Be There.

newyearseve, originally uploaded by biscuitus.

Edit: I'm drinking champagne naked on the couch with Dick Clark and Regis Philbin. You can't come.

Bring on tha Haters

Calendars and Pens Out

I've been spreading the rumor, but in case you haven't heard, we're going to kick it old school on December 27th. My father and step-mother are celebrating the 10th anniversary of their marriage in D.C., so we're going to play like we're in high school and party like the parents are out of town. Because they will be. But we can't get busted, because we already told them about it, and they thought it was a great idea. Which takes a little of the fun out of it, if you ask me.

Extra cool points will be awarded for the following:

• St. Ides Special Brew or your favorite 40oz.
  
• Zima (super bonus points for kool-aid powder in your Zima)
  
• Boone's Farm
• Goldschlager/Aftershock
• Schnapps of any kind, preferably pinched from your mom
• Getting someone older to buy you shitty booze
• Random hook-up with a friend
• Random hook-up with friend of a friend
• Random hook-up with the guy no one at the party has ever seen before
  
• Random hook-up with several friends
  
• Nekkidity

I fully appreciate:

• it's not actually ten years ago.
• getting drunk isn't as shiny and new as it once was.
  
• there's no way in hell any of us would be caught dead with any of the aforementioned "alcoholic" beverages.
• we'll probably all drink quite responsibly, won't end up puking or making out with a screen door, and will get to bed early because we have things to do tomorrow.
• everyone has already hooked-up with everyone else. (Well, except for the guy no one has ever seen before)
  

But I am having people over, and we'll have a nice little fire in the place where the fire goes, and Ben will be doing his usual holiday honors for those interested parties. Our Canadian and Yankee expat. friends will be joining us as well.
So, ink it in, BYOSchapps, and get ready to party like it's 1996 all over again. Or bring a fine single-malt whiskey and share with your hostess.
Your choice.

My Nose is a Carrot

I have boxes. I have packing tape. I have everything I own strewn about my house and am trapped in my bed without an escape route. It must be time for another edition of....

Commercials That Make Me Happy

• When I saw the PSP ad with the latino dustballs, I must confess I felt a little bewildered. I realize they're targeting several demographics of which I am not a member, but seriously, "It's like carpet you can watch outside"??? But with each subsequent viewing and now the addition of the new squirrel version, I'm hooked. I think I get it now, and I want more. I still have no desire to be anywhere near a PSP.
• Jack-in-the-Box is a very strange establishment. Until a few years ago, all I knew about it was that some kid died after eating there a while back. I've ate there once a couple of years ago, and it was a very surreal experience in which I and my friends Alexis and Jenny found ourselves inexplicably All About Jack-in-the-Box. I had an egg roll, a taco, some chicken nuggets, and pie. We were astounded by the range of menu options, and we were amazed none of us had ever been there. Then we all got Jack antenna balls, and promptly put them on our cars. We never went back, but the ad for the new holiday antenna balls is making me reconsider, if only for the snowman ball opening the scene with "My nose is a carrot," drunkenly burping, and falling over. If you haven't seen it, it probably means you don't live near a Jack-in-the-Box, which is too bad. Not because you should eat at Jack-in-the-Box, but because you really should see this ad. I giggle like a little girl every damn time I see it. I want to tape it, so I can watch it over and over. Don't be surprised if I have a snowman antenna ball the next time you see me.
  

This has been another edition of...

Commercials That Make Me Happy

Ode to Chuck's Balls

Well.

After dropping three classes, finals were a non-issue. This will go down in history as the Lost Semester. I still managed to pull two all-nighters, but it just wasn't the same. I'm pretty sure it was more due to a special finals week appearance by Headache than an actual need to stay up all night working. Because, y'all? My head? Is. On. Fire.

Maybe it was because Headache came back, maybe it was because I was sick of trying to make my class schedule work, maybe I just want to be closer to the people I love for awhile, in case my brain really is disentegrating. Who's to say what made me do it?

Today I submitted my application to Pellissippi State University for the Spring semester of 2006.

I took a good hard look at the classes I had managed to cobble together into a semblance of a schedule here at the ol' TTU, and I didn't like what I saw.

-Drawing with an instructor of which I am none too fond.
-Organic and Biochemistry at 8 am in a town 45 minutes from my bed.
-Fucking Western Civilization II for reasons I don't want to go into.
-Looonnnng stretches of time marooned at a campus with no safe harbour for someone like me, for the privilege of a chemistry lab.

Fuck it. The community college offers the classes I need in a broad array of times and locations. Locations near my mother, my father, my stepmother, and best of all, my real family. And my chiropractor. And the Love of My Life.
At half the price, and (hopefully) half the headache.

-Instead of Western Civ, I'm taking theatre.
-Chemistry in the afternoon, when I'm awake and partially functional.
-Color Theory and Design! I go to art school and I have to go to a community college to take a class in Color Theory and Design! I'm not saying it will be any good, but it's something.

By all logic, the Craft Center should not exist. It is an institution whose potential far exceeds its resources. It has the misfortune of being shackled to a university that keeps it like a dirty secret. Artists! In the woods! Not here, in the bible belt, at our fine technological institution! We make engineers and nurses here, you must have us confused with someone else!
They've even placed the Bachelor of Fine Arts in the College of Education, but given us the pleasure of attempting to complete a studio arts degree straddling two campuses a million miles apart, with one course offered, at best in each requirement. In doing so, they have done their best to see few actual graduates from our program (the most successful candidate will have completed his/her gen. ed. requirements before arriving). Well, fuck them. The Craft Center deserves better, and I intend to do it.

I'll simply be doing it somewhere else for a minute. Some people go to Europe, I'll be taking my semester abroad in East Tennessee. Diff'rent Strokes.

Apologies for the rant. I am excited by the prospect, if nothing else, of more time with My Architect. And, you know, liquor stores. Dare I reinstate Wine Club Wednesdays? Is it too much, with Burger Nite? How much excess can one tolerate mid-week?

Before I finish (anyone make it to this point?) I'd like to thank a bitch for thanking me for the link. It was richly deserved (the link, that is). Damn fine operation she's running over there. Frankly, I refuse to trust anyone who isn't angry. Go visit a bitch already.

Yarrrr!

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Ooh, Baby Do You Know What That's Worth?

Has anyone else seen, and been entirely disturbed by, this ad for this upcoming Barbara Walters special?
"Heaven, where is it, and how do we get there? The answers may surprise you."

Ummmm...ABC? I'm sorry....WHAT? The answers may surprise me? You think?

To think people have been killing each other over this question for ages, when all it took was a little investigative reporting.

According to ABC Medianet:

"Anchored by Barbara Walters, "Heaven: Where Is It ? How Do We Get There?" explores the meaning of heaven with religious leaders of the major faiths, scientists, people who say they believe in heaven because they have been there, with celebrities who are vocal about their beliefs and even with terrorists."

"even with terrorists"?????

I.....hmmmm....well....no, nothing. I think I'll hold out for "Hell, What Up With That? Only Stone Phillips knows for sure."