your girls can't take my lemonade

Because Emma is one of my few real American heroes, I too vow to post every day in November for NaBloPoMo (I did try this on my own in October, but as you see, I fell off.) I am not armed with hints for smart and interesting ideas, but rather my own sad mind. So look out!

A week ago was my birthday. Before that was the party. There was singing and drinking and eating. And way too may presents. What a delight!

I still owe thank you cards. The magic of paper cards is mail, yay! The unmagic is that I put them off way too long, boo!

The party was fun fun. And the next day I was so tired and had to lay down most of the day, except for the couple of hours I spent at the Crabhouse. Magic.

The next night was my for serious for real birthday, and I met my dad for dinner. Tuesday I don't remember what I did. Worked. And probably cried at some point. Wednesday was hockey night, which included a game of suck boosted by a super wondrous overhearing event. I think I better save that one for a slow November day. Thursday I don't remember again. Working. Gnashing of teeth.

And Friday. Well, Friday might be the best of all. I got home almost on time, I curled up on the couch and decided to try out "Dexter." And then I watched all four episodes. I spend over three hours lying down, watching TV. It was like a dream, really.

Saturday I visited my parents and sat around their house doing nothing. Glorious. And Sunday I did the same, only at my house. Now it is Monday, and I started off the week horribly by seriously contemplating smashing my head against my desk repeatedly and then coming home and ripping the kitchen apart in a desperate attempt to find a (hiding a little too well) box of Crystal Light iced tea. I have a sickness.

neon is my favorite color

In other news, I posted over at MOG about my current "Wolf Like Me" mania, and I posted another something in a secret place. Well, I can't give it all away here, loves. But if you know about the secret place and want to hear a really stupid story, there's two entries waiting.

scraping me off the ceiling

And the curse lifts.

I don't believe in big bad sports curses, the kind that are supposed to explain decades of losses. I do, however, believe I may be a jinx. True fact: Of all the Rangers games that I'd been to with Dollie (quite a few), only one was a win. And we'd gone with two other friends (shout out Sarah and Laurie!) to that game, so it doesn't even count.

Another true fact: I have tickets to 21 games this season. Now you don't want to miss games, but you also don't want to put your team in a bad spot. Well, the worries are over. They won last night, and we were there. It was a joy, a dream, a delight.

But what is up with the talking? Last week, there was a dude behind us going over all the merchandising for "V." Dollie: I thought I'd learned everything I need to know about "V" in a 1983 TV Guide. This week, some guy (same guy? no idea) kept talking about the history of Canadians in hockey. And there are a lot of Canadians in hockey. Also, he called Lindros by just Eric. As in "Eric is doing really well down in Dallas." Um, you're a lady. In all my years of Lindros love and lust, never once did I call him Eric. Even when I was practicing my vows. Come on.

Speaking of that guy being a lady at a hockey game — and me not being a lady at a hockey game (surely I am a lady at all other times) — I coined the new go-to Hate the Devils phrase. It is (drumroll) "SUCK IT, MARTY!" Though it is especially glorious being shouted through MSG, it can work for any team. Try it out. When your man scores on Brodeur, let it ring through the arena (or your home). It's such a good feeling.

I feel the storm, an old fury

I don't know how regular sports fans do it. Saturday night destroyed me. Two hellish losses. Ugh.

Another hockey night tomorrow. Wish us luck. Please. It's the Devils, and I just can't stand all the New Jersey fans in the stands. Punches may be thrown. I am a sore loser.

Yesterday I didn't leave the house (A tip: those karaoke lists don't type themselves. 800+ songs later, my wrist is still hurting). El Fano helped me preview the karaoke DVDs. We emoted through "Reunited," did steering wheel dance moves for "(You Drive Me) Crazy" and stumbled over Shaggy's "Angel." No drinks and still it was tons o' fun. Magic.

Then Mojito Loco. It had been a while, and the ceviche isn't going to eat itself.

I came home and checked out my MySpace page, which had decided for itself to insert a Sheila Divine video. It's like they knew I was experiencing a new bout of TSD mania. Wow. If you watch it (and you should) stick around for "to make Jane and Dollie cry!" and the ensuing giggles. You'd giggle too, jealous.

I dyed my hair dark, by the way. I think it might stick this time.

Also, work is going to be an amazing, exciting challenge of wonder and horror. So if you don't hear from me until Friday, you know why.

I can't go to sleep cause I'm too damn scared

I just saw the single most disturbing commercial ever. All you need to know is this quote:

Honey, why is Peter Forsberg in our bed?

UGH! Of all the hockey players in the world. I mean, really. What a nightmare.

girl you better recognize the game

Today was a big bag of butt. A great giant sack of ass. I hated it. It was too busy, and I feel like I got nothing done (I'm still working now, in fact — well, not right now) and, here comes the goodest good part, I have to go out tonight.

What do I mean "have to"? I mean "HAVE TO!" for it is the Candy Butchers magical reunion show of greatness and magic. Did I mention that it's magic? It is. And that'd be fine, except that it starts at 11:30. That's PM. I have to get up at 4AM for work. I'm not sure that I'll even be home by 4AM.

So tomorrow may be the day I end my stint as a drug-free American. Or, you know, the day I drink lots of coffee. Followed at 4PM by four cocktails capped off with a 12-hour night's sleep, I hope. Yay!

pink is the color of her eyes

I've done a couple of super short posts over MOG yonder. (Big ups due to Emma, for reminding me I existed there.

You'll find talk of work (specifically You Tell Us, my sole reason to get up some mornings), Jay-Z, the Killers and, of course, Mr. T.

Of course! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to make a big glass of something to help wipe away the memories of yet another too-long day.

didn't even get no static from the cowards

I didn't want to leave the house yesterday, but I did, and I am glad. Here's why:

• Ran in to Pacey and his friend at the movie theater. They were going to the same movie and also got shut out of the screening they (and we) wanted. We all settled for the later show. Pacey is way thinner than he was when I saw him last (at "SNL", many years ago) and is adorable, but could clearly use a sandwich. His ladyfriend seemed fun and smiley and was exceptionally pretty.
• Stromboli Pizza. Delight. And one slice + diet soda = me still sort of being a good girl.
• Spotting Jamie Gillis at the farmer's market.
  Hey, that looked like that porn guy. Jamie something.
  Huh?
  You know, from all the '70s movies.
  Jamie Gillis? Did he look creepy and have gray hair?
  Yep.
  Then that was him. Let's find him!
  We did, and I was right. Yay!
• Discovering this artist in Union Square.
• And then "The Departed." Yes, I've seen "Infernal Affairs," and yes, I thought this was great. And I loved the ending, so there.

Then I came home and watched the Rangers win (after a 13-round shootout) and the Mets win (in and out of falling asleep, too long a game) on my big-screen (well, to me) TV.

captain of her heart

"Please welcome the 24th captain in Blueshirts history: #68, right wing Jaromir Jagr.

I cried.

And then he winked.

Fan. Tastic.

it reminds me of you

I was just re-watching Bill Clinton on "The Daily Show," and he was reminding me so much of my grandfather. Maybe it's because Bill's getting up there in years now, and he's about the age that my grandfather was when I knew him best, when I saw him every day. He's also always reminded me of Jimmy Carter, my Pop Pop. And it's really pretty weird, because he wasn't Southern at all. Maybe it's because all three have similiar coloring. And are just wonderful.

Speaking of my grandfather not being Southern, did I even tell you of the story of how I thought he was from the Midwest, but it turned out he was from Yonkers. Which is a quintessentially New York story, I think.

Why do karaoke DVDs come with backup vocals? I hate it.

better learn how to face it

That British study of what people want played at their funeral (I think I'm supposed to link to something here, but I'm tired) has all sorts of internet nerds talking about funeral songs. So here's mine, because, remember it's about who's left behind as much as it's about who's going:

• She's Gone - Hall & Oates
• Without You - Nilsson
• Here I Am Lord

Gorgeous.

I have a new plan for a book: When To Kill Yourself: A Practical Guide To Auto-Euthanasia, by Jane. Inspired by current events and an absolutely enraging episode of "Without a Trace" that I shouldn't have saved for tonight (evil murderous child molester kills himself — after he's abducted at least three kids and killed one). It's about the greater good, people. I'm fielding publishing offers and accepting advances now.

feels like somebody's else's lights came on

Something amazing happened at work today. It was so amazing that someone who knows best, someone who's been in the department for about as long as there's been one, said that it was the most amazing thing that's ever happened in the newsroom. I believe it. So I don't think I'm meant to tell you what happened — yet. I will when I can. For now, I will say that it involved a real American hero.

After that beautiful moment, I flew into a rage over the shooting at the Amish school, which is what, the third school shooting in a week? Allow me to offer some excellent advice (that I'm certain I've shared before): If you feel the need to kill someone, just kill yourself instead. Because you're solving the problem, and the problem is you. Plus only one person is dead. This is especially great advice if you're going to kill yourself anyway after you kill other people. Skip a step.

Dollo was telling me about "Dexter" on Showtime, which is apparently about a blood-spatter expert who hands out bloody vigilante justice on the side. Oh. I'm so envious. How did he get two dream jobs?

If you're keeping score:

• Killing people (as a rule): OUT.
• Killing bad guys as a genius, clued-in vigilante: IN (in theory — you'd have to be always absolutely right, and merciful where it's called for. Tough.)

I am tired and hurty and glad to be home.

fry the contents of my head

So Dollie and I went to Toronto for a few days a couple of weeks back and had a nice time, mostly spending our days sitting in cafes and shopping, which was very relaxing and restorative. The nightlife was a little lacking -- I'm used to spending TO time at CMW or NXNE, with tons of rock shows to attend. Instead, Saturday night we spent at a wonderful karaoke night at our hotel. Sunday night we went to bed early. Monday night we went to a nice bar with 1/2 price drinks but no other patrons and swung by the sleepy Polaris prize afterparty on the way home. Tuesday night we saw Sloan. Riveting, yes? We tackled the Toronto transit system for the first time and were totally successful, of course. I do not enjoy the token/ticket system one bit (You MUST buy either 5 or 10? Why?) though I was completely won over by the streetcar drivers, who were all delightful.

So then we came home and promptly entered into high birthday season and all the dinners, dancing, presents, hockey games and Renaissance Faires that go along with.

Did I mention that I have 1/2 season tickets to the Rangers? Because I do. That should have been my birthday present to myself, but I decided to also buy myself a 37" LCD TV. Because I'm worth it. I also clearly miss that exciting paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle, which I've put myself right back into thanks to the Toronto trip, Rangers tickets and TV splurges. At least I have another month or so before the birthdays pick up again. Now let's just hope I don't get fired anytime soon.

Speaking of fired, tomorrow is going to be pure hell at work. Yippee!

Hey, remember Mojito Loco? Still my favorite. I haven't missed a week since my first visit. One week I went three times. For serious. Have you been yet? If not, why not? Go! I'm going myself in about an hour. That is just how I must roll.

I am having deep music conflicts, big time favorite band trouble. I don't recommend it.

This year's birthday plan: Karaoke house party.

And if you aren't totally caught up now, you're at least very close.