August 31, 2006

Cool Ranchero

If the fact that I just happened upon this sweet piece of sizzlin' hot ride on a meandering drive down Gaylord Street isn't some hard evidence that Denver is 100% ACES, then I'm turning in my badge and giving up the investigation.

Posted by Bree at 03:15 PM | Comments (0)

Design + Wine + Cheap = The Sound of Two Hands Drunkenly Clapping Drunkenly

Check this out: 2,000-ml. laboratory beakers used as wine decanters. Mmm! I likey! Imparts just the right dose of "The initial hypothesis proves that this activity is very healthy and clinically sound," I need to convince myself that everything is on the up - and - up re: my addictive personality, quest to dull the pain, etc.

Apparently, that dose is very, very small.

And available online!

According to Bruni, you can order them here. But you probably already had that one bookmarked; so sorry for any redundancy.

Posted by Bree at 12:04 PM | Comments (0)

Bree to Surefire Success: "Sayonara!"

I'm revisiting my bidness plan this morning, and - though I'm not going for it no mo - look at these statistics! Ridonky-deuve, pass the Veuve!

According to Gallup’s annual Consumption Habits Poll, wine surpassed beer as the alcoholic beverage of choice for the first time in 2005.
According to the Wine Market Council’s 2005 Consumer Tracking Study, there was a 31 percent increase in the U.S. wine-drinking population between 2001-2005.

“With eleven straight years of wine consumption growth in the U.S. now on record, and adult per capita table wine consumption at an all-time high, there has never been a better moment to capitalize on the positive trends and emerging demographic imperatives of the market.”

Don't worry - I remain committed to ignoring this information.

Posted by Bree at 10:11 AM | Comments (0)

I (eey-I) Will Always Love You (oo-woo)

Dear Kashi Go-Lean Crunch!:

It's over. I know you're good for me, but there is power in moderation. I need you too much. It's just not healthy.

Love forever,
Bree

P.S. You better check yourself, MOJO bars. I don't care how free you are - you're next.

P.P.S. Thanks, Colin, for the latest installment of costless packaged food. I'm totally not gonna ever throw them out. In fact, I find the idea both terrifying and gross. I'm living on borrowed willpower as it is. If borrowed willpower came in bar form, which it just well may. Please disregard previous heresy re: MOJO bars and take me to your special Clif Bar basement room of magical Clif Bar stock again. It was the highlight of my week.

Posted by Bree at 09:08 AM | Comments (0)

August 30, 2006

Halfway, Oregon (and Then I Lose my Mind to High School Political Gossip Rivalry Followed by a Threat of "Autumnal" Porn)

The Design Observer has a great article about Half.com, Oregon - a small town that sold its naming rights to...right...well, to Half.com.
Who'd you think I was gonna say?

Which totally reminds me of reading an article in the late-90's about an old woman named Dot Com.

That's it.
That's all I got.
Why don't YOU try to google "Dot Com" and see how much progress you make.
Then we'll talk.

All right. I'm spewing so much tech over here, I might as well have gone to McCann. Go Hornets!

Um...pardon me...MAJOR NOTA FUCKING MAJOR BREAKING BENE UPDATE: Is that a picture of John Kerry on the McCann homepage? (Hint: not wearing safety goggles or a smart beige blazer.) If so, they just TOTALLY trumped Greylock's "The Governor's husband? Yeah, he's our gym teacher," thing. OK - I take that back. Nothing really beats that one. But if Kerry was actually campaigning in N Fucking A, then the reasons behind his loss have become startingly clear. Didn't North Adams elect, like, a 19-year old as Mayor at one point?

UPDATE ON UPDATE: This is real-time people. Live-blogging a high school homepage's artful recreation of the Kerry denouement...if this doesn't drive traffic, well by God, I'm going to have to buy Ms. Com a one-way ticket to Denver and charge a buck apiece for nudie shots. If I can find her that is...curses!

Posted by Bree at 11:19 PM | Comments (0)

Posted by Bree at 07:15 PM | Comments (0)

New Band Name

Daddy and the Elastic Stockings

Do you feel the power, people?
Do you?

Posted by Bree at 09:38 AM | Comments (0)

Lushious

It's early, and I haven't yet decided which of these videos makes me more uncomfortable: Paula Abdul stoned out of her gourd at the Emmys or Tara Reid being denied entry to a nightclub in L.A.. As for the one of Jon Voight forgetting wee Zahara's name - and calling her SHAKIRA - I just haven't had the heart to watch it. Hips don't lie, it's true, but that's cold. Ice cold.

Posted by Bree at 09:07 AM | Comments (0)

August 29, 2006

Iran, Iran So Far Awaaaaayyyy

But I couldn't get away from the fact that - when it comes to Steve Carell and Tony Shalhoub - first came love, then came marriage and then came the President of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, محمود احمدی نژاد, (above) in a baby carriage. Totally.

Dad

Oh please, like it's the first time.
Or even the second.

Posted by Bree at 11:42 PM | Comments (0)

Suddenly the Cameras Make A Lot More Sense

Saturday night from about 11 to, oh, about 12:30, a group of us checked out a new joint called RockBar. Kind of OK - I dug. I'll be there again. And although we were sitting in a big booth in the back - near the dance floor - and noticed guys with cameras - the synapse that we were thisclose to the Real World Denver cast never quite fired. I blame the several rounds of twofers at Bastien's immediately preceding. But enough about me:

On Saturday [The Real World] cast and crew visited another Jesse Moreale-owned bar, the brand-new RockBar virtually across the street from Mezcal on East Colfax. The 2,000-square-foot, ’70s and ’80s rock-themed bar in the All-In Motel — a storied dive estbalishment — just opened on Friday, so “The Real World” obviously wasn’t wasting any time checking it out.
The cast showed up around 11 p.m. and stayed for about an hour and a half, buying shots at the bar and hanging out in the Metallica/Pantera/Tool booth (all the booths are band-themed, including pictures of Hendrix, Guns n’ Roses, Scorpions and Iron Maiden). Their big booth in the back of the bar was right next to the dance floor, although it’s unclear if they cut loose like they have in other settings.

While I don't think we're going to make it into the final edit of "The Real World: Wildin' Out on Colfax," I can rest easy knowing that fame of another sort is still well within my grasp:

Posted by Bree at 02:30 PM | Comments (0)

Foxes on a Plane

Jenny pointed me to the TSA's delightful summation of permitted and prohibited items.

For your next flight, please remember the following items are not allowed in carry-on but can be securely placed in your checked baggage:

Bubble bath balls
Ice Axes/Ice Picks
Meat Cleavers
Sabers
Cricket Bats
Spear Guns
Axes and Hatchets
Cattle Prods
Saws (including cordless portable power saws)
Billy Clubs
Black Jacks
Brass Knuckles
Nunchakus
Throwing Stars
Cheese in pressurized containers
Pudding

The following items are allowed in carry-on:

Up to 4 oz. of essential non-prescription liquid medications including saline solution, eye care products and KY jelly
Gel-filled bras and similar prosthetics - Gel-filled bras may be worn through security screening and aboard aircraft.
Toy Transformer Robots
Slate and Stylus
Pull sleeves used to put on or remove prosthetic devices, if carried by the individual with the prosthetic device or his or her companion.

The following items are not allowed in either carry-on or checked baggage:

Hand Grenades
Plastic Explosives
Fuels
Gas Torches
Chlorine for Pools and Spas
Tear Gas

Strangely, given all the hype, the TSA policy on cobras - either lost or found - does not seem nearly as extensive as the MTA's. (I know there's an enchanting Eden/subway station comparison in here somewhere but between the vomit, the 120-degree platforms and the pile of urine-soaked rags over in the corner, darned if I can smell it.)

Posted by Bree at 12:02 PM | Comments (0)

I Think I Love You

Need I remind you that Emma M. Nutt Day is this Friday?! What could be a more perfect present for the telephone operator in your life than a fruitbowl cum art? Or, come to think of it, what could be a more perfect present for the unemployed mile-high book-bum in your life? Just a friendly suggestion!

Posted by Bree at 09:44 AM | Comments (0)

So Let Me Get This Straight...

What you're saying is you wouldn't take design advice from someone who wears a sweatshirt over a nightgown over pants? How can that be?

New work clothes

Posted by Bree at 09:27 AM | Comments (0)

August 28, 2006

Clam on the Lam

I know I've thrown a lot at you in the past few days, but here's one for the record books: Google image search results for "Geoduck".

For those of you checking this in the a.m., consider finishing your salty sauccisson before clicking through. There's some weird-ass mung growing in Davey Jones' locker, and that's all I'm gonna say about that.

UPDATE: After clicking through the first link, please visit here so you can more fully participate in the next N*ely Family campfire sing-along. Also please note that mainly we like to sing in the round. As well as in the nude. Face paint optional; fun times mandatory.

Posted by Bree at 11:40 PM | Comments (0)

Cruise-tastic

Cue the exuberance and cock the finger-guns because here you go: the best thing ever to hit the Internet.

Posted by Bree at 06:17 PM | Comments (0)

Bumping the Jams

From my landlord:

"I recieved a few phone calls this weekend about the volume and bass of the music coming from your apartment on Friday night. Both callers mentioned that the bass was the biggest thing."

Snap! The bass is the biggest thing! Check yourself, son, me and my racktangular b donkadonk be subwolfing with sizzlin' hot beats all TGIF-stylez. Represent. Word is bond. Etc.

Posted by Bree at 01:41 PM | Comments (0)

I Figured Out My Life (or: Nannee Nannee Boo Boo)

Readers. Oh, readers. This web-based journey has been a long one - filled from the start with ponderous ruminations about beer boobs, transparently veiled recaps of drunkenness and sexual derring-do and the occasional exuberant shout-out to my homeslices in prison.

Yet, all this time, there has been a greater purpose. Sometimes hidden under the cloak of countless YouTube videos and comely snapshots of yours truly, but purposeful nonetheless.

Yes, all this time, I have been trying to figure out what the Hardees to do with my life since dropping everything I knew and moving several miles away. One of the thoughts, natch, was to open a wine bar out here in the land of altitudanal excess. Another was to...? Who am I kidding - I had no other. I figured if the wine bar thing didn't work, I could always go back to copywriting. Or start working more of the client-side at a small advertising firm out here. Or build a meth lab.

Click on through to keep discover the secrets to life in 10 easy steps!

So. Yeah. The wine bar thing? It stopped working. It stopped working a while ago, namely when I realized just how difficult it is to open a bar. Whoooey. Not impossible, mind you, but a bit along the lines of, "I think I'm going to take up running...oh! You say there's a 100-mile endurance race at altitude this weekend? Sounds smashing!"

Not impossible.
But hard on the joints.

I realized I would have to buy a bar. Buy a bar that was going out of business. Buy a bar that was going out of business yet still had a liquor license and was in a desirable neighborhood and was reasonably priced and at least somewhat fit my architectural and design expectations. Um...and those would be...where exactly?

Right.

And you can't really put together a business plan without a location. And you can't really get a loan without a business plan. And you can't really buy a place without a loan.

So you see the dilemma. And now...and now the solution!

After I came back from Argentina, and my - how do you say - distractions either came to an end or moved to Seattle, the Shasta really hit the fan. I had no excuses to put off the inevitable any longer. I had to face the fact that I didn't know what I was doing and even harder to confront - I wasn't sure that opening a wine bar was what I wanted. At. All. Several crises of various magnitudes - including but not limited to bursting into tears at Wild Oats - followed. I was lost. And the only person who could figure a route out - me - was too depressed and freaked to think clearly.

So, I sought some counsel. And the advice I recieved was invaluable: do only what you want to do for the next several days. Stop doing all the things you think you have to do and do only what you want to do.

Sounds simple but this exercise blew. my. mind. And it showed me something about myself that had been there all along - but had been so hidden under all these other thoughts and stresses and so on that I had failed to recognize it as my true interest and my true passion. In that period of doing only what I wanted, what I wanted was to read about, think about, plan projects and create things all related to interior design. And now, in retrospect - all of the signs seem so clear. My entire life has been spent redoing my spaces, shopping and autodidactically learning about this stuff. In times of great distress, it's been what I've turned to to see me through.

I love it. It's what I love. And it's what I've always loved. And it's what I've always been good at. Yet it's been such a constant in my life, that I forgot to notice it. And now that I have, I feel so free. In fact, I feel fantastic.

Screw the bar. I'm gonna open up a design shop and offer consultancy services out of it. Not only is it about 10 times easier - and cheaper - to launch this business, I'm actually excited about it! Imagine! And to think it was right in front of me - all this time...all these steps leading towards this. How truly humbling; how wonderfully exhilirating.

Oh readers, stick with me...the journey has just begun.

Posted by Bree at 09:19 AM | Comments (0)

August 27, 2006

Well...Duh!

I could have told you that. Granted, I was busy earning handsome returns in my high paying occupation that requires more advanced verbal and numerical skills and greater intelligence [than yours].
Or perhaps I was just busy Google image-searching for pictures of Jared Leto in Crocs.
Guess you'll never know.

Posted by Bree at 06:26 PM | Comments (0)

Horacio Quiroga: World's Suckiest Life?

I recently hung up a print of an excerpt from The Feather Pillow by Horacio Quiroga in my kitchen. Because, you know, nothing says "Make yourself at home" more than talk of mystery monsters and suffering and unexplained bloodletting. More salad?

Well. I like it. And, in researching the author this afternoon, I was first(ly) surprised to find he was Uruguayan (¡Hola Buquebus!), and second(ly) surprised to find the absolutely unbelievably craptastic circumstances of this man's life. Behold (c/o Wikipedia):

He had a famously miserable and unhappy life. His father, who was an Argentinian consular official, was killed accidentally in a shooting incident when Horacio was an infant. After his stepfather's death—he shot himself—Quiroga visited Paris, but soon realized that the bohemian life was not for him. He returned to South America, where he accidentally shot and killed a friend in 1902 while they were inspecting a gun.
In 1904 he settled in Chaco Province, Argentina, where he planted cotton, but the venture failed and he abandoned the project. After this disaster, he taught for a while and married one of his pupils. They had one daughter, named Eglé, and one son, Darío. Both of these children later killed themselves. With his family Quiroga moved to San Ignacio, Misiones, on the Paraná River, where he assumed a post of registrar. Unable to tolerate the harsh conditions, Quiroga's wife committed suicide by poisoning herself—she suffered a full week before she died. Quiroga killed himself by ingesting cyanide shortly after he was diagnosed with stomach cancer.

Click through for full text of The Feather Pillow...crreeeeepy! But, given the above, perhaps justifiably so.

The Feather Pillow
Horacio Quiroga

Alicia's entire honeymoon gave her hot and cold shivers. A blonde, angelic, and timid young girl, the childish fancies she had dreamed about being a bride had been chilled by her husband's rough character. She loved him very much, nonetheless, although sometimes she gave a light shudder when, as they returned home through the streets together at night, she cast a furtive glance at the impressive stature of her Jordan, who had been silent for an hour. He, for his part, loved her profoundly but never let it be seen.

For three months--they had been married in April--they lived in a special kind of bliss.

Doubtless she would have wished less severity in the rigorous sky of love, more expansive and less cautious tenderness, but her husband's impassive manner always restrained her.

The house in which they lived influenced her chills and shuddering to no small degree. The whiteness of the silent patio--friezes, columns, and marble statues--produced the wintry impression of an enchanted palace. Inside the glacial brilliance of stucco, the completely bare walls, affirmed the sensation of unpleasant coldness. As one crossed from one room to another, the echo of his steps reverberated throughout the house, as if long abandonment had sensitized its resonance.

Alicia passed the autumn in this strange love nest. She had determined, however, to cast a veil over her former dreams and live like a sleeping beauty in the hostile house, trying not to think about anything until her husband arrived each evening.

It is not strange that she grew thin. She had a light attack of influenza that dragged on insidiously for days and days: after that Alicia's health never returned. Finally one afternoon she was able to go into the garden, supported on her husband's arm. She looked around listlessly.

Suddenly Jordan, with deep tenderness, ran his hand very slowly over her head, and Alicia instantly burst into sobs, throwing her arms around his neck. For a long time she cried out all the fears she had kept silent, redoubling her weeping at Jordan's slightest caress. Then her sobs subsided, and she stood a long while, her face hidden in the hollow of his neck, not moving or speaking a word.

This was the last day Alicia was well enough to be up. On the following day she awakened feeling faint. Jordan's doctor examined her with minute attention, prescribing calm and absolute rest.

'I don't know,' he said to Jordan at the street door. 'She has a great weakness that I am unable to explain. And with no vomiting, nothing...if she wakes tomorrow as she did today, call me at once.

When she awakened the following day, Alicia was worse. There was a consultation. It was agreed there was an anaemia of incredible progression, completely inexplicable. Alicia had no more fainting spells, but she was visibly moving toward death. The lights were lighted all day long in her bedroom, and there was complete silence. Hours went by without the slightest sound.

Alicia dozed. Jordan virtually lived in the drawing room, which was also always lighted. With tireless persistence he paced ceaselessly from one end of the room to the other. The carpet swallowed his steps. At times he entered the bedroom and continued his silent pacing back and forth alongside the bed, stopping for an instant at each end to regard his wife.

Suddenly Alicia began to have hallucinations, vague images, at first seeming to float in the air, then descending to floor level. Her eyes excessively wide, she stared continuously at the carpet on either side of the head of her bed. One night she suddenly focused on one spot. Then she opened her mouth to scream, and pearls of sweat suddenly beaded her nose and lips.

'Jordan! Jordan!' she clamoured, rigid with fright, still staring at the carpet.

Jordan ran to the bedroom, and, when she saw him appear, Alicia screamed with terror.

'It's I, Alicia, it's I!'

Alicia looked at him confusedly; she looked at the carpet; she looked at him once again; and after a long moment of stupefied confrontation, she regained her senses. She smiled and took her husband's hand in hers, caressing it, trembling, for half an hour.

Among her most persistent hallucinations was that of an anthropoid poised on his fingertips on the carpet, staring at her.

The doctors returned, but to no avail. They saw before them a diminishing life, a life bleeding away day by day, hour by hour, absolutely without their knowing why. During their last consultation, Alicia lay in a stupor while they took her pulse, passing her inert wrist from one to another. They observed her a long time in silence and then moved into the dining room.

'Phew. . .' The discouraged chief physician shrugged his shoulders. 'It is an inexplicable case. There is little we can do. . .'

'That's my last hope!' Jordan groaned. And he staggered blindly against the table.

Alicia's life was fading away in the subdelirium of anaemia, a delirium which grew worse through the evening hours but which let up somewhat after dawn. The illness never worsened during the daytime, but each morning she awakened pale as death, almost in a swoon. It seemed only at night that her life drained out of her in new waves of blood. Always when she awakened she had the sensation of lying collapsed in the bed with a million-pound weight on top of her.

Following the third day of this relapse she never left her bed again. She could scarcely move her head. She did not want her bed to be touched, not even to have her bedcovers arranged. Her crepuscular terrors advanced now in the form of monsters that dragged themselves toward the bed and laboriously climbed upon the bedspread.

Then she lost consciousness. The final two days she raved ceaselessly in a weak voice. The lights funereally illuminated the bedroom and drawing room. In the deathly silence of the house the only sound was the monotonous delirium from the bedroom and the dull echoes of Jordan's eternal pacing.

Finally, Alicia died. The servant, when she came in afterward to strip the now empty bed, stared wonderingly for a moment at the pillow.

'Sir!' she called Jordan in a low voice. 'There are stains on the pillow that look like blood.'

Jordan approached rapidly and bent over the pillow. Truly, on the case, on both sides of the hollow left by Alicia's head, were two small dark spots.

'They look like punctures,' the servant murmured after a moment of motionless observation.

'Hold it up to the light,' Jordan told her.

The servant raised the pillow but immediately dropped it and stood staring at it, livid and trembling. Without knowing why, Jordan felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.

'What is it?' he murmured in a hoarse voice.

'It's very heavy,' the servant whispered, still trembling.

Jordan picked it up; it was extraordinarily heavy. He carried it out of the room, and on the dining room table he ripped open the case and the ticking with a slash. The top feathers floated away, and the servant, her mouth opened wide, gave a scream of horror and covered her face with her clenched fists: in the bottom of the pillowcase, among the feathers, slowly moving its hairy legs, was a monstrous
animal, a living, viscous ball. It was so swollen one could scarcely make out its mouth.

Night after night, since Alicia had taken to her bed, this abomination had stealthily applied its mouth--its proboscis one might better say-- to the girl's temples, sucking her blood. The puncture was scarcely perceptible. The daily plumping of the pillow had doubtlessly at first impeded its progress, but as soon as the girl could no longer move, the suction became vertiginous. In five days, in five nights, the
monster had drained Alicia's life away.

These parasites of feathered creatures, diminutive in their hatitual environment, reach enormous proportions under certain conditions. Human blood seems particularly favourable to them, and it is not rare to encounter them in feather pillows.

THE END

Posted by Bree at 03:15 PM | Comments (0)

Shear Lunacy

In today's edition of "Wait - what the hell?" Colorado hikers find a domestic sheep atop a 14,000 foot mountain.

~~No word yet on whether or not he had any wool.~~

UPDATE: He has three bags full.

Posted by Bree at 01:20 PM | Comments (0)

August 25, 2006

Suspension of Saturday Night Loathe

Just for a brief minute though:

OK.
It's back on.

Posted by Bree at 01:07 PM | Comments (0)

Must. Go. Pilate. The. Pontius.

But please feel free to drink my new Wine Chicks entry directly from the tap while I'm gone...

Posted by Bree at 07:08 AM | Comments (0)

August 24, 2006

When People Stop Being Interesting

While I find it hard to envision something that could interest me less than The Real World Denver, ...

...Wait a minute.
Jeez, I'm sorry.
There is no possible ending for that sentence.
My mistake. : (

Posted by Bree at 11:40 PM | Comments (0)

Why Put Off Til 6:45 what you can do at 6:30?

In an effort to totally procrastinate and avoid getting ready to go out tonight, let me give you a few choice quotes from my girl in Denver yesterday. These have been cracking me up all the live-long...

"Ironing? Ironing is so over!"

"It smells like baby diapers in here. I like that smell."

"I want to get drunk...with youuuuuuuuuuuuuu."

"I'm just worried...I'm worried about your walls...about what your walls are gonna look like when you take all this stuff down."

"Those are emo-pants! Those are emotional pants!"

Etcetera.
It was quite an evening.

Posted by Bree at 06:26 PM | Comments (0)

Major Development

Darlings.

Today marks a new day. Today I finally came out of a my haze of malaise-onaise and realized something. Something big.

I don't want to own and manage a bar.
I want to design a bar.
And then I want to design something else.

Whoa.

This is big, people. Or, as Mike would say, "yuge." I'm finally narrowing in on what makes me happy - on what my passion is - and holy crap! My passion is for design! Looking back, it seems so clear but MY GOD what a nervewracking process discovering this has been. In fact, every aspect of planning this business has made me kind of sick with anxiety and dread - except for one: what it would look like. My confidence in my design concept never faltered...ever. And today, I realized - and said outloud for the first time - that this entire past six months, every time I've pictured myself at the bar - I've pictured every aspect of how it looks, and me standing behind a counter - alone - with no customers - listening to music - reading the NY Post.

I kid no.

HOLY MOLY.

I feel the best I've felt in months.

Posted by Bree at 04:20 PM | Comments (0)

Nasty, Nasty, Nasty

Around the time I left New York for Argentina, I noticed a bug bite on my shin that was about the size of a marble and oozing green pus. While, I'm very "on top" of things like toiletries, my attention seems to really take a hit when it comes to personal injury. I think it's partially because I'm not very sensitive to pain and partially because I just think everything will go away if I ignore it. Including people. And while this policy rarely seems to work, I remain committed.

Regardless, this bite caught my eye and then became a source of some conversation with Matt and Marie.

Sentences like, "I've never seen a bug bite that looks anything like that," and "I think it looks worse than it did yesterday," and Holy shit, that's sooo gross - what the hell is that?" were bandied about with little care for the sensitive nature of my soul. Thankfully, I had stolen some antibiotic ointment from Jenny and Marcus's apartment, which I applied diligently (once per several days) and, weeks later, the beast was tamed and my summer was ready to be reclaimed.

So imagine my delight, dear reader, to find...oh...about 17 more over the past month. Including about 10 extra since I got back to Colorado. Reeediculous. And nearly all of them on the same leg. Spiders, mosquitos, anything with venom: I welcome you.

After convincing myself these would all go away with no care or attention needed on my end, I awoke a few nights ago in a panic - itching like crazy - and determined I had BED BUGS. Which, as anyone who knows me can attest, is pretty much just cause for leaving my apartment in my underpants, getting on a flight out of the country and never, ever, ever coming back.
Me + bugs = no estan amigos.

Suffice it, I ripped apart my bed. And while I found absolutely no evidence of anything organic, I still dry cleaned all my blankets, vacuumed the mattress and box spring, bleached all of my sheets and started sleeping on my couch. I'm an alarmist. It's how I do.

So, a mere 18 hours after this excapade began, I came to the realization that I don't have bed bugs.

What do I have?
What's the big answer to this big mystery?
WHAT could it BE?!

Ladies and gents, may I please bring to the stage: SHAVING IRRITATION.

Sure there's a couple bites in there, but the main deal...barber burn.

I feel like I'm in junior high again and just discovering how my body works. Note to self: you are allergic to several types of soap; don't use cheap soap sent to you for free from drugstore.com after you shave your legs; try to tone down the idiocy; have another cup of coffee; read less celebrity gossip web sites; don't dry your towels with the rest of your stuff unless you want everything all linty; update your Ipod; etc.

After coming to this realization, I took a bath in Tend Skin and Neosporin, went swimming in a chlorinated pool, and am now getting to be good as new. Panic abated, ready to take on the day, etcetera and amen. So imagine my delight when I found this article in my inbox this morning.

The screaming you hear is mine.

Posted by Bree at 10:29 AM | Comments (0)

On the Record

I would just like to make it official: Del Monte Pickled Green Beans are the tastiest thing I've ever eaten straight out a can. And that list includes: tuna fish, deviled ham, baked beans, corn, soup (of several flavors) , corned beef hash, Dinty Moore and pretty much everything else that was ever served as "dinner" growing up.

We may eat like animals, but at least we look good doing it.

Posted by Bree at 10:22 AM | Comments (0)

August 23, 2006

Breaking: Songs About Narcotics Not Just Artistic Interpretation

Oh noooooooooooo. The lead singer of one of my all-time favorite bands, The Darkness, has gone into rehab.

Sure, hindsight is always 20-20, but looking back over the lyrics - I feel like we should've known something was cooking:

My mamma wants to know
Where I'm spending all my dough
Honey, all she does is nag, nag, nag
But I won't apologise
I'd inject into my eyes
If there was nowhere else to stick my skag

All I want is brown
And I'm going into town
Shooting up as soon as I'm back
My friends have got some good shit
All I want is some of it
Gimme, gimme, gimme that smack

Well I've ruined nearly all of my veins
Sticking that fucking shit into my arms

How could we have been so blind?

Posted by Bree at 11:38 AM | Comments (0)

Tunesday!

It's Wednesday, and that means it's time to drop some knowlege on what CD's have been ripping up my turntable as of late. All right, that's not at all what that means. Especially as I have no turntable. But here are a few that have been making me bust out my spandex-suspender-shorts and get groovin'...

Don't be cruel, Osama. Y'all ain't got nothing on the Bobby.

Without any ado:

In the Reins, Iron & Wine
Silver & Gold, Neil Young
Broken Boy Soldiers, The Raconteurs*
Wolfmother. Wolfmother
Over the Mountain, Across the Valley and Back to the Stars, Jennifer O'Connor
Alright, Still, Lily Allen

Addendum A: You may recognize the first four as CD's I tried to purchase in greater Berkshire County earlier this summer and was fully denied. Oh commerce, someday you'll visit my hometown and you'll like it! I give my solemn oath.

Addendum B: I received an e-mail last night saying, "While this is a slightly (ok more than slightly) alcohol induced, post-show euphoria recommendation, you should check out this band called The Format. Why? Because. Because of the goodness. That's why."

This is a reco from someone whose young life was shaped by two things: Vice and Zep. So while "The Format" is unvetted by yours drooly, I have confidence its the kind of stuff I can get behind. Reco-sent.

Addendum C: Oh and in a special "Aren't I wicked cool?" note, Daniel's brother Ramon just filmed the latest Raconteurs video! !! I haven't worked out the specific details on how this reflects and magnifies my coolness, but I'll post when I do. In the meantime, take a tour of Jack White's house here and watch this awesome White Stripes video here.

Posted by Bree at 09:54 AM | Comments (0)

August 22, 2006

Not To Be All Solipsistic or Anything...

but why is it that the second my family lands in Russia, everything goes haywire?

Perhaps we'd all feel better after a brisk massaging. Then again, perhaps not.

Posted by Bree at 01:42 PM | Comments (0)

August 21, 2006

Love Letter

Dear Jack Purcell,

Eleven years after our first meeting and you continue to surprise and seduce! After all this time, I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to still get butterflies in my stomach and a tingling in my wallet when I see how good you're looking these days. And in corduroy? Oh no you dint! Mrrraw!

I know, I know...sometimes I'm a bit of a flirt, and sure, maybe sometimes I'm a bit fickle. But, for the God's honest, I never - not once - cheated on you with Chuck Taylor. That's just not my style.

You. You are my style.*

Bree

*At least until my true love, my dear, sweet low-top Adidas Nizzas, come back to me.
Then?
Then we're going to have to revisit this notion of "exclusivity". Just saying.

Posted by Bree at 10:38 PM | Comments (0)

August 20, 2006

What Happens to a Dream Deferred?

Seems like my apartment building is up to its ears in animules, and thus I won't be getting a Boston Terrier until someone - and their pooch - moves onward. Given my propensity for travel and expensive, impractical furnishings as well as my impatience with poo in general, this is probably for the best. (Wait a minute...what was that noise? Was that giant whoosh of air a cross-country sigh of relief from the Berkshire County animal shelter I like to call "Mom and Dad's House"...hmmm...imagine that...)

But when I do get one?
I'm naming him Turk.

So, there's always that to look forward to.

Posted by Bree at 11:10 PM | Comments (0)

The Dark Side of Evolution

Something is very, very off:

Flavor Flav.jpg
Ole Gol' Toof

Example A:

Sebastian's two gold teeth protruding from his furry face make him seem a little menacing, like a hip-hop star's guard-cat or a movie villain's pet. The feline didn't seem too happy with his new look at first.

"He's normally around me all the time," [his owner] said. "After I put the crowns on, he didn't 'speak' to me for two days."

Maine mystery beast.jpg
Ole Grim Gum

Example B:

[Maine] Residents are wondering if an animal found dead over the weekend may be the mysterious creature that has mauled dogs, frightened residents and been the subject of local legend for half a generation...Michelle O'Donnell of Turner spotted the animal near her yard about a week before it was killed. She called it a "hybrid mutant of something."
"It was evil, evil looking. And it had a horrible stench I will never forget," she told the Sun Journal of Lewiston.

UPDATE: Mystery solved. Stinky, socially obtuse, somewhat violent? Obviously a N*ely family Bouvier.

Posted by Bree at 08:58 PM | Comments (0)

Inbox

From: Matty the Horse
To: Bree
CC: Sexual Spanker
Date: Aug 20, 2006 3:27 PM
Subject: Re: look what i just signed up for...

The words "dirty" and "hippie" spring to mind as I peruse [couchsurfing.com] and wonder just who my sister really is. I'm thinking a glass pipe and some devil sticks for Christmas. And a refill for her Glade Patchoulli Plug-in.

And some anti-scabies ointment.

From: Hedge Funder
To: Fellow Masshole
Date: Aug 20, 2006 4:07 PM
Subject:

When you write "natch" do you mean naturally? Been wondering for a while but too sissy to ask

Posted by Bree at 04:24 PM | Comments (0)

August 19, 2006

All right, One More and Then I Really Must Get Going

I am flirting with the idea of getting a dog - specifically, a Boston Terrier. Mainly because I just got a brand-new white couch (you may have heard something about it?), but also because they're the state dog of Massachusetts. No, really. Go Mounties!

It also might have a little something to do with these pictures. That is about four pounds of cuteness I need to have in my life. Just saying.

And, as if to make this decision even easier, I came across this positively exquisite poem about the beast, which I am totally TOTALLY having tattooed somewhere prominent:

Body Faults: Gaily carried tail.
Serious Body Faults: Roach back, sway back, slab-sided.

Slab-sided?
I think I'm in love.

Posted by Bree at 02:56 PM | Comments (0)

New Couch Already Earning Keep

In celebration of my new couch, and to avoid doing all the things I have to do before tonight's social activities, I just signed up with Couchsurfing, a site that brings together travelers and hosts.

This is what I wrote to woo potential visitors:

"My couch is new. It is white. You will have to take your shoes off to sleep on it. I live alone in the best part of Denver (about an hour from Winter Park; two hours from Vail, etc.). I don't have pets and I don't smoke - but I have a porch and ashtrays. I can host anytime and I have blankets. If you're nice, I'll give you a pillow. I sleep rarely. I have a Winter Park season ski pass that will get you serious discounts on tickets."

I sound like a plateful of party, huh? Wanna come over?

Posted by Bree at 02:06 PM | Comments (0)

Fitting In

I was reunneetee on ice (so nice) with a few long-lost mile-high friends at a party last night. Between Ms. Hannah - the lady who moved to Brooklyn the week I moved to Denver and has thankfully returned to continue her fine, fine work at The Buntport Theater - and Ms. Melanie - the lady who's preparing to leave for a 3 1/2-month trip 'round the world care of the Travel Channel - I was nestled in the bosom of friendship and camaraderie.

The bosom.

This was an especially welcoming place to spend the night as it was an offensive t-shirt party. While nearly everyone rocked shirts of various odour (insert amateur gynecology joke here), I took the door prize with a tog I picked up in Buenos Aires that simply says GAINSBOURG across it.

"What's that mean?"
"Oh my shirt? Serge Gainsbourg? The French singer/poet? No? Surely you know his song, "Je t'aime... moi non plus"...no? Ah, it featured a woman simulating an orgasm...Quelle scandale! Um...no? Um...oh I know - he was married to Jane Birkin, duh. As in the Birkin... as in the namesake of the Birkin bag? Ring a bell? I know it's not as obvious as, say, your "Deport Pedro" shirt but...wait...why are you walking away from me?"

It is positively mystifying to me why I'm still single. Any thoughts?

Posted by Bree at 01:29 PM | Comments (0)

August 18, 2006

Sweet Salvation

Now I don't want to get picky with the Big Guy here, but according to my exhaustive studies (read: Google search on - God + Old Testament + speaking), the Good Book (aka: this dude) mentions God speaking out 1,282 times. Though not all 1,282 of these instances specifically spring to my mind, I'm just presuming that humans were the intended audience for most. Maybe Satan once in a while, sure. And who can forget the Holy Ghost? Quite the conversationalist, that one.

But - what I'm getting down to here is - God and his envoys clearly need to retool their 21st century communication methods. I don't know if they have cell towers "on high," and yeah, I appreciate the whole "nontraditional, outside the box" kind of stuff, and don't get me wrong - this is waaaaaaaaay better than hearing some booming voice from behind a cloud saying you've got to kill a son or build a huge boat or something, but this whole iconic foodstuff messaging is just getting a little bizarre.

Need I call the Holy Toast to the stand before I rest my case?

Posted by Bree at 05:00 PM | Comments (0)

Nothing Makes Me Happier...

...than Fight Club-era Pitt. But my new couch is coming pretty durned close...and man it is one long flight to Nambia.

Yes, you can come over and sit upon her. But please leave your dog, your child and your oily dipstick at home. On second thought, and euphimistically speaking - naturally, I have an open-door policy re: oily dipsticks. But I would hardly call that breaking news.

(Somewhere, someone's pouring out a glass of red wine for the enormous, slipcovered, sofabed beast that has been following me since the late '90s...And when I say "somewhere," I mean Seattle. And when I say "someone," I mean Jake. Bon voyage le couch. Thanks for all the times. Thanks for fitting through my apartment door frame on 69th Street when the real couch I wanted wouldn't. Thanks for not being that piece of shit futon couch El and I had on 92nd Street. Thanks for providing a comfy bed for me and Matt to lie on drunkenly and try to sleep the night of 9/11. Thanks for being the best napping couch in the world. Thanks for being wide enough to fit two. Thanks for coming from Manhattan to Brooklyn and then all the way to Colorado with me. And thanks for leaving when I asked.)

Posted by Bree at 12:07 PM | Comments (0)

Friday Morning Shout-Out

Ahhh, there we go...

Posted by Bree at 09:39 AM | Comments (2)

August 17, 2006

Every Rosé Has Its Thorn

Check it out here, lovies. Oh and this one goes out to everyone at Sam's wedding this past weekend:

(Check out the Flickr link for more of our sordid soiree...)

Posted by Bree at 11:24 PM | Comments (0)

999 Words

[photo credit: Matty the Horse]

Posted by Bree at 04:52 PM | Comments (0)

Funk in the Trunk

Truth be told, I'm feeling a little...meh these days. No so good. Can't really sleep, can't really accomplish much of anything - kind of dazed and out of it and living off nutrition bars and Zeppelin, which is my longstanding go-to when I've got the "mean blues."

So. This is surely just me readjusting to being back - as well as the underlying stress of, uh, not knowing what I'm doing with my life. I know I'll figure it out and that this too shall pass. But, in an effort to make it pass with a little more haste, I cruised over to the Tattered Cover bookstore (a Denver institution - it just relocated and is now blocks away from my apartment! Skizzore and skizzike.) and dropped about a buck fifty on new reads. (I finally finished my Buenos Aires airport book: Never Let Me Go by by Kazuo Ishiguro. Yeah. Uh...whoa. Bleak is the word that you heard.)

Here's a window into where my brain will be over the next few weeks:

The Guide to Colorado Wineries
Business Plans for Dummies
Zen and the Art of Making a Living: A Practical Guide to Creative Career Design
History in a Glass: 60 Years of Wine Writing from Gourmet
Wine: 101 Essential Tips
Waiter, There's a Horse in my Wine
Ready Made, Aug/Sep 2006

Posted by Bree at 01:10 PM | Comments (0)

Breaking: Godfather of Grunge on the Squawkbox Tonight

Surly songster - and possible Republican from up high? - Neil Young will be on the Colbert Report esta noche (11:30 EST, Comedy Central).

Leading me to the inevitable Colbert quote: "I'm looking over your shoulder...but only because I've got your back."

Posted by Bree at 10:48 AM | Comments (0)

Best of...Toiletries!!

While my affection for toiletries knows no bounds, it certainly knows a few roots. The cabinets and shelves of my parents' house are stocked with dozens of bars of soap and at least twenty tubs of Body Shop body butter (literally - we're a very greasy family), as well as an assortment of baby powder, sunscreens and nose-hair trimmers from the Carter administration. Similar to their insistence on keeping the larder stocked with Jell-O, yogurts and parmesan cheese expired years before child-abuse statutes were enacted, my parents have seemingly designated the "kid's bathroom" the holding pen for all the expired toilette of the past 40 years.

There is a DRAWER of old nailpolishes.
A drawer.
Of old nailpolishes.

Does Tickle deodorant mean anything to you? DOES TO ME. In fact, if you dig down deep enough, you'll probably find some wig powder or arsenic-based face lightener or hand-knit condoms. It's an orgy of excess, as well as a documentation of our country's ever-evolving relationship with personal grooming. Remember: a rusty bobby pin is just an oxidized bobby pin. No need to get all high-falutin'!

Brass tacks version: there's a reason why I have four cans of hairspray in my bathroom. FOUR. (And it would be five, but one of them decided to apparently "fix and hold" the inside of my cosmetics bag the entire plane trip to Minneapolis. Leaving me with some very sorry hair and an extremely flowery-tasting mouthguard. Thanks again, Al Qaeda.)

Oh products! How I love thee! Some call it an obsession, I call it life's work. And, seeing as I am now asked for cosmetic recommendations way more frequently than book recommendations (sorrier comment on my cohorts or on me, not sure...), I've decided to gather a few recent favorites here and share the deep down secrets that get me all perfect 10 over here. So click the link below to start your tutelage.

(Boys - feel free to skip this and watch the Journey video again. Man that chick is smokin'!)

Self-tanner (face): Oil of Olay Complete Touch of Sun Daily UV Facial Moisturizer
Self-tanner (body): Neutrogena Build a Tan (cut with normal moisturizer at a 1/3 or 1/4 ratio)
Oil-free Moisturizer with SPF (face): Peter Thomas Roth Ultra-Lite Oil-Free Sunblock SPF 30
Moisturizer (body): Kiss My Face, Lavender and Shea Butter
Face wash: Cellex-C, Fresh Complexion Foaming Gel
Face exfoliator: St. Ives Exfoliating Scrub (Thanks to A. Ames for th reintroduction of this 8th grade classic during our Vegas trip; I am now a daily scrubber.)
Face wash plus exfoliator for when you go to Argentina and can't pack both: Neutrogena Deep Clean Gentle Scrub
Eye cream: ROC Retinol Correction Eye Cream (only eye cream I have found that actually works)
Concealer: Lancome Photogenic Concealer (BEST.)
Highlighter: YSL Touche Eclat (Radiant Touch)
Foundation: Chanel Teint Natural Liquid Make-up, SPF 8 (BEST.)
Powder: T. LeClerc (loose and pressed) (BEST.)
Eyeshadow: Lancome
Eyeliner: MAC Liquid Eyeliner; Lancome Le Crayon Kohl Eyeline Pencil, the Dior pencil some chick left in the bathroom at 371 and is still going strong
Razor: Mach 3
Fingernail Treatment: Neutrogena Instant Nail Enhancer
Fingernail Tool: Cuticle cutter
Blister Prevention: Bodyglide
Bandage: Curex (kicks Band-Aid's ass)
Sunscreen (Spray-on): Coppertone Sport Sunblock Spray, SPF 30
Sunscreen (Serious): Neutrogena Ultra Sheer Dry-Touch Sunblock SPF 45
Sunscreen (Ultra-serious for skiing): Dermatone Lips 'n Face Protection Creme SPF 30
Tweezers: Tweezerman
Secret weapon: Tweezerman No-Slip Skin Care Tool
Secret Volumizer part one: Any brand mousse
Secret Volumizer part two: Any brand aerosal hairspray applied pre- and post-blowdry (and therein lies the secret to crrrrazy-hair-head)
Secret Volumizer part three: Sebastian Shaper In Control Fiber Wax
Conditioner: Infusium 23 Leave-In Conditioner
Whitening Product: Crest Whitestrips
Toothpaste: Tom's of Maine Whole Care Toothpaste, Cinnamon-Clove
Mouthwash: Crest Pro-Health Rinse
Sleep aid (prescription): Ambien, Xanax
Sleep aid (non-prescription): Dramamine, Tylenol PM, Simply Sleep, Gun to Head
Hangover relief: Excedrin Extra Strength; Alleve, Emergence-C

Evil Evil Evil - must be avoided:
Kiehl's: overrated, smells like balls
Bliss: waaaaaay overpriced; never got a product here I would buy again
Dove: personally affronted, makes me break out in hives
Nair: personally affronted, makes me barf

Posted by Bree at 09:27 AM | Comments (1)

August 16, 2006

Former Dictator of Paraguay Dies; Paraguayan History Lesson Follows

According to the Times web site, General Alfredo Stroessner - the former dictator/president of Paraguay - died today in exile in Brazil. The article gives some crrrrrazy details about that neck of the bois, some of which I'll recount here with the old "cut, copy, paste" functionality I'm so known for...oh and again, you're totally welcome!

Today, Paraguay remains the country with the most uneven distribution of land and wealth on the planet, followed by Brazil.
Under General Stroessner...the country became a haven for Nazis on the run, with new passports and visas sold for a price. Among those it sheltered was Josef Mengele, the “Angel of Death” who selected victims for the gas chambers at Auschwitz and conducted medical experiments on humans.
In the 27 years before his coup, his small landlocked nation had had 22 presidents, and no experience of a democratic transition of power in its 143-year history.
Paraguay waged [a disastrous war] simultaneously against Argentina, Uruguay and Brazil from 1865 to 1870, which shrank its population from 525,000 to 221,000, and left the nation with only 28,000 men.
The 1930’s and 40’s were a period of turmoil for Paraguay, which had suffered 100,000 dead in the Chaco war with Bolivia, which was fought over a swampland that ultimately had none of the mineral resources the two sides imagined was there.

Posted by Bree at 06:26 PM | Comments (0)

Massage Therapy: Soviet-Style

I just returned from an hour-long massage/beating at a Russian spa in town (part of the twelve days of gifts that Jake left in his wake). And let's just say: I'm glad I wore my diaphragm. Adjective-wise, "thorough" does not do this experience justice. En los otros palabras: the man readjusted my thong to more effectively and deeply rub my cheeks! My personal cheeks! Thank God I was facedown at that point as I think my expression was hovering somewhere between profound mortification and outsized glee, and I'm sure there was an arched brow in there too. Perhaps...oh, say something like this (minus the bourbon...and the clothing). But after...oh...five to ten minutes of приклад-kneading, I reached a new level of comfort with the situation. Thus, when it came time to flip over on my back, I just gave up trying to use the cocktail napkin-sized "cover up" and let my bazoomers fly.

You heard me.
They flew. Like eagles.
Like proud, proud eagles.

I will say this: that was the best - and hardest - massage I've ever gotten. Bar nyet. And Lord knows that ain't my first time 'round the bloc.
Yay Russians! I take back everything bad I ever intimated about mayonnaise-based cuisine. Seriously. It's delicious. Mmmmm, cold mayo and beets! Together! In a Thanksgiving melange! YUM !

Posted by Bree at 04:36 PM | Comments (1)

Vocabulary Builder: Lesson One

AH! New favorite word!

Faffing: (1) Time wasting; syn: fucking. Faffing.

Usage: “You need a solid bloke with sartorial flair and the constitution of a bull elephant, not some faffing censorious idiot with a penchant for Steven Segal movies. Steven Segal only works solo,” said Mr. King, looking louche as he swirled a Campari and soda. [New York Observer, Aug. 21, 2006]

Posted by Bree at 08:56 AM | Comments (0)

Work Shmerk; Knit Schmit

I have an important announcement. Today is D-day over at the Hassle Castle. My travels are finally through. Jake - my ridiculous summertime cohort - is navigating his Budget truck somewhere on the horizon. I have no more distractions, and no more excuses. It is time to get to work. [Musical cue: "Get to work gong"]

So! Here's the plan! I am going to spend the next six or so weeks (this may change, depending on how things go, but let's just say six for the kids in the back) working 40 hours per on Sweet and Bitter: the bar. This will be my full-time job. In essence, I need to spend some serious toil figuring out if I want to do it. I know that I can do it, I just don't know that I want to do it.

Certainly, a fair amount of this ambivalence - if not all - can be chalked up to the whole, "I have no idea how to start a business" theme. It is rather daunting. But, you know, I've done harder. Certainly. And judging from the people I've met who own their own places, I am definitely smart enough to pull it off. I think my ponytail is smart enough to pull it off.

Yet, in an analogy I've shared with many of you, it's as if I've been given a ball of yarn and knitting needles and told to make a sweater...I know the basic concepts of knitting and good God, I certainly own a lot of sweaters. But alas. This does not a knitter, nor a sweater, make. Unless it's a really crappy sweater. Or a sweater vest.

I have until October to figure out how to knit or - at least - to get a lot more comfortable with trying my hand at it anyway. That's the plan. And I swear that regardless of what I decide: I'll totally stop using the knitting analogy.

Posted by Bree at 08:22 AM | Comments (0)

Five Word Movie Review Wednesday

Little Miss Sunshine:

Laughed, cried; smitten with Arkin!

Posted by Bree at 08:16 AM | Comments (0)

August 15, 2006

Inbox

From: Captain Spicer
To: Lady Sawtooth
Date: 15 Aug 2006 14:15:48
Subject: PS

My friend Jenni saw Barbara "Babs" Walters at the gyno. So . . . you know . . . she's got a vagina.

Posted by Bree at 04:58 PM | Comments (0)

Getting Down in Brown Town

Last weekend, several of the CC besties/Jungle Wingmates came together to celebrate the wedding of Sam and Karen Brown (nee Griffiths). Though the travel restriction alerts only amplified - and justified - my general, "Must. Be. At. The. Airport. 17. Hours. Early." style, I sailed through security Friday morning and spent a leisurly three and a half hours browsing the selections at Tie Rack and CinnaBon. Apparently, extra frosting costs a mere $.39.
Imagine!

After a night of sheer, unmitigated bliss at the Minneapolis Hyatt (also hosting the national Fiji fraternity convention: "Welllllll helllllooooo, brothers!"), we hit the road in my Tennessee-plated electric blue Mazda and cruised the scenic route over to Taylor's Falls, MN, (pop. 1010). The motel was about 45 yards from the reception site, which was adjacent to the church. Naturally, we drove. Three-inch heels, cuz...they may be made for dancing, but oh they also are made for precious little ambulation.

The wedding was gorgeous and moving and funny and everything you would want a wedding to be for a couple as sweet as those two. Perfecto. And, as far as the kids go, it's hard to beat a better crowd than east coast (El and Sooz, Jay and JJ), west coast (Bjorn and Cindy), midwest (Jake and...me?) and - the coup de grace - Ms. Evie Perry, who knows no geographical limits. One of my best besters in the whole bestament, and a girl I haven't seen since the turn of the millenium, this chick puts the "it" in "tits." When Jake nudged me and said, "Guess who just walked into the church," it was one of the highlights of a very highlighted year. Let's just say that the buffet of merriment was sampled from all night. As were shots of SoCo. And rose brut straight from the bottle. Risky business to invite this group to a "self-service" wedding but oh at least we look good.

Pictures are up over there on Flickr, but click on through below for a few to whet your whistle and tempt your sensations.

Posted by Bree at 10:45 AM | Comments (0)

Coach Farley Shows Craig T. Nelson "How it's Done"

Coming as no surprise to any fan of the gridiron - or, actually, to any fan of athleticism, drive and spandex knickers - our hometown hero, Coach Farley, wasinducted into the College Football Hall of Fame in South Bend, Indiana this past weekend.

The only coach in Williams history to post a perfect season — a feat he accomplished five times — Farley was named Gridiron Club of Greater Boston New England Coach of the Year four times, NESCAC Coach of the Year twice and Division III Regional Coach of the Year in 1996 by AFCA.
The recipient of the Johnny Vaught Lifetime Achievement Award, he recorded (what was then) New England's longest Division III win streak (23 games). He also recorded another streak of 23 games without a loss (22 wins and one tie).

In 17 years, Williams did not have a losing season on Farley's watch. He recorded 128 consecutive games without back-to-back losses, amassed 11 seasons with at least seven wins and had 12 seasons with one or no losses. A masterful leader, he coached nine First Team All-Americans.

Williams' all-time winningest coach, Farley retired with an overall record of 114-19-3 for a win percentage of .849, which currently ranks him sixth among coaches in all divisions in college football history.

All of a sudden, my big purple W tattoo is making a lot more sense...

Posted by Bree at 03:16 AM | Comments (1)

Sleeping is Giving In

So I've decided to forego it tonight.

Jake is leaving for Seattle tomorrow. I am sad to see him go.
Of course, it's for the best. But still, it's times like these that were made for Led Zeppelin III.

Posted by Bree at 02:44 AM | Comments (0)

August 14, 2006

Argentina Revisited (Ad Nauseum; Ad Mausoleum)

After full minutes of consideration, I've settled on a favorite picture from all the South American travels. This was taken in Recoleta Cemetary, the resting place of Eva Peron - or at least will be until her body is stolen for the 18th time. And this will be the one I hang on my wall to remind me of all the good times we had down South-like. As well as the illicit pleasure of necrophilia.

Posted by Bree at 05:37 PM | Comments (0)

Gmail Key Word Ad of the Day

Vomit Clean Up Kit - AlwaysBePrepared.com - Quick, Safe & Sanitary Removal
Use What the Pro's Use
Buy Now

This can't be a good sign.

Posted by Bree at 04:06 PM | Comments (0)

Five Word Movie Review Monday

Vice: uncut kilos of awesomeness.

Posted by Bree at 12:39 PM | Comments (0)

Recanting All Previous Negativity re: Apple, Genius Bar, Dreadlocks, Life

Unbelievable. The adorable and effervescent staff at the Cherry Creek Apple store fixed my computer. FOR FREE. I am in shock, and *so so so* happy that I didn't run out and drop ducats I don't have on a laptop I didn't need.

Wow. Wowwy Wow Pants. Egads. This experience sure did shine a big 1000-watt sun lamp on the way I deal with problems - and showed me the extreme limitations of the way I deal with problems. Instead of taking the time to figure out how bad my computer situation really was, I just got fed up, skipped the discovery process, assumed the worst and and went straight into solution mode. Solution being: ditch the computer and get a new one. And, if I hadn't gone to Argentina, I'd probably be typing this on a Sony Vaio. Oh thank goooooodness that's not how this played out. Crikeys. I'm larning, kids! I'm larning!

And you know what? This is such an odd coincidence, but Axl said something to me the other night when we were lying in bed that - coincidentally - sums up the whole situation. He was all, "Woman, take it slow. It'll work itself out fine. All we need is just a little patience." Sure, we've had our ups and downs and, yeah, that whole Hilfiger thing was pretty embarrassing, but I'm beginning to think this marriage is a keeper.

Posted by Bree at 11:49 AM | Comments (0)

August 09, 2006

Fam-a-Dam in the News!

Look at my famous Mom! Perhaps the only Garden Club member to perform her municipal duties in Dior shades but hell, someone's gotta put the nasty in nasturium. Might as well be a N*ely.

Posted by Bree at 07:59 PM | Comments (0)

Golden Opportunity

Though my computer has checked itself into rehab, I'm back in my usual place: sitting on Marie's guest bed watching her clean the house while I dick around online. Times? Invigorating. Oh and speaking of hot and sexy housecleaning, check out this job listing I just stumbled upon:

Hi, I have an 1100 Sq Foot single family home in SE Aurora. I am a nudist and am looking for a nudist female housecleaner to come in once weekly or once every other week to clean my home. Again, I would prefer to have a nudist female housecleaner or at least someone who would be willing to clean nude. I will consider a person who is ok with me being nude but not being nude themselves (italics mine), but pay will be less. Location: SE Aurora Salary/Wage: $17 - $20 / Hr

$20 an hour?! Pass the Swiffer, broseph.

Posted by Bree at 07:22 PM | Comments (0)

Radio Silence

As of 1:30 MT, the little computer that couldn't is going in the shop. Updates, e-mails, etc. will be on hold as my ass hasn't seen the inside of a public library since the mid-80's...and I'm not starting now, people. You know what you can do with your fiche.

In the meantime, and for a mere 25 dubloons, I've become a PRO over on Flickr and have already uploaded masses of photos, so I invite you to entertain yourself in my absence visually rather than verbally.

Your humble servant,
O.G.*

*And if anyone gets that reference, you get the golddamned star for the whole week. YOU are the one I write for. Congrats and way to go.

Posted by Bree at 12:37 PM | Comments (2)

I Brought My Pennnncillll...

Gimme something to write on! Or, at the very least, something to mop up this spill because - that's right - I'm heading back to school. Wine school. And as anyone who ever got a "What're you up to? Let's totttallly go out!" phone call following my Windows on the World classes knows - these things tend to get downright sloppy.

The siren's call of sloppiness aside, I signed up for three classes at the Cook Street Culinary School of Denver, Colorado in an effort to jumpstart my business thinkin' again (more on that...later...) and hobnob western wino-like. Come this September, I'll be all about the Burgundy, the Chateuaneuf de Pape ("Pape goes the weasel 'cause the weasel goes PAPE!"), the Champagne, the Alsace and - of course - everyone's favorite: the luscious and louche Loire.

Truth be told, this sudden burst of activity from your favorite ornery oenophilist is brought on in no small part by reading e-mails from my fellow chick, Jay, that say things like, "Today's my day off, going to Toronto for my FIRST WSET DIPLOMA CLASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm stoked." Given that she's not an overly exclamatory writer, this got me thinking: I need some wine time that's not self-generated.

You know what else it got me thinking? Oh David Lee. How great though wert.

Posted by Bree at 08:12 AM | Comments (0)

August 08, 2006

Five Word Movie Review Tuesday

Elizabethtown can eat a dick.

Posted by Bree at 03:46 PM | Comments (0)

Matchy Matchy

Thanks to Jake - and his quest to keep me clad in 50/50 cotton/poly at all times - I now am the proud owner of a shirt bearing the same logo as my appointment book. Which you could probably appreciate a little more if a. I had a better picture or b. you knew how much this book means to me. Let's just say I brought it to Argentina. And used it.

As if this embarrassment of apparel wasn't enough, the boy also gave me a killer white leather watch (somewhat seen above) meaning...yes...I will not only enjoy the half-Cleveland (white belt) nor the full-Cleveland (white belt, white shoes) but the "Kick it Up a Notch - BAM!" Cleveland (white belt, white shoes, white watch).

Take that, all you Cleveland pretenders. I don't even wanna know what kind of shit's gone-go down once I get through this packet of Crest Whitestrips. Cleveland-opolis. Nor do I want to know what kind of shit's gone-go down once Jake leaves for Seattle next week and the 12 days of moving end. I can only hope my maids-a-milking are delivered in time for the send-off party.

Posted by Bree at 02:59 PM | Comments (0)

1,000 Places to See Before You Die of Envy

Oh! I am *soooo* close to being famous, I can almost grab it with my meaty paws! Hot news from D-Town is that my friend Melanie and her handsome husband have been chosen as THE couple (as in - the definitive "the" - the "only one," etc.) to star in a reality series on the Discovery Channel or Travel Channel (or some such channel of repute) based on the book 1,000 Places to See Before You Die.

On August 26th, these two coltish newlyweds will embark on a 3 1/2 month worldwide tour - all on the production budget's dime! My GOD! That is some awesome news. Especially sweet, as any visitors to my apartment will surely attest, is that THAT BOOK has been collecting e.coli and the like for several years on the back of my toilet! Can I get a shout-out for fate and some big ups for providence?

Posted by Bree at 11:25 AM | Comments (0)

Hippo Eats Dwarf; Commonsense Dictates

You're welcome.

Posted by Bree at 10:55 AM | Comments (0)

Oh the Troubles I've Seen

The computer guy can't fix it due to the fact that my Imac G5 apparently shares no parts with another. It even has special screws! Special screws! But, in the department of good news, he did think it was a minor problem and that I didn't necessarily need to rush out and drop bank on a new one, so - that's some relief. He also complimented me on my squid t-shirt. Then we hugged it out.

Alas. Despite my best efforts to not bring this computer on a road trip, it looks like I'll be saddling up to the Apple store's Genius Bar at Cherry Creek tomorrow.

"Uh...yes. I'll have a double-tall of inconvenience? You do serve that, right? Thanks - you can just leave the shaker."

Pass the doughnuts, Carnie. And for the love of Pete, put your pants back on.

Posted by Bree at 10:37 AM | Comments (0)

Funnel Cake Vendor Buys Cologne; Plans How, When to Divest Beach Boys Catalog

Doughnuts Disturb Wilson

EX-WILSON PHILLIPS star Carnie Wilson says that she gets sexually aroused by eating doughnuts.

Carnie, 38, daughter of Beach Boy Brian Wilson, said: “I have hallucinations with doughnuts all the time. I’m obsessed. I get horny when I eat doughnuts.”

Carnie, who gave birth to daughter Lola last year, says that other foods also make her feel sexy.

She added: “It’s slightly sexual. You know how you want to feed your lover chocolate? I think it must be the chemical that’s released in the brain.”

Posted by Bree at 07:32 AM | Comments (0)

August 07, 2006

Argentina (Int. and Ext.)

(The rest of my shots - arty and no - will go up on Flickr as soon as I get the fire lit under, atop of and next to this G5 business. You can count on that. Oh yes...something's getting absolutely toasted. And, for once, it's not me.)

Posted by Bree at 08:57 PM | Comments (0)

Half a Wormy Apple

While my computer problems may not be quite as bad as this guy's, I'm still psyched to announce a technician is coming to my crib tomorrow morning to "pimp my mac." Or something of the sort. Fingers crossed that spinning rims and black leather are part of the mix.

One thing's certain: the good man agreed with me that the fans were to blame for the whole, "I'm going to work for ten minutes and then won't work again for half an hour...nah nah...pffft!" attitude the old "ass-mac" has been pulling for...oh...six months or so. So at least my diagnostic skills were vindicated. Which will be of extremely small comfort when I write an extremely large sum on an extremely average check tomorrow.

Regardless. He also told me a bunch of G5's were recalled for similar fan issues. Memoirs of a Geisha innuendo aside, does anyone know anything about that? I googled it but didn't get far until the computer, sensing progress of some sort, went dark again. Anyway, it all seemed very urban legend-y, which doesn't give me the greatest confidence in the guy but as long as he doesn't show up with a big black hood and a hooked hand and ants burrowing in his beehive and photos of some hapless tourist's toothbrush stuck up his bum, I'm going to throw caution to the wind and let him fix my problems.

All of them.

ALL of them.
ALL.

So. Hopefully things will be resolved at some point this week. Or I'll have a new laptop. Either way, it seems certain that at some point in August my life will return to its former purpose and I will be able to wile away the dark and lonely hours regaling a global audience with tales that satisfy both a collective thirst for erudition and my own neverending narcissism.

Oh good times.
It ain't just a custard shack.

Posted by Bree at 07:41 PM | Comments (0)

August 06, 2006

Coming Home Agin

I came back from a month on the road to find a number of treasures from my distinguished houseguest. Among the offerings: six bottles of wine, a 12-pack of the Fattest Tire, a gift certificate for a massage, a wireless router (for the laptop I don't yet have), a necklace, a mug, a ziploc of frozen rhubarb and an inch of blueberry Stoli.

Don't fret: the rhubarb has already been dispatched. Straight into the trash. "Eff that...weird red stalks...who in the...? What in the...?" she mumbled angrily, jamming a fistful of KRACH-itos into her ~~gaping~~ chasmal maw.

Ah the mysteries of the natural world.

Posted by Bree at 07:27 PM | Comments (0)

August 03, 2006

Quoth the Sister-in-Law Forevermore

N: "You shouldn't wear dresses like that."
B: "Really? Fuck...I know. It's totally unflattering. But I like it."
N: "Well sure, you can wear it, just don't wear it if you're ever trying to impress anyone."
B: "I wore it to breakfast with [INSERT EX-BOYFRIEND'S NAME] this morning. I know it looks shitty...I know...it's 100 degrees out...I swear it looked cute before...it's all stretched out..."
N: "You want me to be honest, right? I can't wear that kind either."
B: "By 'that kind' - you mean like Brian Wilson's muumuu?"
N: "What?"
B: "Nothing...nothing..."

End scene.

Posted by Bree at 08:19 PM | Comments (0)

Quoth the English Major Forevermore

In Argentina, I read The Lone Pilgrim by Laurie Colwin. I also read a Frommer's guide, several Star Magazines, a week-old New York Sun and the entire hotel services handbook from my nightside table one drunken evening in Buenos Aires. Dial 187 for room service. They're open 24 hours. As for the Colwin, I am leaving it with Heather in Brooklyn, but wanted to write a bit about one of the passages, as it summarized and reflected a lot of what I was thinking about on the trip. Namely, the ideas of autonomy, accountability and personal responsibility and the ways the Argentinian culture differs from ours in respect to these points of conduct. Well...that and where I was to find my next dulce de leche fix.

I am way too hot to write about this intelligently but what struck me the most - and impressed me the most - was how much more freedom there was there. Things weren't overly explained and simplified the way they are here. Essentially, adults are expected to act like adults, and to know how to look after themselves without countless restrictions and rules and laws of deportment and so on. It was so refreshing, truly, to be given the freedom to take care of yourself and your needs as you saw fit. It was so refreshing, truly, to give up trying to control every surrounding and situation and just accept that things would be okay and that, if they weren't...that would be okay too.

It made an enormous impact on me, and one I'm not soon to forget. I want to think about it for a long time because I feel, in some way, that acting more like they do over there might make me a bit more content over here.

And here's the quote:

"My availability for experience inspired him, he said. One evening, with a look of beautiful affection on his face, he told me: 'The trouble with being prepared for everything the way I am is that one false move and you feel the world is falling apart. Last week, when I lost my keys, I thought I was going to disintegrate, remember? But you - you really aren't prepared for things, so you're much better at life than I am. If you hadn't been with me, I would have just gone to pieces. I would have paid a locksmith some huge sum of money. I would never have traced our trail back to that restaurant and found the keys under the chair. So maybe you're the one who's prepared and I am simply overprepared. You are a great object lesson to me.'"

I need to stop being overprepared. It's just not the way I want to keep on keeping. It's not helping anything.

First thing's first though. What I need to do, what I really really need to do?

I need to go home.

And how refreshing it is, truly, to feel I have one again.

Posted by Bree at 01:26 PM | Comments (0)

Just a Taste...

...to get you all sortsa salivating for the photos to come...

Mmm. What's better than KRACH-itos? Why KRACH-itos de maiz con queso.
Delicious is delicious no matter what the language. KRACH my drift?