LISTOMANIA!!! The List.

Well, hello there.

How have you been?  I'm alright.  Life has got me stressed, but that is not what I came here to write to you about today.  Last weekend, my lovely BF and I entertained our first guests at our new digs.  There was (still is!) not a lot of furniture, but there was a lot of beer.  I don't know how the topic came up, but it did.

The List.

Everyone's got one.

Who's on yours?

I haven't blogged a list in a really, really long time.  I think this one will be fun.  It will make you think...dirty thoughts, true, but thoughts all the same.

The following list is one big, purple, throbbing disclaimer--just in case I'm ever caught on camera with one of the following people.  You can vouch for me--THEY WERE ON THE LIST!

So, here goes...  The Five Free Passes.  (Note:  4 of these 5 people are constantly jockeying for position--heeheehee--but #1 is #1 now and always.)

5.

Boobs.  As someone who's got a nice pair, I have an appreciation for them.

Ridiculous.  In the best way.

Joan.  Joan Joan Joan.

Christina Hendricks.  

OoooooOOOOO, I hear you say.  I started this list with a LADY!  I don't identify as bisexual, but I'm NOT BLIND.  This woman is gorgeous, and beautiful, and "built like a B-52," and she's so pretty!

I should say, in the interest of full disclosure, that I don't really think about doing porny things with Christina.  I just want to give her a hug that lasts too long, and maybe a few kisses.  Or more than a few.  She's just breathtaking.

4.

I've always wanted a Laurie in my life.  

Heat.

Making chainsaws sexy.

It's wrong that this is turning me on.  Right?  

He is Batman, for fuck's sake!

Christian Bale.

My love for Christian Bale has stretched back over decades.  Remember Swing Kids?  Yeah, me, too, and that was nearly twenty years ago.  Remember Newsies?  That WAS twenty(one) years ago.  I don't know what genetic pool this man emerged from, but I feel like it was not quite local.  I imagine it's located at the crossroads between Chiselville and DoMeTown.  I want to go to there.

3.

Suit up.  Wayyyyy up.

Sometimes I just make noises.  Like this:  Guuuuuuufffffffnnnnn.

"You want me to do what?"

"You heard me."

"Okay."

I'll let you decide who is saying what in that exchange.

Good God, already!

Jon Hamm.

By golly, but he smolders nicely.  You wouldn't know it from the selection of pics that I've chosen, but he's got a great set of teeth, too.  He was pretty much born to be in front of a camera.  Not just on Mad Men (where he plays one of the most interesting, multi-faceted characters being written right now), but hello!  He's always a welcome surprise on 30 Rock.  And his turn in Bridesmaids was great, too!  When he asks Kristen Wiig if her (made-up) boyfriend can "do THIS," then proceeds to give her the unsexiest breast massage ever, I just lose it...while wishing I was Kristen Wiig.

2.

Remember how I sometimes just make noises?  Yeah.

Meeeeerrrrrrrgggggnnnnn.

Hhhiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnggggg.

Blllllllefffffffm.

Joe Manganiello.

This season on True Blood, I am over Bill and Eric, which I never thought could happen.  I have pulled stakes and defected to Team Alcide.  And it's because Joe Manganiello is so fucking unbelievably hot.  He should never wear clothes.  Actually, scratch that--I thought the same thing of Alexander Skårsgård last year, and by the end of season 4, I just didn't want to see his adorable butt anymore.  

The short and long of it (heheh) is this:  Joe Manganiello packs more testosterone per square inch (again, heheh) than any other actor I've seen in a long time.  I look at him and my id screams, "MAN!" And consequently tears her mental clothes off.  

And my #1.

This was everyone's reaction when I declared the winner.

There's something about a Brit in a newsboy cap, I just can't handle it.

If you don't know why I think this picture is awesome, you don't know me at all.

Simon Pegg.

Oh me, oh my...I don't know where to begin except that when I finally saw Shaun of the Dead (2005ish), I started referring to Simon Pegg as my future husband.  Now that an actual matrimonial prospect has made the scene, I have demoted Simon to the title of "future second husband."

I am currently singing that old Sesame Street staple, "One of These Things Is Not Like the Others."   And I know that this choice, with regard to the others, might seem a bit random.  And it boils down to a very simple rule:

Turn me on, and you can have me for a night.  Maybe a week, if you're good at it.  Okay, two weeks.  I'm only human, after all.

Make me laugh, and I'm yours.

When I was growing up (and somehow, I always come back to those formative years--they're surprisingly rich with source material), I had a "type."  And inevitably, those young men would be on the receiving end of some seriously unrequited devotion.  My type was pretty simple:  tall, lanky, possibly long-haired, artistic in some way (I leaned towards musicians).  Show me a man with a guitar, and I'd be busy the rest of the evening plotting to make him mine own, then crying in the bathroom when he made off with the skinny blonde with no boobs.

Here's the strange thing:  when it came to dating, I would never date my "type."  Rather, my dates (and boyfriends) were the comic relief.  Soon enough, I'd fallen in love (hard) with a couple of sidekicks.  They know who they are.  Whether it ended well or badly, there's a little spot in my heart reserved for them.

Well, there you have it.  My first blog post in quite some time.  Hopefully this will kickstart a desire to write more (the ideas are brewing in my brain, but I've been experiencing some serious brain-keyboard disconnect), and I'll have more silly things to share with you in the second half of 2012.

So...who's on your list?  (Besides me, obviously.)

xoxoxo

Watch this space.

Staring 35 in the Face

I count myself lucky. I don't think I look my age. I've passed for a decade younger. I don't lie about my age, and have never felt I had to. I still break out like I'm in high school (...okay, that's not so lucky).

I am 34 years old. I am 4 months shy of my birthday. I still love to celebrate my birthday. Hello--presents? cake? Yes and yes.

Recently, I've become aware of a bee in my bonnet that has been buzzing pretty loudly. In order to fully explain it, I have to take you back to the magical, carefree days of the early-to-mid-1990s. I was hearing "Smells Like Teen Spirit" on my top 40 radio station, and I didn't really get the appeal. Plaid flannel was sneaking into my wardrobe, stealthily replacing the neon pink and purple. On the top of my Christmas list was a pair of Doc Martens (which I got, and still have...somewhere).

I was in high school. And I was miserable. I had a close group of good friends that I loved, and still love (some of which I have rediscovered through Facebook, some of which I never lost track of), but by and large, I tried too hard to be cool, was unsuccessful, and so I took solace where I could--in my writing, in my music, and (once I got cast in The Music Man sophomore year) in performing onstage.

I was smart. Honor roll smart. I loved going to History, French, and English classes. Mr. Casey (my first drama coach), Sister Hitler (not her real name), Miss Shoe (almost her real name), Madame Frola (a truly lovely lady), and the inimitable Mr. Nelson made my college prep education bearable. I loved them, and I like to think they might have cared about me, too.

I always had a view to the future, even when I was in elementary school. From the age of 10, I wanted to study to become an author. Once the theatre bug bit, I knew exactly what I was going to do after high school, and I couldn't wait to start.

I had to get through high school first. And that meant getting through classes I didn't enjoy. Math and Science. Algebra I & II (in the same year), Geometry, Pre-Calculus. Earth Science, Biology, Chemistry. Because I knew I was going into the arts, I only took 3 years of each. Senior year was about as awesome as it could be.

Here's the irony: my grades in Math and Science were...for want of a better word...stellar. My grades in my beloved English and History? Well, they kept me from getting First Honors most semesters. (First Honors=straight As. Second Honors=As and Bs)

I was not just good at math. I was a MATHLETE. We just didn't have that word when I was in high school. And Chemistry? Fuggedabahdit (sp?). I could've been as chemically badass as Walter White.

Where is this going? I'm glad you asked.

What my bee has been buzzing about is pretty straightforward (I just like to explain things): I want to reclaim the knowledge that I've lost since high school. Specifically, I want to rediscover my mathlete muscles, stretch them out, and build them back up. I want to channel my inner Walter White, not to cook meth and become pretty much the most fascinating character on TV right now, but to use it for good--to feel a little better about who I am. I've been well-rounded for quite some time, but not in the way I want to be. It's time to change that.

Watch out, world--I'm breaking my smarty pants out of my closet. They are not plaid flannel. They are NEON FUCKING PINK AND PURPLE, and they're extremely glad to see me.

What I Did With 2 Months in Alabama

Hello all--

Miss me?

I missed you!

I've been in Montgomery, Alabama, interning with the Alabama Shakespeare Festival for 2 months and some change. In that time, I have made 7 new friends, read a stack of paperbacks (seriously--like 8 or so), and performed umpteen times as Kanga in "House at Pooh Corner." Yes, we included a snippet of the Loggins & Messina lullaby of the same title, sung sweetly by my fellow interns Kevin Callaghan and Corey Triplett. I like our version better than the overly-mellow '70s hookah-smokin' version, which ends (did you know this?) with an unresolved chord and gong. Loggins? What is the meaning of this? Messina, I suspect this is your doing. Loggins, O he of the "Kick off your Sunday shoes" fame, would not steer my ears so wrong.

I'm digressing. I really HAVE missed you, blogolytes and blogolettes. I will try to post again before 2011.

Anyway. "House at Pooh Corner" was lovely. I'm pretty proud of us, and proud to be part of ASF.

Instead of trying to explain (it would be futile) the sublime joy of roommate/fellow intern Caitlin McGee's and my inter-show ritual, I figured I would just out us: we are SUPERMODELS. With TAILS.

See below:



I'm hoping for a sequel featuring the "Peter Pan" cast. :)

Watch this space. But not too closely, as you might be here for a few weeks, and I don't like the idea of you being lonely.

Playlistomania!!!! (Mission: ROCK OUT!)

Is there something missing from your barbecues, your days at the beach, your road trips to see the World's Largest Loogy? Do your efforts at playing air-DJ to the latest batch of hip-hop fall flat? Could it be that your summer soundtrack is.......lacking?

Fear not! I have felt your pain, and, as in every crisis, the solution rests in the formation of a list. A playlist, in this case. Don't mind me as I cackle wildly, revelling in the knowledge that I am about to make your life so much better!!

(I wanna rock! (ROCK!) NAH-nah-nah-nana, NAH-nah-nah-nana!)

Behold! I give you disclaimers! What follows is by no means comprehensive. There are hundreds of songs that I am leaving out. I'm leaving them out because I don't like them as much. Also, I've made an effort to suggest some songs that aren't obvious choices, and place them alongside the songs you know are going to make an appearance. I promise to keep my diatribes to a minimum (I want you to be able to read this post in one sitting, after all. And one final caveat: if you rocked during the 80s, chances are some of your output could be classified as glam/hair metal. There are several bands on this list who have had hits outside of this decade. Let's not...wait for it...split hairs (yikes!). All of these songs rock--give them a listen, and you will, too!

Re-behold! I give you June's list...

Thunder Gods: The Top 50 Glam/Hair Metal Songs You Can Rock Out To

50. Girlschool--Britny Fox (best hair metal song by a band with a female porn star name)

49. Bang Your Head (Metal Health)--Quiet Riot

48. In My Dreams--Dokken

47. (You Can Still) Rock in America--Night Ranger (my own post-9/11 anthem)

46. Turbo Lover--Judas Priest (oh, the levels!)

45. Fallen Angel--Poison

44. Shout at the Devil--Motley Crue (SHOUT! naah! SHOUT! naah! SHOUT! nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-NAAAH!)

43. Up All Night--Slaughter

42. Cherry Pie--Warrant

41. Turn Up the Radio--Autograph (I suggest you do what the nice man says.)

40. Big Bottom--Spinal Tap



We're just getting started!

39. Don't Treat Me Bad--FireHouse

38. Smooth Up in Ya--Bulletboys (Who says romance is dead?)

37. Bad Medicine--Bon Jovi

36. Rock Me--Great White

35. Jump--Van Halen

34. Bohemian Rhapsody--Bad News (In which Brian May, Bad News' record producer, butchers his own solo.)

Can't...type...laughing too...hard!!!!



33. Hot for Teacher--Van Halen (G-R-E-A-T video and even greater line: "I don't feel tardy.")

32. Shot in the Dark--Ozzy Osbourne

31. Holy Diver--Dio

30. Rock the Night--Europe (I think these Swedes are underrated because they're terrifyingly pretty. Joey Tempest might be modelesque, but he's got a voice! And watching them cavort around Stockholm's Hard Rock Cafe in this video is just silly fun.)

29. Down Boys--Warrant

28. Somebody Save Me--Cinderella

27. Fool for Your Loving--Whitesnake (Originally written for B. B. King. Not a lie.)

26. Coming of Age--Damn Yankees (This might be about incest. It is still awesome.)

25. Seventeen--Winger

This is starting to get difficult. Like, "pick which puppy you want" difficult.

24. Armageddon It--Def Leppard (my favorites make their first of 3 appearances!)

23. Let's Put the X in Sex--KISS (Sleaze never sounded quite so nice...)

22. Yankee Rose--David Lee Roth (See my "song lyrics" list for why this song is awesome.)

21. Bang Bang--Danger Danger (the other big song these guys had was "Naughty Naughty"...I guess the double-naming well ran dry pretty quickly.)

20. Edge of a Broken Heart--Vixen (Hello, ladies!!)

19. Dreams--Van Halen (or Van Hagar, if you're a purist--and if you're a purist, you're a fucking snob.)

18. Poison--Alice Cooper (I am such a badass when I sing along to this in my car. You will have to take my word on that.)

17. Wait--White Lion (another overly pretty bunch of foreigners!)

16. Girls Girls Girls--Motley Crue (The fact that I wanted to be the girls in this video when I was little speaks volumes about my neuroses.)

15. Photograph--Def Leppard (Hello, lads!!)

14. Shake Me--Cinderella (PHILLY IN THE HOUSE!)

13. Round and Round--Ratt (Milton Berle is in this video. I'm not joking!!)

12. Cum on Feel the Noize--Quiet Riot (heheheheh...Noize.)

11. Here I Go Again--Whitesnake (the ALBUM edit, not the watered down radio cut.)

Here goes...my TOP 10.

10. Youth Gone Wild--Skid Row (Sebastian Bach might be a doughy d-bag nowadays, but I would defend him as the best singer to come out of this genre. Period.)



9. Talk Dirty to Me--Poison (Playing air guitar along with coke-era C.C. DeVille is a guaranteed pick-me-up...no coke needed.)



8. You Give Love a Bad Name--Bon Jovi (At your next party, combine Jager with whatever you're shooting and call it a "Shot Thru the Heart.")



7. Kiss Me Deadly--Lita Ford (To be honest, I wouldn't know how else to kiss her.)



6. Rock You Like a Hurricane--The Scorpions (Premium Saltines used this song in an ad recently, and I thought it made saltines so much cooler.)



5. I Wanna Rock--Twisted Sister (I don't know what to add. Dee Snider & Co. kind of sum it all up, don't they?)



4. The Final Countdown--Europe (You know this song, even if you don't think you know this song. Sing with me! Neh-neh-NEH-neh! Neh-neh- NEH - NEH - NEH! Neh-neh-NEH-neh! Neh-neh- NEH - NEH - NEH - NEH - NEHHH! See? Told you you know this song.)



3. Living on a Prayer--Bon Jovi (Okay, okay...this one's a gimme. What self-respecting list of awesome songs would dare leave this one out?)



2. Still of the Night--Whitesnake (David Coverdale named his group after his own penis. And then wrote a 6-and-a-half minute song about getting it on. I guess if you were dating 1987-era Tawny Kitaen, you might do the same thing. She probably rewarded him by doing walkovers on his Jags. Heheheh...that sounds dirty.)



And the NUMBER ONE MUST-HAVE GLAM/HAIR METAL TRACK is...

1. Pour Some Sugar on Me--Def Leppard.



DUH.

"But, Tara," I hear you lament, "where are the power ballads? Here you've listed fifty tracks proving that glam metal had more testosterone than it knew what to do with. But these boys (and girls) had softer sides. How dare you ignore that? HOW DARE YOUUUUUU?"

To which I say:

Calm down. That's July's list, bitches!

WATCH THIS SPACE.

An Intro to the Wonderful World of Spandex.

When I say "HAIR"...what do you think of?

Maybe this?

Or this?

Or, God forbid, even this?

*shudder*

Well, blogolytes and blogolettes, when I think "HAIR," I think of THIS!

That's right: the real boys of summer are back in heavy rotation on my iPod, and it's time for me to show them some love. And since I blew all my spare money on Gaga tickets, this does not involve me flashing my boobs from the front row. (They'll have to wait till next summer for that!) For the next few weeks, my love will flow through my fingers (ooer!) and onto the internet. You read correctly--the next few blog posts (and they'll be appearing more regularly) are all for my darling boys in spandex.

Picture the scene: it's 1986, I'm 9 years old, and I'm watching MTV: *MUSIC* Television. Inappropriate? Shut up. If we could only watch the MTV of 25 years ago alongside the 2010 version...it's like comparing the work of Princess Diana with the work of Caligula (respectively). I'm digressing. I have to watch out, my ire with the inbred mutant cannibal that MTV has become has a tendency to lead me off on tangents. Let's start again.

Picture the scene: it's 1986, I'm 9 years old, and I'm watching MTV. "Dial MTV" to be precise--it's like TRL, except you don't want to brutally murder the host, the live audience, and the various other chuckleheads who make an appearance. Oh, and they actually SHOW the videos that people REQUEST TO SEE. Revolutionary. There I go again! One more time.

Picture the scene: 1986, 9 years old, MTV, "Dial MTV." Uh-oh. Dad's home from work. Time to vacate. From my own room right next door, I can hear that Dad has not turned off my show. He calls to me, "Hey, Tara, there's a group from Mechanicsburg on here!" He refers, of course, to Bret Michaels and the glamazons of Poison. Mechanicsburg, PA is a little hamlet that sits geographically right next door to my own hometown. It's important to know that, at 9, I thought that Camp Hill, PA was effectively the middle of nowhere. I hadn't driven through Kansas at that point. To have a band emerge from this area to achieve greatness was (and still is) a point of pride for me.

But I cringed in that moment, not proud at all. The video he was about to see was their visually tame but lyrically ribald ode to aural fixations, "Talk Dirty to Me." At 9, I hadn't worked out the mechanics of sex, but I knew that this was risky business. And MY DAD WAS ABOUT TO SEE WHAT I WAS WATCHING...yeeeeeshhhh. I held my breath as I heard C.C. hit it. It wasn't long before he switched the t.v. off. I braced for impact--surely, surely! Dad would come in here and ask what the heck was I doing watching that stuff? I hadn't yet discovered snark or sarcasm, and so had no answers prepared.

I waited. Nothing happened. NOTHING HAPPENED! I was free to play air guitar another day! Yet another reason why my parents are the coolest. Live and let watch.

Through the rest of that decade, my relationship with MTV and with the hair bands that graced its airwaves flourished. I thought I had reached an unprecedented level of coolness when my first album purchase arrived in the mail, courtesy of BMG Music Club (the idea of "obligated to buy in the future" was still utterly foreign--I sent in my penny scotch-taped to the order form, dammit--bring on my music!): KISS's 1986 masterwork, Crazy Nights. Okay, people are going to take issue with the qualifier "masterwork." Let them. This is still one of the only albums I can listen to front to back, and sing along with, and dance around my room to. There's a hook, a riff, a joinable chorus to every single song. Any of the tracks could've been a single--how many albums can boast that in 2010? Crazy Nights is an album with songs that you know, but you don't know you know--"Reason to Live," "Turn On the Night," the title track. Because I love you, they're all right here:





Look at all that hair.

I don't want you to think that my love affair with all things hair metal has been without its rough patches. If you love something, really love it, you know that, once or twice, you've taken heat for your tastes. My test came in 8th grade. This was the year that, reaching unknown heights of self-proclaimed coolness, I got into an R-rated movie with no questions asked at 13 years of age. It helped that my body was pretty smokin'. The movie in question was Wes Craven's Shocker, and its soundtrack was awesome. Megadeth, Iggy Pop, and a one-time-only supergroup collaboration between Paul Stanley of KISS, Desmond Child (he's written songs you know), Tommy Lee (the Crue), Vivian Campbell (Whitesnake/Def Leppard), Rudy Sarzo (Whitesnake), and Michael Anthony (Van Halen), among others.

How did this much awesome cause me trouble?

In my day, 8th graders at a certain central-Pennsylvanian Catholic school did not have dances. Well, we were having one! Of course, they called it a mixer, but who cared? It was a chance to see our whole class out of those silly uniforms (ooer!) and in regular street clothes (mostly likely stonewashed jeans cuffed at the ankle and an oversized neon-printed sweatshirt for yours truly--ever the fashion plate). There was no DJ--it was up to us to bring music. Since I loved the Shocker soundtrack so much, it made sense that everyone else would love it too!

They didn't.

They gave me that look that you give the self-deluded. The "What IS this?" look. The "Are you HIGH?" look. The look that makes you wish you had gotten sick and stayed home from the mixer.

Here's the song--written and performed by the supergroup with the painfully awesome moniker: The Dudes of Wrath (yes please!)--admittedly, it's not the magnum opus of the hair metal genre (that honor arguably goes to either Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer" or Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me"). But it's got what I want. A riff, a hook, a chorus that soars and begs to be joined.



I got teased most of the rest of that year by a certain young man who liked to catch my eye and mime "Shocker! Shocker!" I had no comeback. My sharp tongue is a 21st century development. I just blushed and turned away. But I'd go home and play that song LOUD and damn the stupid young man for making me feel silly.

I'm not alone in my love for cock rock--but for a while back in the early- to mid-1990s, it sure felt like I was. Hairspray had taken a backseat to flannel, and melodies had been sacrificed on the throne of angst. But lo! and behold! In 1999, I attended the first of many concerts on the nostalgia ticket. People became sick of the seriousness, sick of being so angry, and the pop music charts reflected this: Backstreet Boys, NSync, Britney, Xtina, etc. etc. etc. The Mickey Mouse Club took over Billboard. And the first Glam Slam Metal Jam rolled through Hershey, PA, with Slaughter, Cinderella, and Poison.

I witnessed a world without grunge, and I saw that it was good.

Golly, but I've written a lot. I think I'm going to leave you now with some more pictures. Because hair metal needs to be seen to be believed.

(Kip Winger is still hot. There, I said it. I am not ashamed!)

(Ronnie James Dio said that he introduced the devil horns sign to metal music. I believe him, because I am slightly afraid of him.)

(This was never cool. Just for the record.)

(Bad News is a funnier metal parody than Spinal Tap. Seriously. L-R: Rik Mayall as Colin Grigson, Nigel Planer as Den Dennis, Adrian Edmonson as Vim Fuego, and Peter Richardson as Spyder Webb. Find them on YouTube. Watch. Laugh. Thank me.)

Watch this space. June's list is gonna rock you like a hurricane.

I've Let the Ball Touch the Ground

Oh my...

I did not provide you, my list-hungry, faithful readers with a list in May, my favorite month of the year.

For this, I am sorry.

And for this, I am even more sorry.


And...what the hell?


This is not a blog about Hitler, I just couldn't NOT include that. Could you imagine? Even in the throes of moral education in my central Pennsylvanian Catholic enclave, it was never intimated that premarital sex was akin to doing it with Satan. I can hear the misguided sex lecture now: "Keep those cherries, girls! Our GI's need 'em!"

I digress, mainly to distract you from the fact that I don't have much to talk about.

Did it work?

Watch this space--because the list I have in store for you will blow your minds.

33.

(this is how cake should always be eaten--ALWAYS)

May is, historically, my favorite month. Because my birthday is in May. In fact, it's this week. Friday, the 28th, to be exact. It's a day where I get to do whatever I want, because it is MY DAY. MINE! So this year, I am taking off work (which I do whether or not I am employed at the time, because no one should have to work on their birthday) and driving back to Camp Hill, PA to visit my family and have them take me to dinner and shower me with love and presents. I have long since given up trying to arrange parties and get-togethers for my birthday. Memorial Day weekend, while awesome in its 3-day-ness, is a terrible time to try to get friends to come over and give you things.

This year I turn 33. I am hell-bent on going to my birthday dinner with feathered hair in tribute to the fantastic year of 1977. You think I'm joking, but one of my Internet Explorer tabs is a how-to guide to getting a Farrah-do. If I succeed (and my track record with hairstyling is spotty, at best), I will post pictures. Do not hold your breath unless you're REALLY good at it.

The one thing that's missing this year, as I round third and head for 33, is an excitement for gifts. Maybe that's the wrong wording. I'm excited to see what I get, but I've been no help at all in letting my family know what I want. Because I don't really know. I am, by and large, a greedy person. I love to get things. I love surprise gifts, planned gifts, treating myself to way too many gifts. Gifts rule! Anyone who says otherwise is a dirty liar. And don't get me wrong, I love giving gifts, too. But this is about getting. Acquiring. The gimme's. I think that this year, the gimme's have left me for someone younger with a smaller ass. Bitches.

Usually, books are my go-to gift. I have a list of titles that I want to eventually own. But I looked at my two bookshelves, teetering under the weight of unread books, and thought, I don't need any more books right now.

DVD's are next in line. Yeah, there are a few titles I wouldn't mind owning, but nothing is coming out that I NEED. And there have been DVD's in the recent months that I have gone out and bought mere hours after their release. Not since Pirate Radio, though--and that was back in April.

CD's...do they still sell those?

Of course, there are big-ticket items a-plenty that I could name: a new car, a trip to Orlando to go to Disney and the new Harry Potter park, a puppy, a penthouse apartment in Battery Park, a private backyard concert featuring Lady GaGa and Def Leppard, a lifelong friendship and working partnership with Tina Fey. Unfortunately, I am unable to pinpoint any of my acquaintance that could reasonably be asked to give me these things. I'm gonna have to work on that.

Presents be damned (not literally--I still want them, I'm just philosophizing now), I'm really looking forward to Friday. I'm going to be surrounded by people who really love me, eating the best potato soup ever made, and doing whatever the sam hell I want to, hopefully with feathered hair. Because it's my BIRTHDAY!!

(If the feathered hair thing doesn't work, I will be dressing like this.)