Get me the hell off the bus, Gus...

Yesterday was one of the weirdest/longest/funniest/most annoying days I've had in awhile. Well, since the first night our power went out, which really wasn't that long ago. I felt like I was in the movie The Money Pit, or some other flick where everything goes wrong.

I was in Chicago this weekend, and I had a pretty great bus ride up to the Windy City. Uneventful, which equals great. I slept the majority of the time, I was chilled by the blasting A/C, and I got into the city on time.

Yesterday was Bizarro Bus Day, apparently. I was dropped off at Union Station at 3:30 PM for my 4:00 bus. Three other Megabuses came and went immediately, so all of my fellow passengers and I thought that the St. Louis bus would follow very shortly. Oh no, we waited there until 5:30 PM before a bus showed up to take us anywhere. I asked the bus driver what happened, and she said that the bus she intended to take did not have A/C. It wasn't working. So, it was between the bus we were on, which had a weird beeping sound, or another bus that didn't have A/C. Well, considering my jeans were rolled up to my thighs and I wiped sweat off my brow the entire 5 and a half hour ride home, I'm pretty sure the new bus didn't have A/C either.

We stopped south of Bloomington at a different rest stop than on my way up. After a fulfilling meal of chips for dinner, the bus moved about 25 feet before getting straight up stuck in a pothole that pretty much resembled a small pond. I was ready to cast my rod and pull out a catfish for dinner. Please tell me how this bus driver lady did not see this crater.

Everyone had to get off the bus again. We sat around and looked at each other for about 45 minutes. Most passengers called their rides back in St. Louis to tell them of their new arrival time. Me? No, my cell phone stopped working while in Chicago. I had nothing to do to kill time except take pictures of potholes and truckers.

When we finally got back on the bus, after a nice trucker towed our bus out, some boisterous lady (who originally I thought I would hate) busted out champagne, Hot Damn, and cigarettes from her bag for anyone interested. Everyone politely declined to drink after a stranger, but I thought it was a nice gesture. Father of the Bride played most of the way home. Although I couldn't hear any of the words, it was nice to take a break from my book to see Martin Short in full wedding planner mode. That Franc.

I got home around midnight.

I am scheduled to use Megabus again when I fly out to San Francisco from Chicago in about a week and a half. Has anyone used this company? Is this the norm? Or do the gods think my life isn't interesting enough, so they plan catastrophes like this to give me something to blog about?

Observations from a bus...

So, I took the bus up to Chicago this morning. After a night of less than five hours of sleep, I was ready to pass out as soon as I boarded. I managed to pick a seat directly behind this group of middle-aged ladies, clearly very excited about their trip to the big city and also very loud.

They looked like retired Kindergarten teachers. You know, the ones who wore alphabet sweaters and self-made, craft-project Halloween sweatshirts on the special day. Today, the only visible remnants of their former careers were ladybug earrings and necklaces made out of buttons. But, still, I could see with whom I was dealing. They hooped and hollered as they recalled the time that Mary had one too many margaritas. They oohed and aahed over the latest issue of Real Simple. I tried to drown them out with my headphones.

I concocted my own story about them based on what I could observe. They were all going to see a taping of the Oprah show. They might get "crazy" and indulge in a chocolate martini. They would wear Keds. They would slap high fives when they found a great sale at Talbot's. They would be skepitcal of all foreign cab drivers. They would try to figure out where Ms. Winfrey lives. They might only call their husbands threes time a day. This would be the best girls' weekend of their lives.

Other than all that, it's amazing how sad a pick-up truck carrying a load of used tires in its bed can look when you're listening to the right song.

Chicago visit and website progress...

Heading to Chicago tomorrow morning for an extended weekend with my best girlfriends from college. Cards/Cubs matchup on Friday afternoon and Lincolnfest on Saturday afternoon. Dinner, very truly sorry that I'll be missing you. Soon. Sleep in my bed.

I hope those who completed the Bar exam today are relieved, satisifed, and ready to party. Congrats!

This week has been busy, although I can't really tell you what I've been doing. Actually, been spending quite a bit of time e-mailing/meeting/brainstorming with people who work for InsideSTL. Starting next week, I'm going to be doing three columns per week...and GETTING PAID.

Check out "Style on the Spot" on Mondays, "Off My Chest" on Tuesdays (for now), and whatever I pull out of my ass for STL Music on Thursdays.

I can see Clearly now...

I've never been one to stand high on my soapbox, preaching about the evils of big corporations. By nature, I root for the underdog. So, of course, I like the corner music stores, dive bars, and off-the-beaten-path restaurants. But, I still shop at Best Buy from time to time, and I love my Grande Cafe Mochas from Starbucks. I won't pretend as if I purposely avoid the big guys. If you consider that I removed myself from Corporate America so that I could rack up huge amounts of student loan debt and someday become a underpaid teacher, I think my innate values are easy to understand.

However, I will take this opportunity to poke fun at Clear Channel. I am positive that there are readers of this blog much more insanely passionate toward their hatred for radio. But, I am also guessing that you haven't heard the ridiculous advertisements ran on each of Clear Channel's six St. Louis metro area stations during these days after the horrible storms and subsequent power outages. What a way to toot your own horn.

It goes something like this: "In times of desperation, in times of disaster, Clear Channel brings people together. St. Louis has been ravaged by horrendous weather conditions over the past five days, and we want to take advantage of the situation to its fullest. We know that radio is the only medium with the ability to communicate to those who have lost power, and we have done a fan-fucking-tastic job of letting you know the obvious: your lights are off, your food is rotting, and you are pissed. It is an amazing thing to see six very different radio stations band together, despite catering to largely different socioeconomic and racial backgrounds, in order to let all of our listeners know that we pretty much rule the world. Thanks for listening. Kiss our ass."

Really? How has this been spun into a giant pat on the back for Clear Channel? I guess I'm not surprised, but if you could only hear the serious voiceover and dramatic pauses during these spots, you'd laugh out loud. I did.

Let there be light...

I returned home from work today to find a house equipped with electricity. What a luxurious amenity! Surfing the internet and watching craptastic television has never felt so good.

Laughable.

This power outage thing is at the point where I just have to laugh. We've been without since Wednesday evening. Now they are saying it could be as long as this Thursday. Dinner, you might be puking in the dark, just like Levi.

The good thing is that Cheers Heavy told me today that Scrubs is going into syndication. 5 nights a week on WGN. Hurrah for plum pudding.

You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone...

I know you all are probably very worried about the state of St. Louis and its fellow inhabitants, so I thought that I would keep you updated.

Last night, Jables and I were still without power, along with Cheers Heavy, and Britt and Rod. So, after we all respectively got off work, we met at Kilkenny's to eat dinner and drink (in hopes that we could just pass out despite the suffocating heat inside each of our homes). We got tipsy and talked about what we would do if we got home from the bar to discover our power had been turned back on. It was decided that the best thing to do would be to immediately blast the air, put on a snowsuit, and then run around. Britt said that she'd probably yell "woo hoo."

Only Britt and Rodney were the lucky ones. Jables ended up crashing on their couch. Matt and I were too tipsy to get anywhere except his condo, which was nearby. We had our fingers crossed the entire way there that his power would be intact.

It was not. Instead, we took a cold shower with our clothes on and then slept head to toe on his queen bed. When he left for work this morning, I moved to the hardwood floor in front of the screened French door because there was a slight breeze.

It stormed again today, and a lot of the homes that had regained power lost it again. Trees are down everywhere. Luckily, Rod and Britt are still living the good life. I packed a bag and moved in. As I write, there is a blast of air coming from the vent under the computer desk. When I first felt it, I almost cried.

The best thing is that the Project Runway episode we missed on Wednesday night is coming on in 15 minutes. Hallelujah.

Sleepless in St. Louis...

Last night, a raging storm swept through the St. Louis metro area, damaging homes, triggering severe auto accidents, delaying the Cards game (and causing ruin to signage in the stadium, along with injuring approximately 50 fans), and in general, wreaking havoc on area businesses, old people, and anyone who prefers to have the A/C on during 100 degree plus weather.

Our food is rotting. Jables went to three Schnucks, two Shop 'N Saves, and three or so gas stations before he found a little Hucks that actually still had bags of ice. He snagged six of the last eight.

Ameren, the electric company, said in a news conference this morning that it will probably be 3-5 days before all customers have their power restored. As of 6 AM today, over 450,000 customers were still without. Supposedly, the governor of Missouri is trying to persuade George W. to deem the St. Louis area in a state of national emergency, so National Guard officers and the like can come to our fair city and rescue us.

I would just go to C-town this weekend, but instead Cheers Heavy is in a wedding. Three groomsmen, including the father of the groom, can't get their tuxes because the mall is without power and not open for business. Word is still out on whether or not the rehearsal dinner restaurant, along with the church and the reception venue, have power.

I am looking forward to a weekend full of sweating. Here's to my nine hour shift at the shoe slangin' store today, with A/C so cold I need to wear a sweatshirt.

Despite the intense heat and intimidating forecast of powerlessness for the next few days, I am able to see the humor in last night's events. I was at a meeting for the website that finished around 7 PM, right when the storm hit. We were on the 21st floor of the University Club Tower, right in the heart of Brentwood/Clayton. It was amazing to check out the sky from that height; it looked like it was going to open up and eat us. Because the building employees recommending us not getting in our cars, we ran across the street to PF Chang's for dinner and drinks.

Meanwhile, Jables decided there was nothing to do but sit on the front porch in the darkness and drink Jack Daniels alone. When I got home, he shined a flashlight directly in my eyes and asked what we should do. We simultaneously conducted phone calls on our cell phones after a quick visit with our very entertaining neighbor, Wild Bill. We decided to camp out in the living room and try to go to sleep. He was on the couch in the sunroom, and I was on the leather couch in the connecting room. Everytime I moved, I ripped off about five layers of skin that were previously stuck to the couch. I decided to try my stifling room.

Just when I drifted off to sleep, my brother called at 1:00 AM and said that he and his friends were coming over to spend the night after getting drunk at the Cardinal game. I opened the front door for them, and I decided to sit outside on the front porch with everyone. Josh started drinking again. I listened to John and his friend (the infamous Levi Dawson) drunkenly ramble about anything and everything. Finally, I decided it was time to try and sleep again.

I was definitely dreaming a little bit when I received a drunk dial from two fellow shoe slangers around 2:30 AM. They let me know that it was so cold in their apartment with the A/C blasting that their "nips were hard."

After finally falling back asleep, I awoke around 3:30 AM to Levi Dawson puking up his guts in the nearby bathroom. It's amazing how loud vomit sounds splashing into the toilet bowl with no buzzing appliances to deafen the disgusting noise. Josh yelled from the sunroom, "Who invited Ralph?"

Around 4:30 AM, I received yet another drunk dial from the same shoe slangers informing me that their nips were, in fact, still cold.

I woke up around 9:00 and tried to keep sleeping, but the Dead Sea was pooling in all concave surface areas of my body. So salty, you just float.

Wish us luck here in the STL.

Snap, crackle, pop...

What's funny is one of your best friends acting as your doctor. Not only is he my good friend, but he's one of my best friend's husband. Rodney will be done with chiropractic school in December, and in the meantime, he needs to fulfill a certain number of hours with patients so he can graduate. I'm not sure if it's because he thought I would be a responsible patient in terms of making and keeping appointments or because he knew how fucked up my whole body is that he offered to make me his patient. But anyway, I have the chance to meet with him over the next few months for a very reduced rate. You know, win-win.

My first appointment was last Friday. I had to fill out a bunch of paperwork about my medical history. Have I ever had a fever? Surgery? Constipation? Bleeding from funky places? You know, all the regular things you feel confident disclosing to your best friend's husband.

The next step was to sit down at a desk with Rodney, so he could then ask me questions about my interesting health issues. I detailed the pain I often feel between my shoulder blades that I assume is the result of having above-average sized tatas. I also told him about the pain I sometimes feel in my lower back as a result of a 8-year old broken tailbone. Again, all the regular stuff.

Rodney then told me about a fellow intern who was suspended for speaking "inappropriately" to one of his patients. The walls were so thin that the head chiropractor overhead him making racialist comments or something.

Then we went to a different room so Rodney could stretch me out before he adjusted me. He felt some knots between my shoulders blades and asked if those spots were particularly tender. I said yes. He then said, "Yeah, that's what happens when you've got the boobies!" And then we giggled like school girls. I hope, for his sake, that the walls are made of concrete so no one can hear his "inappropriate comments."

I went to see him for a second time two days ago on Monday. He focused on my jacked up coccyx. At one point, he mumbled to me, "Ok...now I'm...gonna...gonna have to pretty much touch your rear end."

Whatever it takes, Rod. Whatever it takes.

Hand me another bloody mary, dahlin'...

Lord have mercy on my soul, could it be any hotter? The heat is absolutely suffocating, and it makes me not want to move an inch. I feel as if I should be a member of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood so I can lounge on a chaise all the livelong day with minimal movement and doctored drink in hand. Ya'll.

In honor of the type of heat that makes me immobile (or should since I decided to run at 2 PM today and almost died), I've created a playlist. From now on, it's wide-brimmed hats, vodka lemonades, hand-held fans, and yelling at my kids. And this music.

Oh Girl - The Chi-Lites
Saturday in the Park - Chicago
A Sunday Kind of Love - Etta James
Garden Party - Ricky Nelson
Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay - Otis Redding
Summer Breeze - Seals and Croft
Could it be I'm Falling in Love - The Spinners
Hot Fun in the Summertime - Sly and the Family Stone
Crystal Blue Persuasion - Tommy James and the Shondells
Groovin' - The Rascals
I Heard it Through the Grapevine - Marvin Gaye
Ice Cream Song - The Dynamics
Up on the Roof - The Drifters

I'm taking a poll.

Do you use the word "ignorant" on a daily basis?

YES / NO

Do you ever use in any of the following ways (circle all that apply)?

A. That's ignorant that she won't pick you up after work.

B. You listen to Rascal Flatts? That's ignorant.

C. Don't be ignorant. Behave inside this restaurant.

D. You are so hyperactive! Stop being ignorant!

Matt seems to think that this is a hoosier way of using the word, or to euphemize...a bit of Southern slang. I just saw someone on television from Joliet, Illinois, use it not once but twice. Granted, it was Adrianne Curry from My Fair Brady, but still. Joliet, folks.

Everybody Wang Chung tonight...

Click here to get your weekend going.

This is the best night of my life!

While we are watching Pee Wee's Playhouse on Adult Swim, I am dictating Jables' funniest high school memory.

Me: Ok, go. I'm gonna write this word for word.

Jables: What? Word for word? I can't even talk right now (he has Crest Whitestrips on his teeth). It was me, Trevor, and Scotty. We were...well, it was when Christopher played Carlyle. We were freshmen, it was a Friday night. We were going to go soap and do other things to Nathan Handlin's house...and you're writing it word for word! We hated him because of the girlfriend he had and because he was a giant douchebag. I'm not talking anymore. I want you to interpret this story. I'm going to bed. I want you to interpret it.

Ok, fine I'll interpret it.

So, the three boys started walking from the high school to Trevor's house to get the supplies to soap Nathan's house. None of them were old enough to drive. Not even a quarter of the way there, Josh got the feeling that he was going to need to use the bathroom. He started walking back toward the high school, thinking that he'd use the basketball locker room while the football game was still going on. He almost got to campus, but close to the nearby laundromat his stomach told him he wasn't going to make it. He started at a full sprint, but he was undoing his pants as he ran. He ended up having to pop a squat right then and there and use grass for toilet paper. Meanwhile, it was halftime at the football game and people were smoking cigs so close that Josh could hear their conversations. He, a little messy, left the scene of the crime and started back on the path to Trevor's.

On his way there - how ironic - the very girl that these three boys had crushes on drove by Josh during his ultimate walk of shame and offered him a ride. He politely declined by saying "I think I'm just gonna walk it." When he got to Trevor's, he knocked on the window. Scotty and Trevor looked at him through the glass like he was insane and told him to come on in. Josh replied, "I can't." They asked, "What, did you crap your pants or something?" Josh said, "Kind of."

So, they came out and laughed their asses off for about five minutes. Then Trevor got out the hose to spray a very naked Josh down. BJ Prather, Trevor's neighbor and the town's answer to questionable morals, walked by at the time. She also laughed her ass off.

After all was said and done, and Josh was poo-free, those rascals went and soap Nathan's house. Trevor ended up telling this guy Shaun about Josh's mishap, and Shaun then told Michele, the object of those three boys' collective affection.

Over a year later, Josh dated Michele for about two months. She confessed that she's known for quite awhile about the night he pooped his pants.

I hope I did the story justice.

anyone lived in a pretty how town...

On Thanksgiving 1995, I was watching Candyman with my best friend Alechia and my boyfriend at the time. Alechia received a phone call from this guy, Shane, who was relatively new in town. He liked her. He asked if he could come by my house and pick the three of us up and take us somewhere. We said sure.

He came about 15 minutes later, and drove us out to Harrison Cemetery. He said he had something to show us. We walked for a bit and nothing happened.

Then, all of a sudden, Shane's older brother and his girlfriend, Jennifer Capriati, jumped out from behind gravestones to scare the living bejesus out of us. They sort of succeeded.

A new obsession and response to whiners...

It is after midnight. This summer, with my laidback work hours, has been an homage to junior high summers past when I stayed up so late listening to the radio and writing craptastic poetry that I could barely wake up in time for the new Ricki Lake episode the next day. Just ten minutes ago, I found a reason I may not go to sleep anytime soon. I stumbled upon The World Series of Pop Culture on VH1. I'm fairly certain that this is close to being the best version of the World Series there ever was, except for the actual MLB World Series (but maybe not when the Yankees are in it). It definitely beats the World Series of Poker.

So far, I've been watching for 20 minutes, and I've gotten every answer right from categories that include "TV Kids," "Movie Taglines," and "Old School Rap." I'm not sure it's anything to brag about, but it's nice to know I'm perhaps good at something. How do I get on this show? And what can I win?

In response to yesterday's post...

Jables, I have received no compliments. I have only been asked to give personal contact information about myself without so much as a handshake or an introduction, and I've been made to consider a very uncomfortable ass ailment in lieu of appropriate adult conversation. There is no nose in the air toward the guys who try. There is a nose in the air for those who are oblivious to what is undeniably proper discourse between the sexes, particularly those members of the opposite sex who have never met one another. And as Kara, and fellow victim, mentioned in an e-mail to me just today...you weren't doing so bad yourself Saturday night, especially from the 19-year old Dairy Queen who also sported cowboy boots in the summertime and wore a paint-spattered onesie. I won't even mention the other "proposition."

mjs, I am glad that I'm not a former reality star still suffering from very current relevance or the significant other of said star. I feel for you. (Although I think I might be one of the people who have a crush on Sally). Although I did once have a stalker when I was seven years old. But that is another blog posting.

Dinner, you shouldn't hit on any girls who you don't already know. They prefer it that way, too. Even if it's just a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. That's the way to handle it. Otherwise, if you do go up to a random girl, I would like to believe that you (and every other guy reading this blog) would have the sense about you to make normal conversation and not be blatant in your efforts. Also, guys should be able to read the girl. For example, if her eyes are darting back and forth at an object somewhere over either of your shoulders, she's probably looking to be rescued. If she has a guy near her that she's been kissing all night until you walked up to her, she probably isn't on the market. That's what happened to me the other night. Sorry to direct all this at you; you didn't deserve that. But I had to stick with my format of addressing each of you individually because I am insane.

creeperjam, maybe if you didn't hang out with 36dd1 so much, you'd be more accessible to the females. I love her to death, but I imagine her to be overly critical just like me. I bet her mere presence is enough to inhibit your smooth moves.

Come on.

Single or taken, out with the girls or out with the boys, I typically never get hit on. I have a flashing sign on my forehead that screams "Not interested! Not interested!"

My friends and I were on spring break in Acapulco our senior year of college. Out at a club our first night in Mexico, during a lull in conversation, we realized were were not interacting in the ridiculousness unfolding twenty feet away from us at all. Unknowingly, we had managed to completely separate ourselves from much of the partying scene by planting our butts in seats far away from fellow revelers and huddling in intimate conversation. We had no interest in meeting new people, much like our spring break counterparts. We then decided this collective mood would be known as "closed." We're closed for business, and we're not interested in talking to you, the complete stranger.

I am closed during much of my social life. I have never been one of those people who actually go out to meet new people. Granted, I've had a boyfriend for the majority of my college and post-college years. So, that could explain it.

So, I find it strange that I have been hit on more in the past week of my life than I have in the last year. And not by attractive or seemingly interesting guys, mind you. The situations have been painfully awkward, as I shut guys down before they typically have a chance to offer up their embarrassing pick up line. I'm not good at this.

Here are a few instances:

I was sitting at a bar, with Matt to my right.

The greaser to my left turned to me and said, "Can I tell you a secret?"

I respond hesitantly, "Sure."

"I want to call you tomorrow." Oh ok, sure...just let me give you my number. No introduction, nothing.

I said, "My boyfriend is right there."

He replied, "Oh, in that case...can you keep another secret?"

I, annoyed by then, asked, "What is it?"

He said, "Don't tell him I told you that."

Another instance, last Saturday, with my friend Kara:

Kara and I were sitting at a table for two, criticizing the get up that our waitress was donning. Polka dot shirt, plaid shorts, cowboy boots. Eclectic, sure. But we were questioning the relevance and worth of boots during the summer; the trend is showing up in fashion magazines and apparently on girls cooler than we, so the issue was important to discuss. A few minutes later, a man in a hideous orange shirt approaches our table. He said, "I saw you looking in our direction. Did you notice the large hemorrhoid on my friend's ass?"

I mean, he had me at hello. I think he was mostly after Kara (thank God), but there were a few minutes of awkward exchange between all three of us. I did feel bad for him because it was clear that things weren't going to end with him looking like anything but an ass. Kara's friend Jane, who had been in the restroom, sat back down at the table about two minutes into this horrible conversation, with a very amused look on her face. I understand that look. It's like, "Ha ha, I don't have to deal with this, but I'm going to pull up a seat and watch."

Matty typically has a similar response. Instead of swooping in like a superhero, I can often see his amused eyes watching me suffer through conversation with some random guy, who apparently doesn't see the neon sign flashing on my forehead. Except last week, instead of swooping in or ignoring the situation, Matt put a round of drinks for five on some poor guy's tab who wouldn't leave me alone (I believe his line was "I want you to tell me something about life that I don't yet know").

The neon sign on my foreheard briefly changed to "Last laugh! Last laugh!" But only for five minutes.

What the hell do they say?

Several years ago, Jables burned me a CD with a random mix, but he didn't give me a list of songs and artists. There was a song I really liked, but I could not figure out what the name of it was or who sang it. I tried to repeat the lyrics to Jables many times, but the only thing I could really make out for sure was something about a "fuzzy wild cat." He told me time and time again that he had no clue. I since figured out that my mistaken lyrics were "surfing on a rocket" and the song was "Surfing on a Rocket" by Air. I just told Jables, and he got a little laugh out of it.

He said not to feel bad, though. When he was six, he thought that "Takin' Care of Business" was really "Mulkeytown Biscuits."

I know you all have done this before. Please share.

My critters...

Sammy the cat coming out from hiding














A very pregnant Belle, but she is now the proud mama of seven (yes, seven) puppies

Tony Toni Tone missed this shindig...

I randomly began watching The Anniversary Party late last night on TV. All I previously knew about this movie was that Alan Cumming starred, and he had some hand in getting it made.

Similar to Closer, this flick took me on an emotional roller coaster ride. I don't know if I've ever seen such intense acting, particularly during a scene with Cumming and Jennifer Jason Leigh near the end. I'm honestly not sure how they could put themselves through that mess in order to create the film, especially scene after scene.

Anyway, the cast is awesome: Cumming, Leigh, Jennifer Beals, Gwyneth Paltrow, Kevin Kline, John C. Reilly, Phoebe Cates, Parker Posey...Sadie Frost in a photograph. (Haven't you always wondered why the hell she is famous? I mean, besides being Jude Law's ex-wife).

The plot takes place all in one night, a la The Breakfast Club. It has the feel of similar ensemble movies like The Big Chill, with a baby boomer cast of characters. In fact, Kline's role in Party seems like a direct nod to that formula. But, it is revealed that perhaps these representatives of that partying era have at last seen their day, as they are individually juxtaposed with a member of Gen X who is also a guest at the party.

Check out Ebert's review from 2001.

What did the cabbage roll say to the pierogi?

I'll go ahead and admit it: I have grandmother issues.

But every once in awhile, she says something so ridiculous that I laugh for five minutes straight.

The lady is 100% Polish, and she was very happy to hear that I experienced my first "Polish wedding" a few weekends ago in Chicago. She reiterated her belief that "Polish people are the best people" multiple times after my mom informed her of my trip.

I saw her today when she came over for dinner (DiMaggio's Pizza, what's up now?), and she wanted to hear all the details. Did I eat Polish food? Did I dance the polka?

I told her that they didn't play very much polka music, but they did play a lot of upbeat disco-inspired music that was all in---

"German?" she asked, expectantly.

And there you go.

Sammy the cat...

If you're a consistent reader of this blog, you know that I have a very soft spot for animals. I fought for those baby birds' right to live, and I was appalled that my roommate would want to destroy a double digit number of frogs. And those aren't even domesticated critters. You should see me with the doggies and the kitties. (The only animal I thoroughly despise is the snake...they can all rot in hell).

Growing up, my family household was the area rehab center for strays. If a creature showed up on the front porch, looking hungry and miserable, we fed it and loved it. We couldn't say no (well, my dad could, but he doesn't exactly wear the pants when it comes to these matters...and I mean that in the most endearing way possible). I guess this is still a common trend with the Quanks. Of our three dogs, two are mutts. Molly is an adopted mix of Brittany spaniel and German shepard. Belle is a rat terrier my mom found in a ditch while taking a walk down the country road in front of the Quank homestead. (A little sidenote...Belle is knocked the hell up, and she's extremely visibly pregnant. She could have those pups any day now. Good for me, since I'm visiting my parents. I want to coach her through the labor. I'm not kidding).

Last night on the way home from the bar in the Loop, Matt and I found an orange kitty...a very skinny, malnourished orange kitty. As he purred and snuggled up to our legs instantly upon meeting us, we pondered what to do. Obviously, given the spot we were departing, our most rational judgment was not at its peak. But Matt, who is definitely not a cat person, offered to keep him in his storage room in the basement of his condo building overnight in order to at least feed him. So, we got into the car with our new friend and wondered if he'd freak the funk out. Instead, the cat settled into my lap while I drove and was calmer than calm.

This morning, I made the phone call to my mom. It didn't take much convincing for her to approve me bringing the cat home. This thing contentedly sat on my lap the entire 2 hour drive to Christopher from St. Louis. It's a dog inside a cat's body. Matt and I went through a list of names before we finally settled on Sammy (short for Uncle Sam, since he's a 4th of July kitty). Morris (of Morris Day and the Time) was a close second.

Sammy wasn't a very happy camper when he met Pugsley the pug. I'm nervous for his introduction with Molly and Belle. But the way I figure it is that I'm offering him a much better shot than he had roaming the streets of St. Louis. I hope he sticks with it. Despite being newly allergic to them, cats have always been my favorite.

For my homegirl Teeps & homeboy Deeps...

One of the best Scrubs clips ever. Don't know why I never realized you could get it off You Tube.

Here's my 2nd favorite from season 5.

Oh wait, here's another...

The movie I'm waiting for...

Watch a lengthy Running with Scissors trailer here. God, I hope it's good.