The Song Remains the Shame

You know, there were many, many important things that I could’ve spoken about today. Like how I typed this post (primarily) on my spankin’ new Treo—a combination phone/pda/internet browser/nuclear missile launcher (also makes julienne fries!), with which I have fallen quickly and hopelessly in love. Seriously. I have strong feelings for it, feelings which cannot be denied. Someone should stop me before I tell it that it looks hot in its protective plastic screencover, and it should take it off to get more comfortable. (And then, of course, make it sign a lengthy waiver before filming it for Phones Gone Fierce 3: Menage a TREO. I am insane, you see.) Yes, I could tell you about that…or how this week, I saw a dude on a unicycle IN A SUIT with what appeared to be a completely unironic expression on his face. (Although, given that irony is the opposite of what you’d expect, and I DID expect him to have a smirky face, can I really describe his expression as unironi--oh look, the universe imploded.) Or I could thank you all for your awesome nude lip gloss suggestions (have more? Keep ‘em coming!), which I am amidst testing out, Consumer Reports-style. But all of that must wait. You see, The Other Girl ("TOG") had recently tagged me for a meme which is currently making its way through the internets like a drunk girl at a frat party. (The meme, by the way, is “7 songs you can’t stop listening to right now.”) I have done music-themed posts before, but I put this task on my official “to do” list...and promptly forgot. TOG has since called me out, along with Guinness Girl (so at least I’m in good company), intimating that we are rebellious East Coast girls. She neglected to point out, however, that as East Coast girls, we are hip, and that she really digs the styles we wear. (The Beach Boys know of which they speak.) All of this to say that I hereby publicly apologize to The Other Girl. (Who, by the way, is hysterical. Even if you don’t watch American Idol, read this post; I was literally weeping from laughing so hard.) The only thing is, I just tried to do the meme, and mine(mine?) was sort of…dull. I mean, are you REALLY interested in the fact that I have both The Arcade Fire’s “Intervention” and Damien Rice’s “9 Crimes” on repeat? Or that I can never ever stop listening to pretty much anyone’s version of “Hallelujah?” There are no fun stories there—I just plain like the songs. In fact, the only remotely interesting thing about a song I can’t stop listening to lately is that I just downloaded Tina Turner’s “Proud Mary,” and am secretly mentally choreographing a duet and dance routine for J and me to perform at parties. (Ha! I’m just kidding, J! Except that I’m not.) And even that, now that I think about it, is not interesting, so much as it is very very scary. Anyhow. I still wanted to comply with the meme in some way, and then it came to me: My supersecret iTunes playlist, entitled “The Song Remains the Shame.” It fulfills all of the requirements, as it contains songs that I cannot stop listening to, and, inasmuch as you will likely laugh your ass off at the horrible collection of music below, should prove to be at least marginally entertaining:

I was going to write a little explanation by each one (particularly the Sting one, since my intense hatred of Sting is well-documented), but really, what else can I say, other than that I die a little bit inside each time I listen to this list, but love it all the same? Don’t we all have a song (or, um...twenty-two) that we know to be terrible, but nonetheless love? I am not a monster!

In case you can't make out the playlist in the picture, here it is:

Don’t Fear the Reaper (Blue Oyster Cult) Baby Got Back-Sir Mix-a-lot) Come Sail Away (Styx) Desert Rose (Sting) Don’t Stop Believin’ (Journey) Eye of the Tiger (Survivor) Fernando (ABBA) Follow Me (Uncle Kracke) Forever Young (Alphaville) Hazy Shade of Winter (Bangles) Heat of the Moment (Asia) Here I go Again (Whitesnake) London Bridge (Fergie) Put the Lime in the Coconut (Harry Nilson) Rock Me, Amadaeus (Falco) Teenage Dirtbag (Wheatus) The Safety Dance (Men Without Hats) Time to Say Goodbye (Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman) Total Eclipse of the Heart (Bonnie Tyler) Walk Away (Kelly Clarkson) Wind of Change (Scorpions) Yeah! (Usher)

So, anybody want a copy? I thought not. ;)

One for Me, Three for You

Okay, guys, I need some help. Yes, again. As Sephora has seen fit to tempt me by recently setting up shop directly across the street from my office (which, really, I should just have my paycheck routed directly there), my makeup ho tendencies have increased apace.

Yes, the past few months have been heady ones, filled with exhilarating discoveries, such as O-Glow, about which I seriously do not shut up. I’ve also become fast friends with one of the employees, who gives me many many free samples whenever I come by:

The latest goodies

I’ve learned some important lessons, too. For instance, I’ve come to the conclusion that, despite all the hype, Bare Escentuals makes me look like a pasty old crone. While I wiped the myriad powders off immediately after my application, the following is my artistic rendering of what it looked like: (I had a little too much fun with the airbrush feature of MS Paint; quick, someone get me a van to decorate, or at the very least, an old denim jacket upon which to hone my craft!)

My visits to Sephora also helped me to come up with my new matchmaking scheme, wherein I mentally fixed up Kimora Lee Simmons (whom I hate beyond all reason solely for her use of the words "fabulosity" and "fabulousness") and Donald Trump, given their mutual love of all things gold, sparkly, and rhinestone-y. (Oh, yes. Miss Simmons has her own makeup line, and the packaging is 493 different kinds of tacky.)

There is one very specific thing, however, which my time at Sephora has still not yielded. And really, it’s something I’ve been seeking for YEARS—the perfect nude-colored lip gloss. (While I recently found a good shade from Neutrogena, it has more of a chapstick consistency than a gloss.) At any rate, I’m desperate, and despite the fact that one girl’s perfect nude is another girl’s nasty coral grandma shade, I nonetheless open the floor to your suggestions for this elusive (to me, anyway) item. Each and every one that I've tried thus far makes me look like: (a) a corpse ; (b) a stripper; or (c) I’ve just eaten an entire crate of clementines. If it’s a particularly bad shade, it will make me look like an actual dead stripper (named Clementine, of course). So, I'm turning it over to you guys: Any recommendations for the perfect nude gloss? Not too pink , not too spackle-colored, just a pretty, nude color. (Drugstore, expensive, I do not care.)

Now, since I’m being all selfish and asking you all for a favor, here are a few things for you:

I had first stumbled upon this a few years ago, but –R-’s most excellent “post a picture of yourself at prom” challenge reminded me of the existence of this site. While not prom dresses per se, the site bills itself as “The Archive of the World’s Ugliest Bridesmaid Dresses.” And it is; it really is. Enjoy!

*****

I was food shopping the other day, and stumbled upon this delicious-looking treat. And by “delicious-looking treat,” I of course mean, “Oh my hell, who NAMED this?!” Feast your eyes on Diddles, the hot dog-flavored potato snack! (Side note: EW. That sounds like the worst snack flavor in the history of anything ever.):

Please check out the definition of diddle (most notably, the second one, the only one with which I was familiar). Then, please tell me who thought it would be a good idea to name a HOT DOG snack after a certain act, the definition of which the dictionary has chosen to classify as “vulgar slang.” Won’t someone think of the children?!

*****

Speaking of which, this last one is for my fellow moms, particularly those of you who have Bumbo seats for your babies. (Everyone else, go out to dinner, or a bar, or whatever it is people with lives are doing. )

Now, Toopweets is presently a nonstop blur of motion, and rarely sits in this seat anymore. Even when he does, his big sumo baby thighs make it difficult to get him in the seat, and once there, he makes repeated attempts to fling himself bodily out of it by arching his back and throwing his weight backwards. (Dearest makers of Bumbo: 3-18 months, my ass! Warmly, Metalia) There are, however, (thankfully rare) occasions where we need him to temporarily stay put and not crawl (backwards, as is his custom) or roll away to parts unknown. Enter this lovely snap-on tray made specifically for the Bumbo seat—It turns it into a quick portable high chair-type deal.

Awesome.

Thanks in advance for your nude gloss suggestions. :)

"You, Alright?! I Learned by Watching You!" (The first in what will no doubt be an ongoing series of Public Service Announcements)

I have a Public Service Announcement for, well, the public.

To get you in the right frame of mind, please watch this first:

Man, that never gets old. Anyway, on with the announcement:

I'm here today to talk to you about a very important matter. If you or someone you know is a 60-something year old overly-tanned-to-the-point-of-resembling-an-overripe-butternut-squash woman who frequents a large transit hub in New York City, please note that you are, in fact, 60-something years old. I should not have to see your gonzagas* merrily peering out from atop your wee and seasonally-inappropriate tube top, not unlike two tiny, curious kangaroo babies** in their mama’s pouch, eager to see the world. It makes me uncomfortable. As does the view of your equally over-tanned baked muffin top (well…it worked with the muffin analogy!), by the way, and the crack of your middle-aged bottom. Furthermore, you are not of a small size, and that is totally OKAY. What is not totally okay is pouring yourself into jeans that are. Which brings me to the second half of this PSA...

...If you or someone you love obsessively buys expensive jeans, I have an important message for you. And it is NOT that purchasing many many pairs of such jeans is allegedly a waste of money because you can’t wear jeans to work (according to a certain person to whom I am married). No, they are pretty, make you look awesome, and are a perfectly sensible thing to (repeatedly) buy, J!

However. There is one brand that I must now go on the record as saying that you should NEVER buy. I hesitate to identify the brand outright, so instead, I’ll call it by something that sounds like the very opposite of its name--False Atheism. People, do NOT buy False Atheism jeans. They may cost upwards of $200, but they are as shoddy as the counterfeit jeans in Homer Simpson’s car hole (Stefanie and Darren, that was for you). The aforementioned inappropriately-garbed old lady was actually wearing a pair of these bad boys; she dropped her train pass, and bent down to pick it up. Here’s what I should have seen:

This is what I did see:

That orange you see by the back pocket? THAT IS LEATHERY, TANNED, OLD LADY ARSE! The False Atheism jeans ripped wide open along the pocket line when she bent down. The whole image is disturbing in and of itself, but truly exacerbated by the fact that I did, in fact, see actual skin, and not, say, these peeking through:

It should also be noted that this is the second time I’ve seen this happen with False Atheism jeans--The other time was on the plane coming back from Vegas. It was a younger woman, though, and the jeans actually fit her, thus it was marginally less disconcerting. Oh, also? She was wearing underwear.

A man tapped the lady on the shoulder to inform her of what had happened, but she just smiled and said “Okay, thanks.” It’s difficult to convey her inflection and attitude in writing, but I’ll try. It was not a "THANKS!,” followed by a grateful smile and mad scramble to find something to cover it up. No, this was accompanied by a backwards glance at the damage, followed by a shrug. She didn’t even break her stride; just kept on walking. (TOTAL Blanche move, by the way.)

Awesome.

At that, I totally loved her and immediately wanted to hang out with her. I imagined that she would regale me with tales of her irrepressible spirit and misbegotten youth. (Sure, she might take things too far, get drunk and start dancing on a bar, or attempt to introduce me to some highly questionable sailor "friends" of hers, but that's not to say we wouldn't have fun up until then.)

None of that, however, changes the fact that she shouldn’t have been wearing the suckers in the first place. And nor (now that I've told you about them) should you.

Only you can prevent Backside Area Ripping of False Atheism jeans (or BARF, so named for the reaction it ellicits)...by not buying them.

This has been your Public Service Announcement.

* Add "gonazagas" to my rapidly-expanding Metalia lexicon—it’s my personal euphemism for blouse bunnies. (Which is in and of itself an awesome euphemism, but it being March Madness and all, gonzagas it is.)

** Note— While the proper name for a kangaroo baby is “joey,” when I wrote “joeys” up there, I kept envisioning two Joey Tribbiani-faced kangaroos. It was mildly disturbing, to say the least. I didn’t want to inflict the same on you, so please pardon my inaccurate classification related thereto.

She Bangs! (Updated, as Blogger crapped out and the super-important pictures were no longer visible.)

I’ll get to the topic at hand in a moment, but first, I have a very important announcement to make:

You may have noticed that my sidebar has a kickin’ new button. You see, I learned today that I was a lucky recipient of one of the first-ever Whoorlie Awards, wherein the hilarious and lovely Whoorl bestowed upon me the award in the category of “If I Had a 100 Things List, It Would Be Eerily Similar.” [Insert standard “I never win anything” speech here. Then, thank God, ramble on, weep, ramble on some more, get cut off by orchestra, finish speech, and finally, get confused over which way to exit the stage.] I cannot think of a bigger blog-compliment (blompliment? Ew. That doesn’t sound right...) than this, for she is all kinds of awesome. Thanks, Whoorl!

*****

Remember way back in, like, December, when I solicited your opinion as to whether or not I should get bangs?

And then, somehow, this blog subsequently became THE Google stop for everyone in the world who wondered whether or not they should get bangs? Or wanted pictures of bangs? And once, awesomely, wanted to find “asstray bangs?” (I can’t begin to wrap my mind around what that could even mean; oh, the possibilities!)

Anyway, so it’s now three months later, but I finally got them.

Rejoice, random Googlers! At long last, you can finally get what you came here to see! (Except for you, asstray bangs pervert, wherever you are. You sicken me! Also, what ARE asstray bangs?! I must know!)

Ahem.

I’m ordinarily very nonchalant about my hair (read: LAZY), but the move towards bangs is a fairly dramatic one. I thus approached it as I do any major project-with a list, of course. After I was satisfied with my plan of action, I conducted a thorough review of my options, by which I mean, reading US Weekly, OK Magazine, and anything with the words "Academy Awards Pictures Inside!" plastered on it. (All in the name of bangs-related research, of course.) Having completed my research, my goal with the bangs could be boiled down to this:

DON’T end up looking like Harriet the nosy neighbor from Small Wonder.

(Whose hair, now that I notice it, actually looks a lot like li'l Metalia's, circa 1982. Yikes.)

DO end up with bangs that look like the ones sported by either of these two lovely ladies:

Credit: Filmweb.com

Credit: People.com

Armed with my pictures, I went to get the cut. All in all, I think it went well, except for the one uneven wisp that kept flying into my face. I only noticed it once I was back at my office, so there was little I could do about it at the time. (Ever the consummate professional, I resisted the urge to cut the sucker with my extremely dull and not-intended-for-hair work scissors, using my reflection in the vending machine as my guide.)

Of course, it drove me slowly insane, and I imagined the wisp growing longer and more obvious, such that it became all anyone could see when they looked at me. Just like The Telltale Heart, only without all the murder. The minute I got home, I made a beeline for our haircutting shears…only to discover that we don’t technically HAVE any. Just when I was contemplating utilizing my poultry shears in a decidedly unpoultry-ish manner (Don’t worry! I didn’t! You can still eat chicken at my place, I swear!), I stumbled across some manicure scissors in one of my old makeup bags. (Yeah, I have multiple makeup bags; what of it?)

This is funny only because there are certain things which I do not possess on my person, and those things are:

* Tonsils (Taken out when I was 7);

* Bootay (It’s practically inverted!); and

* Nails (I bite the bejeezus out of themm).

Consequently, I can only assume that I inadvertently stole the manicure scissors from a friend at some point. Sorry, friend. However, my accidental thievery of the itty bitty scissors enabled me to fix the strand...

...and finally, FINALLY, I had my bangs:

How much do I love the fact that she actually listened to me and made the bangs long enough to keep down...

OR swept to the side?

Then it was time to play. I give you:

The Dwight K. Shrute Part!

I was going for Dwight's condescending smile here, but instead I just look constipated. Hott!1!!1

The Superman Curl!

(Um, this actually looks more like Deranged Solider. Oh well, I tried.)

Now, did you really need to see 4 pictures of my new bangs? Probably not. But you know who does? The people who come here from Google looking for bangs-related guidance and pictures; I'm finally going to help them, goddammit! (Granted, I didn't include a "before" picture, but there's always Flickr for that.)

*****

Speaking of pictures, my new camera came today! Yes! That's right; the debut of a new haircut, a Whoorlie Award, and a Digital Rebel XTi all in the same day!

Although I have rambled on at length about the awesomeness that was my day, I believe the following picture sums it up better than I ever could:

Behold: The scales of justice awesome

This is Highly Irregular

I sat down to watch American Idol this evening for the express purpose of seeing the much-maligned Sanjaya in action. I haven’t been watching this season, because I’ve come to the realization that this show, addictive though it may be, requires too much of a time commitment. Between the actual performances, the results show, and hours spent reading up on/discussing the contestants, I think I’d spend more time on it than is truly healthy. I could be reading! Writing! Baking delicious treats! Organizing the parasitic shoeblob that has sunken its stiletto teeth into my closet floor! Granted, I don’t do any of these things with my freed-up Idol time, but knowing that I could definitely fills me with a strange sense of satisfaction.

All of this to say, of course, that this boycotting Idol was a futile endeavor, as trying to avoid…Idol chatter (hee!) is like trying to board a subway without getting accosted by a hobo. You know, if you’re me. (Not the most universal of analogies, but apt all the same.) The radio guys J & I listen to in the car on the way to the train each day are disturbed by their own Sanjaya fixation, alternating between wanting to make out with him and wanting to kick him in the face. My work friends loathe him. Everywhere I go, people are talking about him, primarily negatively. It was inescapable, and so I decided to see just how disturbing his performance was.

Well.

The kid is bad, there’s no getting around that. He has an unfortunate Farrah Fawcett ‘do, his voice is godawful, and his sweater sleeves HAD ACTUAL THUMBHOLES. LIKE, HOLES. IN THE SLEEVES. FOR HIS THUMBS. TO GO THROUGH. THUMBHOLES, PEOPLE. I can’t even talk yet about the pre-teen girl who wept joyfully during his performance, and got to hug him afterwards; I'm still in shock. Furthermore, the judges didn’t even think he was so bad tonight, which likely means his reign of terror will continue for the foreseeable future.

However...

He is FAR from the most disturbing thing I saw during the show. I’ve searched high and low for some evidence of what I’m about to discuss, but to no avail, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. *Doo do doo!* [For those of you not presently inside my head, that was the Reading Rainbow sound effect.]

I had TiFaux’ed the show, and began to watch about 20 minutes into it; unfortunately, the taped portion soon caught up to the live broadcast, and I was stuck watching the whole thing, commercials and all. One in particular caught my eye:

Plinky-plink guitars play in the background. Voice-over lady (“VOL”) sexily utters words as they simultaneously curlicue across the screen:

VOL: Primp! [Woman applies mascara]

VOL: Coif! [Different woman shakes out her hair]

VOL: Gussy up…[Third woman applies ill-advised coat of intensely orange lipstick]

VOL: …Your insides! With Metamucil!

Then one of the ladies playfully kick her legs in a pool, another falls in slow motion on some artfully arranged pillows and blankets or something, but really, who the hell knows because I was just told to GUSSY UP MY INSIDES.

Who wrote this?

And what, exactly, would gussying up said insides entail?

I think I want to throw up.

No, I think I’ll lie down.

No, wait; first throw up, THEN lie down.

GROSS.

There’s only one evil genius out there so diabolical, so calculating, as to have crafted this commercial. Only one who could’ve created copy that makes no sense whatsoever, add an unreservedly ridiculous tagline, sneak it past God knows how many rounds of focus group testing, and get it broadcast on national television to millions of people.

Sanjaya.

I’m on to you, sucka.

*********

Hey, guess who finally got her bangs? I’m not sure yet if it was a good idea; haircut pictures to follow tomorrow.

And She's Buying a...Crazy Hobo's Ticket to Heaven

Good Lord.

Here’s a question: How many times can I talk about my unwilling involvement in the crazy street person society before you fall asleep at your computers? Perhaps even more pressing, how often can I mention the signal that I apparently emanate (not entirely unlike Batman), visible only to the hobo eye, before it stops? I enjoy master plans a great deal, and I was sort of secretly hoping that by repeatedly mentioning my incessant run-ins with the crazies of Manhattan, they would…you know, CEASE.

No such luck, it seems.

In the event you’re not already passed out and drooling at the thought of yet another Metalia vs. Hobo tale, I submit to you this little gem that I discovered today.

I am going to hell.

…Which is funny, because I really thought that I’d been to hell already a few weeks ago. In case you were wondering, hell is the small portrait studio wherein J’s sister and I attempted to corral our collective children for a group picture. Did I mention that they’re all under the age of 4? Because I think that ratcheted things up way past, like, general hell and hurled our collective asses right into the seventh circle.

Somehow, though, no one told this to my hobo friend.

I was on my way home, and he boarded the subway at the stop immediately after mine. He looked at me and pointed right at me, saying, “YOU. You need this!” And attempted to hand me, and me alone, a small, yellow card. I demurred politely, but he pressed it into my hand, and smiled at me in a creepy Manson-esque manner. Please note: He gave a card ONLY TO ME. Not the other 45,030,327 people jammed into the subway car. I, and I alone was deemed worthy of his hobo card.

This would be the day I ran out of Purell.

I glanced down at what I imagined was a pee-stained card covered with a fine dusting of crystal meth, and read it. I promptly learned that I was going to hell. The back of the card is covered with some rambling, nonsensical parapgraphs, with certain words placed indiscriminately in quotes.

A sampling: “He is the ‘mediator’…he is your ‘ticket’ to “Heaven”…he is ‘the door.’ It’s proselytizing by way of that old SNL skit where Chris Farley put everything is air quotes (“I don’t ‘bathe regularly,’ I don’t ‘wear deodorant…’”)…just really well-written, all around.

The best part of it by far, though, is the front:

It is the most condescending shit ever (right down to the "DO NOT LITTER" admonition). You will also notice that the side of the card has a number of small creases, from where I, loser that I am, actually “attempted” to “tear” my “ticket” into “heaven.” (See? I "can" do "it," too!)

Somewhat awesomely, though, the heaven ticket is made out of magical paper that doesn’t rip.

Nice touch, crazy hobo. You win this round. Of course, I subsequently spent the rest of my commute trying (and failing) to avoid fixating on why he thought I needed the card.

I was finally able to get my mind off of it when I remembered that in a few days, this bad boy will be making its way to my doorstep. I. Cannot. Wait. (Apropos of which: Any of you out there who have/use a Digital Rebel--are there any books/websites that you find useful in learning to, um...use the magical camera of amazingocity? Please help.)

Literature and America's Next Top Model...Together at Last!

I took this awesome idea from Cagey (who got it from Pantalones del Fuego, and so forth).

In the list of books below:

- Mark in blue the ones you’ve read; - Mark in green the ones that are your favorites; - Mark in red the ones you won’t touch with a ten-foot pole; - Add an asterisk (*) to the ones you’ve never heard of; - Italicize the ones you want to read; and - Uh…do nothing to the ones you feel nothing for, one way or the other. (My occasional long-ass comments appear in italics.)

(You're also supposed to "+" the ones you have on your bookshelf, but between J and I, we have an assload of these books, so I didn't do that one.)

1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown) 2. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen) 3. To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee) 4. Gone With the Wind (Margaret Mitchell) 5. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Tolkien) 6. The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (Tolkien) 7. The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (Tolkien)

I’d never read the series, but J liked the movies. Apropos of which: One night, he settled in to watch one of them when I was going out to dinner with some friends. (This was many moons ago, pre-Toopweets, when I actually left my house at night.) I went out with my friends, did some grocery shopping, bumped into another friend there, got some coffee with her, went home, and the movie was still on. I then ran to the drugstore, came home, and it was still on. After which, I completed a thesis, got my Ph.D., evolved into a higher being of pure energy with telekinetic powers, came home and the movie? It was STILL ON.

8. Anne of Green Gables (L. M. Montgomery) Oh, how I used to love this book, and the corresponding PBS miniseries. I would quite literally dream about it. I longed for her high-button boots, and long red hair…

9. *Outlander (Diana Gabaldon) 10. *A Fine Balance(Rohinton Mistry) 11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Rowling) Yeah, I have many of the same issues with Harry Potter that I do with LOTR. I actually tried reading the first one, and was (BLASPHEMY!)…not impressed. I shall now duck to avoid the virtual rotten fruit and vegetables that you are mentally tossing my way. (Man, I’m getting brave lately, taking on Oprah and Harry Potter in the span of a week.)

12. Angels and Demons (Dan Brown) 13. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Rowling) 14. A Prayer for Owen Meany(John Irving) 15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden) 16. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Rowling) 17. *Fall on Your Knees (Ann-Marie MacDonald) 18. The Stand (Stephen King) 19. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban(Rowling) 20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte) 21. The Hobbit (Tolkien) 22. The Catcher in the Rye (J. D. Salinger) 23. Little Women (Louisa May Alcott) 24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold) This was one of the most beautifully written books I’ve ever read. 25. Life of Pi (Yann Martel) I think I’m the only person in the galaxy who hated this and couldn’t get through it. Speaking of galaxies...

26. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams) 27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte) 28. The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis) 29. East of Eden (John Steinbeck) 30. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom) 31. Dune (Frank Herbert) 32. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks) I, um, MAY have cried. (Upon finishing the book, as well as the movie.) I’m not proud. Their love was so pure! It knew not the bounds of tiiiiime! *sob*

33. Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand) 34. 1984 (Orwell) 35. *The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley) 36. *The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett) 37. The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay) 38. I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb) 39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant) 40. The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho) I really really want to read this one. 41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel) 42. The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini) Haunting. 43. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella) 44. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom) 45. Bible (I mean, bits and pieces. Not the whole thing.) 46. Anna Karenina (Tolstoy) 47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas) 48. Angela's Ashes (Frank McCourt) 49. The Grapes of Wrath (Steinbeck) 50. She’s Come Undone (Wally Lamb) 51. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver) 52. A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens) Now and forever: SUCK IT, DICKENS!

53. Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card) 54. Great Expectations (Dickens) 55. The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald) 56. *The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence) 57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Rowling)

Jeebus! Enough with the Potter. Fine, list, you’ve forced me to tell another story. Early in my pregnancy with Toops, we went to see this movie. It was, I believe, payback for dragging J to see Memoirs of a Geisha with our friends A and T. (A is J’s best friend, and T is his wife, a very good friend of mine.) T and I were enthralled, loving every minute of the movie, while our husbands attempted to gouge out their eyes with movie theater straws. It was a nice moment. Anyway, that was how I ended up at this shitfest. I vaguely attempted to watch it, but after about 5 minutes of muggles, or quiddicks, or whatever the hell, I gave up. I folded J’s coat and my own into a neat little pillow, and quite literally passed out across two chairs for the duration of the movie.

58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)

My love for this book is such that despite it having in excess of 700 pages, and my copy being hardcover, I still carried it with me in my work bag every day to read during my commute. 59. The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood) 60. The Time Traveler’s Wife (Audrey Niffenegger) Looove this book; probably my favorite book ever. 61. Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky) - 62. The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand) 63. War and Peace (Tolstoy) 64. Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice) Hey, remember when we all thought Tom Cruise was cute? Just saying. 65. *Fifth Business (Robertson Davis) 66. One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)

I adore him, every word he wrote, and the whole “magical realism” genre that he essentially invented.

67. Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants(Ann Brashares) ) Didn’t read this, but saw the movie. And cried. Surprise! 68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller) 69. Les Miserables (Hugo) Does seeing the play 4 times count? 70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery) 71. Bridget Jones’ Diary (Fielding) 72. Love in the Time of Cholera (Marquez) Adore this. 73. Shogun (James Clavell) 74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje) 75. The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett) 76. *The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay) 77. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith) 78. The World According To Garp (John Irving) 79. *The Diviners (Margaret Laurence) 80. Charlotte's Web (EB White) 81. *Not Wanted On the Voyage (Timothy Findley) 82. Of Mice And Men (Steinbeck) 83. Rebecca (Daphne DuMaurier) 84. *Wizard’s First Rule (Terry Goodkind) 85. Emma (Jane Austen) 86. Watership Down (Richard Adams) 87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley) 88. *The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields) 89. *Blindness (Jose Saramago) 90. Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer) 91. *In The Skin Of A Lion (Ondaatje) 92. Lord of the Flies (Golding) Sucks to your asthma, Piggy! 93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck) The foot binding! My god, the FOOT BINDING! 94. The Secret Life of Bees(Sue Monk Kidd) 95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum) 96. The Outsiders (S. E. Hinton) "Do it for Johnnyyyyyyy!" (Okay, that's from the movie, but still. Awesome.) 97. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)

98. A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford) 99. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield) 100. Ulysses (James Joyce)—Started this like a zillion times. It’s never going to happen.

Thanks, Cagey; and just when I was feeling like I haven’t been reading enough lately!

So many of you are big readers, and so I wouldn’t know where to begin with “tagging” people to do this. If you do decide to do it, please let me know in the comments; I’d love to see your versions!

~And now for something completely different~

From the "Please Tell Me I'm Not Alone" files: More than any other show on TV, America’s Next Top Model is crack to me. I simply cannot get enough. Unfortunately, my favorite so far in this “cycle” (WHY do they call it that?) is the source of much dissension between me and my friend K. I adore the awesomely bitchy Renee, for she is GORGEOUS. And CRAZY. I'm well aware that I could be the only one who loves her so; K asserts that she is a horrible person, a point upon which I wholeheartedly agree. In fact, I can’t stress her psychotic bitchery enough; however, it sort of makes me love her even more, and makes for awesome television. K thinks I’m crazy for loving her, but I can’t help it; I’m obsessed. Come on! Not only does she say horrible things, but she also gave another girl the finger! The finger! To her face! Awesome! And classy!

(Is anyone else watching it this season? I must discuss this most pressing of issues.)

(Also, my god, there were nonstop formatting/font issues with this post, so it was published like 87 times. My apologies.)

Worst. Recommendation. Ever.

Just a note: I had planned to post this last night, but I instead ended up going out with my dear friend, who just moved to town with her husband and adorable baby girl (aka, the future Mrs. Toopweets). We went to Target. Cause for merriment even under the most mundane of circumstances, but this? WAS HER FIRST TIME THERE! I felt like…like…I don’t know, somebody who knows something about Lord of the Rings/Harry Potter/Star Wars, insert the appropriate mentor/protégé analogy here. It was glorious; many fun things were purchased, some essential (Baby formula!New measuring spoons! ) and some…not. (Heads up, y’all: Neutrogena has a new lipgloss/sheer color stick thing, and it’s pretty good.) Anyway, we--oh! I’ve got the proper analogy. I was the Mr. Miyagi to her Daniel-san. Ahem. All of this to say that if taking someone to Target for the first time doesn’t qualify as a reason to temporarily overlook my blog, then I honestly do not know what does. (Side note: Does the phrase “Taking someone to Target for the first time” seem like a dirty euphemism only to me? Help.) Moving on… I recently discovered something that I hesitated to share because I figured that everyone must already know about it, and I’d seem quite the fool talking about old news. But this “discovery” is so fantastic that I must share it, in the event that there is even one of you who hasn’t heard of this. Yahoo lets you customize your own radio station. To which I say, of course, yahoo. You pick the artists/songs/albums that you like, and it creates a station just for you. (You know what? Rather than repeatedly saying “my own radio station,” I’ll just call it “MORS” from now on.) It’s also intuitive to an extent; based on your ratings of the music it plays, and what you select as your favorites, it plays other stuff its algorithm “thinks” that you would like. And the more songs you rate, the better it gets at predicting things you’d like. I can’t describe to you how awesome this is…most of the time. I mean, through this nifty little feature, I discovered my new (to me, anyway) favorite album.

There IS, however, one caveat: Sometimes, MORS thinks I’m someone else. The other day, for instance, I was typing away, happily listening to the Arcade Fire playing on MORS. The song ended, and then the voice of a malevolent demon poured out through my headphones. I quickly clicked open the MORS window to see what the hell it was. SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS. I was hurt, of course, as anyone who’d worked hard to create a good radio station for herself would be. Shocked and confused, I wanted to search for answers, but there were none to be had. Why MORS had selected this as a song that I might like was a mystery, so I quickly skipped over the song, and tried to put it behind me. A few days later, though, MORS started up with me again. Not Spongebob, thank God, but something perhaps even weirder:

Hi - Hi! We're your Weather Girls

- Ah-huh -

And have we got news for you -

You better listen!

Get ready, all you lonely girls, and leave those umbrellas at home. - Alright!

…It’s Raining Men. Which wouldn’t have been so strange, were it not followed later in the day by YMCA. MORS apparently thought that I was a stereotypical gay sidekick in a romantic comedy. Then, the past few days, MORS seems to be under the impression that I’m going through a bad breakup. There’s a LOT of Enya, Sara MacLachlan and as of today, Jewel. Um, wow. This is possibly the worst recommendation ever. Despite the above, I really do love MORS, and I think you’ll love yours (YORS?) too, particularly if you, like me, work in front of a computer for much of the day.

(Just don’t be surprised if it, apropos of nothing, starts playing a mixture of death metal and polka music.)

Blog II: Electric Boogaloo UPDATED

Brace yourselves for some earth-shattering news. I've started another blog. "Now Metalia," You might ask, "For the love of cheese, why are you starting a new blog when just a few short months ago, you were bitching about Blogger, and how you wanted to create your own site? Won't this make it more difficult to consolidate and transfer with your current blog over to your new site, once you get off your lazy posterior and actually set it up?" What can I say, I love a challenge. Anyway. I started a food blog. I know! So original! So groundbreaking! It's! Never! Been! Done! Before! What's that? Oh. Oh, I see. Really? Like, eleventy billion times already? Huh. Well, whatever. I'm still doing it, suckas. I cook constantly, love it, and I feel like I'm forever disseminating recipes to friends, both blog and "real life," so I figured I'd jump in the game, too. While I can't say the CONCEPT is original, I can guarantee you that I will only post recipes (with accompanying pictures, of course) of stuff I love. Well, stuff I love, and anything that turns out so awful that it warrants a post, and weird foodstuffs I come across. (Like the super-appetizing grits here, for example.) And so, my friends, I bring you...Just Eat It. As I mention there, the title was not the result of some long, contemplative thought process on my part, but rather, the fact that I was flipping back and forth between The Food Network and some music channel that was showing old-school Michael Jackson videos. No, seriously. I've already posted my first recipe there; and to entice you all to check it out, I ensured that it involved alcohol. I'm crafty like that, yo. Go! UPDATE: Oh, are you effing KIDDING me? I have just learned from Amanda and my brother that the title I so proudly selected for my new blog is also the title of a Weird Al Yankovic song. Sigh. Perhaps instead of practically dislocating my arm from patting my own self on the back for my (alleged) ingenuity, I should instead use that arm to Google prospective blog titles next time. Oh, well. I'm keeping it, so suck it, Weird Al. (If that's even your real name.)

My Weird Things List: Part the 2nd

(Continued from the previous post.) 4. The Weird Cultural Icon Thing--I’m afraid of Oh!pra So scared, in fact, that I purposely misspelled her name here on the off chance that one of her minions searches the web for the express purpose of finding Oh!pra-related negative press and then…fixes the problem. Yes she is exceedingly generous, and is amazing at what she does. But. She has entirely too much influence; it’s scary. As I recently mentioned in a comment to Jasclo, Oh!pra could make anything a bestseller. ANYTHING: Oh!pra: Today, we have a very special guest! Studio Audience: Woo! WOOOOOOOOOOH! [Commences leaping wildly into the air.] O: The guy who writes the instruction packet for contact lens solution BOXXXXXesssssssssssss! SA: WHEEEEEEE!!!! O: Let me tell you, his words helped ME. I feel like I see the world more clearly because of the guidance he laid out with is beautiful, precious words. And! IfyoualllookUNDERyourseats! You’ll find a special PRESent! Your very own….CONTACT LENS SOLUTION INSTRUCTION PACKET! SA: [Wordless, joyful weeping abounds] Aaaand….scene. Within days, contact lens solution will be scattered carelessly in the aisles of every drugstore in the land, as people scramble to get to the instruction packet that Oh!pra had touted. Critics will hail it as “Purposeful, elucidating…a real must-have for anyone who isn’t seeing things clearly.” THAT is the type of power this woman wields, and it frightens me. I really hope she doesn’t find me. So, um…if I should mysteriously go missing, I’d start looking for me in Chicago, buried under a discarded heap of copies of A Million Little Pieces. 5. The Weird Music Thing II--I think that my life has a soundtrack Okay, this one is SUPER weird: When I’m walking down the street or on the subway listening to my iPod, I will occasionally assume an appropriate walk/attitude/overall demeanor to suit the song that is currently playing. Sort of as if I’m in a movie? And the music is the soundtrack? Are you still here? For instance if “9 Crimes” comes on, I’ll walk slowly and have a really somber look on my face. If, for instance, “Take me Out” is playing, I’ll have a swagger, and an assured expression will come over me. Hmmm. You know? Perhaps the hobos are not the scariest people on the subway, after all. Your mission: TELL ME I’M NOT ALONE. Well, I think that about wraps up my list of weird thi— Oh, wait. There’s one more…how could I forget? 6. The Sexay Thing – I was friends with someone who is now a…uh…movie star? (The naughty kind.) And apparently, a hugely successful one at that. Sigh… Where to begin? (To avoid a ton of disturbing Google hits, let’s just go ahead and replace the word for the type of star she actually is with the word…um…prom. She’s a prom star, m’kay?) Do you ever Google old friends from your childhood, just to see what they’re up to? Usually, that’ll net you some engagement announcements, some doctors and lawyers, and maybe, if you’re really lucky, seeing that the former Student Council president was busted with a kilo of something. Recently, I was doing just that (googling old friends, not getting busted for possession), and decided to randomly type in my old friend’s name. Needless to say, I got the world’s most disturbing results. She has her own site, her own wikipedia entry, and fansites…it’s really insane. I wasn’t friends with her for so many years, but when I knew her, she was very quiet and sweet; she did my Wall o’ Bangs for me at a weekend party thing one time! (What do you want? I’m from Jersey). Although...I’m sure she enjoys doing very different types of “bangs” now, if you know what I mean, and I think that you do. I’ll spare you the details, but let me just say this: According to an interview, she apparently likes five (5) of…something…at once. Damned if I can comprehend the logistics, but whatever. Because this is a family blog (i.e., I try to keep the “motherfuckers” down to one per post), I’ll let you figure out what "something" is on your own. Heyyyy! Completely unrelated, but I had a foot-long hot dog with a big pickle for dinner! Ahem. As I have mentioned before, I am an adolescent boy. Anyway. You are probably interested in knowing who she is, but I don’t want to mention her by name here. Clearly, it’s not like she’s particularly shy about her chosen career, but I don’t want her to find this, and then have her minions (maybe she and Oh!pra share minions?) come after me and pelt me with…what did they call them in the 50s? Oh yeah; marital aids. (Did I mention that I have an overactive imagination? Did I even have to?) If, however, you’re curious (and really, who could blame you?), let me know and I’ll email her name to you. It's a little Happy Friday gift from me to you. Google at your peril. ; )

************************

As an aside, I just wanted to thank Eddie & Stretch’s Momma and Marvin Gardens for totally making my day with their incredibly sweet recent comments. (I would’ve thanked you both in a less public forum, but neither of you had email addresses, so here we are.) Seriously, thanks!

(Also? Hi, I suck. I've been terrible about leaving/responding to comments lately. It's been a hectic week; I'll be back to my regular commenty self ASAP.)

My “Weird Things” List: Part the 1st

Last night, as I sat down to watch Scrubs, something came on the screen that shocked me to my very core. No, it wasn’t Swayze’s free-swinging man junk again; it was something even MORE disturbing, if it’s even possible.

It was this.

So, it appears that the elusive “They” are making a live-action Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (hereinafter referred to as TMNT) movie. Lawyerish already indicated that she was unaware of the existence of this movie, but what about the rest of you?! Did anyone else know about this?! Why was I not informed?

Seeing the above preview inspired me to do the popular “6 weird things about me” post, as it stirred up a memory of a particularly weird moment from the childhood of Li’l Metalia.

I’ve already done a similar "weird things" post, but dude. I think I have a pretty good sense of myself, and I (um, and probably you) therefore know that I have MUCH more than one post’s worth of me-related weirdness:

1. The Weird Art Thing: I have random Ninja Turtle-drawing skillz

Everyone on my mom’s side of my family is incredibly artistic. My grandmother makes things like this:

My mom makes things like the quilt displayed in the second photo here.

And me? Well, I can draw small, cartoony dog heads, which, upon reflection, do not resemble canines, so much as a puppy/elephant hybrids:

“I am not a monster!”

I shall call him Skippy...because I am eating peanut butter on apple slices as I type this. It’s just that scientific.

Anyway, over time, I’ve come to terms with the fact that the artistic gene skipped me.

However.

The summer of my 9^th year (that phrase is about as highbrow as this post will get), I fancied myself quite the artist. Clueless at this point as to my utter dearth of talent, I busied myself with many art projects. This in and of itself would not be so bad, but you see, I got cocky. I thought I could take my show on the road… and thus became a door-to-door t-shirt artist. I shit you not. Oh, and my business plan? Why, it went a little bit like this:

Approach door.

Ring bell.

Wait for poor unsuspecting soul to answer.

Hit them with my pitch, which basically consisted of me describing my skills with puffy paint, and then offering to puffy paint a t-shirt for the low low price of only $5.

I had no portfolio, or inventory, or any actual skills to speak of. Just some puffy paint and a pocket full of dreams. Do you want to die yet? No? Wait.

Somehow, miraculously, people occasionally said “okay.” And when they did, I’d draw the design on a little notepad I carried with me, and show it to them before beginning the “project.” Of course, I didn’t have any t-shirts on hand; no, part of my plan was for them to supply me with a t-shirt. Shockingly, no one really wanted to part with a shirt of any actual significance, and so I received quite a number of old, assy, and yellowed undershirts…which I would then paint.

Now THAT’s the part where you'll want to die. Or maybe that's just me.

It being 1989, one of my most popular designs was the Ninja Turtles. The request is not really surprising; they were seriously everywhere then, including, of course, on crunchabungas. (Naturally!) And I painted the hell out of those suckers.

(Side note: I’m almost certain that J, who works in intellectual property, is having a mini-stroke right now at the thought of me painting TMNT on t-shirts for cash without express written permission from the licensor. It’s like he’s a cop married to a drug dealer or something.)

As my gift to you, I am going to now draw one of my world, er, town uh...block famous Ninja Turtles, exactly as they appeared on the shirts.

Now, I know you're going to all want to flood me with offers to start up the business again, but please try to hold yourselves back. Next up:

2. The Weird Musical Thing: I’ve inadvertently and repeatedly sung about something that I’m pretty sure is illegal in some states.

The song “Disarm” by Smashing Pumpkins figured prominently in my life; in eighth grade, this song was hugely popular, and I adored it (still do). It always found its way onto my mix tapes, even well into my college years. One night in college, some friends and I had a drunken intelligent and well-planned evening at a karaoke bar. I have some old standbys that I usually perform, but that night, I decided to sing “Disarm.” After all, I reasoned, what better song to sing when you're past the point of being able to really see individual words anymore, than the one you know by heart?

I got up onstage and sang my intoxicated ass off. I started off okay, and then got to the line that I now know is “Inside of me, and such a part of you.” However, I had unfortunately been singing the lyrics wrong for years. Really wrong. Like, “Sodomy is such a part of you” wrong. In my haze, I saw the correct words scroll by, but it was too late—MY words were already out of my mouth.

Fortunately, I’m fairly certain that I was slurring my words, so no one knew the difference, but the fact remains that I did, in fact, sing to a barful of people about sodomy.

For that is, evidently, how I roll.

3. The Weird CrushThing: I have a secret crush on my governor

You know, it’s one thing if your governor looks like this:

(Oh, you lucky San Francisco girls….roooowwwwr!)

But we here in New York do not have a supercute governor; we have…this:

And yet? Huge unstoppable crush, right here. I can’t explain it, it just…is.

Please, send help.

***

Tomorrow (oh, who am I kidding…probably Thursday or Friday): I really don’t want to give it all away, but the second part of this list involves, among other things, the fact that I recently discovered a childhood friend is a hugely successful porn star.

Oops.

Well...you’ll still read that, right?