Random MySpace message sent to me today:

"hello wonderful girl
with you mmet and make friends want
greets form turkey and love"

Should I respond something like,

"hello wonderful boy
with you me no friends want
another boy me like.

That should translate well for him, right?

Chicago Tribune - "Sheboygan Wants To Be Big Cheese in Space"

Anytime my hometown makes news, it usually makes the "Odd News" section and cracks me up, but this made front page of the Trib today. My hometown has festival days devoted to German meat products and now it wants to be the next Cape Canaveral. You gotta be kidding me. It's like my hometown is a 6-year-old and just annouced, "I want to be an astronaut, mommy!"

I wonder if this will be as successful as the proposed Bratwurst Museum was about 10 years ago.

I love you, Sheboygan.

This news about James Frey admitting he lied makes me so fucking happy, you have no idea. It's like Christmas in my mind.

Thanks to Freakgirl for being my Santa Claus and keeping me posted.

A Moment in Bed with Megs

:: stretch ::

:: shove ::

:: thud ::

"Mew?"

"Mmmmuh? Oh, sorry, Wally."

zzzzz...

W.W.K.D.?

My friend, Geoff, (who I met the other weekend at Old School Records) and I went to the Checkerboard Lounge in Hyde Park last night and heard Dee Alexander (pictured) sing. You know when someone looks attractive, but then gets on stage and becomes a billion times more hot? That's Dee. Of course, my karaoke experience crooning Dolly Parton's "9 to 5," gave me a taste of being longed for by old, fat, slightly odor ridden male bar patrons, so I can relate.

All of her songs were about longing and lust and as she was getting up for her second set, Geoff turned to me and said, "Seduce us, Dee. Seduce us now."

Meow.

As much as I typically hate snow and the idiots that I am forced to drive with in it, I am comforted by the sounds of snow plows driving down my street as I get ready to go to bed.

Tonight's going away party for my friend was nice -- everyone came out to wish her well. She said a few words, and broke down into tears when she told us she's been sick with this for 14 years. That's half of her entire life she's had an eating disorder. She's 5'6" and probably weighs about 88 lbs. The self-loathing that must be involved is too sad and awful to think about, because she really is such a sweet person. I just want to take that dark mass away from her and feel helpless knowing that I can't. Such an awful disease.

I hope she finds peace.

Funnier things to write about tomorrow...

Word.

Special thanks to the Rockers for helping me celebrate my promotion (and some other stuff that hopefully I can talk about in a few weeks) with cocktails. I can always count on you guys.

This weekend's plans include going to a going-away party for a friend of mine who has a severe eating disorder and finally getting treatment. It's been a long road for this girl, so I was elated to hear this news and am hopeful for her. Not to make light of the situation, but what kind of hors d'oeuvre do you bring to THAT party? I think I might just get her a journal or flowers instead.

Tomorrow night, I am going to a party for a couple who just got their washer/dryer installed. Seriously, any excuse, people. Apparently there was scaffolding involved, so this better be one hell of a washer/dryer system.

Sunday night, I'm going out with my new friend, Geoff, to check out some jazz since he's an aficionado, and I needed an excuse to practice my jazz hands.

This post goes out Brent.

Four Jobs You've Had In Your Life:

1. Senior Account Executive (current)
2. Assistant Account Executive (Detroit)
3. GAP employee (part-time, college)
4. Dishwasher - Italian restaurant (first job ever)

Worst job ever was working in the maintenance dept. at the college my dad works at. (You'd think I'd get an "easy job," there, but no.) I had to clean the dead flies off of the overhead fluorescent lights and once had to help move a mounting horse...which is the apparatus that horses, um, mount. And hump. There's humping and mounting involved.

Four Movies You Could Watch Over and Over Again:

1. "The Blues Brothers"
2. "Goonies"
3. "The Breakfast Club"
4. "My Girl" (shut up)

Four Places You've Lived:

1. Illinois
2. Michigan
3. England
4. Wisconsin "The Motherland"

Four TV Shows You Love To Watch:

1. "Sunday Morning on CBS (with Charles Osgood)"
2. "The Office"
3. "The OC"
4. "Laguna Muthafucking Beach"
I watch a lot of MTV Programming. Sadly.

Four Places You've Been On Vacation:

1. Australia
2. Kenya/French Riviera (Spring Break '98)
3. Europe (9 countries)
4. Caribbean
I hate talking about that, 'cause I feel like I sound like some princess asshole. My parents taught me that you can't learn everything in a book. I know I'm very, very fortunate.

Four Blogs You Visit Daily

1. Perez Hilton (who I think may be getting sued by Colin Farrell at the moment, so I think his site is down.)
2. Pink is the New Blog
3. Damn near all that are in my "Blogs You Should Know" section (to the left)
4. Google

Four Of Your Favorite Foods:

1. Hot Wings
2. Beer
3. Pizza
4. Anything fried
How am I not a truck driver? The sad thing is, I haven't been eating any of that crap much lately.

Four Albums You Can't Live Without:

1. The White Stripes - I can't pinpoint just one...
2. Betty Rocker's Greatest Hits (released yearly)
3. Mr. Rocker's Greatest Hits (released yearly)
4. The song that is currently on repeat in my head, so I can get it out of my head.
There's a lot of albums I thought of that could easily fit this list, but these were the ones I thought of first.

Four Vehicles You've Owned:
1. 1989 Ford Tempo (with the one grey door)
2. 1999 Mercury Cougar (Christine)
3. 2005 Volvo S40 (Red)
I've only owned 3 so far (knock on wood)

Four People To Be Tagged:

1. Thode
2. Betty Rocker
3. Freakgirl
4. Tequila Red

What I thought was going to be a quiet weekend (dread), ended up being quite busy and very fun. Friday night, I went out with my friend, Kelly, for a few Cock-tails (Kelly says it with the best Chicago accent) at Doc Ryan's, while old men went back and forth between watching The Blackhawks game and then leering at us. Good times.

Saturday, I picked up Betty Rocker at The Beacon and we headed over to The Old School Records, where the owners (so, so nice) were having a party inside the store. Carla didn't realize that the invitation said, "Couples Party," until we were leaving for the party. So, when we arrived, I was half-expecting people to come up to us and say, "I totally support your union. Right on," but it didn't happen. Met some really nice people - some that reminded me a little bit of this character sitting with John Cusack in the movie "High Fidelity." Slightly monotone sentences like, "They kinda sound like (names a Turkish Acid Rock band from the '60s), although their second album is better. You'd really like them, I bet." In my head, I found it highly entertaining.

Sunday, again, The Rockers couldn't shake me (I'm like their adopted love child from Norway), and we first went to another Doc Ryan's in Elmhurst to watch the Bears in the first half, and then over to their friends' house to watch the second half. While watching the game, I was able to recognize the Bears that I've always known - loveable losers. Kinda sad, but inside, I was glowing for we won't have to endure a "SuperBowl Shuffle - '06 remix." Be thankful.

Today, I got an email from this guy I went to high school with. We keep in touch every now and then, and it's always nice to hear from him.

However when he wrote,

"I can tell from your last email that your doing well in Chicago. Do you miss Michigan at all? (editor's note: no. no. no. and no.) It seems like you have yourself a pretty happy life as it is, with a good job, good lifestyle, etc. Actually surprised you aren't in a relationship more seriously than you are."

Ow. Either way you look at it - "You're so great, I don't understand why you haven't met someone," or "What's wrong with you?" just plain sucks. Meh.

Weekend plans include watching the Bears' game. I am such a Midwesterner when it comes to football. There's something about beer, wings, an afternoon with friends that I just love. Oh, and the game, but whatevs.

Immediately after I listened to "Larry King Live," I went to The Beacon to meet up with my friends, Ken, Carla, (Mr. and Mrs. Rocker) and Tim, and here is our tribute to Mr. James Frey:







What a fucking LIAR.

General commentary on the interview:
- What a disappointment to hear Random House isn't offering refunds on the book, as previously published on MSNBC.com and CNN.com.
- Mr. Frey explained that only 18 pages of 432 were in question. However, in my opinion, about 414 of those pages are him explaining his feelings or descriptions. Nothing that would actually require fact-checking.
- He masks behind the fact that his memory was subjective when he wrote it - however, he claimed on "Oprah" and "The Today Show" that he wrote the book based on the truth, police and treatment center reports (which is the reason why I read it).
- He claims that he let the producers of "Oprah" know that he embellished, which he never actually stated on the show. I wouldn't have purchased his book if he had claimed that.
- Tim (pictured) has already read, "My Friend, Leonard", and says there's no disclaimer ahead of it, as Mr. Frey claims there is, of course, prior to these allegations.

So disappointing on so many levels. Kudos to Larry King for asking some tougher-than-I-thought-he-would questions.

Pardon my French, but what the fuck is this?



According to Amazon, "It is your basic teenage angst tale, dealing with Bambi coping with his Father, the Great Prince, and his finding of a new mate while an orphaned Bambi comes to terms with his Mother's death."

His mother died in 1942, when the original was released. Shouldn't Bambi be over this by now?

This past weekend, I called up my ex, Bob, and invited him to dinner to celebrate his upcoming birthday. He's turning 42, and there's something about the idea of him sitting alone on his birthday that bothered me (although I'm sure he'd find some sort of debauchery to get into). Plus he's genuinely a nice guy to hang out with every now and again, so no harm, no foul, no weird hidden agenda.

I remember driving with him (this was after we had broken up) and having the discussion of marriage (in general, obviously not between us) and he said he doubted he would ever remarry. I asked him, "Well, who's gonna take care of you when you're old?" And he responded in with his heavy Chicago accent, "I don't know, some old broad."

Still cracks me up.

I'm taking him to Hemmingway's Bistro in Oak Park and then we're gonna kick it at Rose's Lounge for $1 PBR drafts and have him turn 42 in style.

Last night, after I found out the news about James Frey (see below), I went on Oprah.com and started leaving posts about the news all over her little book club chat rooms for my amusement. Not surprising, all of the messages have been deleted by Oprah's system administrators. It seems Big Brother does not want to upset The Oprah.

You know you've hit some sort of low when you've been banned from Oprah.com. Maybe James Frey can help me out. Oh, wait, he can't because he's a TOTAL ASSFACE.

Ugh, I can't believe I wasted all that time reading a fabricated memoir - James Frey's "A Million Little Pieces." I was recommending this book to people, telling them "Forget it's an Oprah book, it's great"...ugh. After this shit hits the fan, I wonder if James will be hittin' the bottle again.

Check out The Smoking Gun's expose.

For shame!

My parents are heading to Vegas this weekend to celebrate their 35th wedding anniversary. My mom is dragging my dad to see Celine Dion.

In unrelated news, the Porn convention is going on in Vegas this weekend.

Current mood: Disturbed.

My giant giraffe neck is still a bit sore. It makes driving more of a joy because instead of simply turning my head to ensure I don't careen into the car the next to me, I basically have to turn my whole upper torso. Hott. I'm going to end up in some weird neck brace, aren't I? And then I'll be forced to wear a sweater that has a little girl in a skirt on it so I can flip up the skirt up to wipe my mouth off after drinking from the water fountain. Waaaaah.

Last night, I got together with a girl who I studied abroad with in England back in '98. Her name is also Megan, she also has blond hair, blue eyes, majored in advertising and went to Marquette. Kinda creepy, but luckily we did not explode upon our fingers touching.

In England, Megan once got wasted on a pint-a-pub crawl, fell, and cracked her head open on the sidewalk. This is probably called "Sunday Night" to most people in England, but we weren't so familiar with the head trama. She was bleeding from the head kinda bad, but we figured if we put pressure on it, the bleeding would eventually stop. This led to a someone actually hitting Megan on the head instead of holding the compress down, which was NOT HELPING. Finally, we were all looking at one another to figure out who was less drunk to hail a cab and take her to the hospital. She ended up getting staples in her head that night, and from that point on, that became her nickname, Staples. Which made it a lot easier to call us apart.

I haven't spoken to her in probably 2 years, so it was nice to rehash wholesome moments like those at the Abbey wine bar last night.

Ahhhh...education abroad.

So if Paula Abdul married Kareem Abdul Jabbar and she kept her last name, her name would be Paula Abdul Abdul Jabbar.

I just took 4 milligrams of muscle relaxers.

These are my thoughts.

Crink.

Neck.

Pain.

Ow.

I guess it's time to emerge from my New Year's hangover and greet 2006. It already has started off with a wheezing hack when Brent subjected me to listening to K-Fed's "PopoZão." (Granted, I asked for it). I hate that I know how to spell PopoZão, and even worse, that I know it means "Big Ass" in Portuguese.

Po! Po! Po! Po! PopoZão! PopoZão!

The sound makes me want to kill small animals. Not you, though, Wally.

I did have a lovely New Years Eve. A good family friend, Kat, (man, I've known her for nearly 20 years) came into town and we got gussied up and headed to a friend's 30th Birthday/New Year's Eve party at the Big House on Clybourn. There was no table dancing, but I did stand on a ledge and lip sync to Guns 'n Roses. And let me tell you, a'many a'men fell in love with me after they saw my sweet air guitar skills.

I know what boys like. I know what guys want. And that is sweet air guitar skillz.

Anyway, welcome 2006. Now, if you'lll excuse me, I'm going to go and light the candles to my Brett Favre shrine and pray for his 2006 season return. The state of Wisconsin is mourning.