meeting. I'd get points for being a dedicated employee, do something great for my bod, and save a little gas going back and forth. Right?

Right.

I swore I had everything...even running back to the house to grab my HRM. So imagine my surprise when I get to the gym, reach into the bag for my shorts and nothing.

The guy at the desk thought it was a little strange that I clocked a grand total of five minutes in the gym this morning, but when I told him that I didn't really feel like being arrested, we both got a great abs workout.

So, I started driving away when I almost hit a 10-year old on a bike who had stopped in the middle of my lane (he was traveling in the other direction) to pick something up that had dropped. The object that had dropped? A cigarette. I honked my annoyance, he flipped me the bird, stuck the ciggy in his mouth, and biked away. A few years from now, that kid'll be suing Phillip Morris. He'll probably win too.

So, now I'm sitting at the library, typing away on my book and dealing with people reading over my shoulder. Really, if you want to read what I write so damn much, ask for the blog address. Otherwise, don't interrupt me mid-stream while I'm trying to type.

It's just rude.

O'Reilly needs to be shot

Along with Dennis Hastert, Tom Reynolds, and of course Mark Foley.

Why? Because, suspiciously, O'Reilly labeled pedophile-former-Congressman as a DEMOCRAT not once, not twice, but three times during his broadcast last night.

He should be attacking the congressman for his vile behavior; instead, he blames gay Americans (because Foley is now hiding behind the "I'm a gay American and that's what caused me to do this" excuses) and Priests/Pastors/Rabbis for "abusing Foley himself as a teenager."

Sure. I'll believe that when you show me hard statistics that every gay man in America is a pedophile and every pedophile in America is a gay man. But I guess that the second part of the statement, that "Mr. Foley is not offering any excuse" for the behavior should be interpreted that the admissions and accusations offered yesterday were provided for no more than informational purposes and should not be interpreted as any type of excuse. Right, right?

Mr. Foley, for the record, if you're going to claim that you were abused by a man of the cloth, it helps to actually be able to identify what denomination your abuser was. Of course, if he's still preaching, it shows that you weren't really doing your job, doesn't it?

For the record, Foley isn't a Democrat. He's a Republican. Usually, that shouldn't matter when such a sick individual has been charged with protecting our children and fail miserably (Chris Hansen doesn't include the "for the record what party are you registered to?" question when he's shocking predators on Dateline); however, when the sicko involved has been tasked with and commended by our President for his efforts to PROTECT CHILDREN, it matters. It matters a lot.

As for Hastert and Reynolds, they should have raked Foley across the coals (he probably would have liked that) as soon as they learned about the IMs. Instead, they covered it up -- much like the churches that shuffled priests from parish to parish. You can't shuffle a congressman, you can only cover up his behavior. Right?

They also fed the story that the Page program should be disbanded. If that's not a way to blame the victim, I don't know what is. It's like telling a mother: "Gee, sorry Mrs. Doe, I didn't mean to abuse your two year old. It was just that she looked so sexy in that diaper." How fucking sick is that!!??!!??

When even the most conservative newspapers in the country are calling for your resignation, it's time to go. To jail. Do not collect $200, do not keep the money you already collected. Mark Foley was caught with a live boy and resigned. Dennis Hastert and Tom Reynolds were caught with the same live boy and should face the same fate. The money raised by Foley should go straight to a Hurricane Katrina charity (because the IM victim was from that region), the Amish Community (who lost their little girls to a pedophile like Foley) or to a charity for victims of pedophilia. It should NOT go back into the coffers of the Republicans who knew about the abuses and hid them.

O'Reilly isn't the only one who's been hiding information about Hastert's involvement. ABC News and the Washington Post both changed stories after initial postings. Those stories initially mentioned Hastert's involvement, and both had quotes that changed to something that wasn't as clear. Check out the Daily Kos for that info.

So, I'm fully expecting that the next move for Camp Foley is to claim that the abuses extended only to the inappropriate IMs. IMs, incidentally, that were so "inappropriate" that if Charlie Gibson had read them aloud during World News Tonight, he would have been slapped with FCC Fines out the wazoo.

I don't buy that.

Maf54: I miss you lots since san diego.

What the hell happened?

Photos of beauty and tranquility

I blame it on Rockwell.

Thanks to the holiday yesterday, I had the opportunity to work from home. A few hours in, I was starting to get the idea that I should take advantage of the spectacular weather and head out of town to take a few snapshots of the beauty, peacefulness, and tranquility that is the Amish way of life. Yes, you read that right, I said Amish.

After all, I thought, those 80-degree October days don't come around that often, and it so sunny and clear. The way I saw it, I couldn't really resist.

It was a great plan, so I don't really know why I didn't complete it. I downloaded the directions to Lancaster County and got my stuff together, but I never actually got in the car. Instead, at around 10 AM, I sat back down and kept typing away on my work project.

Three hours later, I learned that I just would have been in the way. Yesterday was anything but a quiet day in Amish Country. Five little girls are dead, five little girls are clinging to life because some madman saw them as easy targets.

I was planning a trip to Amish country for photos of peace and tranquility. Now, all I can do is pray for that peace for the families and the recovery of those who were spared initially.

The trouble with Georges

Colonel Brandon, Gilbert Blythe, Ryan Lavery, George O'Malley...books and television shows are full of fabulous, perfect men who just want to love women too stupid or blind to realize what's right in front of them. No matter where or when the story takes place, the theme of unrequited love never changes. Most of the time, in books or movies, the woman suddenly wakes up and rushes to her lover's arms -- usually, there's rain involved -- and she declares herself. Don't know what I'm talking about? Try watching Four Weddings and a Funeral or Emma (along with countless other films).

Every girl has had at least one "George" in her dating career, and it usually never works out like it does in the movies. More often than not, an alcohol-fueled evening results in sloppy sex/making out, crazy declarations (like in a four page letter that you're never supposed to read in the first place, but we're so not going there), and the dissolution of a really beautiful friendship. Sometimes you find your way back to each other; but it's never the same, and you spend every minute that you're with each other wishing and hoping that you could take that stupid night back. Then, you settle on the idea that you should treat him like nothing ever happened, but you wonder if that's hurting him even more than it would if you just avoided
him altogether. Mr. Laurence had the right idea, sending Teddy off to Europe after Jo said "no."

And about Jo...I spent years furious with Miss March for turning down the Laurence boy. Really, the saddest part of Little Women to me wasn't the part when Beth died, but when Teddy offered his world to Jo -- fully expecting her to say yes -- and she refused him. I didn't understand why the first few times I read it, but years and experience have taught me that Jo was actually the smartest one of all the girls othe authors put in that situation. Teddy deserved someone who was going to adore him, and that woman was Amy. If Beth had lived, I could see
her as being a better match, but as Meg was married and Jo was clear with her feelings, Amy
was the only other way.

The problem is, is that we're all crazy romantics. Every time we see Harry running across New York City on New Year's Eve or Anne telling Gil that she doesn't need "sunbursts or marble halls," we tell ourselves that it's just a movie, but we also start thinking that the person we should be with is our best friend. After all, as my "George" told me when I was in high school,
"the best friends make the best lovers." So, every time we get dumped or stood up and we someone to make us feel pretty and wanted and safe, it's only natural that the first call made is to the man that we know will drop everything for us. Is it something to be proud of, of course not, but when you want to be with a man who is going to accept you for you, flaws and all,
and you want him RIGHT THEN, the last thing that your flawed self is really thinking about is what's really best for the man that adores you. Just a tip, it's not whatever you have in mind.

That's why your second call absolutely must be to your girlfriends. Turning the evening into a group activity diffuses the bomb of regret that would otherwise go off in your face. Unlike a bomb, however, the scars aren't visible. They just run deep.

As a parent, it's always a disheartening experience when you learn your child may have a drinking problem. However, I wasn't quite expecting that the lesson about the perils of alcohol would have to be discussed with a six year-old.

So maybe one of you can explain why this was the scene that greeted me when I got home from work on Friday (at 2 in the afternoon!).
Based on the mess, I have no doubt that Sookie was involved in this somehow as well. I attempted to ask her, but she was sleeping it off. As for Minnie, thankfully, I can report that she is a very mellow drunk and, when confronted, didn't feel the need to blame all of her problems on any racial or ethnic groups. At least the values of equality and freedom of religion have stuck with her so far, even though the "Just Say No" lesson clearly didn't.

My Tarot Card

You scored as XIX: The Sun. This is the happiest card in the deck. It is full of joy and optimism, everything is right with the world. We are as innocent children playing in the fields without care. The Sun brings success, well-being and happiness in all spheres - material, emotional, spiritual -wherever our desires lay.When this card appears in a Tarot spread it indicates success, joy and happiness. Obstacles will be overcome, goals achieved.When badly aspected, it can indicate a stagnation through over-indulgence, too much of a good thing. XIX: The Sun 94% II - The High Priestess 75% 0 - The Fool 69% IV - The Emperor 69% III - The Empress 63% XI: Justice 63% VIII - Strength 56% XVI: The Tower 56% X - Wheel of Fortune 56% I - Magician 44% XIII: Death 38% XV: The Devil 31% VI: The Lovers 13% Which Major Arcana Tarot Card Are You? created with QuizFarm.com