Wifetime!

Ok, first off... blah blah we're bad at keeping up w/ our blog. It's the holiday season ok, RELAX! We didn't forget about you people, alright?? GOD!

Anyway, the weekend following my (gulp) 27th Birthday I hopped a flight to the frozen tundra, AKA Chicago, to see the wifey! It was drunken debauchery once again, in the cold and ice, but I loved it. My trip started off with a near repeat of my wife's solo evening of wine and Gossip Girl, however I was there to make it an evening of drunken wifetime, so it was FUN:)

The schedule for the weekend included, Faux's office X-mas party, a G-Family Xmas Bash, and finally some live band karaoke. The party schedule + wives= too much scheduling of showers and whatnot to be on time. SO... I sent the wife to the bank w/ my ATM card to faciliate faster primp time. This was a VERY stupid idea. Apparently, although I am TERRIBLE with calculations, etc... I should be the one handling finances in this marriage. That biatch was too busy checking her mug in the mini ATM mirror or something, and left my card in the ATM!!! The most RETARDED part of this whole thing is that the damn bank WOULD NOT GIVE ME THE CARD BACK! There is no possible way that I could have known all the info on the card unless it was mine! But, nonetheless, that damn Chicago institution, "La Salle Bank" can KISS MY ASS!!!

I finally got my card this weekend, and although it's absence TOTALLY screwed me out of online shopping for xmas, I suppose I will not ask for a divorce just yet. My wife showed me an ex time while in the Chi, including getting to sleep w/ lil' Molly- that crazy pooch, and introducing me to the wonders of live band karaoke and Flash Taco at 3am. If those things aren't worth saving a marriage, I don't know hat is.

Now, since, it's almost certain I will not write again before the New Year... I hope you all have a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Enjoy lots o' nog and prezzies, and don't forget to get something sparkly for your 2 fave unicorns!!

Luv ya!!!
~Boulos:)

oooh one more thing...

My lovely Boulos sent me a wonderful picture that her friend Lauren found. OMG I love it. You know how people have pictures of a kitty hanging off a tree in their cubes? Or their children? Well this is what I now have in my cube, right next to my computer screen. It has been eliciting random giggles for about 2 days now:

WWCBD?*

Man, we are bad at this blogging stuff.

To get back in the swing of it, I'll just share a short tale I call: "My Wednesday Night."

Originally, I was supposed to go for drinks with this guy I met (gasp!) on the internet. But that ended up not working out. He's forgiven, mainly because he is English, so I guess we're meeting up next week.

That doesn't mean I wasn't a little disappointed though. So I used my last $19 to buy a bottle of red wine on the way home (well, I had $5 left over after that) and I drank the whole bottle alone while watching dvr-ed episodes of Gossip Girl with my dog and smoking too much.

How hot is that? Wait, WHY are men breaking dates with me?!



*That's "what would Carrie Bradshaw do?" Not this, I'll bet -- thank god.

The Dinglehopper Rises to Popularity!!

The other day, while riding in Andy's new truck, I saw a fork in his center console. I thought it was kind of an odd place for a piece of silverware, so I asked him what it was for. He said, "Well I couldn't find my brush, and I was running to the DMV to get my new license, so I used the fork! It worked really well!"

As you can imagine, my only response was hysterical laughter. The only thing I could think to say was, "Oh my God, my boyfriend is the Little Mermaid!" LOL! So, yeah... for those of you who aren't aware, in the Little Mermaid, the seagull, Scuttle tells Ariel that a fork is called a "dinglehopper", and that humans use it to style their hair. Congratulations, Andy... you are a teenaged cartoon mermaid, Cheers!

Things I Learned After Four Fruitless Hours Spent In a Jury Waiting Room

The majority of people are very unattractive

The majority of people available for jury duty seem to be rather old; was there some kind of “you are young and promising: opt out” box I missed?

Living in a city, in a relatively trendy area populated mostly with people between the ages of 20 and 40, it is easy to mistrust the media regarding the nation’s “obesity epidemic.” In a county courthouse, you find out who owns those faceless bellies from stock footage.

I am really hot within the confines of a jury waiting room. Some men do not mind telling me this with their blatant stares.

Watching game shows with a roomful of people is nearly unbearable.

Crazy old men who fart loudly in a roomful of strangers and then laugh about it could loosely be considered my “peers.”

I still don’t know how to find the fastest way from the suburbs to the northwest side of Chicago.

Rock n Roll Unicorns 4 EVA!!!!

Alright, last weekend was an AWESOME reunion of your fave unicorns, Tania, Vince, and all sorts of special guests from the old gang. You will hear debauched tales at a later date, and right now you can check Amanda's myspace for some sweet pics from our friend Allyson's wedding. However, without further ado I give you the most awesome tattoos ever in creation:

That's right. Rock n' Roll Unicorns will be around FOREVER!! Woo!

Tatu

Yes, that's right -- Boulos and I are acquiring accents, shaving ten years off our ages and starting a pop group whose mystique will lie in our ambigous sexual relationship, which is to say, the rumors that we "are doing it."

No, actually, WE ARE GETTING ROCK N ROLL UNICORN TATTOOS THIS WEEKEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! For reals. This has been years in the making, but somehow we just came up with this plan like a day ago. I don't know why we didn't think of it before. It's my birthday weekend (kinda -- that's what you say when your bday is the day AFTER a national holiday). So, so many of our friends are reuniting in NYC this weekend. It is just natural that we do it now.

I understand that many people probably do not know what a Rock n Roll Unicorn is. The fact is, you can't really know a Rock n Roll Unicorn. It is, by nature, enigmatic and difficult to describe. It's like obscenity, really. You know it when you see it -- don't ask me to describe it.

Luckily for you, we will take pictures of our brand new tattoos and post them here!

mmm, bac-os...

Radar has a very funny list of reasons you're still single, which Alice forwarded to Boulos, who forwarded it to me.

Things that pertain to me:

6. Have written poetry inside a Starbucks

10. Are Courtney Love (replace “are” with “aspire to be”)

19. Scream out Wheel of Fortune answers (but more often, it’s Jeopardy)

31. Call October "Rocktober" (actually, it was Cocktober. Which is better)

51. Call underwear "panties" (to horrify people, because in my experience roughly 50% of the female populace cringes upon hearing that word)

75. Have a bedside stack of Sudoku books (and crossword puzzles)

98. Posted a Craigslist "Missed Connections" ad to find the kid who groped you on the subway (j/k. But I did once give my real number to a guy who hit on me in a really inappropriately close manner in the subway. I have no idea why I did that, it was like a momentary lapse of logic.)


I would argue the the following best describe middle-aged, "married-but-looking" type men I've met, rather than the single set.

7. Wink in a rakish manner each time you tell a joke

28. Refer to your PDA as a "Crackberry"

37. Prefer the "fist bump" when meeting strangers and always insist they "lock it in"

38. Refuse to remove your Bluetooth earpiece during sex

46. Feel most comfortable in Tevas and jorts

58. Have taken more than one cell phone picture of your genitals

73. Will do anything for "shits and giggles"

83. Refer to yourself as a "vagitarian"



These qualities intrigue me. I'd like to develop them.

8. Have a ferret on your shoulder

63. Have a Tasmanian Devil "tramp stamp"

76. Can only make love to the Mighty Mighty Bosstones

Gchats

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Lollapalooza

I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats awaiting my review of Saturday 8/4 at Lollapalooza. Well, I don't like to disappoint. So here you go.

I am lazy, I sleep late, and I don't do well spending all day in crowds, so I didn't show up til 3:30 and only saw 5 bands. But it was totally worth the $80, and I'm gonna tell you about it.

Cold War Kids
Originally we'd planned to get there at about 2:30 to catch either Silverchair or Stephen Marley, though I have no idea what either is doing these days. That didn't really work out and so we got there just in time for Cold War Kids.

They sounded really good, but they were on a little side stage and this created the only "dear lord, get these people away from me!" conditions we experienced all day. A tiny bit of that reaction may have been due to my sober state, which I did not maintain after CWK, thank god. But it was packed and we were quite far from the stage. Plus we were facing west and people crossing the park were walking north/south, and thus right into us. This blew.

The lead singer had a lot of enthusiasm and I'm quite excited about seeing them open for the White Stripes in October. But we were just too far, it was too crowded, and I was too hot to really get into this.

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

I basically just wanted to hear them live and had no desire to get near the stage. So we laid down an little blanket and sat on the grass, which was lovely after standing in the throng watching Cold War Kids. It also started to cool off and get breezy, which was nice. CYHSY sounded pretty good; I'm not a huge fan but I like what I've heard of their newer album. A lot of rather hot and slutty girls around us were dancing happily. I bet these dudes get laid a lot, by better-looking chicks than you'd suspect.

Regina Spektor

We left CYHSY early to catch Regina Spektor. We should have left my house the night before for a chance to get near the stage, because she was a helluva lot more popular than I expected. We were planning to head back across the park towards the end of her set, so we took a spot on the far left side of the stage. Unfortunately some very loud, very bad metal was being played not very far away on the left, so at first she was very difficult to hear (plus it was just her and a piano or occasionally just her and a guitar -- none of the bells and whistles heard on her albums). She was incredibly cute and endearing. She seems like one of those people you want to hate because they seem naively nice, but you have to love them for it. At one point when the bad metal was still going on, I thought she was singing about those dudes fucking up her songs. I've since discovered she has a song about neighbors fucking to her songs. I still think she might have changed the lyrics to fit the situation.

I was really impressed by her ability to keep people completely enchanted with her music despite the bare-bones set up. She doesn't have the raw punk spirit of Patti Smith or the haughty cheekiness of Tori Amos, but she killed us with kindness, and it was fun.

This, incidentally, was around the time I got drunk. Three cheers for my High School antics; were were allowed to bring 2 bottles of water into the park so I brought one of water, and one of heavily spiked vitamin water. Since I still bought about $40 worth of beer, I don't feel too badly about this.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

I had never seen the YYYs live before, and it was awesome. Karen O is my hero and everything I aspire to be. Bitch is crazy, in the best possible sense. She had all kinds of weird accessories including something that looked like a small tent my sister had when we were little, but in black and white. She sounded damn good, though. Their new single "Down Boy" is the sexiest song this year. Download it illegally, I promise you won't regret it (J/k, I buy almost all of my music. seriously. I'm not a good for nothing, entitled piece of scum like you). They sang a bunch of stuff from Show Your Bones, too, and a few from Fever to Tell, including "Y Control" which is one of my favorite songs ever. I was very happy about that.

During their set, I left to go to the bathroom because at this point I was drinking beer and peeing frequently, like I do. We weren't very close to the stage, but a lot closer than we had been to Ms. Spektor. I absolutely forgot to take a look at where, exactly, we were standing, though. Like a total moron, I had left my bag and my phone with my friends. I spent the majority of "Maps" wandering around looking for our spot, which is kind of funny.

Spoon

We caught a couple of songs from Spoon when we were walking over to the other stage to see Interpol. I like all of the songs I've heard by Spoon, but these first 2 or 3 sounded like really, really bad classic rock. Like the Doobie Brothers -- the Michael McDonald incarnation of the Doobie Brothers. Maybe it just wasn't an appropriate buffer between YYYs and Interpol, and my head was in the wrong place. Then it started to rain and we left for beer and food.

Interpol

Oh, lovely boys who make lovely music. Interpol and the YYYs were my reasons for attending Lollapalooza. We got there about 20 minutes before the set, but didn't even try to get very close because a) there were porta potties just down a lane from where we stood, which was important for both my bladder and my bad sense of direction and b) we were never going to get incredibly close, so I decided to deal. I was pretty much drunk at this point, and then friends of my friend gave me a few shots of vodka.

I am not a dancer at shows. I'm more a watcher and listener. But I was drunk, I love Interpol, and they sounded great. So I was dancing. Not like a damn fool, but dancing. The people around us were a mix of Interpol fans, people they'd dragged along, some curious sorts, and old men smoking pot who had clearly come straight over from Patti Smith, who had played at a nearby stage. This one dude who was dancing around like a fool gave me a high five when he saw that I knew the words. It was pretty awesome. More people are into this band than I thought. Fun times.

Then we went to a bar in Wicker Park, where we always seem to end up when the night is heading toward blacked-out drunken embarrasment. We must have had a premonition of where we were headed, because we were there pretty early, by about 11:3o, and drunk off our asses and acting like fools by about 1. It was a fun night.


Pitchfork's review of Saturday is actually pretty good and not too douchey, a real first for them.

Guess where I'm going tomorrow?

Create Your Own PaloozaHead - Visit Lollapalooza.com



And yeah, I finished the HP (not in 24 hours though, I had things like karaoke and a fear of The End to deal with). I've just been in a severe Harry Potter-less depression for about a week. But I've risen from that like a motherfuckin' phoenix. Fawkes the phoenix, that is.

Taking a Break

I will be spending most of my free time this week with this dude and/or my dog (who, incidentally, do not get along). Boulos is finished and available; contact her if you are bored and desperate for rnrunicorn times or crazy Pottertalk.

Plop Plop

While hanging out this weekend, Boulos and I were watching TV, as we are wont to do. We came across a very strange alka seltzer ad, which I will be forced to describe, as it does not yet exist on youtube:

A bunch of people are hanging out after work at a bar and the older guy shouts "Wings!" and is then seen taking a very hearty bite of what is presumably a chicken wing. Cut to two total assholes at the table who look at one another conspiratoriallybefore one says, "Wings? He won't be in tomorrow." (Maybe he doesn't repeat "wings," but whatever). Then they nod like douchebags and smile wickedly.

Then old dude is at home in the bathroom and makes a face like he has bad cramps. He takes some alka seltzer and feels better. His expressions in this scene are really horrifying.

Next morning, the young ones walk into the office uber-casually (they're HOLDING their suit jackets, not wearing them!) and boss turns a corner, smiles like the douchebuster he is, and says, "Guys, you're late!" The two lame-os look sheepish, realizing they've been outfoxed by the old gasbag. One of the two young ones is freakishly heinous.

We were perplexed by this ad -- the bad acting, the weirdness, the idea that someone's wing-eating habits would be cause to suspect they might miss work.

So, after watching Jeopardy yesterday (which I DVR 2x a day, thank you very much), I made the mistake of staying tuned for the "Jeopardy is sponsored by" ads, which are always super creepy (AARP ads, ads for life insurance you can get even if you are 104, the roll-them-out-of-bed-and-into-the-wheelchair thing that helps you take care of your invalid spouse at home -- basically, they are aimed at people who are knocking at death's door). The first was a creepy ovaltine commercial, of course. God, those people are all robots, especially whoever is offering the children the robot-juice they call ovaltine, in this case a scary-ass mom who says, "well, I guess I'll have to make more ovaltine shakes!" as though she might be saying, "well I guess I'll be eating the children's faces for dinner tonight!"

But up next: the one where the guys think their boss won't be in due to wings! I watched it 3x because I find it very amusing and I have no life. I figured out a few things we had missed upon first viewing, which I think we can be forgiven for because we didn't use the rewind feature last time, and the ad is about 15 seconds long:

1) He is actually drunk, that is why he is so cheerily ordering wings. But alkaseltzer is too subtle to come right out and say that, or advocate their product's use as a pre-hangover remedy, so they confuse and amuse us instead. His facial expression pre-alka seltzer but post-wings clued me into this -- if wings will get you that intoxicated, I'm quitting WW and heading over to Buffalo Wild Wings asap.

2) THOSE ARE NOT WINGS. They are chicken fingers/tenders, whatever you want to call them. They are blatantly fried, un-saucy, and not wing-like.

3) The white underling is SO CREEPY and ugly. He looks like Scott Thompson from Kids in the Hall, but creepier and with fish lips. I want an alternate ending in which he dies.

That is all! Pictures to come, if Boulos ever gets her ass in gear!

I <3 This.

This is hilarious. I want to write "too true" in the margins, but I'd damage my monitor. Hipsters are the new trees-falling-in-the-forest. Or something.


Spent this weekend with the wife, in NYC and NJ!! Karaoke, a wedding, FUN! More will be written, but I'm pretty sure I should wait for her to send the pictures because I think this deserves an illustrated post.

A Wee Educational Moment...

So, I decided to answer a random myspace survey the other day (something I hadn't done in over a year, I think) about my #2. It so turns out that your fave pair of wives are each other's myspace #2s. I thought our answers were so hilarious that you ALL deserve to see them. So... here goes!

First, here is mine about the wifey:

Can YOU answer 23 questions about YOUR #2?
: 1) What's their name? Amanda

2) What is their sexual orientation?
straight, aside from our "marriage"...

3) Where did you meet them?
We met in our dorm in sophomore year at NYU, and we've been wives ever since!

4) What was your age when you first met?
18!

5) Is this person one of your friends?
I GUESS...

6) Say something that only makes sense to you and that person.
Did we destroy the rules from the book? God, I hope so...

7) Is this person older than you?
older by 3 months exactly.

8) When was the last time you saw this person?
April on the drunkfest that was NASHVILLE!

9) Do you miss them?
I miss her sweet ass daily.

10) Are you related to this person?
She's my wife, does that count? Her sis is my faux sis.

11) Do you have nicknames for each other?
SOOO many. Oh Flapjack!

12) Is that person bringing sexy back?
You bet your ass.

13) Do you think that person will repost this?
If she know's what's good for her!

14) Why is this person #2 on your top friends?
My bro has precedent, b/c the whole blood relation, you understand, right Wife?

15) Have you seen this person cry?
Yeah, oh that Beaches! (j/k!)

16) Do you know this persons last name?
There ain't no ass in Glasbrenner, that's all I gotta say.

17) Do you tell them a lot about your life?
Probably more than she wants to hear, LOL!

18) Doing anything tonight with them?
Only in spirit... she's in Chicago.

19) If yes, What?
Uh, spiritual bonding??

20) Do you love them?
Well, she is my wife!

21) Would they date you?
She married me, what do you think?

22) What's something the person is obsessed with?
There was the tuna renaissance, but right now? A lot of things, the internets (as she calls it) in general I would have to say.

23) Does this person make you laugh?
On a daily basis!



And now, Amanda's response about me:


This works out perfectly, as boulos is my #2 (more important than my bro, it seems)


1) What's their name?
Kelly, better known as Boulos (in certain circles)

2) What is their sexual orientation?
bicurious

3) Where did you meet them?
Randomly assigned suitemates, or as I like to think of it, an NYU-arranged marriage

4) What was your age when you first met?
A few days before my 19th birthday, I would imagine

5) Is this person one of your friends?
Yes

6) Say something that only makes sense to you and that person.
omg I cannot BELIEVE you went there with yours, though that was perfect. Um... "If I drank a lot and tried real hard."

7) Is this person older than you?
Nope, younger by exactly 3 months

8) When was the last time you saw this person?
The end of April, in Nashville.

9) Do you miss them?
Yes!

10) Are you related to this person?
Not by blood.

11) Do you have nicknames for each other?
Um, yes. "wife" being #1. Also, chuckles.

12) Is that person bringing sexy back?
Duh

13) Do you think that person will repost this?
If she did, this would be a perpetual cycle

14) Why is this person #2 on your top friends?
She and my sister are actually neck and neck for "person I talk to/text/email most," but I've known my sister longer

15) Have you seen this person cry?
Yep. "Behind the Music: The Day the Music Died"

16) Do you know this person's last name?
What a ridiculous question. It's Boulos

17) Do you tell them a lot about your life?
Yes

18) Doing anything tonight with them?
Maybe accidentally watching the same thing on tv?

19) If yes, What?
America's Got Talent.
J to the mofo K! Probably Jeopardy or Law and Order!

20) Do you love them?
Duh

21) Would they date you?
I'm the kind of girl you fuck or marry, not the kind you date.

22) What's something the person is obsessed with?
WW (aren't we all?). Unicorns, kittens and rainbows.

23) Does this person make you laugh?
She lights napkins on fire in moving vehicles and insists we count Missouri 3x!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Enjoy all! Hope you pooped your pants from laughing!
~Boulos

POOP!

Ok, I don't even think an appology would suffice for my neglect of our dear blog at this point, so I will just say a simple, sorry, and move on to something that you NEED to hear.

Although the wife has been updating rather dilligently, she failed to mention the incredibly unbelievable trip that was NASHVILLE '07. My faux-sis (Amanda's actual sister and roomate) ran a marathon in Nashville on April 28th. She is quite the traveller when it comes to her job, and offered us a free hotel room courtesy of her points, if we flew down in support of her run, and for lots of drunken times. The wife and I would NEVER turn down a chance to share a King sized bed, or to drink at all times of day and night, and to eat more than our weight in BBQ, so of course we went.

The weekend was a FESTIVAL of gluttony. Being a member of Weight Watchers (I've lost 30lbs since Jan, thank you very much), I hadn't drank or eaten such an unimaginable amount of food in MONTHS. The conversations we had circled around our gassiness, desire to poop, or the constant surprise at how much we'd just ingested. After the victory party hosted by Melissa's running group, the wife and I continued to drink for several hours, and then somehow stumbled up the giant hills of Nashville to get home to the hotel. A few hours later, at about 6am I awoke to the blaring television, all lights were still on, and the wife was asleep in her clothes next to me. This did not at all surprise me, so I shut everything off in my hungover haze, and proceeded to the bathroom to pee. Now, this is where the surprise occured... Immeditately after flicking on the light, and see glaring up at me from the bowl A HUGE PIECE OF POOP swimming in pee. I was confused, and then laughed for SO LONG, I could not comprehend how one drunk wife could POOP DRUNKENLY, and then FORGET TO FLUSH IT!!!! Oh God, it is one of the top 5 funniest things that has happened in my life, I'm sure. The best part of the whole story was telling the wife what she'd done, and her asking me, "Was there toilet paper in the bowl?" as, she wasn't sure she'd wiped. LOL!

Way to go, wife. The Nashville drunkfest will forever be known as the time you left me a poop present. I will treasure it always.

Pothead (Po-theed)

Too bad Archana doesn't read the internets because she'd like this (and my subject, and I think she is one of two or three others who knows about potheed).

As noted previously, my company was kind enough to move us downtown to the land of the living. My monitor broke during the move, and then it was replaced with another dude's monitor, which was a similar big, bulky early '90s model, but had a nametag stuck in the middle of the screen and a rearview mirror. The rearview mirror was awesome for spying until I realized I was staring at myself in horror constantly, so I turned it around.

Long story short (too late!), the IT dudes were all, "hey, your monitors are from the stone age, technologically speaking. We are getting you all new, bright, classy flat screens!"

And we were like, awesome. Except that no one is really in charge here, per se. The person closest to being in charge is my friend and coworker Meghan, and most of the time we kinda wing it. So the old dino monitors have been sitting on the ground for about 2 weeks now.

She finally decided they needed to be removed, so just a few minutes ago, she said she was calling Amvets. She dialed, hung up the phone and turned to me.

"They close at 4:20. Who closes at 4:20??"

And of course I replied, "Stoners!"

I dunno, it made me giggle at the time. Maybe because I took a break with those amvets workers about an hour ago.

At Least It's Not That Old Lady, Dirty Pantyhose Smell

I have been experiencing hygiene issues for the past week or so.

That sounded disgusting. Okay, here is the issue: I have been noticing that I have smelly armpits. Like, yeah, BO-smelly. But I use deodorant! The same one I've been using for months, except I recently bought a double-sized stick of a different scent. Maybe this is why it was on sale... maybe I will never buy sale deodorant again (it IS a brand name, in my defense).

In any case, I checked and it's anti-perspirant as well, like I always buy. I've never had a severe armpit sweat issue like, oh, about 1/2 of my female friends have. And I've never had this smell issue! It's really getting me down. I bought a new deodorant during lunch but I almost don't want to try it, for fear it won't work and I will be left smelly and friendless forever.

To top it all off, later this afternoon is the party (with booze) for my new office and I don't really know 1/2 these people. I'll probably get tipsy, throw up my arms in celebration, and promptly become the office reject.

Great.

Best Picture Ever

I've seen a lot of pictures of the famous, stupid nipple incident at the Super Bowl a few years ago. How can anyone possibly avoid that nonsense? Usually, any mention of the incident makes me want to go to sleep and wake up when people have grown reasonable and, I dunno, neither idiots nor publicity whores roam the streets in the staggering numbers they do today.

However, I came across a depiction of the incident I don't' think I've ever seen before. I don't know if it's a different picture or if it's been manipulated in some way (lengthened?) but I love it. It's possible you've already seen this a million times and I just discovered it because I've been shielding my eyes from the whole thing for so long. Whatever, humor me.

I present to you Justin Timberlake, captured just as shock and awe have contorted his face into that of a old ex-con pervert who is simultaneously pooping his pants and shooting his load. While thinking of dead puppies.

OMG where have I been?

Unintentional hiatus. Work has been crazy busy, and on top of that we were moving to a new office. I didn't want anyone to catch me blogging amidst that insanity, but I have no Internet access at home. I'm pretty much living in the 18th century over there, but it's a nice 18th century in our new place.

But, our move is over, and I finally work in the actual fucking city and not in the gross suburbs! IT IS THE BEST. My sister works in the same building (random coincidence) and keeps trying to tell me I'll be over the whole riding the el, working amongst normal people and not insane freaks who play accordions at work during one of their weekly birthday parties (seriously. this happened.), having a million lunch options in walking distance thing. I swear to god, I never will. I will cherish these opportunities from this day forward and never ever take city living for granted again. (cut to a few months from now, when I'm not returning Chicago's phone calls quickly enough and she slaps me in public, ending it for good).

I have been compiling a list of things I meant to post here, but the list is in my brain, which erases things without my consent. Especially considering the tequila I've been drinking every weekend.

However, here is an interesting tidbit: I visited Target Tuesday evening, looking all run down like I do after working all day and wandering aimlessly about the store like I do anytime I visit. Luckily I had my sister back by my side when I spotted a dude I'd hooked up with last August. Running into someone you knew for only one night is strange (well, THREE NIGHTS really, considering he accosted me in a bar another time, accusing me of having been a bitch the first time, and then hit on my friend another night in a failed attempt to inspire jealousy after I didn't learn my lesson and abandon that particular bar forever...). I mean, I only associate this guy with that bar and then also with the next day, when I had to work at kicking him out of my house for an hour or so. But get this: he was buying paper towels in bulk with a girl. Rather than, you know, drinking and hitting on me.

Briefly, every stereotypical chick-lit-ish knee-jerk reaction these situations conjure up ran through me. Then I thought, sucks to be her! And checked out with my sister, as people around us continued playing that "lesbian couple, roommates or sisters?" game we encourage.

Recurring Pain in my Ass

We are very bad bloggers. Sorry, reader. I was laid up with a mysterious illness for a few days, plus I’m preparing to move at the end of the month (AGAIN). And, I’m lazy.

I realized recently that I have moved every year since high school except one. Ah, 2005. So beautifully cardboard box-free.

This time, my sister is buying a condo and I will essentially be renting a room from her. So there’s been more insanity than ever, with figuring out when we can move in (it’s a rehab so the dates have been tentative and frequently pushed back), finding a painter, and a whole mess of other stuff that she handles and I remain blissfully unaware of.

And an update regarding the neighborhood in which I grew up: Yesterday, as my sister and I drove to my parent’s house for Easter, we were forced to take a detour down an alley because a fire truck was blocking our way. A few hours later, our friend dropped by and told us there had been a huge drug bust less than a block away (a few houses down from where my ex-boyfriend lived!). The cops recovered $1.2 million worth of pot! How awesome. I expected to see Mary Louise Parker in handcuffs on my street.

And now, please let me share with you my favorite moments from the past few weeks:

The other 3... FINALLY!

We were tagged by Brooklyn Sea Hag:The Rules : Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you." People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own re: 6 weird things, as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you are tagged” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

Sorry it took me SO incredibly long to write my 3 things, I am a busy lady, and I am really quite the procrastinator, so here goes.

1) I have a gap in my teeth, and never got it fixed because of many reasons...
it would require surgery (no thanks!), my Grandma always told me it was good luck, and finally, because I think it's SEXY!!! Haha. The weirdest part is that my boyfriend ALSO has one, which is super hilarious and odd, I think.

2) I have NO SENSE OF SMELL. Like, once in a blue moon I might think that I smell something, usually garlic, and only if I am cutting it myself. I am lucky though, b/c when the gassy boyf lets 'em rip, I am immune to their awful aroma (well, I'm told they are awful).

3) Finally, I am the only naturalized US citizen in my family. My bro is in the process of getting his now, and my parents were in the country for over 20 years before getting theirs. I am the only one who didn't have to go through that process because I was born smack dab in the middle of DIRTY JERZ! Woo!


Alright, Amanda has already tagged who needs to be tagged, and I appologize again for the delay in my list. Enjoy!

~Boulos

Poetry

What could be better than a Saved By the Bell-themed Law and Order: Criminal Intent episode in which Dustin Diamond's character is portrayed as not simply a pathetic opportunistic horndog, but a dead one? And Mark-Paul Gosselaar is into screwing Dustin's Albanian sloppy seconds and pirating unreleased movies? I'll tell you what: Saved by the Bell poetry.

A couple of nights ago, while somewhat insomniac, I was struck with a brilliant lightening bolt of inspiration. I sat up, turned on the light, grabbed a pen and recorded a Saved By the Bell-themed haiku.

The following day, Boulos and I composed a number of Saved by the Bell haikus via email for this tribute to Mario Lopez. The one that came to me as if by magic is last, to properly heighten your anticipation.


Haikus by Boulos:

Oh Tori Spelling
Playing Nerdy Violet
9-0 Will Save You



Beach Club Days go by
Scientologist* Romance
Love lesson for Zach



I’m so Excited
I’m so scared, I’m so scared Zach!
Jessie Spano Rocks



*Leah Remini



Haikus by Amanda:

Money in a bag.
What to do? I want tickets
to sell for profit



Hey, how gay am I?
Good question, AC Slater.
You’re totally queer.



Miss Lisa Turtle:
Stop teasing my prick, you bitch
Let's fuck already



Just take off your pants
Mr. Belding. We're not at
Bayside any more.**



**To be read suggestively but with contempt by Nomi Malone, formerly known as Jessie Spano, in the back lapdance room at the Cheetah Club, a place that almost certainly allows hooking in the Champagne Room.

Love you A.C.!

Ummm... [vomits a little in mouth]... you too, Screech!

Love of my Life?!?

Yesterday I found my Valentine!*




(The rasberry Zingers, which are woefully underrepresented on the Internet -- I would have photoshopped out the donuts if I knew how to do it, and wasn't lazy).

I had never tried these Zingers before – though my mom, sister and I were seriously obsessed with Zingers during my childhood – because I didn’t like coconut, wasn’t too into raspberry, and in general though they were gross. But I tried them yesterday, mostly out of curiosity and because the vending machine did not have yellow Zingers.

They are wonderful, amazing, and in the running for Love of my Life (you can enter to be in the running, too. Just use the comments). There goes my “figure.” (those are ironic quotation marks. Since my current figure is nothing to talk about, I really don’t care! By the way, I love parentheses!)

* Just to clarify, I didn't sit home last night and eat ice cream and zingers and a heart full of candy that I bought for myself at CVS because I’m single. It was actually a coincidence that I discovered my new love on Valentine's Day. If I had to make a list of things I would have liked more than a date on Valentine’s Day, it would be long. And let's just say it would probably involve booze and inappropriate behavior with one or more cohorts. I compromised and had dinner, but no booze, with a few friends, because I am old and lame.

This is just a disclaimer to let anyone who doesn’t know me personally know that I am not one of “those girls,” whoever those girls may be. Especially because if I don't marry snack foods, I'll likely marry a gay man. I'm well aware that neither will give me diamonds on February 14th.

6... er, 3... Weird Things

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My Next Career Move

Hello All!

This Saturday I spent about three hours doing some of the most amazing special effects makeup the world has ever seen. That's right, the Boulos siblings are involved in the production of the upcoming film, "The Unexciting Adventures of Unemployed Skeletor". The trailer can be viewed here.

So, Shane's part is that of Panthro, who has turned psychiatrist since the ending of his once popular 80's Cartoon, Thundercats.

In case you don't remember him, I will refresh your memory!


I, using my powers of ingenuity, turned a regular 28 year old musician/graphic designer into one of the most distinguished cartoon heros the world has EVER SEEN!!! That's right, my many talents continue to reveal themselves as time progresses, what can I say? I AM A CHAMELEON!

Alright... enough suspense though, I shall reveal my masterpiece...

BEHOLD!!!!!! PANTRHO LIVES!!!!!!

I'm sorry, but if that isn't one of the most awesome things you've ever seen, I don't know what is.

Enjoy! The movie is coming SPRING 2007!!!!!!!! And yes, I actually earned a credit for being a makeup artist!! I should also mention that Shane's scene with Unemployed Skeletor (or Skelly, as he's known) is so f-ing funny, keep your eyes out kids! This shit is gonna be HUGE!

~Boulos

Might As Well Face It....

In an AOL article on Lindsay Lohan’s half-hearted rehab attempt, I discovered the following:

The Wonderland Center specializes in treating addictive disorders such as love addiction.

Awesome. I hope that is what she’s undergoing treatment for, please god let someone leak that information (I’m looking at you, Harry Morton). What I don’t understand, now, is the other patients and their constant bitching regarding her frequent field trips. Dudes, you people haven’t been committed – you are doing half-assed voluntary crap at a place that treats LOVE ADDICTION. Dicking around, especially by celebs, is to be expected there. You probably knew when you checked in that this place would be a waste of money. Chill out, or better yet, take a trip to the psych ward at your local hospital. A week there will straighten you out like no amount of time at Wonderland can.

Whiny rich rehab babies are not my only current obsession. This story is. How absolutely insane is it?! My favorite parts:

Hartsfield said he couldn't recall the last time an astronaut was arrested and said there were no rules against fraternizing among astronauts.

Can you even tell astronauts what to do? They are astronauts for fuck’s sake! They’re like living legends, or actually a lot like unicorns. Have you ever seen an astronaut in person? I didn’t think so. But here is the best part:

Nowak raced from Houston to Orlando wearing diapers in the car so she wouldn't have to stop to go to the bathroom, authorities said. Astronauts wear diapers during launch and re-entry.

I take back everything I said about Wonderland; this is an obvious case of love addiction. I think we all know what the judge’s sentence should be.

Thanks to Boulos for pointing out the Robert Palmer connection I so ignorantly overlooked!

Daily Log

Something you may not know: Boulos and I spend a good deal of our "working" day emailing one another. We prefer this to instant message; I think we end up amusing one another more when we have to compose whole emails rather than type knee-jerk “ROTFLMAOLOLOLOL”s to each other. Anyway, this is how we KIT and continue to confide TMI in one another.

Today I decided to sum up “this day in the lives of Boulos and Amanda” in one of my final emails to Boulos. Keep in mind, we’re both a little out of it today due to the Super Bowl:


So today we have learned that data is good,* poorly written "medical" fluff articles suck, getting dirty rocks off is gross,** and we created our future euphemism for sex. Hopefully the sex won't be as mundane as the euphy!***

Oh, and you settled your debt**** (let's pretend it was mafia-related), but your teeth suck.*****

Kind of a mediocre day, but it had some highlights. Of course if it had featured Highlights, you would have loved it.******

--------------------------------------------------------------------------


* This might be more accurately worded as, “access to data is good,” as I was dealing with a non-functioning database. Having thought about it a bit, I think it’s actually a program and not a database. Oh well.

** Reference to Debbie, a woman with whom one of us works. Wanton sexual adventures are unattractive in a married middle-aged mother. Her habit of leaving early to partake in these adventures is not good form, but even worse is the TMI. The constant TMI.

*** A brief misunderstanding led to the mutual decision that we will one day, in front of our children, refer to sex as “trying to help him relax.”

**** (credit card)

***** Possibility of lower wisdom teeth causing chronic headaches

****** Boulos maintains a notorious, child-like appreciation of the magazine Highlights (also she loves books of Garfield comic strips, which is kind of irrelevant, but funny)

BEST THING EVER!!!!!!

The wife commisioned one of the most excellent pieces of art of all time, it's here!

Thanks, Joe!!!

~Boulos

Events Unnerve Me***

My sister received XM radio for her car as a Christmas gift. I drive her car to and from work everyday, and on Friday I was having a great time in horrible traffic, listening to XMU, the college/indie rock station. Then it all came to a grinding halt.

A song begins, and I think, “hey, I kind of recognize this…” I look down at the radio and realize it is “Ceremony,” as performed by a band called Xiu Xiu. If you are a huge Xiu Xiu fan, I apologize for the following, but I have never heard of them and will thus assume that no one else has, either (particularly none of our 5 fine readers – readership has increased!).

Immediately, I was reminded of what I think of as the Rules of Covers. They are simple, and there are only two. The first is that the cover differ somewhat significantly from the original. Not so much as to be unrecognizable, but professional musicians should not be releasing karaoke-d versions of one another’s songs.

The second rule is simple; do not completely destroy the charm of the original. Don’t change a wonderful little ditty to a crapfest, just because you can. (Here is one that, miraculously, fails on both counts).

Xiu Xiu totally took me up on the first rule. And utterly shat upon the second. The general idea I got from this song is that a bunch of slackers visited Chuck E. Cheese, and while playing arcade games created for five-year-olds, the most astute of the bunch noticed that one of the games featured a recurring audio that somewhat resembles the New Order song “Ceremony.”

They isolated the game’s audio (possibly they have a friend who works at Chuck E. Cheese and lets them in after hours), which unfortunately sounds like broken bagpipes. They played terrible industrial-type music over it. And I am referring to the noises the Sunset Island book series led me to believe constitute industrial music via the fictional band “Lord Whitehead and the Zit People” – namely, the beating of laundry room and kitchen appliances. Nothing so melodic as Nine Inch Nails.

After they settled upon this hodgepodge of garbage music, they hired a well-hung bull to violently rape the dude in the ass while he sings.

I did, however, enjoy my little fantasy that the dj at Fred (the new wave/alternative 80s station) might just give the dj at XMU a beating over this atrocity.


Update: Okay, so you can find it here. I just listened to it and the song is not as bad as I remember. I think I was a little off on the whole washer and dryer thing, but I have such fond memories of Lord Whitehead, I’m keeping it.

With this said, there is clearly no reason why this ever had to be done. Plus I think my description of they vocals was a bit too nice. Overall, my only kind thoughts were, “the drummer can keep a beat” and “hey, xylophones.” For anyone wondering: neither a respectable drummer nor the availability of xylophones constitutes a valid reason to destroy a good song. And, um, let’s mention the profile picture. The pervy dork at the local Holiday Inn is ready for the pool, guys.

I guess they're honest, though -- under "sounds like," they have listed only "Shit."



**** Totally gay to steal a borderline pretentious-sounding line from the song for the title, but I could not think of a stupid title. Sorry to be lame.

This Must Be Posted

Our friend Lisa originally sent this to us when she was looking for a wedding gift for her husband. I have been able to find it twice since, but this always takes a good half hour of googling and searching my email.

Today, we were exchanging fun wedding links (Alice will be married in July!), when I remembered this.

First, a link to the suggested gift. It should be noted that I am a woman, but if a man ever bought me a crappy watercolor for any occasion, much less our wedding, I would shoot him in the face. And if I told my story and brought the painting to the court room, I am certain I would be vindicated (provided the jury was composed of peers with good taste).

Here is the best part, the page on which it is suggested that one might buy this for her groom. The responses to this are hilarious. Unfortunately, over a year ago this page started getting spammed regularly so it might take a minute to load.

Just thought I would share, but mostly I just wanted to create a permanent link for purely selfish reasons.

There's no Ass in Glasbrenner... or Boulos!

Hello all!

I know that I have been quite negliegent in my posting, however I am here now, and I have a story that I haven't even yet shared with the wife, so that you could all be amused together... so here goes.

As some of you know, Vince was visiting from Reno recently, and had arranged a get together for some of us on the east side. Despite the chilly weather, I was lucky enough to get a cab immediately following my arrival into the city from good ole' dirrrty Jerz. I hop in, kind of flustered, and immediately start digging in my purse, completely oblivious to my immediate surroundings to try and find my cell to alert V that I might be a bit late. Half way through the ride across town, when I get more settled, I look up, and what name do I see staring at me but "BOULAS"!!!!!!! WHAT?? I want to scream and laugh, however as expected, the cabbie is in deep conversation with someone on his phone, and far be it for me to interrupt him. When he asks for a confirmation of my destination, I grab my chance...

Me: "Is your last name Boulas????"
Understandably suspicious cabbie...: "Yes..."
Me: "OMG! My last name is BOULOS, with an "O"!!!!!!!"
Cabbie: "REALLY???"
Me: "YES! Are you Egyptian???"
Cabbie: "Yes... blah blah blah, do you know where the name originates?"
Me: "My Dad used to tell me it was a derivative of Paul, and that it's Koptic."
Cabbie: "No, it actually comes from... (at this point the man suddenly forgets how to annunciate or traffic was loud, but I have no idea what the f he said).

We then proceed to talk about Egypt, and I tell him I've never been, etc. I was so blown away by this man's name, I could not even deal with it. I don't even know what his first name is, b/c his last one distracted me so! Upon arrival at the bar, my Teammate ventured a guess...Kallie. hahaha, my alter ego is a male cabbie. Um, it wasn't that, for sure. Holy shite though for the rest of the evening, everything bad was referred to as Boul-ASS, and we decided it was a good insult.

Please await pics from the wife's NYC baby vomit invasion, and me and Andy's Chicago escapade to be posted sometime in the next year.

Lates! ~Boulos

Family History

So the Bears are going to the Super Bowl. This is a very big deal in Chicago, since their last trip was 21 years ago – Boulos and I agree that this makes us feel old, since we remember it very clearly.

My father was there to see them win, in New Orleans. It sounds like quite the time. 13 men in all drove from Chicago to New Orleans in some kind of Winnebago-type vehicle. These included my father’s two uncles and his then-stepfather. My dad was 27 and probably one of the youngest guys on the trip; he and most of these men were big drinkers. That last sentence is actually a huge understatement.

His aunt sent them off with a big batch of chili. Thirteen men, a Winnebago and a bunch of chili sounds like a fun time, huh? According to my father, the men had an agreement that whoever was driving at any given time would not drink. And this was breached about fifteen or twenty minutes into the trip, when his stepfather began drinking a large amount of whiskey at the wheel.

Someone knew a guy who lived in New Orleans, and they parked the trailer thingy at his place, using his electricity. Some of them stayed in the guy’s house and I’m guessing they all used his bathroom. According to my grandma, she “does not know how his wife dealt with this,” but the woman was reportedly “a nurse who smoked pot every night,” which might explain her general coolness and permissibility.

My father told us that he and his uncle ended up at a strip club alone one night, and they met a guy who took them to a party at a trailer park. Everyone else at this party (including their new friend) was black, and my dad and his uncle were convinced they were going to be mugged. But they just ended up partying until dawn, when the man kindly returned them home. Of course, this is the story my dad shared. You have to wonder about the other stuff they did.

Over the years, I have seen several pictures of the guys with their bad-eighties hair and glassy, drunken stares and smiles. There is one of my uncle mooning the camera – I just found out last night that Jim McMahon had mooned the press and this picture is an homage. Which is classier than a random picture of ass, you know.

Family history is important, and so very fun. Hearing this story last night made me feel very straight-laced and rather ineffective in my attempts at drunken adventures. I am only 26, though, so I guess I have another year to plan something to rival this. Maybe when Boulos, my sister and I visit Nashville in April….

By the way, my aforementioned great-uncle, Tommy, passed away rather suddenly last week. He was a really great guy and probably took good care of my father in situations like this. He took care of everyone, in fact. Um, this story really didn’t capture him. I doubt he frequented strip clubs, but they were in New Orleans – I’d be in strip clubs in that situation (not performing, though, you dirty birds).

So, yeah. This is as close to a football-themed post as you’ll get from me.

I Continue To Do Reprehensible Things

Oh, I was supposed to share this story a long time ago and never quite got around to it. It is called:

“How I desecrate family values,” or “Babies? VOMIT!” or “Hi, my name is Amanda, and I’m….”

This occurred when I was visiting Miss Boulos in New Jersey. In an attempt to recapture our more recent youth, we went to Winnie’s and sang karaoke on Saturday night. We drank Hawaiian punch, as we usually do. For anyone unfamiliar with Hawaiian punch, it is basically a mixture of every liquor in the bar, grenadine, lime juice and pineapple juice. A tropical Long Island iced tea, if you will.

We drank something like 9 pitchers of it (there were other people there, but we later decided that the two of us alone consumed at least 4 or 5 pitchers ourselves). We sang many, many songs, including our Ticket to Greatness, of course. We took a livery cab back to Jersey, I passed out on the sofabed fully clothed. Boulos woke me briefly so that I could eat the Texas toast she’d so lovingly prepared. What a good wife. I passed the fuck out again and did not wake until it was nearly time to catch a train so that we could spend the afternoon with our friend Lisa, her husband, and her one-year-old baby, Ava.

While Boulos encouraged me to get the fuck out of bed, I mulled over the previous night. “Hey, it’s really a shame we never sang Love Shack.”

Boulos looked at me with incredulity. “We sang Love Shack.”

“What about Spice Up Your Life?”

“We sang that.”

“I Wanna Know What Love Is?”

“Yup.”

So, apparently I had blacked out. Keep this in mind. I almost never black out, in spite of my near-constant consumption of copious amounts of alcohol.

We ate cereal, I opted not to shower or even wash my face, but rather “touch up” my make up (yes, this is kind of appalling. I had not seen Lisa in about a year). We got on the train. We talked about food, a lot.

Lisa picked us up with el babo in the backseat. She was adorable! Seriously, the very picture of innocence and beauty. My uterus fluttered, and the baby was very polite when I sat next to her. She didn’t even hiss or spit, which would have been totally understandable.

On the ride to Lisa’s apartment, I started to feel a little carsick. We got there, had a cigarette (outside – we try not to give babies lung cancer), and I asked for a glass of water. After sitting in their living room for maybe half an hour, I just had to say it: “Guys, I think I need to throw up.”

This is possibly the best thing ever said to me: “Oh sure, just do it in Ava’s bathroom, right there.”

So about two seconds later, I kneel in an adorable bathroom full of little duckies – duckie towels, duckie shower curtain, it was so cute -- and heave my guts up. Everyone in the living room, by the way, can hear every disgusting moment of the surprisingly long and drawn-out vomitfest. And, wonderfully, my immediate thought post-barf was:

“Yum, tastes like Texas toast!”

I am totally disgusting, I know.

If anyone else has a nice story about giving the big Fuck You to decency, now is the time to share.

Psychic Trouble

I clearly have issues.

This all began maybe 5 or 6 years ago, the first time I visited a psychic. Rachel, Emily and I were walking back from Magnolia Bakery when we passed a somewhat bare psychic storefront (someone PLEASE tell me how this weird psychic lady could afford that space in the west village). I think only Emily and I got our palms read, and I remember thinking this lady was right on through Emily’s reading, and then through mine… and then she told me that I needed my chakras cleansed.

I have dirty chakras! Haha, it was a funny joke. But I was a little bit worried.

Then, this weekend, I was coming home at 5 am with Meghan and our cab driver offered to read our palms. This seemed like an awesome idea, so we went for it. But during my reading, the guy could NOT stop repeating, “oh, you are very confused. You are troubled.” Every time he began to tell me something else, he’d interrupt himself with, “No, but you are very confused.”

At the time, feeling a bit emo in my drunken state, I thought to myself, “Hey, I am very confused and troubled. This dude is right on; way to go psychic cabbie!” So I kept nodding along, hoping he would find the cure to my confusion in some other line. Which, of course, did not happen. He basically gave me a warning: YOU ARE TROUBLED.

Now I’m thinking, what the fuck? Do I have some bad psychic energy? What is going on here? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME????????????

But the good news is, I just studied my palms – on one hand, a bunch of the lines don’t meet, which was his clue that I am utterly and irrevocably fucked up. However, on my left hand, all the lines meet quite neatly. So, my left side is A-Okay!

p.s. Sorry for the massive holiday break; I am lazy.