Wham! Bam! Thanks for letting me look at your clam!

Saturday, March 26th in the Year of Our Lord 2011

I'd like to preface this post with an addition to a new phrase Candace and I have coined.  Another term for "clam bake" could be after one is done working out.  I thought of that this morning when I was brushing my teeth.  Needless to say, toothpaste residue is now all over my bathroom mirror and my shirt is bleached from the toothpaste.  Skyping at 2 in the morning is very beneficial for creative ideas; to catching up on sleep, not so much.

I don't really want to know why they're doing this.
I just know I want in on it.

Another thing I'd like to introduce is what I'm going to call all of you loyal readers [A/N: You're growing in size!  Thank you!] Candace keeps calling this my Bloggity, so of course we HAD to come up with a name for my Bloggity followers.  So, without further ado, I bring you...The Bloggity Battalion!  

Your intensity thrills me.
''A new update?!  Bitch, get me to a computer STAT."



Being a part of the Bloggity Battalion [A/N: That looks like "bat a lion", an activity I'd advise you not to do if you enjoy living...] is a huge responsibility.  Just think of what Uncle Ben said to Peter Parker...because I can't think of the actual quote and Googling it will just take up valuable time because then I'll start to look for funny pictures of Spiderman and eventually watch clips of the horrible Broadway musical and laugh when I see the actors fall from their harnesses, straight into the audience.

Sadly, the firemen with the trampoline were just five feet to the left...

We've come up with nicknames for you all.  Bloggity Bitches and Bloggity Bros.  If you have any other suggestions, please leave me a comment.  I'm serious.  I've been waiting and waiting for someone to write a comment. 

If you don't comment, I won't dig these random kids (I've kidnapped) out.
High tide is quickly approaching.
You know what you have to do.
And...BREAK!

Why is it when you're all bundled up in your winter jacket (that you don't understand why you have to wear it when it is obviously SPRING out and there's a foot and a half of snow on the ground) that someone comments on if you've lost weight or not?  Is it just my family that does this?  I went to go visit my gramma this afternoon and my aunt Cindy asked me if I lost weight as I was zipping on my thirtieth layer of protective clothing to battle the weather. 

Aunt Cindy: "Meggers, did you lose weight?"

[A/N: My family has the god damn weirdest nicknames for me.  I'm Bacon Pizza, Mrs. Rammer, Meg Speg, Tipper Gore and Megs.  I have a name, people!  USE. IT.]

*Glancing down at my Stay-Puff marshmallow body*

Me: "...sure, let's go with that."

Aunt Cindy: "It looks like your butt is smaller."

*Removes car keys that have magically been placed between my fingers like some sort of an automotive-esque Wolverine*

Me: "I'm going to go.  It was nice seeing you, Gramma!''

*Leaves with my apparently smaller ass in tow*

I don't get why she didn't comment on my new found skinniness when I WAS WALKING ALL AROUND THE HOUSE (sans winter jacket), BLATANTLY SHOWING OFF LIKE A DAMN PEACOCK.

"I wanna see your peacock-cock-cock...at 9:00 on Monday.
I think I may have gotten herpes from ALL of you."

I don't know if you knew this or not, but my entire family (on my dad's side) is OBSESSED with weight loss.  But the stupid part of this is the fact that after they go to Weight Watchers meetings, they walk next door to the Chili John's shop and eat chili.

That has got to be at least...5000 Weight Watcher points.
And I'm just talking about the counter.

I'm literally the only grandkid that didn't participate in sports in elementary through high school.  Oh, I'm sorry.  I was too busy EDUCATING MYSELF TO GET INTO COLLEGE.  For almost 4 years, my family would have to Google what I was talking about to make sure I wasn't making up stuff just to impress them.  I forget that they don't believe in reading.

"That's the directions on how to work the television.
Stop using the DVD remote to change channels.
I'm going to drink myself stupid now, Grampa."

On to a completely different topic, I'm mildly (read: stalkerish) obsessed with NCIS.  No lie, I've watched it every single day this week.  Plus I've been NetFlixing the seasons to catch up with the episodes I'm behind on.  I adore adore ADORE this show.  If you've never seen it, I really don't want to have anything to do with you.  You mean nothing to me.  At least YouTube some clips of McGee and DiNozzo so you get why I love this show.

Oh DiNozzo, you make me happy all the time.

I'm sorry to say that I have nothing new to report on in the working out division of my life.  I've been busy being absolutely lazy and LOVING IT.  [A/N: I'm going to go ahead and apologize for the over-abundance of CAPS LOCK in this post.  I don't know what's happening to me, but I have the need to over-emphasize certain parts of sentences.  Like THIS part.]

FUCK YEAH I AM!  BRING IT, NON CAPS LOCK SENTENCES.
YOU'RE ABOUT TO BE ANNIHILATED!
AHBOOYAH!

Is it just me or do you hear a drill instructor screaming the sentences that are CAPS LOCK in your head? 

"DO YOU GET WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY, PRIVATE?
I'M SAYING I LOVE ACTIVIA YOGURT.
IT'S NOT JUST FOR THE LADIES, PRIVATE!
IT MAKES ME REGULAR AND I LIKE THAT.
HURRAH."



 I'm going to go eat a doughnut now and watch NCIS until my eyes bleed.

I'd give my left boob to be in that room.

Where in the world am I? Oh yeah, Wisconsin.

Wednesday, March 23rd in the Year of Our Lord 2011

If anybody is out there, please help me. 

I've been snowed in.  I'm practically alone here, sans my mom and dad (who drove to work today, even though the roads were shit-tastic). 

I'm too young to be served as a main dish once we've depleted our pantry! 

I also watched the movie "Alive!" recently, the movie adaptation of the Uruguayan rugby team that crashed in the Andes Mountains in the late 1970s and ate the ass-meat of the deceased, so my paranoia is slowly reaching its peak. 

"We made snowmen and used body parts to decorate it!"

Guess what?  It's Spring Break! (if you go to 1:43 in the video, you'll get what I'm referring to).

*pauses for the uproar of laughter, not from Tosh.0 but that it fucking snowed when I'm on Spring Break*

Not joking.  Since yesterday, we've gotten over a foot of snow.  A FOOT OF SNOW.  A FOOT OF SNOW.  I don't know if I can ever over-emphasize that fact.

Har har har...go fuck yourself.

I've been home since last Friday.  Last Friday, it was nice out...so I dressed nice.  I've dressed nicely for the past couple of days.  But I apparently lost my mind today.

I came downstairs and the first thing out of my mom's mouth was, "Oh my God.  What ARE you wearing?" She proceeded to make herself a strong cup of coffee and go into the other room.

I don't know what she found wrong about my outfit.  I think rainbow toe socks (remember those things?!  The socks with little holders for your toes?!), a pair of bright red Wisconsin cut-off sweatpants and a high school German Club long-sleeve with the torn "MEG" on the back is pretty god damn classy.  I wish I had taken a picture of what was added throughout the day to my wardrobe.  I ended up wearing a felt hat I had to make in 6th grade for my Machu Picchu display and a black fabric cape with a single "B" ironed-on on the back.  Fucking badass, that's what I looked like.

I looked a lot like this.
Except I'm 20.  And a girl.  And way cooler.

I'm pretty sure my mom was afraid for her life, because my go-to phrase of the day was: "God, this is like the movie 'Misery'.  I'm afraid Kathy Bates is going to pop out of the washing machine and hobble us."

I actually went as far as to find objects in my kitchen that would be used to hobble people, if the need came up.  It was no wonder my mom kept far away from me for a few hours, as I scuffled around the kitchen muttering to myself, while swinging a meat tenderizer.

THERE'S NOTHING TO DO HERE!
THIS IS MY ENTERTAINMENT!

And don't just assume that all I've done during Spring Break is plan out how to break someone's ankles using fake chopsticks (the ones that are connected on the top because I'm retarded and can't coordinate two separate objects at once) and an apple.  I've been productive.  OOH!  I made a blanket for a tiny human that I've yet to meet.  OOH!  I've started on the plans of making a blanket for me to lose my mind in next year.  OOH!  I went running. 

Err...what?

You read that right, my loyal 5 readers!  [A/N: I counted the people I know who like my wall posts on Candace's wall on Facebook.  It's 5 thus far.  If I can make it 10, I'll bake you all cupcakes.] [A/N/N: That last part was a lie.  You won't be getting cupcakes.  I'll take pictures of me eating cupcakes.  Suck on that.]

SQUEE!
I just want to punch everyone single one out of love.

I've been playing around on the brand-spanking new treadmill my parental units bought a few months ago.  And I've also decided that it can go die a fiery, fiery death. Whoever thought of speed interval levels deserves to be dragged out into the street and stoned like the heretic they are.  Only a god damn wizard could do those things and I'm pretty sure wizards use magical sneakers to get around and really don't have a need to run around on fake inclines at various speeds.

Unless you're fucking Gandalf, who rides around on the fucking Lord of Horses, Shadowfax.
Who needs to walk, am I right?!  SHADOWFAX, TO MINAS TIRITH!  TTTTTWWWEEEEEEE!!!!

I actually miss the Allen Center.  GASP.  My basement only has 1 lonely little television and I miss being able to flip channels by simply glancing to a neighboring television.  I can only jog to Travel Channel's "Chowdown Countdown" before I flip to "Reno! 911" and die laughing.

Did anybody else cry during this episode?
The one where Jackie the Pickle-Throwing Hooker died?



Does the movie "The Source Code" remind anybody of "Donnie Darko", minus the whole dying from a falling jet engine part?  And if you've never seen that movie, what fucking rock have you been living under these past CENTURIES?!  Get with the picture, people.  It's called NetFlix and it's $9.99 a month.  Stop buying pot and buffalo wings and educate yourselves.

Anybody else shitting themselves because of this picture?
This is why I hate the Easter Bunny.

I only bring up that movie to tell you that the sequel sucks ass.  It's just like "Donnie Darko", minus Jake Gyllenhaal.  It's the same damn plot line.  OOH.  ORIGINAL.  "S. Darko" is not worth the hour and 48 minutes that I will NEVER get back.  The only decent part was the man-candy they had to throw in to please the lady viewers.

Howdy, boys! 
Yep, that one on the left is the douche-knuckle from "Gossip Girl".
The one on the right is Jasper from "Twilight".
Stop groaning, Candace. 
Hey, Kali! 
LOOK!  I MADE A ([N] OBLIGATORY) TWILIGHT REFERENCE!

Ever since I've been home, I've been systematically raping the shit (THE SHIT) out of NetFlix.  We've got it on our Wii, so when I get bored with shows, I beat my high score on Wakeboarding on WiiResort. 

I unlocked every level in under an hour.
U jelly?

Thus far, I've watched an entire season of "That 70's Show", the first couple episodes of "Dexter", every available "Viva La Bam" and oh yeah, "Firefly".  I've fallen among the ranks of other closet Browncoats. 

Well, hello there, Simon Tam. 
I'm in need of a yearly physical.
Care to take this to the infirmary?
...that was all inside thoughts...

If anyone who has any self-preservation or any dignity left when they come out of the theater after seeing "Hop", please let me know how it was.  On one hand, I really want to see it.  I love Russell Brand and James Marsden.  But on the other, I want to eat the end of a shotgun when I watch the previews.  OH.  And if you see "Arthur", let me know also.  I've just finised "My Booky Wook" by Russell Brand and now onto his second, "My Booky Wook 2: This Time It's Personal" and I'm mildly obsessed with the man.  I have a lot of respect for him.  But I may or may not have any left if I go see "Arthur".  Maybe you should just stick with the Aldous Snow schtick, my British lover.

I love this movie.
"What's the state fish of Hawaii?
-The Humuhumunukunukuapua'a. Yeah, bitch!"


 

Okay, I've been reading the quotes from "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" and nearly pissed myself at this one.

Aldous Snow: [holding a single sandal] I've lost a shoe... have you seen it anywhere? Excuse me, missus, I've lost a shoe... like this one. It's like this one's fellow... it's sort of the exact opposite in fact of that - not an evil version but just, you know, a shoe like this... but for the other foot. Otherwise I'd have two right...

SEX.
On a surfboard.

I'm going to leave you with that image.

Ima be a machine that runs on butter and hate

Wednesday, March 16th in the Year of Our Lord 2011

I haven't done a single thing since last Thursday.  I feel actually kind of lazy.  It's to be expected, since this is my last week of classes before Spring Break.  I was planning on going swimming this week, but I've been low on underwear and the hell if I can remember to go do laundry on a regular basis [A/N: I'd just like to mention that my laundry basket is strategically placed in my closet that when I sit at my desk, I can always see it.  I am now staring at it, wishing it'd freaking wash itself.] That being said, my last adventure into the wild and wacky world of exercising blew my mind.

Like always, I went swimming.  I hadn't expected to do as many laps as I did so when my hour was up and I had realized that I had just swam 70 laps, of course part of my brain leaked out of my ear.  Looking back, I think I may have miscounted a few laps (like 10...20?) but I still cling to the fact that I did 70 laps in an hour.  Not that I'm ever going to try to do better than 70, that'd be absolutely crazy on my part.  Every inch of my body ached for the rest of the day and a better part of Friday. 

Oh my God, I just checked my calendar to see what I did on Thursday and I must've lost all my sanity because it looks like I not only went swimming, I went to the Allen Center for an hour.  BROWNIE PUDDING PIE.  It's all coming back to me now!  I was watching Barefoot Contessa on Food Network and all I wanted to do was stick my sweaty face in the warm brownie pudding pie she had pulled oh-so sexy-like from the oven and placed on the counter.  OM NOM NOM.

Is anybody else hearing angels or is that just me?

I remember what was so funny about watching TV that afternoon at the Allen Center.  Before Barefoot Contessa seduced me with brownie pudding pie and mini-meatloafs (I wanted to eat all of them in one sitting), my archnemesis appeared on the TV.

That's exactly my facial expression when I watch her show.

Giada De Laurentis can go die in the fiery, fiery pits of Hell.  I hate her with every fiber of my being.  I'd rather be strapped to a chair and forced to watch reruns of Paula's Kitchen and Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee than watch this horrid bitch.



"Look, y'all!  I'm riding a ham!"



Majestic.



I'm sorry about that.  I Google Imaged "Paula Deen butter" and have spent the better half of ten minutes dying at what people have PhotoShopped Paula Deen sitting on.  There's one of her on an ostrich that kills me every time I see it.



AHAHAHAHAHA...Ha...ha...ahem...



Giada De Something-in-Italian-that-pisses-me-off-every-time-I-have-to-write-it was cooking for a party she was having in her swanky uptown apartment in You Can't Afford to Even Breathe Here, USA.  This party was showing off pieces of artwork that her so-called "friend" Davis had made.  Davis was paralyzed in a horrific car accidents (they had to show the obligatory "in the hospital with tubes sticking out everywhere" picture).  He only has use of his pointer finger and thumb, and he paints these beautiful abstract pieces.  I actually kind of wanted a print from him myself.  Giada made all these DISGUSTING appetizers for her guests and when one of them inquired about Davis's whereabouts, she said this:

Giada: "Oh, I never got a chance to invite him."

Oh, of course.  You're SO busy with your fake cooking skills that you neglected to invite the person whose artwork adorns your walls.  I think the real reason was that her building didn't have a wheelchair ramp or an elevator and didn't want to mess up her perfect set-up with a motorized wheelchair.

You'll need a toilet after that nasty crap Giada made at that party.

If my hate for Giada reduces me to a shaking ball of nerves, than there is no match for Sandra Lee.

Kwanzaa cake, anyone?

This air-headed alcoholic has no right to have her own show.  She is a complete and utter joke. 

Here, here!

I have no idea why this entry turned out to be a criticism of Food Network shows. 

Enjoy this picture of me with a mustache and a top-hat.



"Did we give up when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?!"

Wednesday, March 9th, in the Year of Our Lord 2011

It was sunny this morning in my room when I opened my eyes.  My little heart was all a-flutter as I thought about the blue skies, the birds chirping, children skipping down the sidewalk while their chubby little puppies ran after them, yipping and barking at the flowers that lined the streets.  Life was good again.  I was a walking, talking Disney movie.  If I had opened my mouth, I swear some sort of Alan Menken medley would pour out and squirrels and sparrows would help me get dressed for the day. 

Bitches be lazy!

Then I opened the curtains.  My morning fantasy quickly turned from Disney to that scene from "The Shining."

"Why did I move here?!  WAS IT FOR THE CHEESE?!
WENDY!  I NEED TO KNOW; WAS IT FOR THE CHEDDAR?!"

My once snow-free sidewalks were now PACKED with snow!  There were no children skipping with fat puppies frolicking behind them.  If there were, they probably escaped from the elementary school down the block from me.  The skies were not blue, but a dingy gray.  Any birds left over from the fall migration were probably retarded and the flock was better off without them (Viva la natural selection!).  I did open my mouth and no peppy Alan Menken song flowed out, only this:

Me:  "What the...you're fucking kidding me, right?"

Yep, this is exactly what I like to see in the morning.

 

Because I was pissed off, I decided to forgo my shower in protest.  Take that, weather!  That wasn't the real reason though.  I planned on working out in the afternoon, so taking a shower in the morning didn't seem that smart if I was only going to shower just a few short hours later. 

Now...if THIS was in my shower this morning,
this blog would be taking a complete 180 degree turn.

I slipped and slid my way to my only class of the day, Research Methods in Psychology.  I adore that class.  It could be my professor, who is only 5 years older than me, that leads a very active social life ("For the record, I'm going out drinking this weekend, so no...your tests will not be graded for Monday.  I plan on forgetting my own name by 8 p.m. on Friday." -Actual quote from a few weeks ago) and enjoys her hobby of subversive cross-stitching.

I have found my newest obsession.

I was planning on working out right after lunch, but I got sidetracked by German homework.  And by German homework, I mean studying for the test I have tomorrow morning [A/N: At this point in time, you can obviously tell which won top priority...].  My professor was kind enough to send me links to this website called Quizlet, that had "flashcards" of the German vocab words we need to know.  I was swearing loudly when I saw that I had 50 words to memorize.  Then I clicked the other link.  127?!  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!  I HAVE TO REMEMBER 177 WORDS FOR TOMORROW?!  Germans, you're fucking nuts!

The Hoff is who you want to symbolize your impending freedom for the rest of history?
Okay, whatever.  You guys ARE fucking nuts.



Halfway through making flashcards, I began mumbling incoherently in both German and English.  When I go bilingual, there's no coming back.  I'm a goner.  But I've discovered that when I'm pissed off about German homework, I actually speak better in that language. 

"Oh, what the Podolski!  I'm going to Schweinsteiger someone's mother soon!"
(For those not familiar with German National Soccer, Lukas Podolski is on the left, Bastian Schweinsteiger on the right.
Fun Fact:  Schweinsteiger in English is actually "pig mounter".)

I decided that it'd be safer to work my frustration out on a poor elliptical rather than going all-out Prince Harry on my roommate.

Anybody else watching his brother's wedding on April 11th?  Yea, me too.

I did an iTunes overhaul the other night and it was beautiful.  I performed my own intervention and deleted all my Glee from my computer.  I feel like I can breathe easier.  Now I have Cake.  I love Cake.  No, seriously.  Nothing gets my blood pumping and makes me feel sweet when I walk to class than listening to this song:



Ahh.  I feel an overwhelming sense of...badassness when that song comes on. 

And if you say you don't like The White Stripes, I know you're a dirty, dirty liar.  Jack White is FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC and you obviously hate music altogether. 

And...I'm dead.



I hit up the elliptical, apparently entering an unknown race with the chick next to me.  We both started at the same time and every time I sped up, so did she.  Thinking coincidence, I slowed down.  And she slowed down right after.  Thighs screaming at me, I booked it.  I looked over, expecting her to be doing her own thing.  Why wasn't I surprised when I saw her speed was exactly like mine.  I waited to get her attention and mouthed, "What the hell?"  She shrugged her shoulders, strides in time with mine.  Creeped out, I tried to finish my half-hour run quickly.  Which is damn near impossible...since I was going to run for a half-hour anyway.  I DIGRESS.  I had to watch Oprah and one of the gay guys from Queer Eye talk about wedding dresses because that was the only remotely interesting show on at the time.



Am I the only one in America who misses this show with a fiery passion?





I ended up finishing my workout on the exercise bike, playing Bejewled like a boss.

LIKE. A. BOSS.

And I ended this night on a good note.  The theater at the University Center on campus was showing "Tangled" at 7.  Guess who, and nearly 150 other college students, attended and laughed their asses off?  This is one of my favorite things to do on campus.  I love going to Disney or any PG movies being shown and seeing what parts make people laugh the hardest.  The best quote of the night came from the guy sitting next to me and my friend Haley.

Random guy with bunch of girls:  "Holy shit.  This movie is so fucking funny!"

Flynn Rider, I'm strangely attracted to you.

Okay, I had to add this one.  I'm dying.

I'm going to finish this post like usual.  Yep, you guessed it: I'm going swimming in the morning.  I'll probably be cranky all day.  Then I'll blog about being cranky.  Brace yourself.

Sorry!  I had to do this last one!  AHHHHHH!

I'm going to punch every snowflake in the face

Tuesday, March 8th, in the year of Our Lord 2011

Snow is obviously sent from Hell.  I fail to believe that the Snow Miser is up to no good, because his songs are too catchy to convince me otherwise. 

Everyone!  "Friends call me Snow Miser, what ever I touch, turns to snow in my clutch,
I'm too much!  BA-DA-DA-DUM!  TOO MUCH!"

It's March.  That's the month when Spring decides to peek its scaredy-cat head out from under the covers and melt some shit.  That's the month when I can puke up green-colored vomit and the people around me yell, "WAY TO BE IRISH!"  That's the month where I can also flash crowds for beads, but discover people in Wisconsin do not celebrate Mardi Gras like they do down South. 

Those kids in the background will be forever scarred for life.

March does not mean snow storms.  But, since God has decided to hate on Wisconsin this year (we won the fucking Superbowl, Old Man!  GIVE US A BREAK!  What more do you want from us?!) 



Real funny, God.  Real fucking funny.
God also hates Scott Walker.
True fact.



When I'm snowed in this weekend, please think of me.  I'll be thinking about ways to cook my roommate because I'm running out of food.  It'll be like the Donner Party, minus the Rocky Mountains and minus dying in the snow.  I'll play "Oregon Trail" to get the real perspective of "forging the Western plain."

Already?  All I did was copy and paste this!  I hate this game!



My friends and I have come down to our last straws with the crazy weather.  When I got back from swimming this morning, my roommate Brooke asked me what the weather was like outside.

Me:  "Well.  My hair didn't freeze, but I did slip on the ice.  You can't see your breath when you breathe.  I kept my hands outside my pockets the entire walk back from the pool."

Brooke:  "So it's higher than 20 degrees out."

Me:  "Gorgeous."

Brooke:  "I'll only wear two layers to work today."

UWSP is renovating the HEC, or for you non-UWSP folk, the Health Enhancement Center.  It's right across the street from my dorm and that's where the pool is.  The hallway that usually leads straight to the pool is closed, since that's where they're doing the construction.  I had to traverse the innards of the HEC building. 

Pretty much what the rest of the hallways look like.
That's no "light at the end of the hallway."
That's a rapist trap.

Like always, the pool was freezing.  I should come up with an acronym for that so I don't always have to type that out.  TPWF.  Does that even make sense?

I don't know why they don't invest in XM Radio at the pool.  I hate morning talk-shows.  I don't care what 14% of Facebook users have on their profile!  [A/N: For the record, I was underwater when they revealed the answer.  The world will never know...]  I don't care about celebrity birthdays, especially when half of them are old enough to remember going to the "talkies" for the first time and calling Charlie Chaplin one of People's "World's Most Beautiful People."

I can see the appeal.  It's really the eyes that speak to me.
OH GOD.  WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE I'M BURNING FROM THE INSIDE OUT?!
THE EYES!  IT'S THE EYES!

What really killed me; literally, I cramped up today and nearly drowned.  No, it's okay girl lifeguards.  I don't need your help at all.  I usually flail around in the middle of a lane and groan loudly as I try to extend my leg.  Sorry to have interrupted your conversation about fucking Jersey Shore or some stupid shit like that. 

A fucking bear outranks me? 
What...?

What killed me was a phone interview the radio station in Point did with Josh Groban on Friday.  They replayed one of the stupidest parts of the interview today and then spent 10 minutes discussing how "awesome it was to talk to the real-life Josh Groban."

I didn't know there was a fake Josh Groban. 

"Can you tell me again why I'm calling some dinky radio station in Wisconsin?
...I'm being paid HOW much?  I really need to get a new manager."

They discussed if the Resch Center in Green Bay (where he'll be performing in like, June) which holds 10,000 people is considered "intimate", compared to Madison Square Garden, which holds like...a billion.  Wow.  That's sooo interesting, Stacy from 95.5!  I'm glad you took precious minutes out of Josh Groban's oh-so busy day to talk about that!

Dear Resch Center,
Take out those chairs and let me see some hockey players get body-slammed
into the walls.  No one wants to watch Jeff Dunham perform here again.
Love, Me.



I finished up my 60 laps [A/N: I might've done more, but I lost track after number 4...F.  My brain was oozing out of my ear by then] and shuffled into the freezing cold locker room.  Oh, I'm sorry, I mean the FCLR. 

I left the HEC to the beautiful sounds of a poor football rookie throwing up after suicides in the Quandt Gym outside into the snow.  That's always a great way to start my day.

I apologize for this image.  Google Image magically appeared in my browser
and my fingers began typing "puking in snow" like they were possessed by a demon.

You know who else loves puke?  Daniel Fucking Tosh.

Told you.

I'm currently obsessed with this genius.  Tosh.0 is my favorite show on television.  I nearly peed myself in happiness when I watched his newest special, Happy Thoughts.  Thank God Comedy Central discovered that Tosh is pure gold and gave him his own show.  I think Tosh.0 single-handedly saved Comedy Central from certain doom.  Not that I don't adore the other shows on the "CC"; The Daily Show and The Colbert Report are the only news sources I trust. 

These two should run for President/Vice President.
They already have my vote.



Tosh is now a proud member of my Love Lair Occupants List, or LLOL.  He joins the ranks of Robert Downey, Jr., Christian Bale, Colin Firth, Robert Pattinson (shut your mouth, Candace!  Give me this one!), Brad Pitt, David Boreanaz, Jude Law...just to name a few.  The LLOL may need its own post.

"FREE DOUGHNUTS!"