My friends are a-holes.

Conversations between Jake and I last night:

Jaime: Actually, I kind of have you to thank. Our song is that Early November cover of Power of Love.
Jake: That's a great song. You know now you'll have to name one of your kids after me, right?
Jaime: I don't want my kid to be an arsonist. Anyway, that's our song and so's that Buckcherry one.
Jake [erupts into laughter]: Which one? Crazy Bitch?!
Jaime: No! Dude! For The Movies!
Jake: I bet I know why that's your song too...
[Jake and Jerry start laughing]
Jaime: You're an asshole. You're both assholes. I hate you guys.


[While watching a Frontline commercial]
Jaime: Smashy! That's my dog!
Jake: Which one? The ugly one or the ugly one?
Jaime: The one on the right. Hey, screw you! Smashy's not ugly. He's awesome.
Jake: Your dog's a 'tard.
Jaime: You're a tard.
Jake: If two 'tards got together, got married, had kids and then got a dog? That would be your dog....'tard.
Jaime: Why am I friends with you?
Jake: 'Tard.

Friendship. It's when you know your friends are complete assholes and you love them anyway.

Gal reminds me of the highway between Fort Worth and Dallas. No curves.

Yesterday, while shopping for a pair of jeans, I had the following encounter in the dressing room:

Jaime: Hmm, I wonder if a size 0 would fit. They look alright lengthwise....
Jaime's Ass: Size 0? Bitch, you trippin'. Put that shit down.

I am 4'11" and 100lbs. I fit into a size 1 in most jeans but I still have curves because a) I'm ethnic and b) I love food. Seriously -- there is no greater pleasure in my life than bread. I am in constant awe of it.

Now, let's compare and contrast, shall we?

Kate Bosworth is 5'7" and has to have a size 0 taken in.
Ellen Pompeo is 5'7" and weighs 100 lbs.
Victoria Beckham is about 5'5" and has a 23" waist.

I know that thin is in and I know that designers recruit women with wire-thin frames to show off their clothes, but this is just ri-goddamn-diculous. When did it become taboo for a woman to look like a woman as opposed to a prepubescent 10-year-old boy?

When did it becomes okay to be be able to count your ribs? When did Playboy sales diminish and Razor Sharp Clavicle sales shoot through the roof? When did carbs replace Al-Qaida as public enemy #1?

Did the memo get lost, Hollywood? New secretary, perhaps? Well, here's a recap:

REAL WOMEN DON'T LOOK LIKE THIS.

You know what's great about being a woman? Well....besides free liquor and cute shoes? Curves. Breasts and hips and asses. Love 'em. They're delicious and most men I know agree.

Ever heard a man say, "Damn, that is one sexy collar bone jutting out of her chest"? No.
Ever heard a man say, "Gimme that donkey butt and them big ol' legs!"? No? Well, in that case, you need to download Let Me Ride That Donkey by the 69 Boyz [or Dunkie Butt by 12 Gauge -- Thank you, William The Conqueror :)].

All kidding aside though, not only is this trend stupid, it's dangerous. It perpetuates the false myth that in order to be successful and pretty, one needs to be skinny. Not just skinny, but practically malnourished.

It's heartbreaking, unhealthy and untrue.

I could subsist solely on celery and cigarettes and even then, I'm never going to have a boyish, Twiggy frame.

I'm supposed to be curvy and not only do I accept that, I dig it. Granted, every now and then, I have a moment of self-doubt where I wish I was gaunt like Nicole Richie because maybe then, clothes would look better on me. Then, I realize something -- curves are fun. You can do things with hips, breasts and asses that you can't with stick-figure frames.

So, to all the men out there who appreciate hips, breasts and asses -- I salute you and hope you have nothing but mind-blowing sex for the rest of your days.
To all the ladies with breasts, hips and asses -- rock the fuck on.
And to anyone trying to convince the world that the Skeletor look is hot -- eat a cheeseburger and just shut the fuck up.

P.S. -- I did manage to find a kickass pair of jeans. L.e.i. jeans make my ass happy. Seriously, you could bounce a quarter off of it. It's totally hot.

Honestly, if you're not willing to sound stupid, you don't deserve to be in love.

I've been listening to Ashton Kutcher's version of Bon Jovi's I'll Be There For You a lot lately [Thank you again, Jason!]. It's not even really a song. It's actually a buck fifteen of Kutcher butchering one of my favorite songs.

The chords are disjointed, sporadic and out of tune, Kutcher's voice is kind of scratchy, he can't hit the high notes to save his life and the song ends with someone shouting, "You suck!" -- an accurate assessment if there every was one.

And that's the very reason I love it. Because even though it's completely rubbish, it's honest [in the context of the film].

I'm not an expert when it comes to love. I just have pages and pages of postulates as to what it might be and the way I see it -- love makes you a little crazy.

Not chemically imbalanced where you're throwing Paxil down your throat by the handful [at least, it shouldn't make you feel like that, but I've met some pretty damn crazy people in my life who would actually justify behavior like this], but a little crazy. A little less prone to logic and a little more spontaneous.

Love will make you spend an entire paycheck on pink roses 'cause you know that they're her favorite. It'll make you belt out a power ballad on her lawn despite numerous threats from neighbors that the police will be on their way shortly. It'll make you get a tattoo in a place a judge can see it. It'll make you get into a fight with that huge biker at the bar. It'll make you scream louder and your heart beat faster and you'll be fine with that. Because you'll know that you're part of something so much greater than yourself...

...But then again, what the hell do I know? I think magic is the reason electricity works.

P.S -- I really need to find an old-school photobooth. I wonder how much of the Crew we could jam into one of those things...

They don't wanna hear your pudding tales

A conversation between The Best Friend and myself last night:

The Best Friend: You know, I really do appreciate you.
Me: Dude, you know how I know you're gay...?
The Best Friend: Seriously, I do. You're a good friend.
Me: Why are you saying that? Are you dying?!
The Best Friend: No....
Me: Oh my God! Am I dying?!
The Best Friend: No!

When it comes to ruining a moment, I knock it straight outta the park. The Best Friend was trying to be very sweet and genuine and I was...well, myself. I tried to make up for it later by telling him how much I really appreciate him, but I kept erupting into a fit of giggles. So much for that idea.

So, to my bee eff eff eee fore eva: I know the magic you're bringing, dude and I'm all about your pudding tales.

In Other News:

• Lance Bass is gay. And water is wet and puppies are cute. Why is something this obvious considered news? However, to Mr. Bass -- congratulations on coming out! That's awesome and here's to a lifetime of happiness for you.
  
  
• I've had T-Pain's I'm In Love With A Stripper stuck in my head for the past three days and am unable to sing the song out loud without shimmying my shoulders. That girl at the post office who looked like an ass? That was me.
  
  
• Music To Download Now: The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot by Brand New, New Kid In Town by The Eagles [it reminds me of Papa ♥], Maybe It's Just Me by Butch Walker, Stand By Me [Live] by U2 feat. Bruce Springsteen and Rock Star [Jason Nevins Remix] by N.E.R.D.
  
  
• If anyone has an mp3 of Ashton Kutcher singing I'll Be There For You by Bon Jovi [it was in the movie A Lot Like Love], please get in touch with me! I've been looking for that track for a while. Thank you! Thanks Jason! You are a rock star :)
  

Strictly for my ninjas...

I really have nothing better to do

Sports Guy is now a Tottenham Hotspurs fan. Sparky -- what say you of this and his analysis of Premier League teams?

The rock photography/lenticular exhibit is still going on at Millenia Fine Art. If you're in the area and you haven't seen it -- I urge you to go. Not only are the lenticulars awe-inspiring, but they have an amazing collection of photographs too. Some are funny, some are pretty, some are stark and all are powerful. The one that affects me the most is a black and white image of Sharon Tate. She's holding up baby clothes and smiling. It was taken a few days before she was brutally murdered. I can't look at it without a lump forming in my throat.

Things You Should Do Soon:

• Listen to The Black Crowes. Check out She Talks To Angels [both versions -- plugged and unplugged], My Heart's Been Killin' Me, Feathers, Hard To Handle and Soul Singing.
• Buy a pair of Reefs. The most comfortable shoes you will ever own.
  
• Drink Snapple Apple-flavored Snapple. It's delicious and could kick Mott's ass all over the place.
• Listen to So Alive by Love and Rockets. It's on the Rules of Attraction soundtrack, incredibly sexy and approved by Will, so you know it has to be good.
• Raise the roof

The future hasn't been written yet....or has it?

I am Jaime's Broken Heart. :(

Crazy drunk pedestrians!

VH1 should run a feature on me because I had the Best Week Ever.

Sunday afternoon, Dan came into town for five days. We decided to check out the TNA Pay-Per-View at Universal Studios because a) it was free, B) Dan had never seen a live wrestling match before and c) The Best Friend was already there.

After broiling for about two hours in line, we decided to junk it and ended up at the Hard Rock Bar instead...

...where I fell madly in love with a booth and tried to conceive every possible way to take the booth and all the alcohol home with me without anyone noticing.

I failed miserably.

Monday and Tuesday, we just kind of hung out and had a mini Back To The Future marathon ["Shark still looks fake"]. Not only does Dan love this movie as much as I do, but he's much better at reciting lines from it. In doing so, he became my personal hero.

Wednesday, we spent the day at Downtown Disney where I ate the world's most amazing sandwich at The Earl of Sandwich.

Seriously. I wanted to marry this thing and have little finger sandwich babies with it. I am unable to speak about it without bursting into an aria. It was truly glorious.

One thing I love about Downtown Disney [besides the manna from the heavens that is the Caprese sandwich] is the fact that there is so much to look at.

I saw a shirt that I figured The Best Friend would appreciate the next time someone mistakenly confused us for a couple.


A mad promotional blitz for Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest meant almost everywhere we went, we were confronted with eye-patches, skeletons and pictures of Johnny Depp looking like Keith Richards did about 200 years ago.


I guess all the promotion worked because after Downtown Disney, we headed to actually watch the movie. I discovered that I am terrified of tentacles, in awe of special effects and as in love with pirates as I was when I was a little kid and watched The Goonies for the first time. It was also the first real date I've ever been on. Everyone together now: "Awwwwww..." It was very sweet and I had a lovely time. ♥

Thursday was spent at Islands of Adventure...but I don't have any pictures of that because I didn't take my camera. So instead, here are some pictures of our shaving cream fight:


As you can see, I obviously won...


...But I didn't escape unscathed. Plus: I was super moisturized and I smelled great. Minus: Look at my face.

On Friday morning, Dan left. Later that night was yet another Howl at the Moon night. Like the good little alcoholics we are, we decided to 'line our stomachs' with Taco Bell.

This was a good idea...until we realize that we were eating Taco Bell and that Taco Bell is never a good idea. After carpet-bombing our stomachs, Dana and I rediscovered what we think of beer -- it's awesome!


We rocked out to Journey, Jovi and Dana's favorite: Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy by Big and Rich. I think that song was written for us based on the lyric: "I'm singing and bling-blinging while the girls are drinking long necks down!" Singing? Check. Bling-blinging? Check [Dana's shirt had sparkly silver sequins]. Long necks? Double check!

Even though we ended the night fairly early [for us], it ended on a good note because for the first time since we've been going to that bar, they played the UCF fight song.

A mere $19 is all it takes to buy respect for the Golden Knights. It was awesome...until some putz chipped in $80 [!!!] to hear the Texas Longhorns fight song. More money than sense.

So, in conclusion -- you may be starring in a musical based on your life, David Hasselhoff...but I had the best week ever.

Ketchup is for winners, Ted!

Oh. My. God. I can't even look at that for too long. It's so cute. This little puppy's name is Plumm and I found her at the Boston Terrier Photo Blog.

I really need to stop visiting that website. It just keeps fueling my desire for a Boston Terrier. I found two Boston Terrier Rescues -- one in Tampa and one in Delray and have decided that this is the route I'm gonna go. It makes so much more sense to rescue a dog than to buy one at a pet store.

One day, I will have a Boston Terrier and I will name him Smashy and it will be glorious.

This Beautiful Life by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy is really a fantastic album. A bit of a foray from the swing revival thing and much more loungey and jazzy. I love dipping into my CD collection and rediscovering music. It's like finding $20 in your pocket.

Things That Are Awesome: Anything Conan O'Brien does, The Rock, Clocks by Coldplay, Cocoa Pebbles and Reef flip flops.

Things That Are Not Awesome: The fact that the Wayans Brothers have careers, being allergic to certain kinds of lipstick and looking like Angelina Jolie punched you in the mouth, Hulk Hogan because he is a proselytizing assbag and the fact that it is two o'clock and I have yet to shower.

Dan flies in tomorrow for four days movie-related fun -- movie marathons [We're planning to knock out the entire Back To The Future Trilogy in a day], quality time at Islands of Adventure and Downtown Disney and a Mr. Wizard-inspired experiment involving a soft-boiled egg and vinegar. I am excited. Expect lots of pictures :)

My only shot at ever being in a gang fight and all I get is one stitch?

No. No. No. No. No. No. Goddamn, I hate Hollywood. I realize that casting Raven Simone in Adventures in Babysitting isn't like having Wilmer Valderrama playing Rick in Casablanca, but it's bothersome nevertheless. The original is fine -- the Playboy subplot, the Albert Collins cameo, the "Don't fuck with the babysitter" line. It's all good stuff and the last thing Disney needs to do is arse it all up with a second-generation Cosby Kid.

Nip/Tuck is quickly becoming one of my favorite shows on television. Yes, I realize that I am achingly behind the rest of the country, but I don't watch TV anymore. It's easier to rent the DVDs from Blockbuster and knock out an entire season during a weekend. The Best Friend and I just finished watching the first season and now, I'm anxiously awaiting the second. I hear it gets more and more bizarre from here on out. Life coaches, incest, infidelity and someone called The Carver. Can't wait.

The new last.fm looks amazing. If you don't have one, get one. Bon Jovi tells the day by the bottle that he drinks. Me? I just fire up the iTunes. That being the case:

Thank You! Come Again: Five Songs on Repeat

1. O Fortuna -- Mozart. Dramatic, bold and passionate. It stirs the blood and honestly, how many things actually do that?
2. I'll Be There For You -- Bon Jovi. Not only is this song the reason I don't hate Ashton Kutcher anymore, but I'm fairly certain that I'll fall in love with whoever sings it. No lie.
3. Luck Be A Lady -- Frank Sinatra. If he was still alive, he'd tell you to take off that stupid hat, pull up those damn pants and then, he'd sleep with your mother and pitch a tumbler of whiskey right in your face...and you'd love it 'cause Frank's the man.
4. I Can't Come Down -- Embrace. I've got a thing for pianos lately. This song is gorgeous and I have no idea how it ended up on my computer, but I'm so glad it did.
5. Still -- The Geto Boys. It makes me want to destroy a printer. "PC Load Letter?! What the fuck does that mean?!"

Check out Multiplex Comics. Funnier than Tara Reid's pretending she's a legit actress.

Gonna have you naked by the end of this song

Oh, Mr. Timberlake. You had one mission -- to bring the sexy back. Mission accomplished, sir. Mission accomplished. Way back when, you were mocked for your problematic moptop, your penchant for dancing with folding chairs and your saccharine relationship with a certain pop princess. Now, you're all growns-up and you're all growns-up. Kudos, Mistah Timberlake for bringing the sexy back and wanting us all to add a lil' vanilla to our milk.

Gorgeous pictures that inspire and ignite me. Check them out and find some that do the same for you.

I want to be the owner and proprietor of a bar. Not just any bar, but a lo-fi, dim place with lots of dark wood, warm light and brown leather. No bras on the ceiling, no buzzing pink and green neon and no party girls giggling and sipping daiquiris. A bar with the best music -- everything from Frank Sinatra and Chick Corea to Led Zeppelin and Stevie Ray Vaughan. Cocktail onions, not cocktail umbrellas. Not some throwback to the Rat Pack and not some psuedo-hip bar where everything thinks they're so money, baby. Just a place where the seats are comfortable, the music's good, the beer is cold and the drinks are stiff.

I went to bed at 4:30 a.m. I just couldn't sleep. However, it wasn't a total wash because I did end up doing something mildly creative. Still -- no more insomniac nights. They can't be good for me.

Now Hear This:

• Graduation Day -- Head Automatica. Palumbo. Powerpop. Perfection. Hmmm, alliteration.
• Stars and Boulevards -- Augustana
• Diablo Rojo -- Rodrigo y Gabriela
• Istanbul -- They Might Be Giants [Pepe -- I've decided that this is now our song]
• Be Kind + Remind -- Rogue Wave
• Baby Did A Bad, Bad Thing -- Chris Isaak
• I Can Tell -- 504 Boys

You were pretty as can be, sitting in the front seat

4th of July picture up on the Flickr. I'm surprised at how well some of them turned out and am really looking forward to that photography class in the spring.

Paps is a bit of a photographer, so hopefully that talent transferred over to me.

It's important to capture moments like that. You never get a chance to relive anything, so I plan on taking as many pictures as I can.

Hang on, I'll get my belt sander and try to grind the ugly off your face!

In honor of Independence Day, here is a short list of things that rock about America:

Classic Mustangs. Grilling. Free refills. Fender Strats. Anything Will Ferrell does. Post-NSync Justin Timberlake. Boston Terriers. Heath bars. Stars by Hum. Ron Livingston. The 1972 Miami Dolphins. Sailor Jerry tattoos. Post-It notes. Anything Robert Rodriguez does. So, You Want To Be A Writer? by Charles Bukowski. The quotability of The Simpsons. Pudding.

My 4th of July was fantastic. I spent it with the roomies, Pepe, Jake and Steph, Steph's brother Dan and Dan's girlfriend Liza. We hung out at the pool [I'm about three shades darker], we ate delicious food [Portobello mushrooms with mozzarella and tomatoes ♥], drank beer and margaritas, played video games and watched an amazing fireworks display. Great day and here's to hoping many more like it follow in the future.

In Other News:

Germany lost to Italy. Two-nil, in second overtime at the 27th minute. I'm floored. With Brazil gone, I thought these boys would clean house. What an upset. Barring another upset, it looks like it'll be France v. Italy in the finals.

Happy Birthday, Missy! Amaretto sours para todos! I love and miss you, sweetpea!

Facebook. I finally got one. If you're one of those assholes I went to school with -- feel free to add me.

I am in love with Andrew McMahon again. I've been listening to lots of Something Corporate and Jack's Mannequin lately and have decided that A) I'm in love with McMahon for the sixteenth time this year, B) I should really stop listening to Konstantine on repeat and C) I want to hire him to sing me lullabies. The pay's lousy and there are no benefits, but he would perform to a rapt audience every night...until I fell asleep, anyway.

Now Hear This: Music you need to download.

Stars and Boulevards -- Augustana
Oh Yeah -- Yello [It's the Ferris Bueller song. You know, "Chicka-schickaaaahhh"]
Wounded -- Third Eye Blind
Romantic -- Goapele

I am Jack's broken heart

A heartbreaking and disappointing end. England didn't deserve to go out like this. Losing to Portugal during a penalty shootout with our two best strikers and our captain on the bench? Come on, lads. That's just not on.

I hate Portugal with a passion. I despise their theatrics, their lies and their dirty tactics. I hate Ronaldo for goading his own teammate. I'm interested in seeing what kind of reception he gets from Man U fans after the cup is over.

I hate the way certain England fans act -- come home a hero or don't come home at all. I hate the English media who insist on castigating them for a million offenses instead of commending them for getting so far.

The boys played admirably. Hargreaves played with an unparalleled fierceness and tenacity. Watching him was a pleasure. Hell, watching the whole squad was a pleasure. Unlike many teams who resort to dirty tricks to ensure a win, the English team remain consummate professionals and gentlemen throughout.

That being said -- here's to the Three Lions. We'll get 'em in Austria-Switzerland and again in South Africa. Wait and see.

I wish I had more thumbs...

I'm blatantly ripping off Bill Simmons [also known as ESPN's Sports Guy] and creating my own thumbs up/thumbs down. Before I launch into it, let me just say a couple of words about Simmons.

I love this man. I truly do.

I love the fact that he references old-school wrestling and Beverly Hills 90210. I love the fact that he remains loyal to his Boston teams [even though the Pats suck. Seriously. As much as I lust after Tom Brady, I hate the team]. I love the fact that he has great taste in movies and music. I love the fact that he actually had a buddy named Sully. I love the Sports Gal and the fact that she inspired both a celebrity fantasy league and a column entitled 37 Things The Sports Gal Hates About Me. I love the fact that he believes in gameday magic [wearing the same, unwashed team jersey on gameday leads to a win]. I love his disdain for the WNBA, his true appreciation of when Rowdy Roddy Piper bashed Jimmy Superfly Snuka's head in with a coconut and the fact that he refers to his digs as Sports Guy Mansion. Most importantly, though -- I love the way he writes. Reading one of his columns is like hanging out with one of your buddies.

Anyway, on to the unapologetic rip-off sincerest form of flattery:

Thumbs Up: Those "Jose +10" commercials for Adidas. I love the all-star squad 'cause seriously, when are you ever going to get to see something like that? It reminded me of that episode of The Simpsons when the nuclear power plant bought in ringers for softball. During a pick-up game in the park, Martin gets all the baseball greats while Bart's stuck with Milhouse. Needless to say, hilarity ensues. I also love the soundtrack -- Jim Noir's Eanie Meany. A perfect song because of the classic lyric, 'If you don't give my football back/I'm gonna get my dad on you."

Thumbs Down: Dilated pupils. Thanks to my optometrist appointment yesterday, I looked like I had been chasing dragons in a Chinese opium den all day long. Worse yet, I had to take passport photos in this state.

Thumbs Up: New glasses! Black plastic frames with rhinestones in the stems. They're fabulous. I feel like the world's hottest librarian.

Thumbs Down: My sister's laptop screen crapping out after three months. There's a reason Dell has award-winning tech support. They seriously need it. I wonder what percentage of Dell's tech support is routed through India. Every time I've called, I've gotten some very nice man or woman who wants to marry me off to their son.

Thumbs Up: Pie. Not just any pie, but Dutch Caramel Apple pie with almonds. Oh my God. It's so good. A single slice puts me into a diabetic coma, but I would sell my children on the black market for this pie. The best part of all is that this delicious dish, this manna from the heavens, was a gift from the orthodontist. I think he's trying to drum up more business by rotting my teeth. It's totally working.

Tomorrow, my sister heads off to Gainesville. I'm gonna miss her like crazy, but I am so proud of her. She's gonna do amazing things.

Happy families are all alike...

[Referring to my dad]

Sparky: Yeah, well, you yell at him all the time!
Jaime: So do you!
Sparky: No, I don't! I just belittle him.
Jaime: You're systematically demolishing his self-esteem.
Sparky: He's 50. He doesn't need that anymore.

[We love our dad. We really do. He's the most important guy in our lives. That's why we make fun of him. Mockery = love.]

Bear in a hat!

I spent entirely too long watching The Hills last night. It might not be great television in the vein of 24, Arrested Development or Nip/Tuck, but I'm happily addicted to it.

The primary reason for this is Lauren Conrad. I've got a bit of a girl crush on her. She's fabulous. She's also got a wardrobe, job and apartment I would kill for. Her boyfriend, though? Not so much. It's the facial hair. I find that wildly unappealing. He looks like a drunken beaver most of the time. Not cute. That's alright, though because Miss Conrad's cute enough for the both of them.

I have a brilliant idea on how to resurrect Patrick Swayze's career. Back in the 80s, we were all a little crazy for Swayze. It's time to get hooked on that feeling all over again. I heard a rumor that the Swayzmeister is planning a foray into hip-hop. No. This is a terrible idea. No boom-boom-squiggy-squiggy, Swayze. Stick to what you're good at -- 80s pop ballads which cause twentysomethings like me to swoon. In addition to She's Like The Wind, re-record some other classics -- Take My Breath Away by Berlin and Hold Me Now by the Thompson Twins. I'm a genius.

Jake insults me with such finesse that it's impossible to hate him.

Via my voicemail: "Where are you?! You know, you're never gonna get a green card if immigration doesn't know where you are!"

Me: Yeah, I'll be in West Palm until the 2nd. I'm helping my sister pack up and move to Gainesville and Mom wants to spend some quality time with us.
Jake: What the hell is this? The brown Brady Bunch?

Friendship! It's not always about discussing feelings and being nice to one another. A real friend will make fun of you because you're an immigrant. Rock on.

Bear in a hat! Bear in a hat! The Best Friend bought me this hat. It's my new drinkin'/gamin' hat. I ♥ it, the bear and the Best Friend.

World Cup 2006: England v Sweden

Michael Owen's knee buckled on him a few minutes into the match. He was carried away on a stretcher.

I hope he's alright. We need him. It's just not the same team without him. I'm thinking good thoughts for you, O. We all are.

Joe Cole - I love you. I really do. You're a wonderful man and should be celebrated with the adding of beer to beer. Your goal was spectacular. More of those in the second half, please.

Edit -- 4:59 p.m.:

The final score at fulltime:

England: 2
Sweden: 2

Damn you, Swedes. You think you're so great with your economical furniture, your ABBA, your smörgåsbords and the fact that we can never beat you in football.

I'm still worried about Owen [please be ok], I love the fact that Rooney was so pissed off about being taken out [I'm a firm believer that you need piss and vinegar to be a good player] and I love Joe Cole's fancy footwork. It's a delight to watch [Kudos on garnering the Man of the Match honors!].

Time to scrub off the facepaint.

This kind of certainty comes but once in a lifetime...

I finally read The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller. It was quiet and beautiful. Kind of like driving on a deserted country road on a warm summer afternoon.

It brings up the age-old question -- is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Four days of poetry, passion and being with someone who loves you in the purest sense of the word or not even knowing such a person even existed because four days in the span of a lifetime is the briefest blink of an eye.

It also raises the question of what would you do if confronted with his person? Would you run away and live the wild, passionate life you always dreamed of or would you do the 'right thing' and sacrifice your dreams for the well-being of your family.

If you did the 'right thing,' there'd be a little part of you that died. However, if you ran away, you'd be shattering the lives of three other people [in the book, Francesca was married with two children].

No matter what you do, you just can't win. It reminds me of a Chris Isaak lyric -- "This world will only break your heart."

I'm an idiot. I really am. I have all these brainless, baseless biases and I let them dictate my life. I didn't want to read this book because I thought it was chick lit -- maudlin and syrupy. The script to a chick flick and nothing more. I couldn't have been more wrong and I should have seen it. I mean, seriously -- would Clint Eastwood really direct a chick flick? Of course not!

I did the same thing with The Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy. I was assigned to read it for a contemporary lit class and I complained. I moaned and groaned and pouted and refused to read anything with any connection to Barbra Streisand until my professor, Brennan Enos [great man who I need to look up, one of these days] told me to just shut up and read the damn book. I'm glad I did. It's funny, shocking, intricate and well-written.

I should live more and be less biased. I think I'm missing out by letting these ignorant ideas color my perceptions.

Now Hear This:

• Eanie Meany -- Jim Noir
• Earthquakes and Sharks -- Brandtson
• You Got Me All Wrong -- [Dios] Malos
• Mas Que Nada -- Tamba Trio

Won't you let me live, Marge?! Won't you please let me live?!

I am wearing a pink cashmere poncho. I am invincible.

Jesus Christ, why is it so expensive to travel in this country? A weekend jaunt to New York City would financially cripple me...and this is if I were staying in a cardboard box at Grand Central Station. The U.S. needs to establish a system like they have in Europe. More cheapie hostels and more no-frills, bargain-basement airlines like Ryan Air. Just looking at that website makes me want to weep. Free flights?! That's amazing. If I lived in London, I'd fly to Rome for breakfast and think nothing of it. "Hey man, what did you do today?" "I had breakfast in front of the Colosseum." How cool would it be to say that?

God, I want to travel. Oh God, I so desperately want to see the world. Hell, it doesn't even have to be the world. Let's start with the country. There are so many amazing things in the U.S. alone that I would love to experience.

I want to camp at the Grand Canyon. I want to see the Hollywood sign in person. I want to walk on the Golden Gate Bridge. I want to go shopping with Missy in New York City. I want to visit the Experience Music Project in Seattle. I want to pay my respects to Stevie Ray Vaughan in Austin. I want to listen to dirty-sweet blues music on Beale Street. I want to wear a Dolphins jersey in Boston, walk into a bar and scream, "The Pats suck! Vinatieri's the only smart one!" [Granted, this would probably result in me getting my ass kicked, but hey -- the truth hurts and the Best Friend would totally back me up]. I want to visit the ArtStar Gallery in Philly and see the Liberty Bell and Love Park. I want to drink Jack in Kentucky and eat deep-dish pizza in Chicago. I want no recollection of Vegas, only photographs.

I want to take a million pictures. I want to laugh out loud. I want to marvel at the world around me and I want to see it all.

You know I live for the day/When you say/"Baby, let's just run away..." -- Learning How To Smile. Everclear.

Dub Tee Eff...?

In response to the Italy v. USA game:


One more eye, Ref, and you'd be a Cyclops. You're already a biased assbag, so it would make a pretty interesting combination.

Come on, Team USA! Don't let the Ities get you down!

That's nice...That's nice.

Sparky [after getting off the phone with our aunt]: I think she thinks I'm retarded.
Mom: No, you're not retarded, Saya.

This was about as close to a compliment my Mom gets to.

Nice. That's nice....and I'm being serious.

Britney on Dateline

No, Barbie. You look like a prostitute that caters exclusively to clowns.

I have no sympathy for Spears whatsoever. If anything, this interview further established just how achingly stupid the woman is. Seeing her cry on Dateline didn't evoke sympathy, but rather infuriated me. Instead of appearing on national television and crying, she needs to reevaulate her life.

If you're going to carry your child in your arms, don't wear heels and make sure your pants aren't trailing on the floor. Cobblestone streets, Brit? Come on. It's New York City, not Colonial Williamsburg!

Your child should not, under any circumstances, be seated on your lap when you're driving. Especially if the paparazzi are pursuing you. All it takes is one small tap for the airbag to deploy and that would be a tragedy. One that could have very easily been prevented. Reese Witherspoon, Gwen Stefani and Katie Holmes have all gone through very public pregnancies and haven't made the gaffes she has. There's simply no excuse.

Tell your goddamn husband to get his ass out of the casinos and bars and look after his fuckin' kids...like a real man is supposed to. You might also want to see about getting him neutered. He's got way too many kids already.

According to Spears, she believes in karma. So, pursuing a relationship with a man who left his pregnant girlfriend? No, it won't affect her at all because they're in love. Well, isn't that just peachy. See -- love negates karmic law. It also negates intelligence, apparently. As someone raised with karma has part of her religious doctrine, this just annoys the hell out of me.

And for the love of God -- comb your hair and wash your damn face! This has nothing to do with your maternal ability, your relationship with K-Fed, the fact that you're constantly being pursued by the paparazzi or the fact that you're "country." It's basic human hygiene. Soap, Britney. Lots and lots of soap.

In Other News:

• Damn you, Argentina! 6-nil?! What the hell's all that about?! Damn Argies....God, I hate them. I will never forgive them for the 'Hand of God' atrocity.
• Football can change the world. Don't believe me? Ask anyone from the Ivory Coast.
• Put food in me for I am hungry.

Gol! Gol! Gol!

England: 2
Trinidad & Tobago: 0

It was nice to see Rooney finally get on the pitch and John Terry is now England's national savior.

Still -- we can't continue like this. We're gonna get trampled if we do. I also didn't appreciate going into cardiac arrest like, twenty times within the span of 90 minutes, but we pulled it off.

Step it up, boys. Play like it's 1966 and bring it on home.

My sister is the coolest person ever. I can't wait to watch football with her.

Pudding. What are we not doing?!

The Best Friend and I just had a 10-minute long discussion about the merits of pudding.

The Best Friend: Pudding's great. You can do so much with it. You can eat it alone. You can put it in a cake. You can put it in a pie. You can have sex with it.
Me: I'm pretty sure you can't have sex with pudding.
The Best Friend: You totally can. In American Pie, that dude had sex with a pie.
Me: Yeah, but pudding's different. Different dessert, different rules.
The Best Friend: You could use it in foreplay.
Me: You could, but then invariably, there'd always be some dude who was more interested in pudding than the woman. It would be like, "Get off the bed, baby! You're taking up valuable pudding room!"

Greg Behrendt's got this great bit about it. He talks about working for the Pudding Board of America and incorporating the slogan, "Pudding. What are we not doing?"

It is truly spectacular.

Back to Dub P tomorrow afternoon. I'm making a mix to listen to on the way down. So far, I've got:

• She Talks To Angels [Acoustic] -- The Black Crowes
• All-Day Love Affair -- Cee-Lo
• Nessun Dorma -- Luciano Pavarotti [in honor of the Three Lions]
• Bossy -- Kelis feat. Too Short
• Best Thing You Never Had -- Butch Walker [♥ download it now]
• Go -- Common feat. John Mayer

Speaking of Common, I was watching this special on VH1 called Hip Hop Videos: Sexploitation on the Set and it [like entirely too many things these days] made me angry.

Karrine Steffans is a former 'video girl' and wrote a tell-all book about her experiences in the industry. It's hip-hop McCarthyism -- Steffans calls rappers out and makes some serious accusations. She claims she wrote the book because she wants to warn other impressionable young women, but personally, I think this is just a sensational and scandalous way of making damn sure she gets her fifteen minutes.

I mean, seriously. Look at what you're getting yourself into. Have you ever even seen a hip-hop video?! Did you seriously think that sex wouldn't be a major part of the industry? Yes, there should be standards and morals and ethics and all these wonderfully abstract concepts, but come on. Even I'm not that naive and I was raised in the suburbs my whole life.

Another thing that annoyed me about this special was when some douchebag with a camera [calling him a director insults us both] tried to defend laschivious content in hip hop videos by complaining that society was biased against hip hop. According to him, rock videos feature beautiful women as well and aren't castigated nearly as much as hip-hop videos.

Hey Jackhole -- that's because women in rock videos usually wear more than thongs and don't have a posse of meatheads pouring Cristal over their scantily-clad bodies.

This is why I appreciate real hip hop. I don't claim to be a hip-hop head by any small stretch of the imagination, but I do have a genuine love and appreciation for the artform. When it's socially poignant, when it's intelligent, incisive and inventive, when it's a lyrical first kiss and sucker punch to the back of the head. That's when it's real.

When it's bling, bitches and blunts? Yeah...not so much. Don't get me wrong. I dig the boom-boom-squiggy-squiggy beats of Mr. Lil' Jon and the Big Tymers, but given a choice -- I'd much rather listen to Extended F@mm, Talib Kweli and Common. Better beats, much better lyrical content and razor-sharp linguistic gymnastics. As a music junkie, I love it and a writer, it leaves me floored.

♥ Current Infatuations:

• Come Back To Bed by John Mayer. This dude gets so much unnecessary stick. Not only is he an amazing guitarist, but he has a column in Esquire magazine. Where's your column in Esquire, asshat from Fallout Boy? In fact, where's your musical talent? Anyway, Come Back To Bed is currently in heavy rotation on my iTunes. The line, "Don't hold your love over my head" has been resonating with me as of late and not for the reasons you might think.
• St. Ives Makeup Remover and Facial Cleanser. It doesn't make my skin angry, which is more than can be said for crunchy peanut butter, bar soap, most lotions and excessive sunlight. Two thumbs up.
  
• Matthew Lawrence which only proves that I need to stop watching Boy Meets World reruns.
  
• Mangoes. The raw, sour ones. Nothing more perfect or reminiscent of summertime.
  

So much random rambling. I should probably sleep now.

Late night puddle of consciousness

Late night and Something Corporate on repeat mode. This can't be a good sign. I ruminate entirely too much when listening to SoCo late at night...and then, I use words like 'ruminate.' Emoemoemoemo. Lame. I wish my lawn was emo so it would cut itself.
You know what a lousy combination is? Baja Blast Mountain Dew and tequila. A lousy combination. Unlike amaretto and sour mix which is definitely the "up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, b, a" of booze.
Tequila Dew makes my heart go fluttering like some sort of drunken hummingbird. I'm not a lush, I swear...but that's exactly what a lush would say, isn't it?
I need to read more. That, not donkey-punches to the liver, would make me a better writer. I should read Faulkner. I should read Garcia Marquez and Lahiri and Alexie and Neruda and Salinger.
Things that inspire and ignite. I want my words to sound good. I want my words to taste good. I want my words to feel good. I want them to sting and tingle like habaneros. I want them to pucker and flick like lime. I want them to burn like salt and I want them to melt and soothe like honey.
I just wanna write. Me and Talib Kweli. We got that in Common.

He who made kittens also made snakes in the grass

While the rest of the world has been glued to World Cup action, I rallied behind what many refer to as a pseudo-sport. While dragon chasers spent hours in opium dens, wrestling fans congregate in sports bars and that's exactly where I spent last night -- at Hooters, drinking beer and watching men annihilate each other with barbed-wire covered baseball bats. Ahhhh, pro-wrestling. You fill a void little else can.

It's a crippling vice and if you get hooked as a kid like I did -- forget it. You're a lifer and there's nothing you can do about it.

You try to give up, but you can't. It's like the Mafia because as soon as you're out, they pull you back in. This applies for both fans and wrestlers themselves.

Case in point, Ric Flair. The man is 57-years-old and resembled as distressed leather saddlebag. Up until recently, he was on the active roster and wrestled guys half his age and double his size. Now, I understand that pro-wrestling is filled with risk, but an exploding colostomy bag should not be one of them.

Pro-wrestling is also a secret brotherhood. Wrestling fans have a way of sniffing each other out. We use a secret language. If I interrupted every word you said by shouting, "What!", you'd probably be justified in punching me in the face. However, to a wrestling fan -- this would be met with a high five...and then, a punch in the face. Yes, the bit is cool, but let's face it -- it gets tedious real quick.

The fans are also maligned as being moronic, drunken, blood-thirsty louts. While this description is more than apt for a good majority of them, there are a few out there who are surprisingly passionate, lucid and intelligent. Between Will and Jerry, there's an encyclopedic compendium of pro-wrestling knowledge and these boys consistently awe me. Anyone who thinks wrestling fans are half-wits needs to sit down with these two boys.

One of the most annoying things about being a pro-wrestling fan [aside from being cast as a drunken, redneck imbecile] is when people point out that it's "all fake." It's not fake, it's scripted and there's a difference. You can't fake someone's ear ripping off [Mick Foley], a leg snapped clean in half [Sid Vicious] and tragically, you can't fake a man falling 50 feet to his death [Owen Hart].

According to Will, I am a cheap date. Two beers [which magically kept refilling themselves] and I was quite the merry individual.
According to Jerry, I'm also quite verbose and opinionated. No big difference there. Waking up this morning, I realized a few things:

• Ow.
• Why am I up before the sun is? 5:00 a.m. is not an acceptable wake-up call, sober or hungover.
• At some point during the night, I realized that I was cold, so I woke up, put on pajama pants and went back to bed. Then, I guess I felt hot, so I went to the bathroom, took off the pants, folded them and left them on the counter. I have no recollection of this, but I'm assuming this is how it went down.
  
• Last night, I visualized an entire episode of Wings while dreaming. Start to finish, credits and all. Best half-hour of television ever. I should have been a writer for that show.
• My phone should be taken away from me after consumption of any alcoholic beverage. I remember calling Missy and her answering with, "Are you drunk?" That kinda made my night.
• Seriously, ow.

Mozilla Firefox owns me, you should download Zeppelin's Fool in the Rain now, this proves that magazines/videos/TV/movies are not real and finally, idiot tourists -- It's just rain. There's no reason to pack up and move. There's no reason to panic. This is not Katrina II: The Bitch Is Back. It's merely a tropical storm. A little lightning, some thunder and lots of much-needed rain. Calm down.

I'm off to the gym with the Asian to "get swoll."

I'm slipping into the airwaves...

Whoa.

I love Anderson Cooper's blog. I like Anderson Cooper, actually. Not because he's dreamy and intelligent [although, it does add to his appeal], but because I think he's helping restore the tarnished image of the modern journalist. He's trustworthy and honest and we need that now.

Cooper's blog, much like the Huffington Post Blog, is well-written and thought-provoking. What gets me about Cooper's blog, though -- is how so few answered the question at hand. The direction was, "How do you prove Jesus existed?" not "Please use this space to unleash your moral outrage."

Personally, I'm ambivalent. I haven't done enough theological and historical research to go shooting my mouth off and when it comes to a topic like this, one should be educated.

There are two kinds of people I abhor in this world -- people who read one article and suddenly, become experts and people who debate based on emotion. They only see the world from an intensely myopic point of view, ignore any contradictory evidence to whatever it is that they believe and make their point by shouting, demeaning and emotionally blackmailing. I hate that and unfortunately, I'm suckered into those kinds of debates more often than not as opposed to the healthy, passionate kind where you both walk away a little smarter and with the sense that you kind of accomplished something.

An open letter to Kate Spade

Dear Miss Spade:

This might seem a bit forward, but I love you. I really do. You make such beautiful things. You're not pretentious, ugly and omnipresent like Louis Vuitton or mundane like Coach. You're just fabulous -- simple, pretty and classy. I have fallen head-swimmingly in love with:

One day, I plan to own both of these gorgeous pieces and take them everywhere I go. They will be my little leather children.
Until that day, though [when I can justify spending $300+ on a bag or when I meet someone who loves me $300 worth], I'll lust quietly to myself.

Lots of love:

Jaime xo

In other news:

• Congratulations to Germany on their victory today. Nice one, lads. England v. Paraguay tomorrow. Gotta make sure I set my alarm for that one. My sister put it best -- "God supports the three lions." Check out her blog as it is a far more intelligent and in-depth account of FIFA news than mine.
• David LaChappelle's photography is love set on fire. I plan to have at least one of his prints framed and displayed in my home. I swear, those prints buzz like neon.
• I spent three minutes fellating a bottle over the sink today. Lesson learned: Don't put a carbonated beverage in the freezer and attempt to open it five hours later. There will be repercussions.
• I saw a Jack's Mannequin video on VH1 today. I was pleasantly surprised. One -- I didn't expect to see Jack's Mannequin videos on TV [actually, I'm amazed that they show music videos on TV period] and two -- the video's actually quite good. I love the band, so you should check them out, download: The Mixtape and Into The Airwaves and support Project Flip Flop.

I am off. I need to catch some zzz's if I'm going to be up at 8:30 tomorrow cheering my boys.

And we all like Vindaloo...

This is my sister. Alright...not really, but on June 10, it might as well be.

Sven-Goran Eriksson reminds me of Lott.
David Beckham needs to spend less time on his hair. When people have to invent a new subsect of sexuality because of you -- you're spending too much time in front of the damn mirror.
Fat Les -- you're a right bastard.

In non-FIFA related news:

• I'm still sick :/My throat's all scratchy, I can't swallow, my sneezes might be causing tremors on the Eastern seaboard and I look like a hobo....or a severely cracked out Whitney Houston. Take your pick. My immune system is a big girl's blouse.
• Today will be spent arranging and rearranging my iTunes, making playlists and mix CDs. You know how in High Fidelity, Rob found rearranging his record collection reassuring? I'm the same way. It's totally not lame.
• Things that are good: mashed potatoes, Forever Young by Youth Group and reruns of Wings on TV Land.
  

Dude, what's your blog?

More links than you can shake a stick at.

• My sister has entered the blogosphere. She listens to cooler music, reads cooler books and can grate cheese like nobody's business, so check out her blog.
• I'm sick. This week started off with a rash. What caused the rash? Sunburn coupled with a bacterial infection coupled with eczema due to my hyperthyroidism. Then, I caught the cold that both Mom and the Asian had. Sore throat? Check. Stuffy head? Check. Coughing fits? Check. Lethargy? Check. I'm a walking medical punching bag.
• Want. Want. Want. Want. Want. Please?
  
• I've been listening to a lot of Greg Behrendt's stand-up lately. Not only is he hysterical, but he's the world's most rockin' 42-year-old, he was a consultant for Sex and the City and he's written a pretty cool book. Check him out. I'm sure you'll dig it.
  
• Ramen noodles suck. A lot. How does the FDA consider this food? They cost $0.13 for a pack, they cook in two minutes and three minutes after that -- they're this mushy, inedible mess you wouldn't feed to a raccoon. In addition to that, their so-called 'flavor' packets make up your yearly recommended allowance of sodium. When it comes to cheap noodle-esque food wars [they were underpublicized due to the Cola Wars...and Vietnam] -- Pot Noodle is the reigning champ. Too bad it's only available across the pond.
  
• Speaking of food only available across the pond -- I want to try a Vegemite sandwich. Why? Because Men at Work sing about it and that damn song has been stuck in my head all week. Has anyone tried one of these things? How was it? I'm intrigued.
  
• Download: Mixtape and The Best Thing You Never Had by Butch Walker. He used to front The Marvelous 3 [remember them from a few years ago? They had a hit with Freak of the Week] and now, he's branched out on his own. Good stuff.
  
• And finally -- I thought I went to a ghetto high school....
  

All for one and none for me

Someone ate my frozen Three Musketeers bar.

Heads will roll, I say. Heads will roll.

This is the guy behind the guy behind the guy.

Swingers is one of my favorite movies -- solid all the way around. Good plot, pacing and cinematography. Excellent and realistic dialogue. Good character development, a killer soundtrack, high quotability and Ron Livingston [shut up -- I have a little jones]
Love it.

Searching for 'Swingers Movie' images on Yahoo!, however? Not so much. A girl shouldn't be confronted with that many penii all at once. It's startling.

Anyway, I'm re-watching the movie and I came to a couple of conclusions:

• Women are exponentially hotter now than they were back in 1996. Granted, there's that weird clone thing going on where a good majority of them have orange 'Oompa Loompa' skin, fake breasts and cocaine nosejobs, but they're still hotter.
• Smoking a cigar can make any putz look cool. Don't listen to your mom and dad, kids. Smoking is cool.
• Ditto booze. Just make sure you order something cool like a Whiskey Sour and not, say...an Appletini.
• Things have changed since '96. Now, most men wanna roll business-class [which is fine by me 'cause little brown girls are often draggin' a wagon].
  
• Post-adolescent dating is tough.

See, in high school -- it's a piece of cake. A little algebra, a little feelski behind the bleachers, a break-up punctuated by banal and depressing music and you're onto the next suitor.

Post high-school? It's like trying to find sense in Britney Spears' marriage -- damn near impossible [Why K-Fed?! I mean, even if he's hung like a whale -- he looks like a herpes ranch].

One of the reasons post-adolescent dating is so complicated is due to sex. After high school, sex becomes way more prevalent. It's a lot easier to bring someone home when you don't have to worry about sneaking them past your mom's bedroom. Besides, people are more willing to sleep with someone who doesn't have a retainer. That's a fact, you know. It's been proven by scienticians.

Another reason high school dating is considerably easier than post-adolescent dating is because the words, "Where is this going?" rarely come up. In high school, if you and your significant other make it to homecoming, you've become the golden couple of your high school -- a teenage Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee [What? You try naming a couple who've been together as long as they have]. Although some may have those fluffy fantasies that they're going to be with their BF 4-EVA and get married and live the happily ever after -- most of us are smart enough to realize that this is definitely not the case.

Dating after the legal drinking age is kind of like....well, remember in Peter Pan, how you could tell the proximity of the crocodile based on the volume of the ticking clock? Yeah...it's kind of like that. The louder the sound, the closer the danger. The future gets closer.

You know what I want to do? Go on a date. Like a real, legitimate actual date. Where you dress up and the guy picks you up and he brings flowers. You go out to eat and he opens doors and pulls out chairs. You make that awkward conversation at first, but then, kinda ease into a groove. He pays for dinner and he drops you off at your door and wants a goodnight kiss, but doesn't expect it.

That's it. Nothing spectacular. Just your boiler-plate date. Simple, right? Well, as simple as it is -- I've never done it.

That's actually a lie. Every now and then, I'll drag the Best Friend out on one of those expeditions, but that doesn't count because A) a real date doesn't have to be Shanghai'd/cajoled into it and B) I can make awkward first-date conversation for about three minutes before I launch into some story about how I saw a dude at the bank who looked just like Rowdy Roddy Piper.

Does anyone even do this anymore or has it been replaced with the 'group hang' or, for the more promiscuous, sex?

In other news:

• Today consists of nothing more than a Laguna Beach marathon and iced decaf mochas. Team LC all the way.
• Back to Orlando tomorrow. I can't wait to hit up the gym, the pool and have access to my music library again.
• The laptop might just be the greatest invention ever. I am in love with my sister's laptop -- it's got a big screen, it's practically weight-less and I love the fact that I can blog and watch Laguna Beach at the same time.
• I need a pair of super comfy yoga pants and new tank tops. I think I'm gonna have to spend some quality time at Forever XXI.

Congratulations to my sister and the class of 2006.

Love/Hate letter to Fox Broadcasting

Dear Fox:

We've got a tumultuous relationship. You beat me black and blue and break my heart [Get Real, Greg The Bunny, Arrested Development and Tru Calling], but then, you make it up to me, promising you'll never do it again.
I know you're a liar [Party of Five] but like a sucker -- I keep running back to you. That being said, I'll be back in your arms this fall thanks to this.



You could have bought me flowers. You could have written me a love letter, but instead -- you're giving me a full hour of Ron Livingston on Tuesday nights.
Baby, all is forgiven. Seriously.

However, if you cancel this show for reruns of So, You Think You Can Cross-Stitch or some other equally insipid reality show, I'll be forced to toss all your possessions out of the window and set your car on fire. Capisce?

See you in September.

Love:

Jaime xo

P.S: Hook a sister up. You know this boy like some caramel in his milk.

Congratulations Dana & Steve!

Congratulations to Dana and Steve on their engagement. I can't envision two people more perfect for one another.

Here's to your happily-ever-after.

Love you both and concerning the wedding? Two words: open bar :)

Your shadow weighs a ton

So, I knew it was coming, but still, I am shocked. It seemed somewhat....thrown together? In all honesty, I expected her to get into a knock-down drag-out fight with Julie and overdose on coke. It would have made more sense considering Marissa's addictive personality. I really liked the interspersing of images from the first season. Ryan carrying Marissa from the wreck coupled with the image of him carrying her in Mexico was just beautiful. Good cinematography.

However, night-time soaps are pretty sneaky, sis. Especially the ones on Fox. Remember Melrose Place when Kimberly came back with those insane stitches on her head? Who the hell could have ever predicted that?! The ending was left pretty ambiguous and Marissa might have lapsed into a coma, for all we know.

Either way, I can't wait for next season when Ryan hunts down Volchok. He's sexy when he's mad and beating someone to a bloody pulp. He's also sexy when he's happy, brooding, talking, eating and basically, displaying any sort of basic motor function. In addition to Ben McKenzie's remarkable ability to ignite my libido, I also appreciated:

+ Seth and Summer are cuter than a puppy snuggling with a bunny rabbit. Playing in a box together only furthered this notion.
+ Ryan calling Summer a, 'biatch.' I haven't heard that word in forever.
+ The music. This show is definitely ahead of the curve, sonically and has introduced me to so much good music [Rogue Wave, for example. Love them]. Love-love-love Kelis and if Mini Cooper's addition to the show means mo' betta hip-hop, I won't mind it so much.

Despite criticisms that the show has jumped the shark, I'm still emotionally invested. That being the case -- if Josh Schwartz ever wants to hire another ethnic love interest for Ryan ['cause we all know that boy likes a little caramel in his milk], I'm free. Just sayin'.

P.S. -- To the person/people who have been leaving really sweet anonymous comments, thanks :)

Child-proof is pretty much synonymous with idiot-proof

Child-proof cap: 1
Jaime: 0

The battle rages on...

You got that top pulled down and that radio on, baby

Smoldering summer nights where the air wraps around you like a thick blanket are best spent driving.

Open windows, backroads and music. Sometimes, you have to get lost to find yourself.

It's easy to forget who you are and get lost in the parts of your sum. You become fractured and fragmented -- like shards of shattered glass, you reflect tiny pieces and not the whole image.
You become the girlfriend, the boyfriend, the employee, the student, the roommate, the friend, the ex, the daughter, the son, the father....all of these things that are part of you, but don't fully define you.

I don't go looking for myself. Half the time, I don't even know I'm lost due to all the static in my head -- stupid, celebrity gossip, songs I want to download, inane trivia, namesdatesplacestimes, questions I want to ask, information I need to Wiki [despite public opinion, porn, Chuck Norris facts and the O Rly Owl aren't the best thing to spring from the web -- information is], words I want to write and wish I wrote...

I seem to end up finding myself when I least expect it. Like discovering $20 in a jacket you forgot you loved.

It's easy to get lost, but luckily for me, it's also easy to be found.

A few more miles on the odometer, a couple of yellow lights to make wishes under and honeyed guitar strings to guide me back home.

In other news:

• Dan made me the most amazing mix CD. Citizen Cope, The Stones, Zeppelin, Everclear [♥], Radiohead, The Faces. It's one of those rare, stellar mixes that you listen to and love every song. So, not only does Dan have the best taste in movies, but he also has the best taste in music. I might just have to make out with him.
• Speaking of music, I've had Panic! At The Disco's I Write Sins, Not Tragedies stuck in my head for three days now.
• I saw the coolest thing on MTV and am having the hardest time trying to convince myself that it wasn't a dream. It was like Video DJing where one clip effortlessly melted into another. The Killers' All These Things I've Done morphed into Friday, I'm In Love by The Cure. It was awesome and I really hope MTV brings good music back to TV. If I have to see one more show about some silly sixteen-year-old dyeing her poodles pink, I'm gonna beat the girl to death with an imitation Louis Vuitton.
• I totally lied. Chuck Norris Facts is indeed, the greatest invention ever. My favorite ones are, "Chuck Norris can hit you so hard that he can actually alter your DNA. Decades from now your descendants will occasionally clutch their heads and yell, 'What The Hell was That?'" and "When Chuck Norris works out at Total Gym, Total Gym feels like its been raped."
• I'm thisclose to having a stroke. Seriously -- any more agitation today and a blood vessel is gonna pop.

That, my friends, is one nerdy honky

Dorky white guys of the world, rejoice! Your time has finally come. Though you were once castigated for your love of comic books and/or video games and your inability to play sports, this is now, nothing more than a fleeting, shadowy memory.
First it was the designer purse. Then, the runty anklebiter and now? You are just not cool unless you have a dorky white guy hanging from your arm.
Case in point -- Christina Aguilera, Christine Taylor and Rachel Bilson. All are exponentially hotter than their significant others.

Dorky is the new sexy.....as long as you don't launch into tirades about D&D. The kind of girls you want to date aren't impressed with the fact that you're a dungeon master. Trust me on this one.

I was talking to the best friend about this and he said excessive gaming leads to incredible dexterity of the digits and well...you can fill in the blanks.

Speaking of, how did Adam Brody become the breakout sex symbol of The O.C.? Especially over Ben McKenzie? I would defile Ben McKenzie in ways I'm almost ashamed to admit. Adam Brody? I'd probably just kick his ass in Mario Kart.

In other news:

Lots of travelling lately -- I was in the Bahamas on the 5th [pictures to come soon], I'm going back to Orlando on the 15th, Camping with the Crew in Ocala on the 20th, West Palm on the 21st for Sparky's graduation and then, maybe a week in San Jose, California. I think I'm going to need a bigger memory card for my camera.

Darth Smashy. Even though I hate it when people dress up their dogs, this is just awesome.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers video for Dani California is amazing. If anyone can cover sixty years of rock history, it's definitely the Chili Peppers. Question for the masses: How come the Chili Peppers aren't played on classic rock radio and REM is? Both released their debut albums in 1983. My obsession with rock minutae is sad, impressive and a little unnerving.

Question for the masses: How old do you have to be before your life starts feeling like it belongs to you?

You're a much better parent - no borders, no limits, oh go ahead, touch the Cornballer...

I'm spending quality time with the family in West Palm until about next week. In addition to hanging out with the family, my life has consisted of the following:

Books: Without sounding like Vince's completely metally-deficient, yoga instructor girlfriend in Entourage, I finally got around to reading the last Harry Potter book. I was surprised by the fact that I liked it. Well-written with numerous references to literature, philosophy, mythology, history and religion. Pretty heavy stuff for a children's book. I also re-read Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal and Kick Me: Adventure in Adolescence by Paul Feig [of Freaks and Geeks fame]. Both were uproariously funny and actually made me laugh out loud. Always the sign of a good read.

Movies: The 40-Year Old Virgin is hands-down one of my favorite movies and a rarity that gets better with repeated viewings. I rate comedies by quotability. The more you find yourself repeating lines from the movie, the funnier it is. Much like Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, The 40-Year-Old Virgin is one of those movies you can quote in any given situation. I've been spouting the, "You know how I know you're gay...?" dialogue for days now.
Another fantastic movie I got a chance to re-watch this past week was Oliver Stone's JFK. Now, I know that Stone likes to attract controversy and you can't take the movie too seriously and etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, but it's a damn good film and one that makes you think. So, was there a conspiracy to assassinate JFK? There's too much damning evidence to believe otherwise. If you want to read something truly eye-opening, track down anything Bob Harris has said on the topic. He's been researching the assassination for some time and knows his stuff.

Panini: One of the greatest things my dad ever invested in was a panini press. Technically, it's a glorified grilled-cheese sandwich, but as far as I'm concerned -- it's manna from the heavens.

Illegal Immigration: Numerous debates about this have already raised my blood pressure immensely, so all I'm going to say is that sometimes, the Republicans really know what they're talking about.

The Dangers of the Internet: Although I have one and use it constantly, I abhor MySpace. Not only has it contributed to the complete annihilation of the English language [Why in God's name do people replace 'y' with 'ii'? It makes no sense! Not only is it more work, but it looks asinine], but it is a stalker search-engine. Especially when you consider just how much information can be extracted from a MySpace page. Five minutes and you have a name, a school address and a photograph. That's scary stuff.
I was watching a Dateline report about this last night and it freaked me out. Men would actually drive hundreds of miles, condoms in pocket, to meet up with what they believed were teenagers. All of them denied anticipating sexual relations, but who wouldn't when confronted with Chris Hansen and a camera crew? Not surprisingly, the deviants from Florida were the worst. One even brought along his five-year-old son! What do you expect from the U.S's most phallic-shaped state?

Boy Meets World: Did anyone else know that Shawn's real mom was a stripper and not Verna? Shocking.