Want.

Women's medium.
You know, so the twins can breathe.

The Hangover

Ugh. Ugggggghhhhh. Where's the Pepto?

It was like one of my worst hangovers. The one where I stayed in bed all day and didn't get up until 6:45 in the evening. When I couldn't even keep toast in my system for more than a few minutes.

Where my time at the bar was carefully concealed as "fun" and was only a precursor to the hell that was soon to follow.

It was bad.

I was really excited to see this film, mostly because I have been a fan of Zach Galifianakis for years. (Have you seen his Comedy Central special? Hilarious! Out Cold? Hilarious!) And Bradley Cooper has been on my radar since "I Want to Marry Ryan Banks" (yes, another glorious ABC Family movie). I was pumped, and perhaps my expectations were too high, especially after the barrage of good reviews.

And The Hangover *was* funny at times... but completely forgettable. Maybe that's because every single joke was stolen from previous films, the plot was obvious and cliche, and I just don't find Asian stereotypes funny (have you seen Mickey Rooney's go as Mr. Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany's? This one was worse. And shame on the filmmakers, because at least Tiffany's was made in the 60s).

I did laugh - mostly at Galifianakis. Jeffrey Tambor's (Arrested Development) screen time as the bride's father was great, but lacking. And Cooper looked absolutely delectable in his black on black suit, but to me, the movie was just a classier, slightly less juvenile rehash of Dude, Where's My Car. Because not only could they not remember the night before, they couldn't find their (borrowed from the bride's father) car.

Of course they couldn't.

Doug (Justin Bartha) wedding is just a few days away, and his buddies are taking him to Vegas. (Really?) Phil (Cooper) is a slightly sleazy beat-down family man and Stu (Ed Helms) is completely emasculated by his girlfriend. And then there's Alan (Galifianakis) - Doug's soon-to-be brother-in-law - tagging along. He's a little... slow. And bizarre.

But lo! After a communal drink on the hotel roof, we cut to three of the four buddies passed out in a completely wrecked suite with a chicken, a tiger, and fewer teeth. But wait! Where's Doug? He's getting married tomorrow! (WHO CARES.)

Even Mike Tyson singing Phil Collins didn't do it for me.

And that's just it - the stunt casting, the ridiculous plot, the forced jokes, and the horrifying racial stereotypes? One, I can handle. Even two. But yet, everyone else (save Mike, who I dragged kicking and screaming to the theater, and was sweet enough to not throw too many "I told you so's at me" on the drive home) has liked this film.

I guess what it boils down to is that I am not a late-twenties former frat boy. And I'm okay with that.

Sherlock Reimagined

I don't quite like the general feel of the trailer straight out, because it gives a mystical/supernatural sort of aura, but I was completely sold by the end. Anyone want to see it with me? I have a feeling that Mike might bow out of this one.

The Disgusting Perils of Public Transportation

Oh my God oh my God oh my God. I am so DISGUSTED with this DISGUSTINGNESS, I can barely type.

I'm currently temping at the University Medical School, and it's more than a good two miles from my house. Walking is definitely acceptable, if I got up early enough - which I do not - so it's either ten bucks a day in the parking structure or the bus. I've discovered that I can hop on one bus near my house (about a half block, which is brilliant), ride to the transit center, switch to another bus, and get dropped off about two blocks from work. It's awesome and free, as the University pays the fare for students and staff.

Awesome, right? WRONG.

About a week ago, I noticed a bug bite on the back of my neck. I was obviously convinced that it was spider bite, because I am just that ridiculous, so I let it go. But days later, it was still there, and it was itchy.

And then, this weekend I got a cold. My throat hurt like holy hell, and coupled with the rash, I was pretty sure that I was dying, so I made a doctor's appointment.

I was relieved to hear that I didn't have strep throat, but then my doctor hit me with, "Oh, yeah. It's just ringworm."

GROSS. GROSS GROSS GROSS.

He figured that I got it at the gym, which is hilarious, because I wouldn't know what to do if I stepped into a gym let alone near any gym equipment. But then it hit me.

The fucking bus.

I actually remember getting on the bus after work. My hair was up because it was a pretty warm day, and the bus was late. I was exhausted, so I leaned back to rest my head. And apparently, I leaned it back right into SOMEONE'S RINGWORM SWEAT.

GROOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!

So please people, when on public transportation, promise me that you will be careful to touch only what is absolutely necessary. If wearing a skirt, stand (imagine if I'd been sitting in a skir... GROSS!). Wear gloves in August. Try not to breathe.

Seriously, I want to vomit.

Luckily, my insurance proved to be as worthless as it always is, and the magical healing cream was $115.75! Because I have that kind of cash. But I guess that's what credit cards are for. Dammit.

This Is All the More Impressive If You Know Anything About Golf

My honey loves to golf.

The other weekend? He shot a 73. One over par. One over par! I know very little about golf, and even I recognize the impressiveness of that score.

I went on my first ride-along of the season this weekend, and when I wasn't busy driving the cart on the green (apparently this is a no-no), or accidentally talking in the middle of someone's back swing (how much of a jackass am I, seriously?), I took some pictures.

No, I was not golfing. I'd be willing to bet that even those of you who don't know me find the idea of me golfing a hilarious joke. I have absolutely zero patience and don't really like light beer. I would be a horrible golfer!

Contemplating.

Baby bunny. Not yet wary of the world.
Probably why I was able to get so close.

Camilo.

The ducks are smarter than the bunny.
They know to swim away from the psycho with the camera.

End of the golf day.
I didn't crash once!

The Land of Wooden Shoes and Windmills

My darling Emily lives in Holland, Michigan, and she's getting married to an adorable lumberjack of a man named Tim. (Okay, he's not a lumberjack. But I'd be willing to bet that he could lift a tree. I mean, the man hunts BLACK BEARS). Seriously, they are sickeningly adorable.

There's not going to be any cake.

Anyway, the wedding shower was Saturday, and rather than drive two and a half hours west, stay for the two-hour shower, and drive home, I thought that I would head out there after work on Friday. Which I did.

(Isn't this a RIVETING story so far?)

Emily and I have been friends since we were eight years old, and there is something special about friendships like ours. After college and an induction into the real world, childhood and high school friends aren't always abundant features in one's life. With the onset of adulthood, we face significant changes from starting college to starting new jobs and sometimes moving around from place to place.

I don't know if it's the same for everyone, but for me, I have retained only a few childhood friends. Emily and I, though, have weathered it all. Elementary school rivalries, high school boys, and colleges on different sides of the state. I am honored to stand up in her wedding, as she'll be in mine.

I wasn't in Holland for even twenty-four hours, but we managed to have a great time. A nice lady is fixing my bridesmaid dress, because the stupid dress place is stupid. The shower was surreal, but I'm sure that we'll talk about it for years. But seeing how much Tim's family loves her was the best part. It's what she deserves.

There was much that we didn't have time for (farmer's market!), but that's all the more reason to go back. In like, a few weekends!

Friends for 21 years.
A whole person-who-can-drink long friendship!

Happy Birthday, Jen!

This is the someecard, along with my text, that I sent to my old roommate, Jen. I thought that I would share, with you, the realities of getting older.

Hello my lovely former roomie!

Happy, Happy Birthday! I hope that you have a wonderful day!

I have a very lovely card for you in my bag here, and it was ready to be mailed to you three days ago, yet I am amazing because here it sits. I can see it from here. Therefore, I will probably mail it. Well, I definitely will, because I've already put on a stamp, and not mailing it would be wasteful, and I am poor, so therefore I will mail it. It's just that it has yet to be determined whether I will mail it today or sometime next week. And that's how it goes because you're older now and I think that it's a good time to tell you that LIFE ISN'T FAIR and that sometimes we can't always get what we want.

Oh, right. Happy Birthday :)

Love, Heather

Bitten

Yeah, I thought that the show was awesome AWESOME until the last segment, and since then I have become a paranoid freak. Even more than the time I washed a spider down the drain.

What show? "I Was Bitten" on the Discovery Channel. The premise? Real stories with DRAMATIZATIONS (of course, they were fake, but these moments were the most traumatizing parts of the whole damn show) of their ordeals after having been bitten/stung/etc. by some of the deadliest creatures on the planet.

I caught an episode about halfway through, so I have no idea of the horrors I missed, but I did get to see a guy explain what happened when he stumbled upon a nest of killer bees. While it was unpleasant to hear his doctor talk about the number of stingers that were removed from his body in the ER (over one thousand), it was nothing compared to the victim of the last story.

This guy - this poor, poor bastard - was bitten by a brown recluse in his sleep because his bitch of a wife had stolen all of the covers and he grabbed a blanket from the floor. He had no idea that the little pin prick he felt was a spider bite, so even though he found a large welt on his leg upon waking, he didn't think much of it and went to work.

Well APPARENTLY, the venom of a brown recluse relies on gravity to do its worst, and by the end of the episode, this guy had a circle of dead tissue removed from his leg. How much? A diameter of TWELVE INCHES. It was horrifying. Even scarier was the fact that this couple had been killing at least one recluse a day in their apartment, not realizing what they were nor that their apartment was completely infested with the BROWN RECLUSE SPIDERS.

What. The. Shit.

And now? I am freaking myself out thinking that there are poisonous spiders everywhere. I flip back my covers before getting into bed, I clap my slippers together before putting them on, and I am seriously considering removing the dust ruffle from my bed so that nothing crawly has easy access.

Thanks, SHOW.

Catch-up

Hey nerds! It's been absolutely nutters around here lately, what with temping (oh yes, I am temping, and it's been just GLORIOUS), the approaching summer, and way too many parties, showers, and get-togethers. What else has been going on?

First, my evil hippie landlord is making me take down my bird feeders, which pretty much crushes my soul. She admittedly knows nothing about birds, which is fairly surprising as I thought that hippies loved fauna as much as they love flora. She thinks that my bird feeders are going to contribute to the absolute ruin of the house, and I want to punch her for it, but it is her house, so I guess I have to comply.

But I really want to punch her.

Second, my cousin Christin got engaged, which is awesome. Congratulations to her and John, even though I'm pretty sure that she's never read this here blog even though I've sent it to her on multiple occasions, Christin.

Third, my poor little car got a new snazzy side mirror, though it did sport fancy silver duct tape for a few good days, making me feel more and more at home the closer I got to Detroit.

Fourth, a giant baby accosted me while on a picnic and tried to steal my camera:

But I prevailed:

Fifth, my other niece turned four. FOUR.

It seems like only yesterday that she looked like this:

She was quieter then, too. Which is a nice memory...

And I thought that April was supposed to bring rain showers, not June. But since it is a rare day that Michigan's weather makes any sense, it's rained here seven days out of the last eight. It's JUNE. Cut it out, WEATHER.

Also, I have a whole post about Mike's latest adventures on the golf course, but it should really be a photo post, and I have yet to go on a ride-along at the course this year, so it will just have to wait. (And while you're at it, picture me on a golf course and laugh your ass off a little bit).

Lastly, even though I've said it for the last year and a half, I am planning a trip to DC. Really! I mean, probably. Unless I get a real job. Or if the prices don't drop anytime soon. $200 for an hour-long flight? No, Northwest. No.