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(Maybe now Kashi will pay my student loans?)

Mandy and I had to come into work an hour early this morning to interview prospectives replacements for me, so we decided to console ourselves with an EGG PARTY!!!!!!!!!(egg party.) We have a kitchen in our office that we have yet to truly take advantage of. Our egg party involved feta, tomatoes, spinach, toast, and finally, friendship. You know, spread on the toast. Like butter.

Last night on Leno, Obama said something to the effect of ‘I’m bowling a 149. It’s kind of like the special olympics! (laughter laughter laughter….pause….awkward.)

He then, of course, after the show, had to freak out and apologize to the special Olympics – singing it praises, and even inviting some athletes to come to the White House and show him a thing or too.

But come on – aren’t we all guilty of this? Haven’t we all said That was so retarded and then realized, to our dismay, that there was an actual retarded person nearby? Or that the person you are speaking to knows or is related to a retarded person? Or – That was so gay. And then you realize you’re speaking to a ‘gay’ and hope that they’re not, you know. One of those sensitive ones.

Point being – there are so many horrible and un-PC things ingrained in the sort of casual, ignorant and weird colloquialisms.  I say things every day that, taken out of context – are argueably terrible. Hearing myself, I would most likely think, that girl should be shot.

But that isn’t quite fair, Bekah. You know. To people that have been shot.

 Oh, context.

I promise I have utmost respect for the Bible and its tales, more than most no doubt, but I had to share. For more, with biting commentary, please visit www.cracked.com.

God bless the man friends I have made here; I am lucky. They are willing to anything, most anything, for ‘art,’ self- promotion, and Working Man’s Clothes Productions.

These tushes will remain anonymous.  Who has the better asstoo?

It is nearly impossible to decided what to do with yourself on a one night shebang, but This new year, I choose to nerd it up with my theatery friends and get thoroughly Stupid.

To begin, I will attend this fete at the Ohio Theater:

Wearing something of this nature:

Which I have yet to find.

This little stinker will also attend as my sidekick:

Tameek, my co-worker in crime, whom I have dubbed an appropriate dance partner.

And in the days that follow thereafter, I plan to pray more frequently and sincerely,  eat more cheese, attend more Dinner parties (like Mrs. Ashley’s Whitfield’s, New Years Day, where good luck pork chops will be served.)

Other lofty goals include starting a new screenplay, carpe-ing the diem, cessation of all things that are Bad for Me, and listening to of much more Timbaland, and shaking what Jodie gave me to said tunes in the privacy of my apartment.

And also 

You don’t need me to tell you that Halloween, as an evening, as an event, definitely shifts as you get older. For one, this thing called ‘booze’ is introduced and this thing called ‘bedtime’ goes to the wayside. But as I am no longer elligible for drunken debaucherous collegeoween, involving unmentionables, falling face first in the ‘Quad’ and stumblethons – and have moved onto youngadultsortofgrownupbuticanbarelypaymyrentandmyhouselookslikeadormandsmellslikeassoween – I found that there are two possible approaches to this event, in terms of one’s garb, and mental perspective on the whole shebang.

One can take the it as excuse to wear a dress one would never have a reason to wear, despite this occasion, and tell yourself/others you are something specific: but really – you are just wearing the dress – as I did, bow dress and all, as a ‘Present.’ To; From.

OR: you can go a la Stella and Elizabeth, my roommates: and say, <em>I  am normally cute as all hell, pretty much always, but for halloween, I want to be fat and gross. I want to be a fat, fat manperson. I want to let it all hang out.</em>Which they did. So much respect for them, fans. Seriously, they are so stinking cool, and I am lucky.  If you see them on the street, tip your hat.

Stella and Eliz decided to go as Dan and Roseanne, the loveable, chubby low income stars of midday tv. Granted, Stella (Korean by descent, or so she ‘says’ -) decided she wanted to curl her hair and wear make up, rendering her ‘Asian Girl Dan.’ They were a fine pair. A full pictoral report: firstly, readying occured:

Elizabeth poofed of her hair and stuffed of her old lady pants with firm towel wads (which actually made quite an impressive bootay), while Stella donned sweat pants, yelled at Rosanne to make her a sandwich, curled of her hair, and  tried (to no avail) to suppress her own  stunning prettiness:

I – uh – I put a dress on and put a bow in my hair, and emerged a sort of giant toddlerperson, the Prize indeed for Stella and Elizabeth’s innovations.

And they – well – they looked – amazing. Disturbing, accurate.

Of course, costumes were later thrown to the wayside. Butt and belly towels proved stuffy and hot; I couldn’t sit/stand/be in my presentdress, Elizabeth’s giant tittythings, held together by a large yellow 42DD bra (which later acted as a fine hat) – became irksome, and gradually, layers of our other personages were removed, and we returned home – ourselves – but not until we discovered that doing Apathetic Subway Gymnastics in 34% of your halloween costume – at any age – is pretty great. We were like little girls, but drunker.

But seriously – Dad – we were home by 12.  I got to work the next morning 10 minutes early, with time to pick up an egg and cheese toastathon to boot.

See?  I am totally growing up, as we all are, as we all should be.

Due to my ‘morning commute,’ which I now have, like a Real Person, I have  taken to reading the free am paper, Metro. It gives you a basic rundown of how awful the world is, with pictures and everything.

This rundown contains many disturbing lifenuggets that will be wedged into your brain for the rest of the day – and perhaps your life. Metro also contains things that educate you on What People are Talking about, so that you can feel Smart.

So. fyi,  A real estate woman was bludgoned to death in her Upper West Side apartment. No one knows how, or why. A girl in Pheonix left her 1 year old son in her car for 7 hours while she worked her shift at Hooters, and was shocked to find him dead when she returned. And finally, a substitute teacher in some place like Florida or somewhere like it was arraigned for throwing a text book at a student. The book actually missed the student at which he was aiming – and smacked another student in the back of the head, like take that, the student.

Just so you know, all of things happened, or are happening. Just so you know.

for Halloween.

What will you do, or rather, be? I encouraged the dressing up as inhuman things: canned tuna, vacuum machines; the dressing up as philosophical ideas such as ‘perserverance’ and ‘regret.’ A slight ps – last America’s Next Top Model – or ANTM, if you’re into acronym-ing, the warm-clad skinnied bitches were forced to ice skate while portraying an ‘emotion.’ Most were confused.

This year, I am going to be a present, or a ‘package,’ depending on how loaded you like your verbage.

It is silly to feel like or say that this is on your shoulders. This is oftentimes how it feels, but really? This would involve an assortment of heavy things like whole walmarts, camels, rainforests, Mormon Churches, whole classrooms of kindergartners, steakhouses, oceans, parking lots, and overpriced midtown sports centers actually resting on your shoulders, like Humph. Heavy. Plausible? No. Is this really how it feels? Yes.

When I feel this extended metaphor, I like to breath and eat some bacon and re-assess the ACTUAL weight of my worries, which is probably something more like this: