50 Yawns of Boredom

I read and review Fifty Shades of Grey so you don't have to.

I am so bored you guys. The pages keep turning, but I could swear I just keep reading the same three paragraphs again and again. I'm not sure I'm even angry anymore, I'm just exhausted by the horribleness of the story.

Chapter 4 picks up right where the last one left off - Christian is dramatically holding her after dramatically rescuing her from a killer bicyclist, and for the first time in her whole life it occurs to her that she would like to be kissed.

So of course he doesn't.

Instead of kissing her, he warns her to stay away from him. It strikes me this may be difficult for her to do seeing as she's being stalked by him. This is the most melodramatic scene in the book so far. He reminds her to breathe (what?). She thanks him for saving her. They both act like getting hit with a bike is roughly the same as getting hit by a train. She walks away from him and since she hasn't reminded us about her awkwardness in a while, claims to be "vaguely amazed" that she doesn't trip. I write in my notes "you can't be vaguely amazed, AMAZED IS NOT A VAGUE FEELING. SHUT UP." She takes his warning as a rejection and curls up in a ball on the floor of the parking garage sobbing - SOBBING - about her dashed hopes and dreams. She ACTUALLY says that. She has only just admitted to herself she even liked the guy about an hour ago, but now EVERYTHING IN HER LIFE IS RUINED. Her age MUST have been a typo, she can't possibly be 21, she's fucking 12.

An unspecified amount of time later, she finishes her last final exam of her college career, and I weep for the future because I can't believe they are giving college degrees to idiots like this one. When she gets home, there is a package for her. It's a three volume first edition of Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Miraculously, she knows exactly who it's from. Kate is impressed. This paragraph happens:

"I've found one Tess first edition for sale in New York for fourteen thousand dollars. But yours look in better condition. They must have cost more." Kate is consulting her good friend Google.

Kate's deductive reasoning is amazing, she should be a fucking detective. And holy shit, Ana HAS heard of Google, it's just never occurred to her to use it. It also hasn't occurred to the author: when I googled "Tess of the d'Urbervilles first edition" the results I got were between $4,000 and $6,000 dollars. FOURTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS for a shitty copy is a gross exaggeration, but then again HOW ELSE WILL WE KNOW THAT CHRISTIAN GREY IS OUTRAGEOUSLY RICH? The books come with a note enclosed, a quote from the book warning her, again, to stay away from him. Because when I think someone should stay away from me, I send them $14,000 books in the fucking mail. This storyline is so nonsensical it's making me tired. I take a nap.

Later on, Kate and Ana meet up with Jose for some drinks to celebrate their impending graduation. Surprising no one, Ana reports that she has never been drunk in her entire life. She proceeds to drink an unspecified amount of champagne, five, FIVE! margaritas, then heads to the bar to get them a pitcher of beer. She then heads for the bathroom and decides to drunk dial Christian Grey while she's standing in line. When he answers it, she is FUCKING AMAZED that he knew it was her calling him. I roll my eyes and write a note: "YOU ARE 21 THERE HAS ALWAYS BEEN CALLER ID FOR YOU. TWAT." During this ridiculous conversation, she pictures him holding a riding crop (if he doesn't have a riding crop in the sex dungeon we can already tell he has I will shit myself). He's pissed off that she is drunk and tells her he's coming to pick her up. She hangs up on him without tell him where she is.

Despite the fact that what she's had to drink already tonight should have left her unconscious, she is only just now starting to feel sick. She goes outside to get some fresh air and is followed by Jose. Jose, it turns out, is a fucking douchebag. He takes full advantage of her intoxication to grab her and try to force her to kiss him while she is very clearly telling him no and struggling to get away. It's the rapiest kissing scene ever, but you guys - YOU GUYS! GUESS HOW IT ENDS. From the shadows comes an authoritative voice, "I think the lady said no." OH MY FUUUUCK STALKER GUY TO THE RESCUE! LIFE IS A MOTHERFUCKING FAIRYTALE! I wish the force was a real thing so I could crush her trachea with my mind.

She throws up all over everything until she is dry heaving. Christian is pissed off that she is so irresponsible and tells her he's taking her home. She, sensibly, says she has to tell Kate she's going first. When they go back inside, Kate is on the dance floor. The nonsense begins again. Christian, who had been dragging her out the door five seconds ago, decides to 1. go to the bar and order himself a beer and 2. take Ana's hand and lead her onto the dance floor. She can't dance, of course, but somehow, despite being fall down drunk, with Christian she dances great! Is it him? Is it the drinking? IS IT MAGIC? No one knows, but what I do know is this author has never been drunk in her life, because anyone who has knows there is no way any of this would have happened. Given how much she'd had to drink and the fact that she has no tolerance whatsoever, Ana should be passed out in the bush with vomit crusted in her hair before her stalker in shining armor ever gets there, and she may or may not still have pants on. Instead she passes out at the end of the chapter in Christian's arms and now I am going to vomit as well.

She wakes up in Chapter 5 in Grey's hotel room suite (he is very rich). Next to her is some Advil and a glass of orange juice, and she finds this controlling rather than considerate. I scream at the book "the controlling part is where he took you to HIS HOTEL ROOM INSTEAD OF HOME YOU JACKASS." He comes in the room fresh from a workout and his sweatpants are, you guessed it, hanging off his hips (3). Somehow he smells like body wash (2) AND sweat at the same time. She asks how she got there and he makes up some complete bullshit about how he couldn't take her home because he was afraid she'd throw up in the car, as if he doesn't have 173 other cars standing by to use while that one gets detailed (or all the leather gets replaced. Whatever mega rich people do to fix car vomit, I don't know). He yells at her for being irresponsible for a while because she needs this since she doesn't have a real daddy, "Well, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday." (emphasis mine) She calls him a disciplinarian, he retorts that she has no idea, my eyeballs explode and fire billows from the empty sockets. My note: "Foreshadowing shutupshutupshutup FUCK YOU SPANKING REFERENCES EVERYWHERE." Page 68 contains the SECOND reference to her medulla oblongata and I want to choke her, her editor, her friends that encouraged her to write her thoughts down, Stephanie Meyers whose fault it is that this exists, her husband for not shooting down all of her dreams, and everyone who told me I should read this book, even ironically.

It is at this point that I very nearly write a completely different post saying that I can't read this anymore. She goes on a protracted description of her feelings (she has discovered desire. She's never desired anything before. Eat me.) and makes the rookie mistake of confusing a stalker's obsession for caring about her, a mistake that in real life has gotten people killed many many times. She calls him a romantic hero, going so far as to compare him to Sir Lancelot. At the same time, she continues to try and convince herself that he is not interested in her. He slept in bed next to her all night and never touched her. What other explanation can there be? I can't take this. He stalks her, kidnaps her, and she is UPSET that he draws the line at rape. I can't feel anything but contempt for this character.

She takes a shower and uses his body wash (3) which, she tells the reader, SMELLS LIKE HIM. ORLY? WOW.

After she's showered and changed into the new clothes his assistant has run out and bought for her (she is "in awe" of the underwear. AWE. UNDERWEAR.), she finds him sitting at the breakfast table. He has ordered everything on the menu because he didn't know what she likes and because it's important that we know he's rich. My cousin Simmy pointed out that this scene is entirely ripped off from Pretty Woman. They have an uncomfortable conversation. He explains that he found her because "you can track anyone's cell phone on the internet". That sounded terrifying to me, so I did some research. While it's true you can trace the location of a mobile phone using Google Latitude, the phone you want to trace has to actually be set up by its owner to enable this sort of tracking. At this point I have officially done twice as much research for this book than its author did. He also mentions that he is not going to touch her until he has written consent to do so. This has now gone beyond foreshadowing to blatant spoilers inside her own book. There are so many annoying thing that happen in this conversation I don't know where to begin:

• "That's very profligate of you." WHY DON'T YOU JUST GO AHEAD AND FUCK YOUR THESAURUS ALREADY? JESUS.
• He looks sullen, like a small boy. ALL DOMS ARE DAMAGED. I KNOW. YOU ALREADY TOLD US THIS A HUNDRED TIMES.
• "'Not having....sex.' There I said the word." Ana, if you can't even say the word "sex" out loud, you are in no way prepared for the shit he's been threatening to drop on you since the second you tripped into his office. IN. NO. WAY.
• She can't understand why he'd be interested in her. Honestly, I can't either. Here's what we know about her so far: She is irresponsible. She takes no ownership for her own behavior and blames others for all her misfortune. She has no plans for her future other than moving to Seattle and continuing to live off of Kate. She has no real hobbies, skills, or talent of any kind. She is naive to the point of absurdity. She's so socially inept I assume she must have been the inspiration for the socially awkward penguin meme. And up until a bike almost ran her over last week she has had the sexual drive and interest of a half dead amoeba. She has to be stunningly attractive because there is absolutely no other explanation of why someone like Christian Grey would give one ounce of fuck about her.
• In the elevator he loses fucking control and kisses the living shit out of her. And then continues riding in the elevator like that didn't just happen. She wonders whether he is totally unaffected by her presence, having apparently forgotten that she's just said this two seconds ago: "His erection is against my belly." NO,  I'M PRETTY SURE YOU ARE HAVING AN EFFECT. Additionally there is another example of the author forgetting what she'd written earlier. "I have never been kissed like this." No, shit for brains, you have never been kissed AT ALL. You made a REALLY BIG DEAL out of that earlier in the book. TAKE SOME FUCKING NOTES.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for encouraging me to finish reading this asshattery and welcome any new readers, especially the ones from Crasstalk. Y'all made me feel really special with your compliments and/or demands for more and you've made this incredible torture worth it. Mostly. It's REALLY bad, though.

50 Screams of Hate

I read and review Fifty Shades of Grey so you don't have to.

The very first note I wrote about this book reads as follows:

"Page 1: First two sentences!!! I immediately dislike this."

The next note reads:

"Entire first paragraph fucking blows."

This book opens with the main character, Ana, standing in front of a mirror and complaining because ohmigod her hair just won't behave! I instantly hate her. She continues to do this through the entire paragraph and also tells us her blue eyes are too big for her face. I already know this is going to be a theme and I HATE women who act like this - the exaggerated self-deprecating compliment fishing behavior of the insecure and self-obsessed. Oh you have big beautiful blue eyes? I FEEL SO FUCKING SORRY FOR YOU.

I am further alienated from the main character in the second paragraph. She is hating on herself in the mirror because her roommate, Kate, was supposed to do an interview for the school paper, but now Ana has to do it because Kate has inconsiderately come down with the flu. My note on this says "Kate has the flu - WHAT A BITCH". Poor, poor Ana has to drive 165 miles to interview some super rich powerful guy and she has finals to study for! Oh dear! I have no sympathy for this character. The idea of saying "No, I have to study" has not even occurred to her. Ana is a whiny fucking moron. I feel badly for Kate, though, because she is sick and because she has an ass for a roommate.

That's the first page.

The meeting of the two main characters of the book is based on an entirely implausible premise. Kate is the editor of the school paper. Since she can't do the interview she inexplicably asks Ana to do it, despite the fact that Ana has no interviewing experience and doesn't even work on the fucking paper. In no universe does an editor do something like this - a real life editor would send another actual writer. I was explaining this to H-town, with whom I attended college and who went on to be a real live journalist!, and she pointed out that even that was unlikely because a normal person would have rescheduled the interview. An editor must have pointed this out, because it is made very explicit that it took 9 MONTHS to get him to agree to this interview and THERE WILL NEVER BE ANOTHER CHANCE, which still doesn't explain why she would send her non-writing painfully awkward roommate instead of someone with a goddamn clue.

While this ridiculously contrived storyline is being laid out, two other things are happening: Ana is constantly describing how perfect Kate is at EVERYTHING EVER, and so much foreshadowing there is practically no reason to bother reading the rest of the book. Kate, by the way, who I initially was sympathetic towards, is a college student who drives a Mercedes so now I hate her as well. This revelation is also the point (page 2!) where I encounter the first of so, so many asinine sentences I still can't believe actually got published: "Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I hit the pedal to the metal." My note next to that sentence reads "Go die."

So she goes to the interview and there is so much foreshadowing you could trip over it. The building is intimidating, all the office workers are perfect, everyone's outfit is immaculate, Ana feels out of place because she is so awkward and plain and her clothes aren't right at all. I come across an instance of unnecessary hyperbole that makes me throw up in my mouth a little, when she describes the elevator she's in as traveling at "terminal velocity". I'm no professional writer, but if you're writing an entire novel, nay, THREE OF THEM, it's probably best to save the hyperbolic descriptions for things that actually advance the fucking plot. I've read better writing than this when I was on the staff of the creative writing magazine at my high school.

Anywhore, she is admitted to his office and immediately trips and falls flat on her face because OF COURSE SHE DOES, SHE IS TOTES THE MOST AWKWARD GIRL, LIKE, EVAR. She then proceeds to make a complete ass of herself because she has done zero research on this guy whatsoever, nor has she read any of the questions Kate has written, a point which confuses me because a few paragraphs earlier she had taken the questions out of her backpack while she waited in the lobby, so I guess she just spaced out and forgot to look at them? This kind of bullshit where the author seems to forget what she wrote two pages ago happens repeatedly. Ana's atrocious lack of preparedness is all Kate's fault, by the way. Kate should have briefed her. Kate should have told her how young he was and that he was totes the hottest guy who has ever lived. Ana is incapable of taking any sort of responsibility for herself and also has never fucking heard of Google. I hate her with the hatiest of hates.

The foreshadowing is out of friggin control. She shakes his hand and it is electrifying. She chalks this up to static because we are supposed to think she is so innocent and naive. He is the most gorgeous man in existence. He is also an arrogant, controlling prick. The entire dynamic of their future relationship (which everyone reading knows is coming because it COULD NOT BE MORE CLEAR) is established. Additionally, I am now filled with moral outrage because she has right off the bat thrown both of her main characters into stereotypical, one-dimensional caricatures of people who participate in D/s relationships: all subs are insecure mousy little creatures who could never figure their life out on their own; all Doms are arrogant outrageous control freaks who need to dominate EVERY SINGLE THING AND PERSON IN THEIR LIVES AT ALL TIMES. Pay attention, because this is important: both of those archetypes are COMPLETE AND UTTER BULLSHIT YOU GUYS. So far she is not mainstreaming and legitimising a subculture, she is undermining it by reinforcing the crap people already believe. I am now wholly convinced the only research she did for this book was to look up "BDSM" on Wikipedia and skim the first paragraph.

After the disaster of an interview which allegedly went over the allotted time, even though based on the dialogue seems like it couldn't have taken longer than 10 minutes, she gets up to leave and then more abominations of writing happen. There is another electrifying handshake which she assumes is her nerves because at 21 years old she is entirely unfamiliar with what sexual attraction feels like. He gets up to open the door with "lithe athletic grace" in case we weren't already sure he was the most beautiful man in all of history. As he does this, he says "Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele" because remember how she fell before? Well, just in case you forgot something she made a huge deal about SEVEN PAGES AGO she follows this line with "Obviously, he's referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into his office." Congratulations, you are are correct! That was completely obvious! It was so obvious that there was NO FUCKING REASON FOR YOU TO POINT OUT ITS OBVIOUSNESS, other than to reiterate that you are super duper clumsy and awkward which we already know because YOU KEEP TELLING US ABOUT IT OVER AND OVER AGAIN. I hate her.

The second chapter starts with her RUNNING FRANTICALLY from the building and then hyperventilating for a while in the parking lot to give her time to complain AGAIN about how it's all because of Kate that she showed up for an interview entirely unprepared. My note on this reads "Why is she running? Why is it Kate's fault? WHY DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT GOOGLE IS?!?" She drives home while obsessing about this guy in minute foreshadowy detail: "Some of his answers were so cryptic - as if he had a hidden agenda."(emphasis mine) HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS I WONDER IF HE'S PLOTTING SOMETHING IT IS SO HARD TO TELL. Hey, did you notice how controlling he is? And gorgeous? Like the most on the planet? Ana did! She'll tell you all about it! Again! My note: "Please tell me more about how you think he's arrogant and hot!" She gets home and Kate is wearing pajamas. She will describe these pajamas to you more than once. I can't be arsed. Kate is perfect by the way. Kate doesn't think Ana should go to work because she's already had a long day and working will make her tired! Ana goes to work anyway so we will know she is a martyr.

This is where we find out about her job. Ana works at a hardware store. Ana has learned a little bit about hardware because she works at a hardware store. She has NOT, however, learned enough about hardware to ever be able to use any of it because she totes sucks at it. She's a GIRL, you guys. Girls can't work hammers. She needs her dad to do it for her. Dads are men. They know how to hammer. I want to hammer her into a pancake.


When she gets home she eye-fucks her roommate some more: "She arches a perfect eyebrow at me." Perfect Kate has the audacity to ask her questions about the interview she went on AS A FAVOR TO KATE. And Ana has to answer her because she has no power to decide what she does and doesn't get to talk about. Kate wishes they'd thought to get a photo of him because she hasn't foreshadowed anything in two whole sentences and we need some sort of plot device to put Ana and Christian in the same room again so she can remind us how uncomfortable it makes her.

We get some background on Ana's family. Her mom gets married a lot, it seems - she's on husband number four right now. Ana phones her dad, who isn't her bio dad but is her first step dad and she considers him her real dad. Two things here: I am absolutely stunned that she doesn't give any detail here AT ALL about where her biological dad is. And I am back to moral outrage because she's feeding (ridiculously inaccurate) stereotypes AGAIN: all future subs have daddy issues. IT IS THE ONLY EXPLANATION FOR HOW THEY GOT THAT WAY. I hate everything.

The next day Ana goes to work, as you do, and while she's sitting there doing work she looks up and HOLY TITTYFUCKING PENGUIN FINS CHRISTIAN GREY IS STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER. My reaction: Christian Grey is a fucking stalker. RUN ANA RUN. Ana's reaction: Whoa, that is super weird, he must be in town on business! I can't believe he just happened to walk into the store I work in! WHAT ARE THE ODDS? No one is this naive in real life, are they? They can't be. I can't live in a world where people are this oblivious. She marvels at this "coincidence" hardcore y'all, and reminds us once again that he is SO WAY THE SEXIEST. She compares his voice to chocolate fudge caramel. It is a horrible sentence and I write in my notes "I hate you. I hate you SO HARD" I would tell you more about what a horrible sentence it is, but shortly after it there is a paragraph with two sentences that absolutely should not exist:

1. With my heart almost strangling me - because it's in my throat trying to escape from my mouth - I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section.

2. And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain - probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata near where my subconscious dwells - comes the thought: He's here to see you.

WHAT. THE. FUCK. I want to throw this entire paragraph off a cliff.

So here is what Christian Grey comes to the hardware store to buy: cable ties, masking tape, rope. It's a goddamn BDSM shopping list. STOP FORESHADOWING EVERYTHING. STOP IT. STOP. He also gets all dark and angry when some other dude shows up and hugs her because, again, the way it works is every Dom in the whole world gets super mad if anyone else touches the girl they have their eye on. THIS IS HOW IT HAS TO BE.

The chapter ends with the two of them discussing how Kate wants a photo and he tells her he'd be happy to sit for a photoshoot (WHO KNEW?) and so now Ana needs to find a photographer. A few pages before this, we were introduced to her friend Jose who hearts her but she only hearts him like a brother and GUESS WHAT YOU GUYS. Jose is a photographer. I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS IS GOING HER WRITING IS SO MYSTERIOUS.

At the start of chapter 3, everything happens exactly the way you've already been told it was going to happen. Also Kate is still perfect. The guy she works with who has liked her forever asks her out again. She turns him down and she flat out fucking tells you it's because he's not just like someone in a fairytale: "Paul is cute in a wholesome all-American boy-next-door kind of way, but he's no literary hero, not by any stretch of the imagination." My note: "You are a total cunt Ana." In the very next line she wonders if Grey IS like a literary hero. In fact she asks herself this. Or rather "...my subconscious asks me, her eyebrow figuratively raised." I officially want to light myself on fire.

The next day they do the photoshoot and she gets to stare at him and talk about how magical he looks. And then after that - gasp! - he asks her out for coffee on a date! HOLY CURVEBALL, BATMAN, I DID NOT SEE THAT ONE COMING. I wish foreshadowing was a physical object because I want to stab it SO HARD. Oh wait, I skipped a thing (this is why you take notes, kids). In this chapter on page 36, while she's reminding us that Christian is rich and Kate is beautiful, I come across the first instance of  a description of his clothes I have been assured will be repeated until I give up and dig my eyes out with a spoon: "...gray flannel pants that hang from his hips." I will be counting, at *friends*'s request, how many times she says this and how many times she talks about bodywash. Anyway, they are going out for coffee right fucking now. She makes a ridiculously big deal about what it's like to walk down a hallway with him. He takes her hand to cross the street and she writes "No one has ever held my hand" so I write back "Oh fuck you". You are a senior in college and you have never held hands with ANYONE? EVER? I don't believe you. You don't exist. Amish kids get fresher than that. Page 42 he is seriously so hot, you have no idea. And his pants hang from his hips (2). He asks if Jose is her boyfriend to reminds us that Doms are ALWAYS jealous and then tells her what a mystery she is. I want to give him this book to read and tell him "Don't worry, she will tell you EVERYTHING in here." You guys. He is a control freak. Also Kate is beautiful. THIS BOOK COULD BE HALF AS LONG AS THIS WHAT THE FUCK.

They start talking about her family, and I find out what I was wondering earlier - her biological dad died when she was a baby, which explains everything. However, when she asks similar questions he doesn't want to talk about his family. UH OH I WONDER IF HE'S HIDING SOMETHING BAD ABOUT HIS FAMILY AND ALSO IF THAT'S WHAT TURNED HIM INTO A BAD BAD MAN. Five year olds write stories that are less obvious than this one. I hate you.

Chapter 3 ends with him walking her back to her Kate's car after coffee. Despite living in Portland for four fucking years she walks out in front of a bike and he has to pull her out of the street to keep her from accidentally hipsterciding herself. She lands in his arms because I am reading a Harlequin novel and, oh there it is! His bodywash (1) is fucking intoxicating! How goddamn amazing, the man takes showers with soap! He asks if she's ok and creepily caresses her face and she tells the readers that this is the first time, ever, in her WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE, she has ever wanted to be kissed. Ever. EVER. I'm going to stick scissors in my ear because of this book. My note is angry, incredulous: "Eat ALL of the dicks."

This is as far as I am going to be able to get tonight. I am concerned I might not get a whole lot further at all. I am trying hard to stick with it long enough to get to a sex scene so I can eviscerate it, but the next time her character uses "taciturn" out loud to describe someone or any other phrase that is only there so she can prove that she knows big words I am going to lose my shit. I hate everything right now.

50 Heaves of Puke

Ok, I know I owe you another post about my time in Pittsburgh because there were drag queens and I was dressed like a slut and we watched porn and I swear I will get back to it.

BUT.

I have been asked recently by about a dozen people whether I have read Fifty Shades of Grey. It's not an unreasonable question. Even people who casually read this blog  know that I am a reader of books and that I am all about the sexy time. Some people who know me even better than that know that I also write about the sexy time (elsewhere, not here) and that said sexy time is not entirely unlike the type of sexy time that is contained in this book. Also because everyone else is reading it.

Up til now I hadn't read it, for two reasons:

• A book becoming super crazy popular overnight such that OH MY GOD EVERYONE IS DOING IT makes me immediately not want to read that book (see: The DaVinci Code, The Hunger Games, any of the Twilight books)
• Based on my own experiences of people reading MY writing, it seemed unlikely that a book with such mass appeal was going to be an accurate representation of BDSM culture and I almost certainly wouldn't like it.

A few people had tried to encourage me to read it by pointing out that bringing an historically hidden subculture into the mainstream was probably a good thing and I thought, eh, maybe. They also pointed out that if I didn't like it, I could always skewer it here on Bizzybiz, which you probably guessed from the "up til now" statement above I am about to do (this is called foreshadowing. I will discuss foreshadowing at length very soon), but at the time it still wasn't enough for me to take the leap. What finally changed my mind was when my *friend* (she has appeared frequently on this blog, but I haven't asked her permission to talk about this yet so I need to wait to tell you who it is) got it as a gift and said to me "You have to read this. It is TERRIBLE."

So, last night I started reading 50 Shades of Grey, with the expectation that I wouldn't like it and for the express purpose of saying mean things about it on this blog.

I was entirely blindsided by how earth shatteringly awful this book actually is. I had a notebook on me to take notes so I could remember what I didn't like about it. After ONE chapter I had two pages of notes, largely written in all caps and containing insightful criticisms such as "I hate everyone in this book" and "Go die". After TWO chapters I was actually yelling. Out loud. At a book. Halfway through the third chapter I realized I was taking notes about every single page and went downstairs to try and buy a copy I could write in, but the book store was sold out of it and I knew humanity was doomed.

So here's the deal. I am going to read and review this book for you guys. The temptation is to do chapter by chapter summaries, but that is what Mark from Mark Reads (a project that started with Mark Reads Twilight (So You Don't Have To) and is fucking amazing) pioneered and does an incredible job of on his website, so I'm going to do my very best not to write it like that because stealing isn't nice. There are going to be spoilers all over the place, so if you're one of the people out there who has just been DYING to read this but hasn't had the time, I would suggest not reading this. Or do read it to avoid completely wasting your time because oh my god. Whatever works for you. I may post photos of my notes, or instead cite a few of them if I start taking notes in the actual book because there are so damn many of them. It is also very likely that I may give up in the middle of this book, given that I haven't finished three whole chapters and I already want to throw it into a fire.

One last warning and this one is mostly for my family (since my co-workers already know this shit): it is extremely likely that I will compare and contrast scenes in this book to scenes related to my own experience. It is probably more than you EVER want to know about me (if you don't believe me, ask BrownsFan). So if you are at all related to me and/or are desperate to avoid any spoilers, you will want to skip any post in which the title starts with "50". Got it?

Great! Away we go!

A Weekend In Pittsburgh - Day 1

I went to Pittsburgh this past weekend because my phone is an asshole.

For the record, I still hate my iPhone. I even went so far as to name it "Asshole Phone" so every time I connect it with iTunes it asks me if I want to update things on my asshole phone. On this particular day I was hating my phone because it allows me to be recklessly impulsive. Earlier in the day, I had been insisting to StereoNinja that Ben Folds is the greatest lyricist ever because he is. I was thinking about it on the way home and started wondering if he had any shows coming up in Chicago. But wait! I have an iPhone now, I don't have to wonder! A quick search showed me that he did NOT have any Chicago events coming up. What he DID have was a concert in Pittsburgh with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra on Memorial Day weekend. I have always wanted to see Ben Folds play with an orchestra. I found myself wondering if there were cheap flights to Pittsburgh that weekend. Asshole phone told me that there was. Before I knew what was happening to me I'd bought tickets to the show and booked a flight. I was still on the fucking train, and I had impulsively planned an entire trip on my way home from work, in a situation where if I didn't have a fucking iPhone I would have had to wait until I got home and probably talked myself out of it. It was only when I did finally get home that it occurred to me I had not bothered to check with TupperDoug to see if he was even going to be in town. Stupid phone. Luckily he was available.

I have been to Pittsburgh many times, but this was my first time actually flying there. It turns out they have a very nice if somewhat confusing airport. Not confusing as in difficult to navigate, confusing as in what the fuck is happening here? On the way to baggage claim, I was greeted by two similarly sized statues appearing to be of equal importance. The one on the right is of George Washington, leader of the revolution and the first President of the United States of America. The statue on the left is of Franco Harris, who was a tailback with the Pittsburgh Steelers in the 70's and early 80's. Apparently in Pittsburgh those two occupations are roughly the same.

football players = the founding fathers

I was still struggling to process that when I got to the bottom of the escalator and discovered the skeleton of a T-Rex for apparently no reason at all.

Welcome to Pittsburgh, bitch.

I hadn't seen TupperDoug since Simmy's wedding nearly 7 years ago and I hadn't been to Pittsburgh for several years longer than that. This turned out to be irrelevant: from the moment he picked me up from the airport it was as though we'd just seen each other yesterday, right down to our traditional game of What Do You Want To Do I Don't Know What Do You Want To Do. Before we did anything though, we went home to his new house so we could drop off my stuff and I could finally meet his partner, Ron Jeremy (not the actual Ron Jeremy. What happened was we were talking about how all of this was going to end up on the blog and I mentioned that he'd get to pick his own blog name since we were discussing it before hand and how that was good because then he wouldn't get saddled with something stupid like MrBalls or StereoNinja. He said he'd think about it. Later we were watching a Showtime show called Dave's Old Porn (which we will get back to in a minute) and it was jokingly suggested that his blog name be Ron Jeremy. We laughed about it, but he never did get back to me about what he'd like to be called, so...he's Ron Jeremy. Thankfully, he in no way resembles the actual Ron Jeremy.) and have a drink while we decided what to do. Ron Jeremy was concerned that 11 a.m. might be too early to start drinking, which TupperDoug and I found completely hilarious and so rum was poured. This is also when TupperDoug brought out his photos (the only ones known to exist) from the Legendary Night of Christmas Eve Eve, which are even more ridiculous that I remember (this may be because I don't remember half of them because I was passed out on the bathroom floor with no shirt on).

After playing catch up on what's been going on for the last 7 years (i.e. I am still slutty but now with more public nudity and trapeze classes; TupperDoug has literally become the "damn kids get off my lawn" guy and yells at kids for being on his lawn), we noticed we were hungry so off we went to drink beer in a church.

The Church Brew Works is exactly what you think it is: a building that was once a church but is now a microbrewery. What makes it special is how little they have changed the building. Arches, a narthex, pew seating, the nave, stained glass windows have all been maintained. The brew kettles sit on the completely intact altar, perfect since I more or less worship craft beer (ok, more). I went the Saaz Monster because it said "monster" in the name and was described as hoppy, an IPA, and a taste of the Coconut Stout because coconuts. Also there was food, but my point is, beer in a church.

That evening, TupperDoug and I went to the Ben Folds show as per the pointplaying it with the Western Australia Symphony Orchestra which will give you some idea of how it works even though it sounds nothing at all like the version we heard.

After the show we found ourselves in that weird state people our age tend to get in, where you're too jacked up to go to sleep but far too tired to go out. I used this to my advantage and began phase one of what has been my super secret sinister plan all along - to turn America into Britain. I started with getting them hooked on some of the finer television shows BBC America has to offer, first Top Gear and then a sci fi classic. I e-mailed one of my friends in England: "I am introducing [TupperDoug] and [Ron Jeremy] to Dr. Who. I am on a mission to make everybody English. Send scones." David Tennant and his crazy eyes kept us up past two in the morning, proving once again that Dr. Who has magical powers.

Next up: Pittsburgh Day 2 - The Weirdness Continues

Damn World Leaders, Get Off My Lawn

In case you are reading this and you are not from Chicago, this past weekend was the NATO summit and it was held right here in the second city for some reason (despite the fact that the G8 summit was like THE DAY BEFORE and half the people attending were already at Camp David for that and why couldn't you just have it there you dicks?). If you ARE from Chicago you are certain to already know this because OH MY FUCK what a shit farming nightmare.

There are two elements to hosting a NATO summit: visiting dignitaries and visiting protesters. The dignitaries fuck up traffic because god forbid they use the same roads as the lowly vassals who live here, so all the roads anywhere near where they currently are or might be going in the future are closed to the unwashed public. The protesters fuck up traffic by standing in the middle of the fucking street as close as they can get to where ever the dignitaries currently are or might be going in the future, or that they aren't going to at all but there was a rumor started that they might, or near any building that houses any company large enough that you've heard of them, or anywhere else they might suspect of quartering The Man.

Let me just stop for a second and remind everyone that I have no real political leanings whatsoever and whether you think NATO is good or bad does not interest me - I just wanted them to go somewhere fucking else. Similarly, I have no problem in principle with protesting about anything a group of people believes to be unjust - you are just in my fucking way. (Although when asked by a WGN reporter on the street what message they wanted to send to NATO, a disturbingly large proportion of them said that America doesn't spend enough money on education, which is true but leads me to believe they don't really understand what NATO does.)

Anyway, back to my entirely apolitical rant: NATO and angry college students fucked up my entire weekend. On Saturday I stayed in, being unwilling to deal with the mania any more than I had to, but even this couldn't be done undisturbed because every helicopter in Illinois was hovering over the city making it completely impossible to sleep or watch television. It was also the day I found out that Sunday was going to be completely ruined. There was SUPPOSED to be a nipple tassel making and twirling workshop at Studio L'Amour that I had been looking forward to for weeks. Alas, NATO struck again and I got an e-mail from Michelle herself that the workshop was cancelled because you couldn't get anywhere near the studio because the roads all around it were closed. Worse than that, it's been rescheduled for June 23, which means I can't go to it at all now because I'll be in Indianapolis that weekend for the 5K. I took my frustrations to Facebook, as one does, and wrote the following status: "And now NATO has fucked up my nipple tassel making class tomorrow and it's been rescheduled for the day I'll be getting chased by zombies. This weekend keeps getting worse!" Now, because I am me instead of someone with a life that remotely resembles some standard of normal, that first sentence seemed to me like a regular "People are fucking up my shit" rant. It wasn't until people started leaving comments that it dawned on me that making nipple tassels and running zombie races are not run of the mill every day things for most people, or that to have them ruined by NATO was at all unusual. Once I realized that, I was sorry that I didn't add "At least I don't have to leave trapeze class early now" because, you see, trapeze class slightly overlapped my nipple tassel class, a problem we've all run into at some point I'm sure.

It was rumored late in the previous week that the Occupy movement might try to shut down Boeing because they do evil things when they aren't busy making planes or something. Because our offices are in close proximity to Boeing, and also because Metra had restricted anyone from bring anything besides basically the clothes they were wearing (and even then you shouldn't be wearing too much clothes) on any trains, it was decided that we would close the office for the day and work from home. At that point, thinking I was smart, I decided that I was going to make a doctor's appointment for Monday afternoon and that way not have to schedule time off for it. One problem: my doctor is in a town that is 45 minutes to an hour away at the best of times. I decided to give that commute an hour and a half just in case. I got in my car and started driving sitting in traffic. It took me 45 minutes to go a distance that generally takes 10 at rush hour. Approaching the entrance to the highway I discovered why: the Kennedy was closed because OH MY GOD IMPORTANT PEOPLE ARE HEADED FOR THE AIRPORT AT VARIOUS TIMES FOR THE NEXT SIX HOURS. It wasn't hard to figure out that since it took me 45 minutes to travel 2 miles, it was unlikely I'd have time to cover the other 30 miles in time for my appointment, so I called (a terrifying experience all by itself!) to reschedule for a time when I AM supposed to be in the office, and then sat in traffic for ANOTHER 45 minutes to get back to where I started.

I cannot be happier right now that we lost our Olympic bid, or that the G8 moved to Camp David (it was originally supposed to be here too), and if we never host anything here ever again I will not be sad about it at all.

If we DO, well, I just fucking won't be here that weekend because FUCK. THAT.

For Some Reason He Still Lives With Me

We had a whole mess of strawberries. Which is delicious but makes me more annoying than usual.

The bartender: What should we have for dinner?

Me: We could have some strawberry shortcake.

The bartender: Strawberry shortcake isn't dinner.

Me: ....Are you sure?*

-------------------------

The bartender: You know what? You could put some strawberries and whip cream on your pancakes.

Me: WHAT? No, I will put maple syrup and butter on them AS GOD INTENDED.

The bartender: You don't believe in that.

Me: The god of pancakes. HIS NAME IS FLAPJACK.



*Follow up: I told this story to StereoNinja and got this e-mail in reply:

I checked on Google and I am afraid [the bartender] is right - Strawberry shortcake is NOT dinner.
Other things that are NOT dinner include:
1. Candy
2. Cookies
3. Doritos
4. Bowl of dicks

The both a yous can go snack on a bowl of dicks.

An Entire Day Of Nerdery

Today I am recovering from both advanced burlesque class yesterday (when Michelle said the warm ups were "a little different" from beginner class apparently what she meant was "will kill you") and the preceding 24 hours of excessive geekery for which I actually want to shove myself in a locker.

It all started with a random thought that I should google "sexy geek clothes" because of some vague idea I'd had while falling asleep of stripping dressed as a TARDIS and ending up in pasties shaped like bow ties because bow ties are cool. I did, and eventually the rabbit hole of clicking on things led me to this which I immediately tweeted to Mrs. Sizemore and then bought for myself because I read comic books now. This happened on Tuesday afternoon at work, which is I'm sure when you buy all of your nerdtastic garter belts so shut up (BrownsFan, please forget that you read this sentence. Thanks). After that I went home and watched a show I had DVRed called "The Science of Sexual Attraction" while I waited for the hockey to start, the theme of the day apparently being "I AM GOING TO CRAM SEX INTO ALL MY NERD SHIT UNTIL IT FITS WHICH KIND OF ALSO REMINDS ME OF SEX".

The next thing I knew I woke up and it was Wednesday. Last weekish, Mrs. Sizemore had tricked me into buying comic books, which I read, and then realized that if I don't buy the rest of them I will not find out how the story ends which is not ok. So naturally I asked her if I could tag along on her weekly trip to the comic book store and pick up the next three issues. It was the opening she seemed to have been waiting for, because on the train ride over she launched into a list of other comics I should be reading and why, which translated in my head as "words words words. Words. Words words Batman words words."

At the comic book store we found all the Avengers vs. X-Men issues I needed and I asked Mrs. Sizemore what other ONE book I should pick up and start reading. "Ok, well when you were reading AvX, were you thinking there needed to be more fight scenes?"

"I was thinking about which cosplay character I wanted to be," I answered her which is a) true and b) probably the nerdiest thing I've ever said. We ended up not getting me any other books because she thinks I should wait for the trades to come out (which is when they take all the comics from a series and put them all together in one book and I knew what she was talking about because I know this lingo now and who am I?). Then she went to the counter to get her pulls for the week (which is when the comic book store takes all the different books you buy every week and sets them aside for you because they know you are coming). In case you weren't already sure that she is insane, this is roughly about 30 comic books that she buys every week.

Pulls acquired, we decided to browse the toy section to see if there was anything there we "needed". She bought a mini bat signal for her desk, whilst my eyes fell on a toy that so defies logic I absolutely HAD to own it. It's a toy Dalek from Dr. Who. A plushie toy Dalek. For those of you who are not Whovians (most of you?), the Daleks are a race of basically robots of hate. The hatey robots roll around trying to kill everything that isn't a Dalek (except for when the new Daleks decided to kill the old Daleks because they were obsolete but that's not really my point) and yelling "EXTERMINATE!" in hatey robot voices. So a plushie version of this is probably the most ridiculous and incongruous toy ever manufactured. Or as Mrs. Sizemore succinctly put it "'Cuddly as a Dalek' is not an expression". There's now a squishy Dalek sitting on my desk that I periodically pick up and hug and it yells "EXTERMINATE!" at me and I am in love.

All this comic book and Dr. Who tomfoolery made our little nerd brains tired, so we and the two other ladies we were with went across the street for some lunch. As well rounded nerds we are all reading and/or watching Game of Thrones because of course we are, and at some point this turned into a lively debate about whether or not Mrs. Sizemore is a Lannister since she plots things a lot. We decided neither after I made her tell the story about extorting money out of her siblings when she was a child by forcing them to pay her a toll every time they went in the hallway, whereupon Sarah rightly declared that she is obviously a Frey and we should probably all start calling her Walder.

The conversation was hilarious and I was starting to think about how I would blog it and the rest of the afternoon, when I realized that doing so would probably mean me having to explain Dr. Who and Daleks and comic book culture terminology and cosplay and the major houses from Game of Thrones and it was then that I discovered that my nerd credentials were far more outstanding than I had realized.

Achievement unlocked.

A Weekend With Mrs. Sizemore

A couple of things about Mrs. Sizemore:
1. She is awesome.
2. She is exhausting.

Both of these things tend to come into play when you spend a weekend with her.

A couple of months back, Mrs. Sizemore, who is a massive comic book fan (and I don't mean "for a girl"; I mean she has a giant box bigger than she is in her apartment filled with other boxes that when unfolded will hold several thousand comic books) and who has been reading ENTIRELY TOO MUCH NIGHTWING recently, up and decided that she wanted to learn trapeze. Which, when she said this I was immediately all OH EM GEE ME TOO and so currently we are both taking trapeze lessons at a place called the Aloft Loft where, in addition to teaching budding superheroes and/or strippers how to hang upside down from things, they also put on a regular show called El Circo Cheapo.

El Circo Cheapo is exactly what it sounds like - a show with very cheap tickets (even cheaper if you don't spring for a fancy thing known as a "chair" and agree to sit on the floor) that features various circus/aerial acts hanging from things and generally being way more amazing than I will ever be. So on Saturday night, Mrs. Sizemore and I went to that. It was absolutely incredible, from the double trapeze act staring our teacher Sarah, to the unbelievably graceful and romantic German wheel duet, to the hilarious audience volunteer that some Canadian dude stood on top of while juggling machetes.

The problem with El Circo Cheapo is that it is in a cab dead zone and ends after the Damen bus stops running, so after the show we spent a good deal of time walking up Damen until we found a really ambitious cab driver (when Mrs. Sizemore asked "Can you take us to Irving Park?" he replied "I can take you anywhere in the world!" which I'm pretty sure is not true because, you know, oceans and whatnot). Mrs. Sizemore had it in her head that the perfect wrap up to watching upside down people was eating greasy diner food at nearly 1 in the morning, so we headed to a diner on Irving Park Road that oddly enough is named "The Diner". I should point out here that it being Cinco de Mayo on Saturday, I had used it as an excuse to drink pretty much all day long, which is the only explanation I can offer for sending an email to StereoNinja in the middle of the night which pretty much just read "Chocolate milkshake, bitches!" Meanwhile, Mrs. Sizemore was attracting a great deal of attention to herself by ordering the most excruciatingly specific meal ever ordered at 1 a.m. by someone who was not completely stoned. It was while we were enjoying our food at The Diner that Mrs. Sizemore asked what I was doing the next day.

"Nothing," I replied.

"Good. Do you want to go see Avengers again tomorrow?"

The important thing to realize here is that I hadn't actually seen Avengers yet, given that it had only been released the day before and also I suck at going to the movies. But by this point, Mrs. Sizemore had already seen it twice. I agreed to go, but admitted I was skeptical of whether or not I would like it because I have a huge thing for Edward Norton and Mark Ruffalo is no Edward Norton, but she assured me that while that was true, he totally IS Bruce Banner and I should just go with it.

We met up the next day to head over to the matinee at the Davis Theater which we chose to walk to since it had mostly stopped raining. This gave her plenty of time to explain to me the various versions and back stories of every character, how they were the same or different from the comic book versions and why Thor is amazeballs. "Because he has a hammer?" I guessed.

"He has TWO hammers and they are called his biceps," she answered.

I am not about to ruin The Avengers for you by telling you all about it, but I will tell you that 1. Ok, FINE, Mark Ruffalo is an awesome Bruce Banner and 2. stop reading this right now and go see it, because it is for reals the best superhero movie to date (which of course it was going to be because, hi, Joss Whedon).

The one spoiler I will give you is that near the end of the movie, Tony Stark decides that they should go out for shawarma later even though he doesn't know what it is. Neither did I until I googled it, but that didn't stop Mrs. Sizemore from insisting that we ALSO go eat some of the same after the movie because when she picks a theme for the day, she REALLY picks a theme for the day. For some reason I agreed to this even though I know I like neither kebabs nor falafal which didn't bode well for the shawarma. I also allowed her to talk me into walking there because "It's a couple blocks from the theater".

It isn't.

What IS a couple blocks from the theater is a comic book store, specifically, a comic book store that Mrs. Sizemore had not been to the day before on Free Comic Book Day and that she was hoping would have some of the books she hadn't been able to find the day before (which they did). She used my Avengers euphoria against me to get me inside the store. She then used the hilariously stereotypical comic book store guy to help talk me into trying out this whole "reading comic books" thing, and before I knew it, I had a bag with issues 0 and 1 of Avengers vs. X-Men and had dashed off another incredulous email to StereoNinja: "I'm in a comic book store. Buying comic books. WTF is happening to me?" While I was doing that, Mrs. Sizemore was accidentally seducing comic book guy by knowing absolutely everything about every comic book ever written in history and not shutting up. In the midst of this she also bought several back issues she was missing, Thor's hammer, some little action figures, and a book called Darth Vader and Son that I had been coveting but didn't buy because we'd been there an hour already and I was starving. She also talked comic book guy into giving her a poster right off the wall and started shilling Nightwing to the store's lone other customer ("It's not shilling if it's actually good," she insisted). Throughout this, I kept pointing out to her that the one thing they didn't sell in the comic book store was FOOD and eventually I managed to drag her out of there.

We continued walking to the shawarma place, which was always "a couple blocks away" no matter how many blocks we'd already walked. We walked past a goose that was hanging out in the road by himself as if he were trying to hail a cab. "Look, a goose!" Mrs. Sizemore was excited, apparently because she doesn't know anything about geese.

"Do not go over to the goose," I warned her.

"Why?" she asked, ignoring me and walking toward the goose.

"Geese are mean. I'm serious, cut that out. They attack people."

Evidently she didn't believe me. "Hey goose!" she said walking up to it.

"HSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

"Oh my god, it hissed at me!"

"They do that. I told you so. You're lucky it didn't attack you."

Finally, some two miles from where we'd started, we found the shawarma place, where I informed her in no uncertain terms that we were NOT walking all the way back because it was far, and it was dark, and we didn't know the neighborhood, and there was an angry goose running around. We argued about the relative hotness of Thor vs Hawkeye while she simultaneously gloated on Twitter about getting me to buy comic books.

It was after 9 at this point, and I was exhausted. Mrs. Sizemore is evidently NEVER exhausted, because her suggestion was that after we ate, we should get a cab to her house, walk her dog, go buy a bottle of wine, go to her friend's place where she is supposed to be feeding the cat, feed said cat and then sit there and drink the bottle of wine while we watched Captain America. I said that suggestion sounded good, but not quite as good as mine which was that after we ate, I should go the fuck home and go to bed. I am much older than she is, what do you want from me? We decided to compromise and are now set to watch Captain America on Tuesday instead.

Please Make It Stop

Me: I have been transported to 1993 and it was worse than I remembered

H-Town: how did that work?

Me: I have Informer stuck in my head and it is AWFUL

H-Town: oh god
NOOOOO

Me: RIGHT

H-Town: dammit, now it's in my head

Me: i have a sudden urge to go put on a flannel shirt that is four sizes too big. PLEASE SEND HELP

H-Town: Here, this will make everything better. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyx6JDQCslE

Me: THIS IS NOT BETTER
WHY DO YOU HATE ME

H-Town: hahahahahahahaha

I Hope Nerdery Doesn't Get Me Kicked Off The List

Me: in other news i am not a terrorist
i have a sticker in my passport that says so

H-Town: oh, you got approved for the fast track thingee?

Me:yeah, yesterday

H-Town:congrats on not being full of terror
well, on airplanes anyway

Me:word
i'm now allowed back into my own country without anyone being all EXPLAIN YOURSELF

H-Town: Time to smuggle!

Me: I'm really good at smuggling tons of cookies
well sort of, i tend to eat a lot of them on the plane actually

H-Town: You're like the most non-threatening smuggler ever

Me: totally
greedo would have shot first

Duh.

Cleveland friend: You were in my dream last night. Whats up with dat?

Me: Obviously you're not getting enough pussy.

I'm Not Allowed To Go To Stevenage

Years ago while I was planning my first trip to England, the comic, who enjoys both history and having an opinion about it, decided that he should tell me a little bit about the area I would be visiting. I thought this was a good idea as well having recently seen a map - it appears the English are incapable of building a straight road, and I thought it would be good to know something about the wrong places I would end up when I inevitably got lost. He broke it down for me: Hitchin is better than Letchworth. Letchworth is better than Stevenage. Actually, everywhere is better than Stevenage. Everyone is fucking mad in Stevenage. As a matter of fact, I could forget all of that because I wasn't allowed to go to Stevenage.

Upon arrival I met the beautiful Sulu. We became friends instantly and being the demure and conservative girls we are, we took off in her new car down the A1 to an adult store to stock up on various sex toys and have a cappuccino. All that artificial penis made us hungry, so we decided dinner was in order and since I was not yet aware of the appalling lack of decent Mexican food in that country I asked if there was somewhere we could get it. According to Sulu the only Mexican joint that would be open at that hour was in Stevenage. Always the rule follower, I told her, "I'm not allowed to go to Stevenage." We went for Italian in Letchworth instead, which was the better idea anyway: I've since seen the "Mexican" food on offer in that part of the world and it confuses me and makes me sad.

Years later when I regained control of my senses, I found myself in Hitchin sitting outside the Sunrunner with a coterie of fabulous lunatics and someone mentioned a shop that happened to be in Stevenage. "Back when I was with [the comic]," I told them laughing, "he used to tell me that I wasn't allowed to go to Stevenage." Conversation stopped as a dozen heads swiveled towards me with grave looks on their faces and all together collectively informed me, "You're still not allowed to go to Stevenage."

Since then it's become something of a thing with us. Anytime Stevenage gets mentioned in any context, someone (most of the time not me) will inform any newcomers "Amber's not allowed to go to Stevenage." This statement generally leads to one of several similar follow up questions:

• Why not? ("Because it's Stevenage.")
• Not allowed or don't want to? ("Not allowed.")
• Doesn't that just make you want to go there? ("It doesn't matter, she's not allowed.")

Others don't bother to even question it. When I told the good doctor about it (who grew up in Stevenage but has since escaped) on his last trip to Chicago, he informed me it was a good rule since as likely as not I would get shot there. The best response so far came from someone who quite seriously told me "Neither am I," apparently having been banned from any number of establishments for various wrongdoings. It's nice to know I'm not the only one.

I'm currently in the process of planning my next trip over to accommodate the sure-to-be-off-the-hook birthday party of a friend (a friend who has to be physically restrained from rapping in public and injures herself more often than I do which would be impressive if it wasn't so ridiculous). I have no plans to go to Stevenage - I'm not allowed.

Everything You Need To Know About Sports

me: i think you might like hockey
especially if there's canadian announcers, they are HILARIOUS

StereoNinja: i was tempted to watch it but then i decided i wanted to see it with you
I am a hockey virgin
take me................
but treat me gently
its my first time

me: i'm sorry that's not how we do things in hockey

---------------------------

me: so i'm totally crazy with the hockey playoffs

H-town: ugh, i need ESPN
i'm so out of it

me: NBC has some of the games

H-town: i just mean highlights
so i know who in which sport is doing well and who sucks
and so on
I HAVE TO BE ABLE TO TALK SPORTS

me: yeah, that would be good
i can tell you this: the cubs? suck
the indians? also suck
lebron? is a penis

H-town: haha

me: there, you're caught up

Heather: ok good
phew

You're welcome.

St. Pats And Barry The Leprechaun

I arrived in England on St. Patrick's Day and immediately set about trying to turn my friends into Americans. This was not at all on purpose. Before setting out on my journey, I had solicited from all my friends their requests for things they'd like me to bring over from the colonies. Apart from the hairdresser who had responded "Your country has nothing to offer me, woman", I had gifts for nearly everyone: Doritos for MrBalls (I gave these to him as something of an apology - I'd had a t-shirt I'd ordered shipped to his house which was posted in packaging more translucent than I had anticipated, causing his postman to say "I wanted to hand this to you personally" whilst giving him my new shirt, the words "I am someones fucktoy" clearly visible through the plastic. My bad, dude), Peeps for the Evil Lesbian (she'd asked me to bring her "something fun" and I luckily saw the Peeps on the shelf at CVS before going off in search of "something fun" for her at the adult toy store), and graham crackers for Sulu (which she adorably calls "Graeme's crackers"). Sulu had discovered S'mores last summer when she was in Boston. Neither Peeps nor S'mores are a thing in England, so I set about explaining the origin of Peeps and the fact that while everyone gets them in their Easter basket, almost no one actually eats them. The Evil Lesbian had already eaten half of them before I'd finished my explanation. We managed to wrestle a couple of Peeps away from her long enough for me to introduce the sport of Peep jousting, which everyone was quite taken with, apparently having never put marshmallows in the microwave before. The Peeps fought valiantly, but in the end, their melted carcasses were inhaled by the Evil Lesbian as soon as they'd cooled enough to touch. Sulu and I cut the heads off a few more of them and made everyone what I'm calling Peep Murdering S'mores TM.

Later that evening, we headed down The Vic for some St. Pats debauchery. Having been advised by the mutineer that wearing a "Fuck you, you're Irish" t-shirt may be more trouble than it's worth, I chose a different green t-shirt which read "I'd fuck me" which everyone seemed to agree with, especially Booth who expressed this by tongue raping my nose shortly after our introduction. I unfestively spent the night drinking Strongbow, mostly because I haven't got nearly enough patience to wait for a properly poured Guinness. This would prove to be the drunkest night of my entire trip, a trip I miraculously managed to get through without a single hangover, despite the best efforts of my alleged friends. I remember accidentally inventing a game called Tits or Knees? by zipping my hoodie up with my legs inside because I was cold and then waiting for people to do a double take, a drunk mutineer repeatedly taking his jacket off that everyone might admire his "swans", a photo of the Evil Lesbian and me taken under the sign for the ladies looking skeptical about being labeled as such, and I will never be able to forget the nose rape because, seriously, what the fuck, Booth?

The following evening, Sulu and I got the all clear signal from our darling Steve and drove out to visit him in his pub. Steve's pub is a mostly laid back comfortable joint in Luton filled with an assortment of characters and as such I did not wear vinyl trousers. I managed to draw attention to myself anyway, though, as no matter how hard I try to blend in over there, my accent makes me stand out, particularly in Luton which is not known as an international tourist mecca. Several grumbly men at the bar asked me where I was from and when I told them I was from Chicago and on holiday, I was met with disbelieving stares and incredulous questions: "You're on holiday from Chicago, and you came to Luton?" I didn't of course, I was only there to see Steve, but they didn't seem to think a holiday in Hitchin was a whole lot more sensible either.

Steve had been warned in no uncertain terms that he was NOT to get me drunk because I had unspeakably filthy plans for the next day and absolutely could not be hungover. He decided it was best to get the serious drinking out of the way at the beginning of the evening. "You have to try this, it's awful," he said, pouring me a shot of something I could smell from across the room that tasted for all the world like battery acid that had been fermented and distilled in a bathtub, an accusation he neither confirmed nor denied. Sulu was driving, so he wrapped her shot in a bunch of plastic wrap so she could dissolve her tongue with it later when we'd gone home. I switched to my standard amaretto after I'd regained my ability to speak and breathe.

Apparently, St. Pats weekend wasn't over yet. After Sulu and I tried out our snake handling skills on the snake Steve keeps in the bar these days we were ready to go, but Steve insisted that we had to stay for a while as "something" was going to happen that we wouldn't want to miss. This something was Barry the Leprechaun. Nearest I can tell, Barry the Leprechaun is just a drunk Irishman named Barry who had happened upon some green velvet trousers and a matching jacket in a thrift store which he bought for £10 and decided to pair said outfit with an outrageous wig and head to the pub. Barry had just returned from a rather long stint in Germany, so, already in his cups, he spent the evening talking shit and counting in German or occasionally slipping into a German accent and arguing with Steve over the value of foreign currency. Steve watched in wonder and amusement whilst Sulu and I spent the better part of two hours alternately taking the piss out of him. "I can't even see you tagging each other," he told us. "I don't know how you two know when it's time to switch." When we'd had our fill of that, we finally got up to say our goodbyes. Barry hugged me entirely too long and I eventually had to say "Barry, please sit down before you fall down." I hugged Steve goodbye without breaking his neck (he thinks I hug too hard, I think he should shut up and take it like a man) and demanded that he go to the Double Down Saloon in Vegas and drink the ass juice as if there were some chance of him giving that adventure a miss. He went, of course, and even tried the bacon martini because he does that sort of thing.

My Reputation Preceeds Me

Me: How was your Easter?

PCA: Good. How was yours?

Me: Also good.

PCA: What did you...?

Me: We had ham.

PCA: Oh. Ok. Good.

Me: Why do you look so relieved?

PCA: Well, I thought you might say something about...

Me: They don't LIVE HERE.

Office Manager: I can leave if you guys want to...

PCA: It's ok, she said ham.

StereoNinja Is Not Impressed With My Wine Pairings

Me: I am drinking red wine and wanted to tell you it goes with something else besides cheese. It goes great with Gummy Bears. That is all.

StereoNinja: So what you are telling me is that you took perfectly good wine and turned it into candy wine?

Me: That is not what I'm telling you. I'm telling you I took perfectly gross wine and ate some candy whilst drinking it, which made it less horrible. A little.

StereoNinja: I don't want to talk about the wine anymore. You are a philistine and you will be first up against the wall when the revolution comes.

There's Not Enough Nerds At Work To Fill A Space Cruiser

By tomorrow afternoon I will have been home from my latest trip to England for an entire week. I haven't posted about it yet, and it's not because I'm lazy (though I am), nor is it because I didn't do anything worth writing about (because I did). It's mostly because I'm struggling with the format for writing it. Normally I would write it up chronologically, you see, but in this case, my activities for all of both Mondays, Tuesday afternoon, most of Wednesday, the second half of Friday, a good portion of Saturday and the following Wednesday morning are the kinds of things better covered on an entirely different sort of blog (and they will be as soon as I remember to do some blogging at a time that I'm not at work). Anyway, recaps of the best trip anyone has ever taken to England ever will be along shortly.

In the meantime, this just happened:

BrownsFan (to the new guy): You're not into Star Wars at all, are you?

New guy: I wouldn't say not at all, but no, not really. (pause) This has something to do with Amber, doesn't it?

As he said this, I was standing in the hallway of my office holding up a massive sleeping bag shaped like a tauntaun that I bought from Thinkgeek late last week and had shipped to the office because it's where I tell people to ship things. It is the single greatest stupid-ass thing I have ever bought in my life and I was determined to force everyone to observe my joy, so I dragged the entire box into BrownsFan's office where she was suitably impressed because she is fucking awesome. New guy, on the other hand, was spectacularly disappointing. He only had a vague idea what the hell we were talking about, but not only that, he has no recollection AT ALL of Princess Leia's metal bikini (which was brought up by BrownsFan who wanted to know why, if I was such a big Star Wars fan (I had just announced that no one is a bigger Star Wars fan than me which is probably bullshit but whatever) I had done a photo shoot in a Star TREK costume instead of a Star WARS costume, an argument I totally won by pointing out that the only reason I didn't have a Star Wars costume for that shoot is that the metal bikini I am having custom made for me at a cost of literally hundreds of real American dollars wasn't ready at the time of that particular shoot. OBVIOUSLY.). And then I described it to him, and the fact that she clearly had no underwear on, and then openly speculated about how they kept her cooch from popping out when she went flying through the air hanging onto Luke. And then I sat down to write this and re-read that last sentence and was as surprised as ever that I remain both gainfully employed and free of sexual harassment charges.

An Idea Worthy Of Einstein's Birthday

BrownsFan: And can I just say, marshmallow vodka....?

Me: I know. It's like, if you want your booze to taste like candy, then you probably don't really want booze.

BrownsFan: Says the woman who orders wine based on what tastes the most like candy.

Me: RIGHT. You know why? Because I don't REALLY want wine. Marshmallow vodka, no. Just make yourself some Kool-Aid, pour some vodka in there and be done with it.

BrownsFan: Or, couldn't you just pour the Kool-Aid packet directly into the vodka?

Me: .......I have to go email someone.

And Yet I Continue To Have A Job

BrownsFan: So where are you off to?

Me: Oh, I thought I'd head over to Charlotte Russe and see if they had any cheap underwear people can rip.

BrownsFan: You realize you're at work, right?

Me: Well, but...I mean, it's not like it's a real company.

Less than one minute later...

PCA: Have you ever been to see Buckingham Palace?

Me: Yeah, lots of times.

PCA: Do those guys really not move?

Me: They just stand there.

PCA: Could I dare you to show them something?

Me: You mean *show them something*?

PCA: Yes.

Me: .....You realize I'm a stripper for a hobby, right? Just saying, that's not much of a dare.

Note: Technically this is a real company, I just have a hard time believing that anyone willing to employ me could possibly be running a serious enterprise.

iNo.

I finally broke down and got an iPhone yesterday. This is the part where you all gasp incredulously and then yell "YOU ARE ONLY JUST NOW GETTING A SMART PHONE? THE HELL?" I know. I know.

The truth is I didn't really want a smart phone for a number of reasons. For one thing, I am already addicted to my iPad. ADDICTED YOU GUYS. And I have tremendous fear of becoming that person who never ever socializes at all even when out in public because OHMYGODTHEINTERNETSAREEVERYWHERE. Or the person that ruins every fucking bar room debate by immediately looking up the answer and ending the entire conversation. Those guys are assholes and I don't want to be one of those assholes. An even bigger reason is that iPhones tend to get stolen right out of people's hands. It happened to Mrs. Sizemore. A woman here in Chicago was even killed when an iPhone thief pushed her down the stairs at the Belmont Brown line station whilst escaping with someone else's iProperty. I didn't worry about using my phone on the train until today. No one was going to try to steal my flip phone. Now? Now I worry. There is also the much more stupid but nonetheless real reason where I am my father's daughter and oddly resistant to change at times. A phone doesn't need to be filled with apps and do 900 magical things, it needs to make and receive phone calls. That is what "phone" means. I may even have told a number of different people that I would get a smart phone when they pried the perfectly fine regular ass phone out my cold dead hand.

Still, the smart phone thing is long past reaching critical mass and when the bartender got one a couple of months ago I figured it was probably time for me to join the ranks of the Eternally Connected (for reference, two nights ago I patiently explained to him how to attach a photo in an email. For him to have a new thing before I have it is downright ludicrous). I was still reluctant. For help in overcoming this, I turned of course to the great and wise Fish, an early adopter of every technology ever and pretty much the only person whose advice I actually heed (sometimes), and asked him to convince me. "Do you like your iPad? Wish it were more portable? You have the ability to upgrade and you aren't? Why are you fucking this up?" was his typically withering response, so here I am one week later with an iPhone 4s.

I turned it on for the first time and was immediately not a fan. My mild OCD tendencies went into overdrive because the entire first screen was filled with icons. Like 20 icons, which is way too much for me to look at and I was overwhelmed and turned it right back off to catch my breath and regroup. And yes I know I can move and/or group them and have started doing so, but it requires a lot of work to figure out which applications I'm going to use in descending order of frequency and then group them accordingly and when I had a regular phone that only did phone things I didn't have to deal with this. But fine, that problem will be resolved eventually. Then last night while I was laying in bed awake at 3:30 am because my cat is an asshole, it dawned on me that I hadn't checked out Siri yet. (Oh by the way, that commercial with the idiot kid in the shitty band that wants Siri to call him rock god is fucking awful and makes me feel all damn-kids-get-off-my-lawn. Please, please let them stop airing that soon.) I decided to see what she was up to so I asked her "Siri, are you there?" and she replied with, "Wherever you go, that is where I will be." Which is a seriously creepy thing to say and now I am afraid of my iPhone because Siri is FUCKING STALKING ME, YO. I hope this gets better soon before it tarnishes Fish's thus far sterling record of advice giving.

Good News, Everyone!

As you can tell from my last post, I am all signed up for the zombie 5k in Indianapolis this June, which I will again be running with H-Town and this time we will be joined by her brother E-Town. This week I start training again, which I assume will suck just as much if not more than it did last time because I haven't run since the last race in October and despite this El Nino miracle weather going on, it is still way the fuck colder outside than when I last trained for this sort of stupidity in September/October. I have downloaded a shit ton more of The Prodigy from iTunes to help me in matching my running soundtrack to my white hot anger about the fact that I am running.

So what's the good news, then? Well, since you asked, the good news is that after June I am never doing this again. I know I said that last time, but this time it is for real because this time I have a completely legit reason. I was discussing how much I hate running with some of the other women in my dance class last night and as we were talking, the great Michelle L'Amour began making a grimacy sad face at us. "All right," she said in a tone of voice that indicated it wasn't remotely all right, "but please make sure you stretch really well before and after. Running really shortens your hamstrings."

RIGHT THERE. Did you see it? Running shortens your hamstrings. And I am a dancer now, and I need my hamstrings to be long and flexible so I can do cool sexy bendy things. AND I already sit at a desk all day long which is also REALLY BAD for your hamstrings. So you see? I should not be running. At all. Ever. My dance instructor told me so and that woman can bend herself into a very sexy pretzel. I am done with any and all running after June. Instead, following in the footsteps of Mrs. Sizemore, I will be starting trapeze lessons in the spring. Yes, yes I will.

Training Advice From Heather

H-Town:  hey - when are you going to start training for zombie time in June?

me: ugh, i think i should probably start next week actually
i need to be in at least decent shape a month from now because my friends in england have promised to chase me up hills

H-Town: and then reward you with sexy times

me: haha, well some of them

H-Town: tell them to stand nude at the top of said hills
that'll motivate you
"Here I am naked - sure wish someone would come up here and totally do me n stuff"

me: they'll be like "but it's march"
and i'll be like "do you want this piece of ass or not?"
and then they'll be like "it's arse you idiot."

H-Town: "We've secretly replaced Amber's bed with giant hills topped with hot naked people. Let's see if she notices."

me: oh my god we so need to film me not noticing the difference

Amberance: Camera Whore

So waaaaay back in August I did a calendar shoot at VaVoom Pinups. I had originally scheduled it for a project that had to be cancelled (email!), but I decided to keep the appointment anyway, mainly because I am a massive narcissist of long standing. I sincerely mean that. Where almost every other woman on the planet is ducking out of candid photographs telling you how hideous she is, I have never met a camera in my entire life that I didn't immediately jump in front of. I have loved having my photo taken from birth, which is obvious to anyone who has seen any childhood photos of me as I am standing in some sort of ridiculous pose in Every. Single. One. I have never outgrown this habit.

Me at age 7 posing in lingerie and a stupid hat.

Me at age 33 posing in lingerie and a stupid hat.

I obviously enjoy being looked at. In related news, I am now immortal: my amazing friend Charlie so loved the photos from the shoot I did prior to this one, he went and had one of them tattooed on his arm two weeks ago:

IMMORTALITY. Unless Charlie dies, that is.

That's beside the point really, I just felt like mentioning that I AM A TATTOO YOU GUYS.

But back to the story: for the more recent shoot I'd done 14 outfit changes, mostly based on suggestions from those of my friends who are known to be perverts. This made for photos that were a little more risque than the results of the the first photo shoot I did. When I got the proofs I sent them out to a handful of trusted advisers, among them MrTrivia. When I saw him the next day, I asked him what he thought of the photos. He looked uncomfortable. "Ummm...you know there's, like, full frontal in some of those photos, right?"

"Yes. I was there."

"Ok. I just, you know, wanted to make sure you meant to send me that."

I pointed out that my current aspiration was to take all my clothes off on stage in front of strangers and he conceded that I had a point.

I had the whole finished package shipped to me at work because I am ridiculous and because it's now almost a game to see how much I can get away with before they fire me (a couple months ago the CEO mentioned he was tired and I offered him the pillow from under my desk so he could take a nap. I still work here). BrownsFan suggested I put Post-it notes over the bad parts before she looked at it, by which she meant specifically my belly button because she thinks they're gross. Tits and ass, no problem. Navel, GTFO. She's awesome.

This is not the going to be the end of the "take awesome shiny photos of me" thing and here's why: one of the outfits I'd planned to wear for this shoot was Leia's metal bikini from Jabba's palace. There's a guy on the internet that custom makes them for way more money than any sane person would spend on a costume, but they are excellent and so I am getting one, but I didn't have time to get the order in before the shoot so OH WELL I GUESS I WILL JUST HAVE TO GO BACK AND DO IT AGAIN. I really, really, REALLY like having my picture taken you guys.

Happy Overpriced Candy and Dead Plant Day

Allegedly, today is Valentine's Day. I know this because the bartender came in my room this morning and farted on me while yelling "Happy Valentine's Day!" I preferred the valentine I got from StereoNinja, mainly because he didn't get me one. "I was gonna send you an e-card," he told me, "but I fucking hate them so I didn't." Well played, my friend.

Anywhore, happy whatever, you guys. Call me in a month.

Epic Austin Weekend of Boobs and Cake

You may have noticed that I didn't get as out of control wacky over my birthday this year as I normally would and I have a very good reason for that, which is that I decided to make a big deal out of someone else's birthday the following weekend and so I planned an epic trip to Austin instead.

I should back up a bit. I have a friend from college named Ashley, who you may remember from this story involving several failed drunk dialing attempts and my keychain winding up in another person's crotchal area. In fact, prior to Epic Austin Trip, that was the last time I'd seen her. Well, back in October or so, I made some sort of offhand comment about coming to see her for her birthday (which is the week after mine) and that also the cake master (who you may remember from when she tried to invite me to go camping) and H-town (who you may remember from every cool thing I have ever done in my life) should come along too. I made this offhand comment on Ashley's Facebook page, where it was seen by Jil with one L (who you will not remember from previous stories because I hadn't seen her in 15 years) (also she has the same birthday as me) who responded with something to the effect of "Is this for serious?" and promptly booked a flight. Well at that point it was ON LIKE DONKEY KONG, so I then set about systematically eliminating every excuse the cake master and H-town could come up with not to go, coordinated the booking of flights and told Ashley it was done and done. "SWEET HOT BUTTERED TITS!" was her actual verbatim response.

I met up with the cake master at Midway airport Friday morning. The fun began immediately when we noticed a girl in a pink cowboy hat with a veil attached to it that nearly reached the floor and "Bride" written in glitter across the front. We hated her immediately, a hatred I accidentally expressed after we'd boarded the plane. She was one of the last people on and was looking around for a seat when a flight attendant yelled "there's seats back here!" just as she was standing next to the empty seat on my right.

"Not this one," I said.

"Oh my god," said the cake master while laughing hysterically.

"Oh, did I say that really loud?"

"YES."

On landing we were greeted by H-town, who had landed just a few minutes before us, and we all went outside to meet Ashley. On the way to her house we discussed the plans for the weekend: we were going "Texas" and planned to use the phrases "I'll tell you what", "That dog can hunt" and "Bless his/her heart" as often as possible. Also, we were going to replace the phrase "that's what she said" with "sounds like my first time" as pioneered by a friend of my cousin Kelly (my whole family is doing it now, it's brilliant. Try it). We got to her house, dumped all of our stuff, and immediately started going through old photos from college that H-town had the forethought to actually bring with her. After a few rounds of "remember that time when", Ashley hunted down her old photos which were mixed in with photos from high school (Ashley and H-town went to high school together also), some Glamour Shots and a dick picture the rest of us weren't meant to see.

Ashley and H-town both do improv comedy. Every Friday night, the Coldtowne Theater in Austin has a show called Cagematch where two improv groups face off against one another in a battle judged by the audience. Ashley had gotten them a slot, and so for the first time ever on the same stage they did a 20 minute set and TORE THE ROOF OFF THE PLACE, which you can see here. It really wasn't even a contest. Afterwards we went for a drink, did some shopping for snacks and cake supplies and then all went to pick up Jil from the airport, where they have a big picture of Texas on the floor which I alternately pretended to shit on and did cartwheels across. I am 34 years old.

Saturday morning, H-town and I woke up first and elected to go jump on/steamroll Ashley and Jil, after which we all got dressed and went on a mission to find a food truck called Biscuits and Groovy which sells, oddly enough, biscuits. An adorable kid with curly hair and a Texas accent took our order and told us "Y'all can go wait in yer car if ya want and I'll bring it on out to ya when it's ready." We dubbed him Biscuit Boy (bless his heart).

The bulk of Saturday was spent hanging around the house baking a somewhat ridiculous amount of cake. This was for the party we were attending at some friends of Ashley's who were all having a joint birthday party. The theme of the weekend was boobs, because Ashley has huge boobs, I had been tapped to strip at the party, the whole thing had kicked off with "SWEET HOT BUTTERED TITS" and mostly because boobs are awesome. So we made a boobs cake along with a sheet cake on which we ended up drawing Ryan Gosling's abs after watching Crazy Stupid Love while we waited for the cakes to cool. Then Ashley wrote the name of every January birthday person she knew over the top of Ryan's abs and we left for the party.

There was some sort of themed drink thingy going on at the party which we all quickly abandoned in favor of beer. We hung about the party until after the cake cutting, when I disappeared to go get dressed so that I could then turn around and get undressed in front of 60 people. Ashley introduced me for the first time as Poppy Coq "who has come all the way from Chicago to take her clothes off to music." Which I then did for my first solo strip tease performance of my life. Afterwards I was told by both Ashley and H-town they had overheard some girl say "My god, that ass!" while I was performing. When I was back in street clothes, I went and found the others who were now sitting in the front room drinking more beer and watching whatever crap movie was playing on the tv in there. As we didn't really know anyone else at the party, we elected to play a new drinking game we invented for the occasion called "Spot the Hipster", in which you drink every time someone comes in the room wearing black rimmed glasses, a plaid shirt, a decorative scarf, or a beard. We were wasted in 11 seconds. Also, I kept telling everyone who walked in the front door "You missed it. I was naked 10 minutes ago."

Back at Ashley's we were tired, drunk, hungry, and not at all ready to go to bed, so we sent Ashley out to buy us some frozen pizzas while we hung her bras from her ceiling fan and threw an exercise ball at each other up the stairs. Then when Ashley got back we dressed H-town up in heels and made videos of her walking around until we were all slap happy enough to think that me responding to Ashley's question "What time did we put the pizza in?" with "Your mom" was the most hilarious thing we'd ever heard. Which was about the time we realized we should probably go to bed.

Epic Austin weekend was truly Epic, and it is mad ridiculous that it took us 15 years to all get back in the same room at the same time. I can't imagine that it will take us another 15 to do it again. I've already started my campaign for Summer of Chicago 2013. If we get just one more woman to come I can even call it Summer of Chicago Epic Trip: Now With MORE BOOBS!

In conclusion, boobs. And your mom.