Stay gold, Ponyboy!

They say that there is nothing so constant as change, and I believe it.

Then again, some things never change:

That had better just be fruit juice, young lady!

I've changed a lot over the years, but deep down inside, I'm still this person (on the left):

And I always will be.  Who else could I be?

It's natural to grow and change as you get older, and we wouldn't be very interesting people if we didn't learn from our mistakes as we fumble along through this life of ours.  We learn more from our failures than from our victories, so the failures make the victories all the sweeter, right?

Anywho, I'm getting all off-track, but I'm too lazy to edit myself into oblivion today.  I actually came here to write about a different kind of change: the change that people go through when they want to be famous.

I got to thinking about this subject after flipping through the FM dial the other day and realizing that Adele's Rollin' In The Deep was on nearly every channel.  Now, I love Adele, and it's a testament to how great that song is that I am not even sick of it (yet).  What I love most about her, however, is that she looks so normal.

She's a beautiful girl, sure, but she's not your typical pop star.  Not only is she an incredibly talented singer and songwriter, but she doesn't fit into that mold that everyone else seems to cram themselves into.  She's a little chubby, just like the rest of us.  She looks great with her hair and make up done, but she also looks fresh and natural when she's caught by the paparazzi getting coffee, etc.  Her voice is sultry, soulful, and strong, and she looks the part.  In short, I think she's adorable and I hope she never changes.

But I'll bet she will, because nothing gold can stay.

Since when do singers all have to be skinny and drop-dead gorgeous, anyway?  Who decided that the public couldn't (or shouldn't) tolerate fat or ugly people who happen to have talent?  These days, the minute someone makes it really big they go from looking like this:

 To looking like this:

Which, in my opinion, is boring has hell.  Sure, if Jennifer Hudson here is healthier and happier, then good for her!  But I somehow doubt she starved herself went on Weight Watchers to be healthier.  She went on a huge diet because she was sick of feeling like the Goodyear blimp at fittings, and tired of carrying the "Proud Fat Chick" banner for the rest of us.  I'm not blaming her, I'm just saying that with talent like hers, she should be able to look any way she wants.

Isn't that right, Aretha?

That's right, baby!

Anywho, just a friendly reminder from your neighborhood Bev to be kind to yourself.  Love yourself, even if you have a few pounds to lose or have adult acne or massive breasts that are just a little bit terrifying.  There's only one you, and you are awesome.

That is all.

Have a great week!

PS)  Since Frank asked me what the title means, I'm adding this note in case anyone else doesn't get the reference.  "Stay gold, Ponyboy" is a line from the movie, The Outsiders, which is based on the book by S.E. Hinton. The line is referring to this poem by Robert Frost:

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.

*dusting off hands* I think we've all learned something here today. My work here is done!

Weekend at Britney's

I'm a big music fan, and when it comes to music consumption I'm a bit of an omnivore.  I refuse to pigeon-hole myself into any one musical genre; if I like it, I like it.  My iPod is a hodge-podge of randomness, containing tunes from every kind of artist imaginable, from speed metal to show tunes.  It's no secret that I like a lot of the terrible pop music that dominates our air waves, because fuck it -- if it's got a good beat and I can dance to it, I'm in.  I make no apologies, and I listen to enough "cool" music to appease my inner hipster and my outer critics.

Whatever that means.

At any rate, I am going on record for something today that might alienate some of my readers, but I hope not.  I'm going to admit that I not-so-secretly like Britney Spears.

I know, I know.  You don't even have to say it.  I know.

She's not a great singer (snort!) or anything like that, but I dig those manufactured club songs and her autotuned-within-an-inch-of-her-life baby voice. I credit many of her hit songs for helping me lose weight many a time by giving me something to listen to at the gym that makes me want to shake it like a Polaroid picture.  Hell, I've even been known to throw out a Brit-Brit quote while drunkenly expostulating from time to time, because say what you will, there ARE only two types of people in the world: ones that entertain, and ones that observe.

Guess which kind I am?

So I'm glad that Britney is making another comeback again, and I like both of the new songs that she has released even though I'm well-aware that they are technically absolutely terrible.  The only thing that bothers me is that Britney herself looks like she's drugged within an inch of her life as she does the heavily-controlled PR for her new album.  In fact, she's so out of it that it made me wonder, when does it become sad?

I read this great article recently that details the exact moment when Britney stopped being a pop star and started being a trained monkey controlled by "her people."  As that writer says, Britney has become much like the titular character in Weekend At Bernie's -- her people control what she says, to whom she says it, and largely, how it is interpreted.  She is carted around like a drugged-up marionette and forced to perform.  She really is a "Slave" for us.

"Even when you go to jail, y'know, there's the time when you're gonna get out. But in this situation, it's never ending," Spears said in 2008 as she prepared for the release of "Circus," her first album under the strict conservatorship that grants her father legal control over nearly all of her personal and professional affairs.

-- Caryn Ganz in Amplifier

I have no doubt in my mind that if Britney were given her 'druthers, she'd be living a quiet life off the charts somewhere, but she clearly has no real say in the matter.  She's been a media creation since she was 10 years old, and aside from a brief period when she very publicly went off the deep end, she has always been under the control of someone else, never free to live her own life or make her own decisions.

If we need further proof that Britney's heart is just not in her career anymore, check out this video comparing Britney dancing in 1999 to Britney dancing in 2011.  Sure, we're all older now than we were 10+ years ago, but this seems like more than slowing down thanks to hitting the ripe "old" age of 30-something, doesn't it?  She's going through the motions, but you can tell that she just doesn't give a shit anymore.

It's all very sad, when you think about it.  I can't get on board with limiting another person's free will, even if that person is wealthy and privileged beyond most of our comprehension.  What good is having millions in the bank if you're forced to do something that you have grown to hate, something that thrusts you into the limelight and makes you a target for people like me who want to pick on your ugly weave, your cellulite, and your horrendous life choices?

I'm starting to feel like listening to Britney Spears is a little bit like eating veal; it may be delicious, but morally it gives you pause because you know in your heart that it's wrong. Someone suffered for your enjoyment... but then I see pics of her vacationing in exotic places and I think maybe she's okay with being exploited, so why should I care?  I just don't know.

What do you think?

Music That Moves You

Maybe it's the gray weather that continues to hover over my little part of the world, or the fact that I'm working my brain harder these days than I have in a long while, but I've been more introspective than usual lately. That's not a bad thing. As always, when I find myself in a pensive mood I find that a trip to the book store is in order; I love to read when I'm in this place. I do some of my best thinking when I'm here - neither happy nor sad - just thoughtful.

Kind of like the crapper.

I always listen to a lot of music too. Today Cary's QOTD post at LOTD about songs that we associate with certain time periods of our lives has got me thinking. I won't bore you by repeating what I said in my (multiple) comments over there, but it did make me think of this one particular scene in one of my favorite movies, Garden State.

I love the song that plays in the background (Paul Simon is one of my favorite singer/songwriters of all time), I love the screaming into the abyss, I love the kiss. I love it all, and I love how it makes me feel.



Last week I had a bad day and just felt inexplicably sad. I happened to hear this song by The Pixies on the radio at lunch time and it's amazing how much it cheered me up! Just a quick little hit of good music that invoked some powerful, happy memories....



Thinking about the Pixies got me thinking about band member Kim Deal, who started her group The Breeders right before I went to college. I can't tell you how often I listened to their music, and I'll bet that we all remember where we were when this song was popular:



Where were you?

That night I decided to see if the newly-reunited Pixies were touring. I can't find anything for the rest of this year yet, but since they hit up the Paradise in Boston last year, I'm optimistic that they'll swing back through. I will be there.

We all need a personal slogan, right?

Hey there, you sexy beasts!  How's it going?  I'm sorry I've been MIA a lot this week, but I've been busier than a one-legged Riverdancer. Plus, I admit I've been in a bit of a blogging slump; when I sit down to try to write for my beloved OOBH I come up woefully blank. Don't worry though; much like the gas from the ill-advised bowl of Hormel chili I had for lunch yesterday, this too shall pass.

TMI? Sorry. I thought you were into that sort of thing. ;)

This has been an interesting week.  For starters, my youngest son (age 3) has become oddly fixated on a song from the Marmaduke soundtrack, which means I've been starting every morning jamming out to some Tupac.  That's right - the boys and I rock it out to California Love every morning - we roll up to the school with the base throbbing, heads bobbing, then we throw up gang signs to the para-professionals who greet the kids and go our separate ways. We pretty much rule that school, old-skool, but it does set an odd tone to the day.  Not bad, just a little different.  It makes me laugh, though, and mama likes to laugh.

Coitus.

Halloween is just around the corner!  Is anybody dressing up?  I was going to be a sexy witch but the other night I decided that I might look around for a Maude Lebowski wig.  It's probably not the most current costume idea, but it's a classic and I do love me some Maude!  I've already got Jim growing in some Dude-ish facial hair, too.

Speaking of Halloween, I shared this funny Elvira video on the OOBH Facebook page yesterday.  Btw, if you haven't become a fan of the OOBH yet, what are you waiting for?  Even on days when I don't have the energy to make a blog post I'm usually farting around over on Fecesbook, so come talk to me, why don'tcha? 

Okay, enough pandering.  Check out this hot bish:

This woman is 59 years old.  FML.

I love her!  When I was a kid I always wanted my dad to rent me one of her movies at the video store but he never would.  You see that?  Even as a child I was drawn to her snarky persona and enormous knockers like a moth to a flame.  In this quick video she is spoofing political laughing-stock Christine O'Donnell, and in so doing she has provided me with my new personal slogan.  Take a look - you'll know what I mean:



I'm you, 'cept with bigger tits.

Put that on my headstone and call it a day!  Could it BE any more perfect?  No, no it could not.  Hmm, this gives me an idea....  Maybe I'll ditch my Maude costume idea and just go for the gusto and be Elvira!  *wheels turning*

Okay, poopsies.  Gotta run.  Lots to do today and miles to go before I sleep.  Hope you all have a groovy weekend!
XOXO

Musical Monday: Baby-Makin' Edition

And we're baaaaaaack. Hope you all had a great weekend! I'm tired but ready to rock this week out! I've got a ton of work ahead of me but I'm on top of it.

"Where are we with that?"

"That thing you just mentioned, just now? Oh, we're on top of that, Don!"

Before I buckle down and get some shizz done, I have to tell you that recently I rediscovered some awesome baby-makin' music.  Don't get me wrong - I am NOT makin' any more babies - that train has sailed - but still, who doesn't like songs that make you want to get horizontal?

This confession will most likely eliminate all of my hard-earned street cred here on the OOBH, but I don't care.

I'm talking about Sade.

Still amazing after all these years.  I suspect witchcraft.

This woman... wow.  First of all, she has not aged in over 25 years; she still sounds and looks exactly the same as she did when Smooth Operator made her famous in the early 80's.  Recently I saw her new Solider of Love video and I was blown away, so I downloaded a few of her songs and now I can't stop listening to them.  Not only are they sexy and good for... well, sexy times... but they're also great background music for just about anything.  I celebrate her entire catalog.

I think this song is my favorite:



Now, lest you think I've gone completely soft on you, I've got one of the world's crappiest music videos for you to make fun of enjoy as well!  I stumbled across this little gem last week and have been waiting for the perfect moment to spring it on you.  Today, my friends, is that day.

I give you, "Love in a Pub (in Essex)," by Leoncie:



Yes, yes, YES!  It took me almost a full minute to realize that she was speaking English.  This video has it ALL, doesn't it?

Move over, Sade, because Leoncie is coming for your title of Queen of Baby-Makin' Music!

Better get to work, my lovelies.  Have a great day!

A rant about my iPoo'd

This morning's drive to work was an exercise in frustration, and at the risk of going all Andy Rooney ("Did ya ever notice that...?") or Jerry Seinfeld ("What's the deal with...?") I need to vent for a moment. 

It was just one of those mornings:  someone had a minor accident so traffic was backed up in town, making me run a few minutes late, my youngest son was stuck on "repeat" mode and just would NOT stop talking, the minivan in front of me was managing to slow down while going downhill without touching his brakes, and then some a-hole with out-of-state plates cut me off and proceeded to go 25 mph.  Normally I'm pretty unflappable in the mornings because I'm only semi-conscious, but today I was getting increasingly irritated.

Since my usual six radio presets were all sucking and/or stuck in commercial hell, I put on my iPod.  Lately I've been getting kind of tired of my playlists so I just put it on Shuffle thinking that with over 200 artists and 800+ songs, surely it would come up with something I felt like listening to, right?

WRONG.

Why is it that in this day and age, with all this technology, they can't come up with a decent method of shuffling songs on a portable music device?  They have just never been able to get this right!  Remember the days of the 6 CD changer?  We all thought they were so cool until you realized that:

1. The machines always pick a favorite CD and keep giving you song after song from that disk while largely ignoring the others.
2.  There is a long pause as the machine clunks and whirs and changes the disks between songs.

So now we've got iPods, which are supposed to be so freaking smart and above all of that, except they're totally NOT.

Today my iPoo'd was positive that I wanted to listen to The Doors.  Well, iPoo'd, you're dead wrong; you see I am neither drunk nor high at 8 in the morning, but thanks for the suggestion.  I push "next" and it starts up with Pink Floyd.  Ummm,  did you not hear me?  I said I WASN'T high.  Next.  Phish.  Goddamn you!  I haven't wanted to listen to Phish in about 10 years.  How did that get on there?  NEXT.  Christmas music.

#*&%!@

Okay, deep breaths.  It's all MY music, after all.  Can't blame anyone but myself for having it on there.  What bugs me is that when I skip a song by, say, The Doors, why does it give me a different song and then make the song after that another one by The goddamn motherfucking Doors?!  Why??  It's like the iPoo'd gets in moods and becomes quite insistent that I should listen to a certain artist that day.  One day every single song that came on was about sex; my husband started laughing and said, "Your iPod is horny today."  Other days it goes from Greenday to Mozart no matter how many times I skip tracks and tell it I don't feel very Mozart-y that day.  Shouldn't there be a SMART iPod shuffle function??  I mean, really!

Work with me here, people!

By the time I got to the daycare I had skipped 10 songs for every 2 I let play and I was about ready to chuck the damn thing out the window just to watch it shatter.  Sure, I could go home and laboriously make more playlists, but sometimes I want to be surprised!  No, I don't want to listen to "White Christmas" in July, but I don't want to delete it off the iPod/iTunes either; I tried to keep it from synching the songs I don't like but there it was!  If I were in charge of the world Apple, I would assign all tunes a mood and let you select shuffle by mood.

Turns out, the iPoo'd got it right only four times this morning: Dancing on My Own by Robyn, Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2, A Night Like This by The Cure, and Marching Bands of Manhattan by DCFC.  Turns out I was feeling a little emo this morning.  Who knew?  Did I know I wanted to hear those songs?  No, no I did not, so there's no way I could have made a playlist with those tunes.

Shuffle can be wonderful that way, when it's not causing me to drive into traffic as I fumble for the "next" button over and over and over again.  It's either insisting that I play certain artists or playing random shit that I don't remember downloading at all.  The other day mine played a song in French.  Yeah, French.  Why?  I have no fucking clue.

Does your iPod ever come out with some random crap and you have no idea how it got on there?  Does it have an agenda of its own?  Please tell me I'm not alone.

Musical Monday: Music that Moves You

Good morning, my dears. I hope that this Monday morning finds you well. I'm a little groggy today, but hopefully some strong coffee will perk me up... eventually. It's a quiet week at work because my boss is on vacation; of course, quiet is relative since my crazy cat lady coworker never shuts the F up. As I type this she is prattling away about making bran muffins to keep herself from getting constipated, knitting baby socks for the children of a guy in the office who never speaks to her, and the sad state of her husband's prostate. Good times!



The weekend was fine. Today marks week 2 of the in-law invasion and things are going well so far; I've only almost smacked my FIL twice. Okay, maybe three times, but who's counting?

Now, at the risk of outing myself as a sentimental fool, on to the topic of today's post!

This morning on the way into work I was zoning out to the news on NPR when they played just a few moments of God Bless America, and I'll be damned if I didn't tear up a little bit. Sure, I'm tired, but there's something about that song that always gets me right in the throat. I started thinking about other songs that always make me verklempt.

Hurt by Johnny Cash

I loved the original NIN song, but the Man in Black brought something even more melancholy to this tune about addiction and loss. It's a well-known fact that Johnny Cash had his own struggles with drugs and alcohol so I just felt like he really "got" it. He recorded this version not long after his wife had died; he passed away not long after.

Speaking of not being able to live without your love...

I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab For Cutie.

The video doesn't do the song justice - listen to the words. This song always reminds me of those old couples who live so long together that when one dies, the other goes shortly after. Jim's grandparents were like that.

I Dreamed A Dream from Les Miserables.

*sniff*

What? I've just got something in my eye!

Ave Maria, Amazing Grace, Yesterday... so many sad songs.

Which ones make you misty?

Musical (and Muse-ical) Monday

Hey there! How does this Monday morning find you? I hope you're all feeling groovy and ready to rock this week out like I am! If not, never fear; I've got a cure for what ails ya'. I've got a cool song and video to implant in your head for at least a day, along with my typical random blatherings to (hopefully) entertain you.

No need to thank me; I did it all for the nookie.

My weekend was pretty sweet. On Saturday morning Mala and I dumped our kids with my darling husband and went for pedicures at a local shi-shi salon, complete with Pina Coladas and plenty of chit-chat about Twilight versus (the way cooler, IMO) True Blood, then we had lunch and took the kids to the lake to burn off what remained of their moxie. It was supremely relaxing and a great belated celebration for Mala's birthday!

On Sunday we did a family clean-out of the toy situation, which felt GOOD. Seriously, taking out two trash bags full of broken toys, Happy Meal junk, and irreparably-sticky doo-dads felt better to me than a week of foot rubs. We also put away three big boxes of toys that the boys don't play with anymore; we are saving them up for Jim's brothers, who both have plans to procreate with their wives within the next year or so.

DAMN, it felt good to be a gangsta to clean out the crap!


On to the fun Monday morning pick-u-ups!

I have been humming the song Bulletproof by La Roux for weeks now, and imagine my delight when I found that the video is cool enough to be OOBH-worthy! It's as if someone morphed Tilda Swinton with Jimmy Neutron, added a dollop of David Bowie, and dropped the resulting hipster into a 1980's electronica meets MC Escher landscape.

Exhibit A:

It rocks, which is sayin' something because all singer Elly Jackson does in the video is walk. Yet, she looks way cool doing it. Check it out:

Pretty neat, huh? I dig it. Good luck getting that song out of your head.

The world has a new Ugliest Dog! Congratulations to Princess Abby, the inbred Chihuahua who won that dubious honor this weekend.



Awww, she's... well, she's... I'm sure she's very sweet. She's also a good reminder to take Bob Barker's advice. No, not the advice that he no doubt gives about not sleeping with the Price Is Right models without having a gag order signed in advance, this advice:

The Price is WRONG, bitch!

That's it for now, cuties. It's shaping up to be a busy week in Bev-land, but never fear. I'll be around. Have a happy day!

Jabba, Smiley, and a Shack of Crap

Good morning! What's shakin', cute people of the interwebz? Not too much going on here; just struggling to clear the cobwebs from my noggin! It sure was hard to get out of bed this morning.

Can't imagine why.

Crap Shack, party of 7!

We rented a cottage near the shore that turned out to be the shittiest place EVER and we all did our best not to touch anything. I was seriously concerned about bed bugs, but thankfully the sheets and towels were clean even if the floor wasn't. The walls were paper thin; if you tapped on the wall the whole thing shook. Mala & Joe had a gaping hole in the ceiling of their room, and M&E's room slanted noticeably towards one corner. It was like a fun house!

Luckily we were barely there and it was a place to crash, though as Jim and I lay down on our glorified sofa bed and listened to the loud college kids partying in our front yard (which sounded like they were in the room with us due to the aforementioned thin walls) we both started giggling uncontrollably.

I didn't take pictures because it was just too horrifying, but I'll describe it to you with my mad English skillz:

Our room contained a lumpy double bed, a dresser, a bare light bulb with the string dangling from the center of the room, and a rather pungent odor. I shudder to think about what sorts of things have gone on in that "house" every weekend, but let the record show that when Mala arrived and turned on the TV it was tuned to a porno channel. That explains why the wooden arms of the dilapidated (circa 1978) sofa were STICKY. Seriously, I have slept in cleaner frat houses.

The cost of one night in Slumsville? A mere $250/night (split 3 ways). FML!

I need a miracle.

But ANYWAY. As soon as we fought our way through the shore traffic (took us 45 minutes to go a quarter of a mile) we got the party started, at which point I remembered that I was a bird brain left our two tickets to the show at home. *FACE-PALM* I carried those goddamn tickets in my purse for TWO MONTHS, but the day of the show I decided to carry a smaller purse.... FML again!

Thankfully, the show was not sold out and it was nothing that a short walk and another $40 couldn't fix. Sigh.

Jabba wants his money.

The band was great and since it was general admission we wormed our way right up front again. The only bummer was Jabba, who was easily 6'4" yet insisted upon standing in the front row, and even when we tried to move several feet to his left or right he seemed to migrate so that he was always right in front of one of us. He was a hulking, disapproving WALL of a man, and he was stubbornly in our way all night.

Nice bum, where you from?

The music was awesome!

Close your eyes and it's the real thing, and definitely the closest thing to really seeing Zeppelin that we'll ever get.

The Battle of Evermore was epic.

Mmm, smokey.

I'll have what he's having!

The bass player, who we dubbed "Smiley," was a trip. He had perfected the "rock star stance" and was clearly enjoying every minute of the show. He had this huge shit-eating grin and kept making eye contact with audience members, including yours truly. It was fun but a little awkward; I'd smile back but then he'd just keep on grinning at me until I kind of danced behind Jabba to hide. One time it went on so long that everyone in my group noticed and were laughing about it, and I took this picture:

Slappin' da bass!

That little bit of contact was NOTHING compared to what Mala got after the show, however! She stood in line to meet the band while the rest of us hung back (I had had enough contact with Smiley during the show, thankyouverymuch), and she got a chance to chat it up with her crush, the keyboardist/guitar player (and Grade A Hottie).

While we waited for Mala to stop shamelessly flirting we admired the mural of famous folks behind the bar. We decided this is George "C3PO" Carlin:



The next morning we eagerly skipped out of the Crap Shack and went home. I spent most of my day watching the kids play in their kiddie pool and reading trashy magazines before moving on to a trashy novel. I started reading Secret Diary of a Call-Girl, which is the book that inspired the sexy Showtime series. I'm only about 40 pages in but already I can tell you that it's a decent read, doesn't require a lot of brain power, and is absolutely filthy! So of course, I dig it.

So that's all the news that's fit to report. Good times, as always! Now it's back to the grind. Gotta find something else to look forward to; it sure does help to get me through the week.

Gaga... and VILF's.

It's Wednesday, but I'm feeling wordy, not wordless. Also, I had all these great ideas about Photoshopping myself into pictures like this one
<---- but I was too tired to do it last night and now I'm stuck at work with no good editing software at my disposal. Oh well... that particular whimsy will just have to wait! Speaking of whimsy, yesterday my girl Lady G (I can call her that because we're so close, don'tcha know) released her new 9 minute-long video for Alejandro.



It's okay, not my fave. I love it because it's Gaga, but honestly I think she was trying too hard here, and the scores of fem-dudes with Three Stooges bowl cuts and fishnets did nothing for me.

Besides, blasphemy is so two decades ago!

Also? I don't care for the song. Sure, it's catchy, but it is the only song from the new album that I do not care for and routinely skip when I'm getting my Ga-groove on (which is often). It's basically Ace of Base's "Don't Walk Away" and Madonna's "La Isla Bonita." Meh.

Don't get me wrong, parts of the vid are pretty hot:



But overall, I found it to be kind of dull. Oh well. We'll give her a mulligan on this one, won't we?

Speaking of disappointments, I just finished the latest book in the Southern Vampire Mystery (aka True Blood) series, and it was full of fail. Charlaine Harris's yearly Sookie offering, Dead In The Family, was yet another book that was sort of fun to read, but nothing really happened to progress the plot line... again. Last year's book was the same way, and I'm starting to wonder how much longer she'll keep cranking out the same old shite and how much longer we readers will keep buying it.

Oh, and there were NO good sex scenes in this one. WTF? Does she think we're reading these things for the intrigue? Hell no! I want some boning, Ms. Harris, and I want it now.

The good news is that the HBO series based on the books ROCKS THE HIZZOUSE, delivers the RAUNCHY GOODNESS, and season 3 premiers THIS SUNDAY NIGHT.

WOO-to the mothafucking-HOO!



I seriously cannot wait. I love this show, and I love Eric the Vampire more than I care to admit. Not the actor who plays him, Alexander Skarsgaard, though I wouldn't exactly kick him out of bed either - but the character of Eric the Goddamn Vampire. Holy Viking with a sword, he can bite me any day. I wanna do bad things, indeed.

That's about it for now, my little breathers. I may not post tomorrow because I will be schlepping through the woods in the rain while chaperoning my son's 1st grade field trip. Since I fucked up my neck last weekend while towel-drying my hair *COUGH* vigorously working out, it's going to be an especially fun day.

Happy Hump Day!