Have you heard the new single by T.I. feat. T-Pain and T9Word? OR Thank Jesus My Phone Knows "Shmau"

Words my phone does not know how to spell:

1. Nevermind
2. Catchphrase
3. Conchords
4. Bullshit
5. Voicemail
6. Snuggling
7. Beyonce

Each and every one of these words is integral to my life.

This Is Going To Be So Nerdy

I love to make my bed.

1. Okay, I don't really. It's a pain in the ass and from a practical, I'm-only-going-to-sleep-in-it-later way, totally pointless.

2. But when I do do it (if you laughed at "do do" you get 55 points) it's like this great magical thing. I love my bed. I spend a lot of time in it. I go out of my way to acquire things for it that please me visually and to the touch. Tonight making my bed, I got sucked in. The soft 70s (yet still pretty) floral sheets I bought at a thrift store. Then the light cotton blanket, the only thing I don't love the look of but it's practical and the only thing that I didn't buy or make, but rather came from my family and has been on my bed since 1987. Then a well-loved, well-worn garage sale find, an all white blanket with lots of overhang and even a tasseled edge. This blanket reminds me of Civil War-era America. It's full of holes, but when it's spread flat across a bed, I just can't not stand and admire how beautiful a bed looks draped in white. Why the hell is that? Next is the blanket I made myself, a quilt. I enjoy it's pattern and the fact that it's my own handiwork - it's a great feeling to know that you can provide for yourself something as fundamental as bedcoverings. Lastly, the beautiful off white blanket covered in bright orange flowers. It's crocheted, but unlike most crocheted blankets it's not ugly, and it drives me wild with happiness to know that somebody spent so much time and energy and made such a gorgeous blanket. I like to think that an old woman made it and then died, hence the donation to thrift store land, and that my having it somehow connects me to crafty ladies from all of history. I just hope I never find out that it was a top selling item at Target in the nineties or some shit.

N E W S

My parents bought a gigantic house in the SW hills of Portland. It has 4 bedrooms, a giant downstairs/basement to be rented out, a nice backyard and a HOT TUB. That's right. H O T T U B HOTTUB! so get your ass up here and sit in my new hot tub with me. No excuses.

LAcation Part 2.

amazing.

LAcation

So I came down to LA (from my new home in Portland, OR) for a friend's birthday and then decided to stay a month until another friend's wedding (mid august to mid september). I've been hanging around, moving from couch to bed to couch again between lots of fantastic LA and Orange County friends and doing a whole lot of nothing. I read, go online, watch DVDs, play guitar, accompany friends on errands, shop, ETC and in the evenings I usually find myself drinking and smoking with my buddies. I have no responsibility, no obligations, no job, no whatever....

I should be blissed out, right? Why do I feel like I'm just killing time? Don't get me wrong, I'm having fun and enjoying hanging out with all these cool people, but part of me feels totally dead. I find myself feeling the impulse to get back to Portland already, but why? What am I returning to? What is there to look forward to? Getting a job?

This is such a weird time in my life. I'm twenty-two. I've just graduated from college and I'm extremely privileged. I have more mobility than I know what to do with and faced with knowing that the world is my proverbial oyster, I just want to go back to bed.

why i'm obsessed with Vh1's "The Pick-Up Artist"

For the first time in the history of my family, we have cable. So a few weeks ago I stumbled upon a show on VH1 called "The Pick-Up Artist." The show is hosted by a tall, skinny, perpetually hat-and-ski-goggles clad obvious ex-nerd named Mystery and the premise: 12 nerdy ass dudes, ranging from a 45 year old virgin to a 22 year old anxiety stricken cutie, come live in a mansion and learn how to talk to, pick up, make out with, and date W O M E N. Each week a dude is eliminated based on how well he puts Mystery's "teachings" into action. The last man standing will earn the title "Master Pick-Up Artist" and travel the world with Mystery teaching other wayward dudes how to talk to ladies. K?

Without a doubt, the show is sexist. Women, during episodes, are frequently compared to children and animals. In the club, the men of the show are encouraged to approach their "target." It's the typical misogynist bullshit that makes my feminist blood boil. But I can't stop watching it.

I'm completely hooked and here's why: Yes, Mystery is a chauvinist who looks to be seeking revenge on the women who shunned him when younger and nerdier. But the men, the 12 participants, could not be more sweet. Imagine men. On television. Being insecure and emotional. Not for laughs. These dudes are insecure. They want relationships. The openly admit that they are terrified of women. And they obviously love eachother. Unlike the inevitable drama among competitors on shows like "American's Next Top Model," these guys are really looking out for eachother, providing support through ups and downs. During elimination it is not uncommon to see tears. A lot of tears. Especially from the bottom two, the one that stays ultimately crying, hugging and consoling the one that is eliminated. Where can you see that on television?