Montreal

Heylo.

I have class from 11 to 1pm today, and then my parents are picking me up from school and we're going straight to the airport. I don't anticipate that I'll be updating this weekend, but I will try to take pictures (and get the pictures I took in Switzerland) and have them ready to show you when I get back.

You guys did a great job not futzing up the place when I was in Switzerland, so keep up the good work and I will bring you...something French-Canadian when I return. Maybe a sexy man named Jaques.

Love,
-Priya

Montreal it is, then...

I was scheduled to throw a hissy fit of epic proportions this afternoon regarding the Montreal trip (for those of you playing at home, I don't want to go, my parents basically strong-armed me into it since it's a Family Function), but as I was gearing up my mom told me that my grandmother (her mom) had been re-diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma (she'd been in remission for two years), and wherever it had previously been, it had now spread.

"We're going to be taking family portraits this weekend," my mom said. She said it extremely casually, with almost no effect (she was talking about getting my bangs trimmed) but what I think she actually suspects we're on The Final Countdown.

Nobody in my family would dare use those words, because we're all a bunch of pansies who can't just fess up about painful shit like this. We just bottle it inside for the sake of decorum, and maybe to unleash on someone totally unsuspecting so we can shock them into giving us something we want. Usually this is how I would prefer it (you know me: I'm ALL FOR decorum), but I want someone to break down the wall of good manners and just tell me what's going on for once, in plain language, without trying to manipulate the information, or me, or anything.

I want to know what I'm supposed to do - I still have all of my grandparents. The only person close to me who ever died did so as a Marine in Afghanistan (in January 2004)...and I didn't even like him that much when I knew him, to be honest. I haven't thought about him for a couple of years now, but when I do, it still hurts.
And he's just a casual acquaintance.

Sorry for the artlessness of this post, but I just wanted to let everyone know why I stopped fighting it all of a sudden. I have a family portrait to be in.

Down With

One of the things I love most about Kyle is that he knows lots of stuff that I don't. For example: I was just subjected to a 90's flashback on the radio and I want to know...when Naughty By Nature asks you if you're down with "O.P.P." what are they talking about? I was only 5 when it was released, but Kyle was 10, so he knows. And he's willing to explain it in a clear, concise manner without making any judgement calls.

If you don't know what O.P.P. is, I'm not going to write it here. I know, I'm lame, but it's too gross. Go look it up on wikipedia.

*Gasp!* Progress!

Oh my god. I just spent like 40 minutes filling out this internet survey that's been circling around lately, and then decided that it was just stupid since I'm not in the mood to tell someone coyly that I have a crush on them. All of it seems so high school.

Does the Madwoman Know She's Mad?

I was just flipping through my pen-and-paper journal and I noticed that the great majority of my posts end with me wondering if there's something really seriously wrong with me (musing about my cockblocking instincts [aside to marion: it was a poor choice of words when I said it isn't malicious - of course it's malicious. I meant that it isn't personal. I just think sex is kind of squicky and it's not like I necessarily have anything against the person we were talking about and the 20 year old sister of the other person we were talking about, I don't want anyone to have any part of it, is that so wrong?]: is it really just hilarious bitchiness or a sign of insanity in my membrane?).

Okay, so, navigating away from that horrifyingly specific look into the clearly damaged void that is my psyche...

Back to the journal: isn't that a mental disease? Like isn't the constant searching for mental diseases itself, a mental disease? God, I should just shut my trap and look it up but I'm too lazy. That's a disease too, I bet; being so lazy as to prohibit even googling "obsessing over own self's alleged craziness normal or abnormal". I bet I'd feel better if I were properly medicated.

Fuck it. I'd rather be nuts and funny than sane and boring.

Move Along

I had my second day of classes today. I want to make a big deal out of being back in college, with, like, the general population again, but I can't get worked up about it. I mean, I've been taking courses all summer, and compared with taking a collegiate level statistics course in four weeks (I made a B, by the way!), how hard could this all possibly be?

I'm taking Macroeconomics, Intro to the Catholic Church (going to a Catholic university has its...downsides...this one's being that I'm required to take so many religion and philosophy courses just to graduate that I might as well just get a minor in each), some literary criticism course, and The 19th Century Novel. They all seem more or less do-able, and I'm sure I can glean enjoyment (or at least motivation to do the course work) from each of them in some way. My impressions specifically are:

My econ professor seems pretty friendly. Of course, he's like 100 years old, but where Montgomery Burns took the...Montgomery Burns approach to aging, this guy took the Santa approach. Which is encouraging! Then again, it's economics. Then again, I took it in high school and quite enjoyed it! Then again, it's ECONOMICS.

Theology is going to be far and away the most difficult to get into: I went into the course thinking that it would be no problem to just treat it like a history lesson. I like history. I would prefer to think of it as a fiction story but then we're treading in dangerous waters: if I think of it that way, then I'll treat it that way, and if I treat it that way, I'm going to one day lose track of the fact that my prof is a priest and say something offensive, like I almost did this summer in my philosophy class:

Prof (discussing Greek myths): "So a reinterpretation of this myth would be mind-blowing to the Greek culture. Can anyone think of a myth that we all believe today that could be reinterpreted?"
Priya: "Well, the basis of Christianity?"

But I didn't say that out loud, of course. I looked up just in time and saw the sculpture of Jesus on the cross that the school has on the wall in every classroom and remembered where I was. If only I was always so lucid in the moment - I said "fuck" in front of the priest that officiated Lauren and John's wedding...in the church...standing right in front of the altar. And I didn't just say it. I said it enthusiastically. As in, "Fuck yes, there is going to be a bachelorette party."

ANYWAY. The prof (who is a priest!) had us all bow our heads and say the Lord's Prayer to start the class off. And it's been years since I've heard it, but I still knew all the words, and they were still on the tip of my tongue when I closed my eyes. But I don't think it would be respectful to say those words I don't believe in the presence of people who are actually praying just to fit in or indulge a reflex. I certainly wouldn't appreciate it if someone cheapened my prayer that way. They say that God can hear every individual voice, but I'm sure it helps the people who believe if I keep my spam prayers out of it.

So. Those were my classes yesterday. Today I had the lit-crit and 19th century novel. The literary criticism course seems like it'll be really interesting: the prof said today that it was mostly theory which...I don't know what that means, but I tend to like the theoretical more than the practical...except when we're talking about macing someone, of course. Then fuck the hypothetical. The lit-crit prof is really cute, she's a young lady from Minnesota, and though she doesn't talk like the characters in Fargo or anything, she does have that clean, healthy glow about her, and the earnest expression and demeanor that you would expect to see with someone who grew up in the midwest. People in that class are so...English Major-y though. There was a guy sitting in front of me who, when asked to introduce himself to the class, said that some people call him Brad Pitt since they get confused for each other so often. And then another girl (incidentally, sitting next to Brad Pitt, aka Greg or whatever) was using a folder with a damn Yorkie puppy on the front. And she was an grad student, so you know she was definitely not being ironic (my impression of grad students evidently being that they have no sense of humor, haha). Then again, these are my people by choice, so I guess I should just shut up and embrace it. Maybe I'll go out and get one of those flower hats that Blossom was always wearing. That seems about right. You know what, though? Maybe these people are being witty and I just can't tell because I'M the one that's a freak who has no sense of humor. Maybe I'm just threatened because I'M usually the clever one - or among the clever ones - and this is so over my head that I can't even comprehend it.

But I doubt it.

Then the 19th Century Novel. Sighhh...what to say about this class? We're going to be reading David Copperfield (not to be confused with Daniel Copperfield) IN ITS ENTIRETY, as well as Pride and Predjudice, Ruth, Madame Bovary and some Joseph Conrad thing. *shudder* Oh well, I signed up for this course because I knew it would be good for me, and I want to read all these books and understand them. And I just can't be motivated enough to go out, buy them, read them, and then peruse whatever reading guide the publishers decided to include. How do I know if my conclusions are the correct ones?

Plus, my instructor's kind of attractive.
Okay, distractingly attractive.
Obviously he's on the wrong end of 45 and is married (happily, from the five words he said about his wife. Okay, he said, "my wife likes Colin Firth" but it was the way he said it), but isn't that the point of stupid professorial dalliances? It did not help that I got there before he did and sat front and centre (BECAUSE I LIKE TO BROWN-NOSE THE PROFS, ALRIGHT), and then he kept standing really close to my desk and rocking back and forth on his heels which, you know, made me uncomfortable. If you think I'm going to refrain from referencing that Police song about the teacher who has a crush on his student, you're wrong. It's JUST LIKE that Police song about the teacher who has a crush on his student, you guys! Don't stand! Don't stand so! Don't stand so close - etc.

So I'm optimistic. About all of it. And I have the little occurrences that will keep me going along: Lauren and John's tentative visit in September, my visiting them in Austin over fall break, Thanksgiving and Christmas just around the corner. This semester will be great. I can tell already that it might be hard, but could also turn out to be really easy.
Except for maybe economics. I mean, it's ECONOMICS.

That's LA.

People want to know what living in LA is like. Mostly I tell them that it's exactly what you think it's like: the celebrities doing Just Like Us! stuff, the clubs, the Hollywood sign. But it's also like this:



Imagine 20 million copies of that blonde woman running around. You think that would be a pain in the ass, right? That's LA.

I have Issues

I have to be at school in half an hour and I just spent 15 minutes researching how to make my underarms pretty. Because I needed something else to obsess about. Does anyone else find themselves fixating on strange beauty concerns (I'm not talking about weight or acne - I mean things like anal bleaching or the fact that some people's second toes are larger than their big toes)? Anyone?

Here we go.

I just watched this Pot Psychology column and a keychain canister of pepper spray was mentioned. And I was like, "MAN! I have been meaning to get one of those forever." And then I searched for some on the internet but realized that I probably shouldn't buy weapons for myself because I get the feeling that in my case, honking profusely as a venting device for my road rage for even minor offenses (which is something I already do) would just be a gateway drug to just casually macing people who irritate me. And that's crossing the line between noise pollution and, you know, assault.
But I do want a little canister of pepper spray to go on my keychain! I know a lot of people who could use a macing.

SEE? This is the kind of thinking I was just talking about.

Separate but related issue: Buying pepper spray on the internet is hilarious, even if you only skim the surface of google results:



There's mace in a pink can, mace that looks like a pen, mace that looks like lipstick, mace that's available in a ONE POUND CAN - that's ONE POUND OF MACE, mace that's a gel that sticks to your attacker's face, mace that looks like a pager (no shit, if I saw someone carrying a pager these days I would assume it wasn't actually something else pretending to be a pager), mace that clips to your car visor, and mace that comes in a holster. In short, AMF, YO YO!

"AMF YO YO" is a phrase my parents introduced me to over our vacation in Switzerland. For those of you who were not born a hundred years ago, it's short for "Adios, Mother Fucker! You On Yo Own." Of course, my dad said it stood for "Adios MF" which fooled no one.

Back!

Hey guys! I'm back!

I can't do a full update now as the pictures we took are somewhere in the depths of my dad's camera and I don't have an SD card reader that...well, whatever. I don't have pictures yet. But I will give a quick overview of the trip now and then go back and update when all my media are ready. And then I have to go binge drink for lunch since tomorrow school starts and I won't be able to do fun stuff like that anymore.

Okay...now that I'm sitting here in front of the computer, I'm REALLY glad I kept a travel journal this time, if only for the reason of remembering exactly where I was and on which dates. Let me go dig it out and then we can start...

So we left town on the 13th...our flight landed in Amsterdam (about 10 hours) and then we took another one to Zurich (1 and 1/2 hours). I usually sleep on flights but I was strangely well-rested this time so I read ALL OF MY READING MATERIAL THAT I HAD PACKED FOR THE ENTIRE TRIP. Ahh! Zurich was nice enough, but when we landed I was so tired from traveling and sort of sick from reading on the plane (which I always do even though it makes me feel like my head is about to spin off and roll away) that I fell asleep in the car on the way to the hotel in Lucerne and didn't get much of an impression.

We spent the 14th in Lucerne as well...we set out to see this supposedly awesome cheese factory, which I was stoked about because 1. I'm a nerd, and 2. I was hoping they'd give out samples. Unfortunately it turned out to be more of a display than a factory tour, so we came away from that tourist trap with the idea that Frommer's writers probably get bribed a ton to put stuff in the book and give it more than one star.
Then we saw the Crying Lion memorial, which Mark Twain described as the saddest memorial in the world - I'd have to agree, because while other monuments certainly commemorate similarly sad events (like the Vietnam wall in Washington DC), they don't actually evoke any specific emotion themselves. Maybe I'm not making any sense. It was erected to commemorate the massacre of the Swiss Guard while defending the Tuileries in Paris in 1792 during the French Revolution.
We went to see a dinner show that night that was ostensibly about Swiss culture, but really we ate a bunch of mediocre fondue and stared at this 50 year old woman yodeling. The Alpenhorn demonstration was cool though.
On our way back to the hotel, we wandered through this fancy store and discovered that Rolexes in Switzerland are like 40% more expensive than they are in the states. Apparently it's done to protect overseas markets, but I still don't get it. 40% strikes me as not just protection - it's more like murdering your home market and burying it under Giants stadium.

On the 15th, we drove to Grindelwald and stayed at the Grand Hotel Regina, which reminded me a lot of the hotel in The Shining. Seriously, it was creepy. I woke up at like 4AM because of jet lag and watched like a million different versions of coverage of Michael Phelps winning his 6th gold medal, all in German, French or Italian. That wasn't frustrating AT ALL.
We were going to go up Jungfrau mountain that night, but it was raining and cold so we decided to fuck it and go tomorrow.

The 16th was better weather - Michael Phelps won his 7th gold medal and we went up Jungfrau which...well...it was a mountain, just like you'd expect. This is where I'm supposed to wax poetic about the clear blue Swiss sky and almost vertical Swiss meadows with fat brown Swiss cows and stuff but I'm usually not all that impressed by nature. I'm more impressed by stuff that humans do...on purpose. There was an "Ice Palace" at the top, which was cool - basically someone carved a tunnel through this massive glacier and you could walk through it. Even the floors were ice. The top of Jungfrau is apparently the tallest place in Europe - even taller than the Matterhorn!

We crossed the Italian border and went to Lake Como on the 17th and heard this HILARIOUS conversation at dinner, between a customer whose first language was Arabic and a waiter whose first language was Italian:

Customer (indicating menu): "What is...mussel?"
Waiter: "It is, how do you say...like a fish? But with a cover."
Customer: "Oh. A clam."

That's right, IT'S LIKE A FISH, BUT WITH A COVER. You heard it here first, folks.

On the 18th we drove to Milan and shopped a ton. We saw The Duomo, which featured a statue of St.Bartholemew after he had been tortured by whomever. For the uninitiated, St.B had all his skin peeled off while he was still alive, so the statue was of a dude with no skin, whose empty skin husk was draped around his body like a cloak. And that's just as creepy as it sounds.
Milan was surprisingly dead: apparently all the Italians were on vacation as well. And it was Berlin fashion week so I assume all the people I expected to see were in Germany.
This is also where I learned that the Four Seasons charges $40 for internet access in your hotel room. FORTY BUCKS. So that explains why I haven't been updating: ain't no blog post I write worth forty damn dollars.

More shopping in Milan on the 19th. I bought a Miu Miu jacket and a pair of shoes from the same. I guess I'm turning into kind of a whore for that house but I can't help it: I'm gay for girly clothes with simple lines that make you look completely overpriveleged, I guess.
I also see in my journal that I made a note here about wondering whether Anna Wintour was in Berlin or Beijing (since she's BFF or something with Roger Federer, who was playing on the Swiss tennis team, and can often be seen courtside at his matches).

We left Milan on the 20th for Tasch, which was a small town at the base of the Matterhorn, back in Switzerland. During our drive to Tasch, we stopped at a small roadside establishment whose proprietors spoke only in German. Their son had some English learnin' so we ended up staying to eat some pastries and hot chocolate, and when I went to the bathroom I saw that there was a poem in German printed out and laminated on the back of the stall door. I wish I had taken a pen and piece of paper in there, but...I don't have that kind of foresight. All I can do is guess that it had to do with "if it's brown, flush it down/ if it's yellow, let it mellow" since it seemed to be that kind of place.

On the 21st we drove from Tasch through Zermatt and took some gondola-type things up the side of a mountain to get a closer look at the Matterhorn's peak. We ate some INCREDIBLE food in Zermatt. The Swiss love their macaroni and cheese (and now so do we) - who would have thought?
Then we drove to Geneva and spent the night there.

We drove from Geneva to Zurich on the 22nd and saw the Red Cross museum, which was pretty much like a Holocaust museum in its scope and material. Depressing. But then we drove further and saw an ACTUAL cheese factory! I was stoked about seeing the process in person...and it's exactly like it looks on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, for those of you who are curious.
My brother and I also watched some snippits of the Opening Ceremonies, which were just as mindblowing as everyone has said. I frowned at the little singing girl though. SHAME ON YOU FOR LIP SYNCHING! and shame on the other girl for having snaggly teeth or whatever her problem was. And shame on everyone for the CGI fireworks. And also for all the human rights violations and shit. Shame. But the torch-lighting bit was undeniably incredible.

On the 23rd we drove to the airport and our flight, which was supposed to go from Zurich to Amsterdam, was delayed by like an hour because it was raining so we were going to miss our connection from Amsterdam to Houston. So then we ran all over the airport and eventually caught a flight to Paris, and then another from Paris to Houston. Somewhere in there my suitcase got lost (I'm on hold with Air France right now), which explains why I'm typing this in a bathing suit. THIS IS SO AWESOME, and is making me angry and stressed (since all my good clothes were in that suitcase) and probably why I woke up today with a zit that casts its own shadow. Because I'm going to have to wear a bathing suit and cutoffs to school tomorrow. And I know I've been telling everyone I'm not stressed about first impressions or anything because what do I care about what sophomores think, but COME ON. THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT.

And that is the story of my trip to Switzerland. I now leave you to your regularly scheduled case of ennui that summer is over and now you have to get a haircut and a real job.

Switzerland

I'm about to finish packing for the Switzerland trip. I'll be gone until Aug 23rd, so try not to make a big mess around here while I'm gone. If you're good, I'll bring you all fuzzy nordic sweaters.


Love,
-Priya

Of Course

Time since I talked to Chris and physically dragged out an admission from him that the pictures from Lauren's wedding wouldn't be ready until "mid-week": 4 days

Time since I checked with Lauren via Facebook whether she'd heard anything about the pictures from her wedding: 3 days (DURING HER HONEYMOON)

Time since I saw Lauren tonight and asked her for the first time if she had any information about when the pictures from her wedding were going to be published: 6 hours

Time since I saw Lauren tonight and asked her for the last time if she had any extra information about when the pictures from her wedding (ANY pictures!) were going to be published: 1.5 hours

Time since I most recently checked Chris's website to see if he'd posted any pictures yet: 5 minutes

Shopping Memo

Priya: "Dad, did you get the memo that we're going shopping for Switzerland tomorrow at noon?"

Dad: "Uh...I should be home by then, yeah."

Priya: "Where are you going?"

Dad: "I have to work."

Priya: "Oh, work. Work is for - "

Dad: *warning glance*

Priya: "Work is for people who have jobs."

I should start eating at Fatty McTubb's House of Lard

You know you're getting fat and/or lazy when you're hanging around in your jean cutoffs and suddenly you're so uncomfortable that the only recourse is to switch to sweatpants.
I thought utter, unbridled dependence on elastic-based bottoms was something that came to you later in life, like wisdom or cellulite, but apparently not.

Holy Shirts and Pants

There's seriously nothing like the feeling you get when you lead a group of people into a bar and it looks dead and horrible, and you spend, like, an hour trying to convince them that it is not, in fact, dead and horrible, and that the 5 bucks cover they'd have to pay would be worth it, and nobody believes you at all, and then you finally manage to drag them in and IT FUCKING RULES AND THEY LOVE YOU AND THINK THAT YOU ARE AN AWESOME PERSON FOR CONVINCING THEM TO DO THIS AND WE SHOULD DO THIS EVERY WEEKEND. Oh, not to mention the added cool factor of random people you went to high school with recognizing you and knowing the people you used to hang out with.

So that was last night, and the hangover I'm nursing (the indignity of growing old - I had THREE DRINKS) is pretty much worth it.

He's so hot, he's making me sexist. Bitch.

So yesterday I convinced Marion to see The Mummy: Curse of the Dragon Emperor with me. It was a pretty bad movie, like Star Wars but marketed towards people who, let's face it, should know better: lots of stupid one liners -

Tommy: "I HATE MUMMIES! THEY NEVER FIGHT FAIR!"

Rick: "HERE WE GO AGAIN!"

Tommy: "You guys are like Mummy Magnets!"

Rick: "We're all going to die! AAHAHAHAHAH! WHY AM I LAUGHING!?"

Eric (extremely casually): "Hey, Mom? I'm sorry I blamed you for raising the Dragon Emperor."

- and lots of wipes to indicate scene changes. Like we need visual reminders that when we see Brendan Fraser get into a car and then, seconds later, get out of a car that OMG HE WENT SOMEPLACE ELSE AND NOW SOMETHING ELSE IS GOING TO HAPPEN.

AND it was bad because the plot was so obvious and boring: The Dragon Emperor wants immortality, sends best friend General Ming to find the famed witch of the Himalayas to bring him the secret to eternal life.

After we had heard that much, I made the following prediction: General Ming brings her back, and she's totes hot. So Dragon Emperor wants her for himself. Ming and the witch find the secret of eternal life, and they fall in love. Then they come back to the Dragon Emperor and tell him they have the secret. As a reward, they would like to get married. The Dragon Emperor is pissed, so he kills Ming and the witch, and he himself dies of old age.

Which is more or less what happens. Oops! Spoilers!

I was also kind of mad that they replaced Rachel Weisz with Maria Bello. Weisz and Fraser had what is known in the movie biz as "chemistry", whereas Bello and Fraser seem to have what is known as "professional courtesy towards one another". Maybe it would have helped if Maria was pretty. Oooh, low blow. Pardon me.

The movie ends with Tommy clutching a giant diamond to his chest and saying, "I'm going someplace where there are NO MUMMIES! Peru, here I come!" And then, as his car drives off into the horizon and the screen fades to black, a little text epilogue appears that says, "Shortly after, mummies were discovered in Peru." HERE WE GO AGAIN!!

The whole movie was pretty cringe-worthy. But, as I Twittered last night, I saw Brendan Fraser shirtless twice, so I got what I came for.



Marion thinks this is a terribly goofy picture of him, but I don't. He could "inspire" me any day.

Still More Ancellary Conversations About Lauren's Wedding

Kyle: "I'm wuh-ruhl-dy."

Priya: "What?"

Kyle: "Worldly."

Priya: "Why did you put in like three extra syllables?"

Kyle: "Because I was hanging out with your southern hick friends last weekend and I like the way they talk."

Priya: "My friends aren't hicks!"

Kyle: "And that hick preacher."

Priya: "He wasn't too hickish, was he?"

Kyle: "HE SAID 'Y'ALL' IN A HOUSE OF THE LORD."

Ohmigod, Shoes, Quebec, Switzerland

You guys, I love shoes. I do! I'm not (too) ashamed to say it. I have recently had the good fortune of being able to go a little wild with my shoe acquisition and now I am faced with a quandary.

I need more events to which I may wear my new fancy shoes, but none of my friends like to dress up much. One one hand, neither do I, really. On the other hand, sometimes I do. Maybe I'll convince Lauren to go to a fancy restaurant with me...WHEN SHE LIVES IN AUSTIN, *sniff sniff*

Speaking of Austin, I was planning on going to see a screening of Jurassic Park there with Marion and staying at Lauren and John's...but I can't, since I'll be in fucking Montreal at a wedding (and even if I weren't going to Montreal that weekend, I'd be going to Seattle for a different wedding). GODDAMN MONTREAL. ALWAYS FUCKIN' WITH MY PLANS. So now I can't go to Austin and I think I just broke a little bit inside. I would go one of the other weekends in August, but one of them just passed, and the other two will be spent in Switzerland. DAMN YOU, FUCKIN' SWITZERLAND.

I just went from blissfully frothy (prancing around my bedroom in a new pair of Marc Jacob heels that came in the mail the other day, breaking them in) to murderously frustrated in like two seconds. Now I'm eyeing the spike of my heel and gauging what kind of damage it could do to Montreal's eyeball, or the back of Switzerland's head.
Hey, just 'cause they're neutral doesn't mean I have to be.

Oh, that's exactly what it means? Fine. I will stare angrily in their direction. No no! Not threateningly, ANGRILY.

Role Models Trailer

Man. I've been a multimedia whore lately! Oh well. WATCH THIS!



Love it. Unquestioningly.

WORST BRIDESMAID EVER

You may have read a comment I made about some bridesmaids being better than others, and wondered what I was talking about. How can some bridesmaids be better and some be worse? Well, I'll show you how.

Some bridesmaids can spend a lot of money making the best bachelorette party possible with the least information available, involving a limo, karaoke, free booze, fun activities, and hilarious wall decorations (famous bachelors through time, anyone?), and be totally fun and do everything they can to make everyone else have a good time,



and SOME bridesmaids can bitch about everything and then do this for the entirety of the karaoke, leave early, and never be seen again!



Yeah, she's plugging her ears.

Umm...Is it horrible that I think this is totally awesome?

So you all know by now about McCain's campaign commerical that sandwiched some images of Obama between Britney Spears and Paris Hilton, which evidently means that he was trying to tell us that Obama's just a talentless-hack/celebrity. So today Funny or Die posted Paris Hilton's response:

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

I aws fully prepared to give this an EPIC FAIL, but I think Paris is actually...umm...showing that she has a sense of humor about herself or something!? I'm reserving judgement on my hatered of her in general, but free pass on this ad. You're Hot, Paris. But just this once.

All That Wedding Talk

Priya: ...you know, when we get married -

Kyle: - which won't be for a long, LONG TIME...

Priya: Way to crush my dreams.

Kyle: Oh, please. I'M the one who suggested it in the first place, because I love you sooooo much, and you were like, "FAIL".

The Midwestern Teen Sex Show

Sometimes on the MTSS website, the creators of the show post questions and let the commenters sound off on various topics. It's so teenagers can voice their concerns and talk about their experiences and hear what other teens and adults have to say about it. I guess it's not helpful in the medical advice sense ("what does it mean if [list of symptoms here]?), but it is helpful more in the personal advice sense ("what do you do when your libido is affecting the way you act and it drives you crazy?" No, I did not post that one myself. But seriously, what do you do?). In one of these comments, a girl posts about how she has sex with random guys a lot.

"I lost my virginity to a boy whom I was extremely intoxicated with'" she writes, and I get confused by what she means. That's an awkward way to put it, but okay. AND THEN I REALIZE THAT SHE MEANS INFATUATED. AAAGHHHHHH.

Anyway, props to the MTSS moderators for not banning her from the site, or at least giving her a strict schooling on ending sentences with prepositions and/or a swift thump on the head with a dictionary. I wish there was an easy fix for "having a two word 'vocabulary'".

Lauren's Wedding Weekend Pictures 2

So I found the picture I was talking about earlier of the single ladies catching the bouquet...Shelley looks pretty enthusiastic, but Jordan and Marion are both gesturing for Lauren to toss it to me, and I'm thinking, "if she throws it to me I am going to frown."



That's me, third from the right. Black dress, insouciant expression.

Ringing Endorsements of Chilling

priya says:
so what are you doing?

Kyle says:
nothing.
Kyle says:
just relaxing.

priya says:
yeah.

Kyle says:
it's pretty cool.

priya says:
yeah it is

Kyle says:
hahahaha.
Kyle says:
us and our ringing endorsements of chilling.

Sorry for all the posts but...I'm stupid.

Here's the trailer for Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist.



I really want to like this movie (Michael Cera! And that girl from 40 Year Old Virgin - the one that made me say, "that girl is SO CUTE, where did she go?"), but the entertainment industry is making it SO HARD. Stop with the orange hand-lettering, for the love of Jesus. Also, that Jesus joke wasn't all that funny. "He's taller in real life?" I hate you.

Silly

I told you a while ago that I surreptitiously packed your blue polo in amongst my stuff last month because it smelled the best and was the softest out of all the shirts you wore. I meant to tell you this weekend that I also have a pair of your boxers (the orange, blue, and white plaid ones) but that was unintentional. I meant to give them back when you visited but decided not to at the last minute for some reason.

Lauren's Wedding Pictures 1

So far the only pictures that have surfaced of this weekend are through Facebook friends (Chris's website, though more professional, has been more...let's say...RELAXED about its posting schedules), but we'll do what we can with what we have for now.


Lauren at the Bachelorette Party.


Various Bachelorettes...and Kyle.


More singing at the Bachelorette party.
Oh, side note, when we told David F that we were going to be at a Bachelorette party this weekend, he thought we meant that we were going to have a screening party for the SHOW The Bachelorette, and wanted to know why he couldn't come as well. And when we were like, "Ummm...because you're not a girl?" He said, "GUYS CAN LIKE BACHELORETTE TOO." So you can imagine the uncrossing of wires that resulted this morning when he told me what he was talking about. The point of this story: pop culture is getting ridiculous.


And here's a picture of Lauren at with her veil on, which displays her unfathonable tendency to get red-eye at all angles, despite the fact that she has dark green/brown eyes. Ummm...


Lauren and John arrive at the reception, looking radiant.


Lauren and John start the greeting line, or whatever it's called. There was an awkward moment here where the DJ was like, "aaaannnd...start greeting!" and nobody knew what the fuck he was talking about so we just stood around and Lauren and John waved at us happily but in a kind of confused way.


Lauren and John's first dance. *WEEP*


John chose a bread pudding to be the "groom's cake" and I was kind of skeptical, but oh my god I should shut the fuck up more often because that was AMAZING.


Bouquet toss. Earlier I found a picture of the group of girls standing behind her getting ready to catch the bouquet and all of us looked so unimpressed. I'm trying to find it again but somehow it's disappeared. Hmm.


Yeah, this song struck fear into the hearts of everyone over 30. I mentioned that before but people were actually covering their gaping mouths and pointing. I mean, usually people are just kind of disapproving...even when we were in middle school and that horrible "grinding" shit started happening all over the place, adults just kind of looked away and shrugged. But you point finger guns in the air and scream BANG BANG BANG BANG! and suddenly it's the end of civilization. Don't look at us now, oldies; you let us grind when we were 12 - that you didn't see this coming is just evidence of your carelessness.


Here's Shelley (one of the bridesmaids) and Lauren. They both look great, and Shelley was one of the best bridesmaids (other than, you know, the obvious front-runners...*meaningful look at Marion*). She was fun and complimented my Risky Business outfit later in the evening.

Speaking of which, where are all the pics from the after-reception party? Excuse me, I need to go make a request on Facebook.

Internet, Fast

I just checked the wedding pics website...the event is still not ready. Hopefully this means that Chris is diligently checking every picture so he can photoshop out any extra chins I may have acquired through unfortunate face positioning. Yes, I am checking obsessively because I need a new picture for my Facebook profile; I haven't changed it since I was 18. I haven't gained or lost much weight since then, and people are constantly asking me what grade I'm in (umm...17th?), but I still feel like this is bordering on false advertising. So, Chris: I appreciate your enthusiasm for your job, and I especially appreciate that this means you'll be ensuring that my upper arms don't look too chunky, but I DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS. The suspense is literally killing me.

In other news, I just got an email from Google Positions. I shudder to imagine what information that missive could possibly have in store for me.

No, THIS is what the internet is for.

You may have noticed that in the left column of this page I have provided some links for you to visit if you tire of the non-tent (Get it? Not content? See what I did there?) I provide here. One of them is to The Superficial, which is a gossip page I go to pretty frequently because I am an absolute whore for meaningless tidbits about people I actually kind of hate. I thrive on "and here's a picture of Jennifer Aniston out and about in Los Angeles today, shopping in Melrose...you can see her nipples through her shirt!"
Anyway, The Superficial has a sister website called Geekologie.com, which is all about random gadgets that get invented and released on places like QVC. On Friday he posted these old videos of Mike Rowe (current host of Dirty Jobs on the Discovery Channel) when he used to sell crap on QVC. All three of these are (as the Geekologie.com writer put it) on your MUST MUST MUST watch list.



You know, as soul-destroying as this job must have been, I get the impression that Mike Rowe was actually enjoying himself in these. I can think of a few reasons for that:
1. Mike Rowe is incredibly stupid,
2. Mike Rowe has an exquisitely honed sense of the ironic,
3. Mike Rowe is one of the great actors of our time.

My money is on a blend of 2 and 3.

Correct Answer: Being Kind to Others. I will also accept: Common Decency

Dad: See what happens when you do something nice for others? What makes the world go 'round, kids?

Devin: Oh, I know this...umm...

Priya: Fat bottomed girls.

Devin: I KNEW THAT! Ugh.

Dad: ...

HA, or: A Not-So Startling Realization

Pretty much everyone who reads this blog was at the wedding this weekend, so I really only need to write the following things right now (further discussion is definitely forthcoming, but I'm pretty drained of the psychic energy I'd need to put everything into words at the moment):

1. Everyone over 30 looking horrified as we mimed shooting each other on the dance floor during M.I.A's "Paper Planes"
2. Pretty much everything that happened at the reception, really
3. CrippledFuckTowels.com, StickyVag.com, and StickyDick.com. None of that .org or .net shit. And everything else that happened in that room after the reception.
4. Being totally brave during the wedding ceremony until...Well, basically until I got to the front of the church and looked out at John's mom. And then crying basically from that moment on, including a little bit during picture-taking (Jesus God I hope my face wasn't totally disgusting or anything), and then a little bit at the reception, and then a little bit today. All in all I did pretty well...CONSIDERING LAUREN GOT FUCKING MARRIED, YOU GUYS.

That's all I can really think of. I will go check the photographer's website obsessively this week and as soon as he puts up pictures I'll post them here for you to see.

Stupid Pamela Anderson

Pamela Anderson has been bombarding - yeah, BOMBARDING - me with advertising for her...Reality TV show? Documentary? Movie? Not sure. Anyway, some kind of film project about her life is being released, the title of which is "Girl On the Loose".

I'm sorry, but anyone over 40 is no longer allowed to refer to themselves as being "a girl". You have reached sexual maturity and it is no longer funny or cute for you to speak of yourself in the diminuitive 3rd person. PERIOD. Holy shit. I can't believe I even have to say it.

I'm afraid for Pam's future, really. I mean, for someone whose self identity seems so deeply rooted in sex, I wonder what it's going to be like for her to go through menopause, or for her to one day wake up and be 75. I know that I'm not particularly hung up on whatever facial symmetry I posess (though I try to make the experience of gazing upon my visage as nondamaging as possible for others) and it's hard enough for me to grasp the idea that one day I'll be using wrinkle cream for something other than prophylactic purposes.