On second thought....

I decided I don't want to leave the last entry of the year as one from angry, depressed, sour Mae. So I hit the archives of The Nicholls Worth and dug up my old work...at least...the stuff that's online. Because I was happier and maybe funnier in those days. This one got me in trouble with the house mother. She became a real witch to my roommate and I during our final semester, which is when it was published. If you can't take the heat, I guess you just have to get out of Ellender. It was a shame, too, because she was such a nice lady for the first 4 years. And while my roommie was evil incarnate, she didn't deserve the cold shoulder. But, again, this WAS Ellender....

"Fight for your right to waaaaaaarrrm up!"
By: Mae

The University enacted an energy surcharge this semester, as many of you may have discovered when your fee bills arrived. Now, if paying this means that I can have electricity and not have to work like Ben Franklin did, then I'm all for it. We pay so many fees as it is, the surcharge just sort of blended in.

But I'd like to offer a few suggestions to the University pertaining to energy conservation. Well, actually, I'd like to offer one suggestion: fix the temperatures of buildings to a normal level. In Ellender Residence Hall, my home for the past four years, I've had a constant battle with finding comfort.

Right now, it's so cold in my room that I'm not bothering to refrigerate my bottles of water. I keep them in a closet. If I get thirsty, I just reach for a chilled bottle. You're probably thinking, "Hey! Moron! Change your air!" In fact, I'm almost positive you're thinking that, because when I told our managing editor this story, that's almost exactly what he said.

But I can't, because I live in Ellender. I touched on this a few semesters ago, but this topic was always just a side note in columns. I figured that if I want something changed, I'd better turn it into a whole column. I'll be graduating this semester, so you would think that I wouldn't be worried.

But I am. I'm afraid that future generations of students will have to be defrosted before going to class. Assuming the penguins and polar bears which will take up residence don't eat the defrosters. Conversely, the heat is on too powerfully in the winter. The thermostats in Ellender are locked. If you want your air changed, you have to log in a complaint at the front desk. Then, you have to wait until the extremely busy House Mother (no complaints about her, she just has a lot on her shoulders and is, after all, human) has a free moment to take care of things on the list.

This could be anywhere from one to three days later. As the seasons begin to change, this becomes more annoying. Anyone who has lived in south Louisiana when seasons are changing knows that this is because it can be freezing one day, and sweltering the next. If residents could change their own room temperatures, I'm sure they would find the energy bills would be much lower.

All we ask is that we should be allowed to dress according to the weather, and not to the room temperatures. Unlock our boxes. Let us adjust our air.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to eat some of that ice cream I've been keeping under my bed.

'Cause I'm a LIIIIIAAAAAARRRRRRR!

So, I have some time, and here I am. I lied. You get me at least this once more before the year ends.

I'll start with a holiday wrap-up.

Work with a hangover #1 and work exhausted #1: My Kate is here. We had a party for her, complete with Lance's food and Lance's alcohol. Word to the wise: never let a man with a serious love of the drink fix you a drink. He made me an apple martini that I think is still scalding my esophagus.

Work exhausted #2: We went to Alicia and Kurt's on Tuesday that week to celebrate Caroline's birthday with fresh baked cookies and a showing of "Napoleon Dynamite." That movie ruled. Whaddaya know...you CAN make a friggin' hilarious movie without gross-out humor!

Work with a hangover #2 and work exhausted #3: We went to '80s night at One Eyed Jack's. Yes, Devon, the Morrissey look-alike was there. But no Dead or Alive. Must have been too cold for them.

I broke out of jail free by taking a half day on Friday. First, there were snow flurries in the morning. We bundled up the kids...hats...coats....gloves....scarves...and one pair of mittens. But, wouldn't you know it, as soon as we got out there, the flippin' snow had stopped. Waste of a trip.

Then, I learned that in order to get out of a grocery store alive on Christmas Eve, one must play Quarterback. Sheesh. I actually plowed down some old people just to buy candy for my grandparents-in-law. Wishing I hadn't in retrospect. Very glad I pawned off that ugly-ass steal-a-gift item that I got at the office Chanukkah party. It was a plaque thingy...hand-painted....that said, "Chocolate lovers know that life is sweet!" Well, in my book, if you're the type of person to display plaques like, "Grandchildren are God's way of compensating us for growing old" in your kitchen, then you should love that sort of thing. So I pawned that piece of crap onto her. She says she liked it. I hope she didn't.

We started the night at Maw Maw and Pops' house, where we dined on such delicacies as chicken salad sandwiches and ham sandwiches, made from pre-packaged meat, and snacky items. We were the only ones who had to open gifts, simply because one branch of the family left early, and so everyone did the exchange two nights previous. So everyone sat down to boredly watch us open our gifts. We scored with the third season of (Everybody...in a deep, gravelly voice) "24" and "Elf." Mark got a cool music trivia game. The cats got lots of gifts. And then there was me.

I AM SO ANGRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What did my grandmother-in-law give me for Christmas??? First off, the lesser sins: we established long ago that I hate pink, and that no one should ever buy me anything pink. So imagine my dismay at opening the big box (she doesn't wrap things individually...she gives you a whole box full of stuff) full of pink??? She obviously can't decide whether I'm 12 or 68, because she bought me pajamas that were bright pink and say "Angel" and some stupid slogan all over them, and an old lady night gown with a fuschia housecoat. Ever see that episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" where Marie gives Debra one to match hers? Well, I got one to match all of the women in the family. Yes, hideous and kind of offensive...but.....

I cried Saturday night over this one....She gave me Dr. Phil's new book, "Family First," on how to raise a "phenomenal family." ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RUDEST. PRESENT. EVER!!!!!!! First off, we work cruddy little jobs with zero benefits and hardly any pay. Second of all, I'm about to start grad school. And third of all, we've only been married 2 1/2 years, and we're only 25!!! It was all I could do to keep from yelling, throwing the book at her, and walking 90 miles home in sleet. I mean, if I was a fan of Dr. Phil, then I could see giving me the book. But I'm not. Even if he does look like my dad. But she clearly gave me this book as a big hint that she wants great-grandchildren ASAP. Keep on waiting, lady. Because she doesn't know it, but I don't want to have children. It'll be a cold day in her grave before she gets great-grandchildren from these loins.

I thought maybe I'd overreacted to this, but when I tell it to people, they get angry for me. Which makes it worse, because I'm realizing how justified I am. Eff bees.

We went to midnight Mass, which I only stayed awake during because I felt it was my wifely duty to slap Mark's thigh once in a while to wake him up. The priest spoke like Emo Phillips. But he was fat, so it was in a slightly lower octave. And it was so weird to walk into midnight Mass at midnight and have our pick of seats. Dang. You have to get to SPN by 11 p.m. or you have to stand. No Chrisssamiss Daaaayyy, though. Denied.

We woke up Christmas morning to be told by my MIL that it had snowed. We looked outside, and sure enough....it was a white Christmas!!!

There were icicles on everything and just a smidgen of snow on the ground. It sleeted all morning, then turned to snow. Full-out snowflakes! We were eating lunch at his grandparents' house, and I was the only one who was seated perfectly so that I could see through the doorways to the back porch, where I noticed it was coming down hard and was all snow. So we interrupted dinner to have a snowball fight! It continued snowing and we got snowed in!! It was only like 2 inches, but south Louisiana isn't prepared to handle snow. All roads leading back to New Orleans were shut down. Too many bridges. Most of the ride down to my in-laws is mostly through swamp areas. We were stranded with no clean clothes or underwear. Wal-Mart, Rite Aid, CVS, and the grocery stores were all closed. Stupid podunk town!!! We had to wash our underwear and clothes that night. Luckily, we'd spent the night Friday, so we had pajamas. But all we had were the clothes on our backs, our pajamas, and the dress clothes for church.We couldn't leave until almost 2:30 Sunday afetrnoon because we were waiting for roads to open. But here in New Orleans, you can hardly tell it had snowed.

At work, our playground is always in the shade, so there was some snow left Monday morning. We had a snowball fight at work this morning with the kids. I totally nailed a girl I hate. But it's in the upper 50s today. And it'll be in the mid-70s this weekend. Go figure.The worst part? I had my camera out to bring with me Friday night, and I said, "What am I going to take a picture of?" So I left it HOME. My in-laws took a bunch of pics, though. And, when we got to my parents' house yesterday for a belated Christmas celebration (even sadder, we were expecting to be home Christmas night, so we left our gifts to each other at home, and we didn't get to exchange them until last night!!), what did they give us but a digital camera???? Grrrr.......

We got a bunch of gift cards for Christmas, and some hot chocolate mix, and a stir-fry pan, and Chappelle's Show season 1, and a cool caller-ID/answering machine dual phone set from my side of the family, to name a few things. Yeah...who has the cooler family? But, to be fair, his parents gave us the recliner. To Mark, I gave the Metallica history book, "America: the Book" by those crazy kids at The Daily Show, a Wonder Woman figure (long story), a South Park T-shirt, and a cool nice shirt. He gave me a scarf, the new CD from Muse, a chord book and the Weezer tab book because he's going to teach me to play guitar, and a gorgeous amethyst necklace. Yeah...who's the cooler spouse...HINT: not me!

Work with a hangover #3 and work with exhaustion #4: Calie and Geoff brought us to Nick's bar and we met Kate, Caroline, and Kurt there. It was fun and all, but not a place I'd like to frequent.

Work exhausted #5: Went to see "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" with Kate, Caroline, Keith, Alicia, Kurt, Gootee, and some of his family members while Mark worked a crappy shift. It was good, but I prefer Tennenbaums. Hung out at Starbucks later. Kate dropped me off, and we talked for a while. Still had to shower. Blah.

I hate my job. I've got an application for Starbucks...anyone else know anywhere else that's hiring? Stop me before I go postal. Life pretty much sucks right now. I read something online earlier about how when people ask this guy what the best year of his life is, he always says, "This one, because we haven't seen next year yet." Well, I don't see it that way. My answer is, "Hopefully next year, because the last few have been utter crap." Flip.

Just a moment..

Getting through Pre-school minicamp....will update after the new year. Until then, enjoy this joke, courtesy of Mark.....

A pirate walks into a bar. People look at him funny. The bartender says, "Excuse me, sir, but you do realize you have a steering wheel attached to your crotch, don't you?" Pirate says, "Aye, and it's driving me nuts!!!!"

Have a seat...your memo will be right with you.

Yayyyy our recliner is coming tonight!!!!!!!!!!! YAYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!! And the in-laws come through.... We wanted a recliner for the den, because, as anyone who has ever been to our house knows, it's impossible to entertain. One sofa, some metal folding chairs, and the straight-backed kitchen chairs? Not fun.

The chair is lovely. As the name implies, it reclines. And it swivels. So you can spin around and see who's talking to you.

It's a sage green, and it's comfortably squishy, yet well-supporting. Whew. There is nothing comfortable to sit in or lay on in our house. The mattress on our bed sinks in because it's too soft and it hurts my back. The sofa is too wide in the seat, and the cushions reject you. And the kitchen chairs are fine for dining, but to watch a movie or hang out in? Not fun.

The coolest part? It's a microfiber chair. This means it is COMPLETELY STAIN-RESISTANT. Do you KNOW what this means to me????? Do you know about my spasticity??? Ask my family. They lived with it forever. Ask Mark. He shakes his head at me on a daily basis. Ask Roman. He got to see it up close and personal in trip camp last summer. I fell in a hole on the streets of Memphis.

Walking in Memphis.....I got my feet 10 feet underground.....

Apparently, we could write an entire essay on the chair, and with a little soap and water, get it spotless again. Perhaps I will move this blog to the chair. Maybe, instead of Post-It Notes, I'll leave Mark messages on the chair. "Don't forget to take out the veal if you want dinner tonight. And don't even THINK about sitting here until the dishes are done."

I bet they'll pick the goat.

On Monday, I was working at the front desk, and found out about two momentous events happening simultaneously. Both equally thrilling, both quite memorable.

First, Sen. Joe Lieberman was coming to talk to the kids and light the menorah. His granddaughters are students. Anyway, I got to meet him...one of the first to do so....at the desk. His son was with him, and he gave a personal introduction. He said, "This is Aimee (stupid Blogger won't let me put my accent, yet it let me do it as my title...so I'm going to bold and italicize all of my accented e's from now on.). She runs the Kids Konnection program that the girls go to." And apparently I get glowing reviews by the girls at home, because Sen. Lieberman said, "Oh, they love that Konnection!" Score one for me.

At the same time he was due to arrive, J3's mom was bringing in some goats for animal show and tell. Their names are Jack and Jill, and they were only 6 days old. THEY WERE SO CUTE!!!!! They weren't much bigger than Lily, and not much smaller than Shazzy. They were very docile and very light...I got to hold Jack for a second because Salad Tosser was losing her grip on him.

And out of the two events, which one will the kids remember most?

I bet they pick the goats.

Will I become what I hate?

I had a scary thought the other day.

I start grad school in January, and, this time around, I'll be a - gasp! - non-traditional student! Oh dear God!!!

Now, don't take offense. A non-traditional student is an admirable thing. They're people getting their lives together and there is nothing better than that. I myself am in this category. However, at a commuter school in a rural area, like my alma mater, there is nothing more annoying. Brava and bravo to them, though...

But, I will now have to attend school a different way.

From now on, I will need a rolling schoolbag, which I will have to drag up the steps behind me, banging and clanging the whole way, blocking traffic for miles, making everyone else late for class. Then I'll be sure to get the wheel snagged and yank really hard on the handle and accidentally smack the ass of the person in front of me.

I will sit in the front seat of the front row nearest to the teacher. I will raise my hand to answer every question, whether I know the answer or not, and I will always be convinced that I know more than the professor and will let him know that I know. And each response will be 15 minutes long and will throw in references to my cats (since I don't have kids) and that time, three years ago, when I was in college for the first time.

I will overdo every project that I must hand in.

I will shake my head as I watch the traditional students say and do stupid things. (Ooo. Actually, I did this during my undergrad years. Never mind.)

I will annoy everyone around me with my very presence and try to be the professor's best friend. Even though she will loathe me, I will not be able to tell this. We WILL be best friends.

I will do really well on my tests and throw off the curve, when applicable.

I will make sure the traditional students know that I feel they are silly, pathetic time wasters who don't know what life really is and that they could never have it as good as it was when I was their age....three years ago...

Will I become what I hate?

I had a scary thought the other day.

I start grad school in January, and, this time around, I'll be a - gasp! - non-traditional student! Oh dear God!!!

Now, don't take offense. A non-traditional student is an admirable thing. They're people getting their lives together and there is nothing better than that. I myself am in this category. However, at a commuter school in a rural area, like my alma mater, there is nothing more annoying. Brava and bravo to them, though...

But, I will now have to attend school a different way.

From now on, I will need a rolling schoolbag, which I will have to drag up the steps behind me, banging and clanging the whole way, blocking traffic for miles, making everyone else late for class. Then I'll be sure to get the wheel snagged and yank really hard on the handle and accidentally smack the ass of the person in front of me.

I will sit in the front seat of the front row nearest to the teacher. I will raise my hand to answer every question, whether I know the answer or not, and I will always be convinced that I know more than the professor and will let him know that I know. And each response will be 15 minutes long and will throw in references to my cats (since I don't have kids) and that time, three years ago, when I was in college for the first time.

I will overdo every project that I must hand in.

I will shake my head as I watch the traditional students say and do stupid things. (Ooo. Actually, I did this during my undergrad years. Never mind.)

I will annoy everyone around me with my very presence and try to be the professor's best friend. Even though she will loathe me, I will not be able to tell this. We WILL be best friends.

I will do really well on my tests and throw off the curve, when applicable.

I will make sure the traditional students know that I feel they are silly, pathetic time wasters who don't know what life really is and that they could never have it as good as it was when I was their age....three years ago...

I've seen hell, and it ain't pretty.

So, I thought that regular old country music in general was evil incarnate. But I was wrong. Regular old country music is just the devil's handmaiden.

The devil himself? Square-dance music.

The field at work doesn't drain well. And the gym has been occupied for other purposes twice lately on these wet field days. So, the P.E. teacher asked if she could use my room. Not having kids in there, how could I turn her away? Especially since the Dub had told her to go for it. But what were her intentions?

Square dancing.

With VERY loud music. Our radio in there goes up to 50 on the volume. (Sure beats 11!) When I am in there alone, I keep the volume at 13. Plenty loud enough. Sometimes, I even go to 12. But she had it cranked up to 35. 35!! And these poor kids. They aren't allowed to have the boys dance with the girls out of respect for the orthodox kids' beliefs. So boys partner with boys and girls partner with girls. I have to admit, watching this is a kick in the pants. You know how middle school girls will dance with each other and hug each other and stuff. But middle school boys are getting to the age where even passing paper to each other is a hazard. They may brush hands!! EGAD! People may think they're gay!! So imagine watching them dance with each other. Now that's priceless. They all look like they suspect their partners have weapons of mass destruction in their pants. (And judging by the funky odor that was left in there last time, apparently, someone DID.)

HOWEVER. My joyous attitude over watching this happen has one flaw. There is square-dance/folk music BLASTING through the halls. People pop their heads in to see what's going on. And this music...ugh. It's standard tunes with this vibratoed, southern, old man voice calling out dance steps and throwing in phrases like , "You're so gentle, you're so gentle on my mind."

What???? That doesn't even make sense. I'm convinced that the lack of technology and other such things really held back the people of the olden days.

Sam wanted to know if they were going to add other old-timey things, like making your own moonshine, to the curriculum. So we came up with others: butter churning 101, making your own buttons, whittling, and weaving. There was more, but it's really not that great.

David Lee Roth lights the menorah....

And so do James Caan, Kirk Douglass, and the late Dinah Shore-ah.

And lately, so do I! Well, I don't touch the real one. But I do color in the flames on a paper one each day at work.

I like Chanukkah. I love gelt (especially the dark chocolate), I love latkes, dreidel is fun, and standing with the kids as we light the menorah together is so much fun. I like buying Chanukkah gifts for baby Ben. I love seeing the kids each afternoon and hearing about/seeing what they got for Chanukkah, and I like their anticipation about going home to get their next gift. Today, the Salad Tosser (it's a dance she made up, I swear) asked me what I got for Chanukkah last night. I told her I don't celebrate Chanukkah. She said, "Why not? I celebrate Chanukkah and Christmas. You can, too!" "But my family isn't Jewish," I said. "That's okay. you can still celebrate it. Just do it here with us!" How cute and warm and fuzzy. I love how accepting these kids are of our differences, you know? Mirit wished me a happy Chanukkah a few minutes ago, and said, "I can say that because I count you as one of us. You're around Jews like 24/7, so you count." Why can't all people in the world be this accepting? Sigh.

I finished my Christmas shopping today!!! YAYYY. Now I just have to do Mark's birthday.

Sorry I'm not funny today, but I started working out again last night and I'm tired and sore and my brain kinda hurts. I'll think of a humorous topic for tomorrow.

I could go for some yellow cake....with chocolate icing.

Just don't drop that...

So I was away for a few days. Don't expect me to do stuff on the weekends. And I was at work all day yesterday and today.

I don't care much for holidays, except that holidays = time off from work. I'm just crotchety like that, I guess. But what I DO like is that people come in town. The Wonger is due here quite soon, and my Kate is coming very soon. Yayyyy!!! People I miss! Par-tay!

Mark and I were discussing Christmas music tonight. Specifically, how Christmas music is often depressing. Ever heard "The Christmas Shoes?" Look it up. I dare you not to bawl. And I'm not just crying because it is country music. I find all Christmas music to be sort of sad, and it brings tears to my eyes, so I do not listen to it. But why do Christmas songs have to be so depressing in subject matter, i.e. the aforementioned song?

There's one Christmas song, though, that brings tears of laughter to my eyes. The church my parents go to has a midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, and it's a REAL midnight Mass, not some 10 p.m. rip-off like Mark's parents' church. Anyway, they play this song that's got a calypso beat to it EVERY year. And this same old guy from the choir has this as his solo EVERY year. And he sings in a monotone baritone with a fake Island accent. This is a pretty non-Islander guy, too. I mean, he's as far removed from teh Islands as he could be. And he has a really obnoxious voice. And he pronounces it "Chrisssss-a-misssss Dayyyyy." And there's all sorts of weird instruments going on. Every year, my family nudges one another and chokes on laughter. And every year, at the end of Mass, the priest includes a special thank you to the choir for being extraordinary as usual, and points the guy out and everyone applauds. Except for us. We snort with laughter and poke each other in mock dismay as we cover our own giddiness. This year will be weird for me, though, because we'll be with the in-laws and I won't get to participate in this. Ah, well. Such is life.

Kate's listed on IMDB!!! She's gonna make it after allllllll!

Don't be bringing that sh...tuff up in here!

I was feeling pretty good about my lunch choice for the day: an everything bagel with whipped cream cheese and some rice cakes. Then Over-21 Jeff im'ed me and said he was going to lunch. He didn't know what he was going to eat. Eventually, he came back and informed me that he was eating corn and shrimp soup. Then it dawned on me exactly how crappy my lunch was. RICE CAKES! What was I thinking? There's so much more out there to enjoy. Moron. Anyway, it cheesed me off that he brought that lovely lunch to my attention. If I see him, I think I'll kick him. Damn. What was I thinking? RICE CAKES!

Today I learned a very important fact. NEVER go to Google and search for "Shaggy" under the pictures option. I was trying to find a picture of Shaggy from Scooby Doo for a work project, and I got some of the nastiest stuff....Including a very disturbing image of Shaggy standing with an also standing Daphne. A NUDE also standing Daphne. And what they were doing is not suitable for print. Second of all, make sure you aren't at work doing this.

Random thought: how many kids a day go looking for pictures of cartoon heroes, only to end up with this?

I found my Christmas cards today. Guess I'll work on them this weekend. Or is it too early?

Oh. All of the bonus cool points from the first post's question go to Andy "Where the hell is he?" the Groomsman. He correctly identified it as Chapelle's Show. Albeit in an e-mail. But he still gets credit.

My brain hurts.

Paris Hilton, look out. Here comes Pinky.

I think that today, I'd like to make a public service announcement for people who have kids or may some day want them. Do not let your kid become a snobby rich brat.

I got my hair cut yesterday, and while half of the kids asked me, "Why are you all fancy today?" and most of the others said they liked the new look..which isn't so much of a new look as a taming of the shrew's nest that was my hair until yesterday, there were two kids who rudely mentioned how they don't like it.

One, whom I will refer to as, J3, is 8 years old now and afraid of change. So I expected it from her. Plus, she shows love by saying she hates you and then climbing into your lap and begging you to play games with her.

But the other, whom I will dub "Pinky," as Russian Phil has already done so, grabbed at it, made a face, and said, "Why did you cut your hair like this?" I started to say, "Because I felt like it," or "Why not?" as I normally respond to this type of childlike throat slitting, but it really bothered me. I wanted to snap back, "Why did you get those stupid-looking baby bangs, dumbass." But then I remember that A) I need to hang on to this job a little longer and B) she's only in 4th grade and is by no means a candidate for Mensa.

So I just glared at her and told her, "I don't appreciate that question. That's very rude. You don't ask people that sort of thing. That hurts me that you said that." All I did was get it shoulder length and have some layers put back in it. That's it. It doesn't look much different from any other cut I've had the past couple of years. She is a bitch. Who that hell dresses their 4th grader in Juicy Couture T-shirts, anyway? This child from the family in Destrehan that I had to bring home and babysit in their cat-shit scented house for four hours, without them leaving any dinner (Little snot ate spaghetti out of a bag while older snot ate a lime....go figure.), coming home an hour and a half late, and not even paying me $7 an hour...when I was making more than that at my day job. That was the last time I did any independent babysitting. Ever. Except for the Dub. Can't say no to the boss.

Anyway, as promised, here's today's moment of zen. The name has been changed to protect the pathetic:

"How Ad-rock Became Ad-rock."
I remember that I used to be an average Joe. But then I did these things and hopefully, when I grow up, I'll be a girl magnet. When I was 7, I was playing my Gameboy. I turned the radio on and heard "Who Let the Dogs Out." "This song is cool," I said to myself. So, 2 weeks later, I bought the album and I would always listen to it.
My friend turned 13 the next day. He had a Bar Mitzvah. I had to go to the service. After the service, I said, "Isn't there a celebration?" "YES" mom said. "There is an after party." "SWEET!!!!!!" I said. When the party got started, everybody got a request sheet. "Let's see if they have the Ba-Ha Men." I asked. They did! I requested it and gave it to the DJ. It was the moment of truth. The song was on, so I jumped on the dance floor, put on my black sunglasses, and lipsank to all of the words. Everybody loved me. My mom, on the other hand, was surprised.
1 year later....
Now I was 8 and I started listening to RAP. Then a few months later, I had chains, hats, sunglasses, and more...
One day, my dad said "Son, nobody likes you because you started liking rap."
That day, I found out who I really am on the inside. I'm not a homie or a dude. I think I'm cool just the way I am. I'm Ad-rock, and saying that I have a better life, and "better is better."

"This bores me. Anyone for a game of basketball?"

My AOL blog kinda sucked. So I've moved. I feel I will be more motivated to keep up something that's fun looking. I know at least one person who checks on it, so change your links. I promise to publish more fun stuff..more randomness here.

"Big ups" to the future Mrs. Ryan Dunn for having a blog in a neat, Blogging-for-Dummies place, which inspired me to move here.

The kids at the Day School make a literary magazine every year, and it came out recently. This kid we dubbed "Ralph Wiggum" for his rotundness, his voice, his randomness (Actual quote, just ask Ilyse: "My dog's name is Snickers. Can you believe it?? A dog named after a chocolate bar!!! Hahahahahahahahahahhahaa...Chocolate!!!"), and his lack of friends, published something that rivals Jack Handy. Here it is, in its entirety:

If everyone ate dog food they would be sick of it. It would taste nasty. "We hate dog food" they would say.

I kid you not.

I promise that tomorrow, I will post the Ad-Rock's entry. If you know him, it'll have you peeing where you sit. If you don't know him, you'll get an idea of what I deal with every day. Stay tuned for that. It's riveting, I tell you.

If anyone else has a blog, let me know. I find them to be a guilty pleasure. I'm oddly addicted to reading peoples' stuff.

Bonus cool points to the person who can name the origin of the title to this post.