Okay, so I finally watched the first episode of The Glee Project:  Season 2.

I’m already invested.  GAH!

But I’m really too excited about the weekend to say more than that.  BUT, I’m saying right now that Maxfield and Nellie are my favorites:

That said, I love Charlie, Blake, and Abraham.

Happy Memorial Day Weekend!  See you Wednesday!

Memorial Day weekend is edging closer and closer.  And I can’t wait for:

I haven’t read 50 Shades of Grey outside of the “sneak peak” I got from Amazon, and the few minutes I stood in Target giggling like a school girl with Mike as we paged through looking for “the good scenes.”

I can say I got a feel for what is in the book from reading, but the majority of my impressions have been formed by celebrities reading the book aloud.

Look:

Ellen reads it:

Gilbert Gottfried reads it:

And then there’s this–the cast of Snow White and the Huntsman reading it, including Chris Hemsworth.

IF they make a movie, I might have to see it…because they’re interested in Chris playing the main guy.  SCORE:

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!

One of my very favorite people–Amy O–told me that since I hated everything yesterday, that she expected to see a post about praise today.

I’m going to try.  Really.  She’s right. I have a lot to be thankful for.

I did end up having a great night last night.  I played softball (won the first game, lost miserably at the second) and went out with some of the girls after.  We had a lot of laughs, and I found out that we know some mutual people and live near one another.  Yay!  I solved the mystery of how to meet friends in your 20′s.

And then I saw my college roommate‘s brother sitting on the patio.  I haven’t seen him in forever! It was pretty exciting.

And there’s only 4 days left of the work week before a 4-day weekend…  So that’s nice.

I know I should be more thankful.  It’s just too easy to focus on the bad things sometimes.  I do feel lucky to be where I am with what I have right now.

I just feel this deep wrinkle forging its permanent existence into my forehead.  I’ll show it to you soon.  Until then…

Thanks, Mama O!

I hate that Mike and I are not together.

I hate that there’s no prospect of us being together anytime soon.

I hate ticks.

I hate eating.

I hate that I signed up for a softball league.

I hate that I won’t have time to run tonight.

I hate that I didn’t sleep last night.

I hate that I won’t get to sleep until way later tonight.

I hate that I didn’t wash all my dirty clothes this weekend.

I hate that I’m going to have to go grocery shopping soon.

I hate my apartment–big time.  I will NEVER recommend Laurel Hill Apartments in Brunswick to anyone.

I hate that I’ll be living in an apartment for the rest of my foreseeable future.

I hate that it’s time to go back to work after my lunch break.  I need a nap.

It’s been awhile since I’ve been crude and talked about men like the pieces of (glorious) meat that they are.

So today, I will give you the Top Five Men-Producing Countries.  WTF does that mean?  It means the countries that produce the type of men that I would like to date.  So…here we go.

Top Five Men-Producing Countries (in no specific order):

1)  Iceland – Manly men.  Manly manly manly.  Like Hermann Hreiðarsson.  6ft 3in of man right there.

2)  Ireland – Fun, drunk, and dead sexy.  Like Colin Farrell.  Bad.  Ass.

3)  Canada – Strong, toothless, wonderful.  And bearded.  Like Carrie Underwood’s husband Mike Fisher.

And Dave Salmoni:

4)  Denmark – Um…what?  Where the hell did Nikolaj Coster-Waldau come from?  And why is he not on my Guilt-Free Three?

5)  Australia – Golden, blonde, beautiful.  Caine Eckstein?  Yeah.  I’ll forgive the belly shirt for this guy.

And Chris Hemsworth:

And the good ole USA for Josh Holloway:

I’m so stuck on this song right now.  Ask my office mates:

Heck.  I’m stuck on this band.  They’re called Walk Off the Earth.  Check out this Gotye cover:

I don’t know if it was the wine.  I don’t know if it was my blog stats.  I don’t know if it was a Facebook post or what that triggered it, but I wondered how my Xanga was–the Xanga I started in 2002.

And oddly enough, I remembered my username and password on the first try.  Then OH MY GOD.  If you were reading my Facebook posts last night, you know where this is going.  That’s right–into a time warp nostalgia crackhead place.  Ho. Lee.  Shit.

I was so emo!  ”I’m so depressed.”  ”I want to be in a mausoleum.”  ”Why is life so hard?”

…wow.

It was so cool to have a Xanga back in the day.  So cool.  :)  I think of it now as my pre-blog.  But Lord…was it terrible.  I wrote some terrible poetry.  I spelled things the British way.  I complained a lot…

Well, here.  You can see for yourself.

People tend to identify themselves but some of the activities that they do.  Mike, for instance, is a mapper.  He’s also a fisherman, a hunter, an musician.

My mom is a mother…which she chose to be.

Me?  I’m a daughter, and a sister…neither of which I had any say in, but I do truly enjoy.  They’re not something I chose to do though. They’re not activities.

I can describe myself in adjectives:  happy, odd, not-so-well traveled, cheap, free.  But I don’t have an “-er” beyond “sister” and “daughter”.  I’m not a golfer or a softball player.  I’m not a runner or a hiker or a climber.  I do some of these things–I joined a softball league and I run, but I do not identify myself with those activities.

And we’ve talked about how I write, but I am not a writer. I am not a musician. I am not a cook.  I am not a baker (yet…am I right, Mike? ).

I don’t do activity that I enjoy so much that I want to identify myself with it.  What does that mean?  I want to be a wife and a mother someday.  Those are things I will choose and will enjoy…but shouldn’t I have something to be until then?  I’m not a crafter or a decorator.  I am not a quilter or a seamstress.

I suppose I am a dreamer.  And I suppose I am an avid Roseanne fan.  And I do love the Cleveland Indians and baseball, but not so much so that I can define myself by any of it.

I think this goes back to me needing a hobby.  But it seems it’s deeper than that.  It seems to me that I need a self-defining activity.  This ought to be interesting.

It was a good one.  Lemme tell you.

Cleveland can be fun.

Friday night, I went downtown (Cleveland) for a friend’s bachelorette party.  We saw a comedy show at Hilarities, ate at Pickwick & Frolic, and then hit Flannery’s, the Mexican place (can’t remember the name) and The Corner Alley.  It was a lot of fun!  I had never really “done” East 4th Street before.

So I got to see two girls from college, made some new friends, and got to go out on the town.  The next morning, I drove to Pennsylvania where Mike and I took a 22 mile bike ride down the Allegheny River, rented some movies (3 Ninjas, baby!) and went out to dinner for Mike’s birthday.

Mike’s birthday is TODAY!  Just in case you were wondering.  (I always get a little sad about this because we

can never be together on our birthdays.  My wish for his birthday–and my own–and every other opportunity I have to make a wish is that we can be together every day from now on.)

And on Sunday, we did my favorite thing.  We did the domestic thing.  We washed cars, went to the grocery store, went shopping, cooked dinner, watched television.  It was perfect.  It makes me really think about the trend we started when we started leaving each other for jobs.   We’re meant to be.  Make a wish when you blow out your candles without me, Baby.

Happy Birthday, and I love you!