He Charges By The Hour

St. Pauly Boy is working on a special project for me. I just thanked him and he said "Yeah, well I charge fifty bucks an hour." So I told him I'd pay him with sex. Hot sex. And he looked me right in the eye and said...

"I think I'd rather take the fifty bucks."

Open letter to all husbands/boyfriends/life partners of the universe:

Dear Husbands, Boyfriends, Life Partners of the Universe,

Do not ever, ever complain about the lack of sex in your life when you tell your significant other that you'd rather take the money.

Kthanksbye.
St. Pauly Girl

The Story of Us

LPO and I used to be roommates. It seems like a long, long time ago. We were horrible housekeepers. Total slobs. We never bought groceries, never vacuumed, and left our clothes in the laundry room for days. We partied hard on weekends (& sometimes on week nights) and we mostly laid around and watched TV. The best thing about LPO was that we liked the same TV, for the most part. I could handle all the Sports Center and he could handle all of the reality show drama. About 3 months into our roommatedom, I met St. Pauly Boy. It wasn't an instant, I'm-so-in-love-I'm-running-away-with-him-right-now situation. The whole relationship thing made me very nervous. Uncomfortable, even. Prior to SPB, I was used to being the pursuer. I wanted to be the pursuer. I was comfortable being the pursuer. It's a control thing. But with SPB, it was different. Suddenly I was the pursuee, and it felt very strange. So I acted like a total chump. I mean, what else do you act like when you feel strange?

SPB was living in The OC full-time at this point in our relationship. In fact, he moved there to live and work, full-time, just 2 days after our first date. Which was 2 days after we met*. For the first month, he came to visit me every other weekend. Then he made the ultimate "I'm into you" move. He flew home from CA and then drove 8 hours into Wisconsin to meet up with me and 30 of my closest friends (including my only brother) for a camping trip and a couple of Dave Matthews concerts. I was so freaking nervous, sitting in my campsite surrounded by my friends, thinking about him driving down 94, wishing I had cell phone access to call the whole thing off and send him back home. So I pounded a few beers. I felt better once he got there.

Back to the acting like a chump thing. After the camping trip experience, he went back to CA for a couple weeks and then made arrangements to fly in for a weekend to see me. The night of his arrival, LPO and I had some friends over and I remember my stomach turning into knots at the thought of him. When he called to tell me that he'd landed, I told him that I didn't feel like hanging out that night and that maybe, just maybe I'd call him the next day. I could tell that he was crushed. And it really only made me feel worse. It was LPO and our mutual friend Rice who talked me down from the ledge. The two of them were talking about how much they liked St. Pauly Boy and how they would actually miss him if I broke it off. Sitting there listening to them talk about my boyfriend that way really triggered something in me. But I was too shy to fix it. When Rice offered to call him back and tell him to come over, I said yes. How awkward for SPB. His girlfriends [male] friend, that he's met twice, calling him up and re-inviting him over after she had made it clear she didn't want to see him that night. He wouldn't commit until I came to the phone and validated Rice's invitation. And I did.

After that night, I let myself love him. LPO was a big part of that. I'm not sure he knows.

LPO met his soulmate just another month after I met St. Pauly Boy. The 4 of us are very close. We all participated in each others weddings. We live pretty close and try, with all of lifes craziness, to get together on a regular basis. LPO and South St. Pauly Girl are one of the 3 people who actually read my blog! Now that's love. LPO and I laugh about how if neither of us had met our spouses, we'd still be living together in a messy apartment with no groceries and laundry overflowing. But I'm pretty sure we both agree that our current lives are too good to trade.

The inspiration for telling this story came last weekend when we got together with LPO and his South St. Pauly Girl and they announced that there is a little one on the way. I know my initial reaction was "OMG, you're going to be a dad!?!?", LPO, but honestly, I can't imagine anyone being a better one. I'm so happy for you guys and I can't wait until South St. Pauly Girl starts craving pickles and ice cream.

Here's to Gilly!!

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*The first meeting of SPG & SPB is somewhat controversial. We actually met twice before, but neither meeting was a positive experience**, so I count our first official meeting as the first time I actually really talked to him. That's the day I'm talking about here.

**He thought I was cute, I thought he was an ass.

I Win, I Win!

Last Friday night we were hanging out with my brother and future SIL and St. Pauly Boy was showing off his juggling skillz for us. He was using softballs. They ain't soft, people. SPB is sporting a sweet black eye right now. He looks tough. It kind of turns me on.

Anyway, last night over calzones, we were discussing the ridicule he was about to endure from his coworkers the next day in the office. When I asked him how he was going to explain his war wound, he said, "I'm gonna tell them it was ninjas". I bet him that everyone in his office would ask if his wife kicked his ass*. I bet him toilet duty for 1 whole month.

Get the scrub brush out, baby, that toilet is gonna shine like the top of the Chrysler Building!

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*DISCLAIMER: St. Pauly Girl is not a husband-beater nor does she condone domestic violence in any way.

Football Is The Root of All Insanity

I love football. I really really do. But I'm so tired of how insane it causes people to behave. Or maybe the more accurate way to state it would be how insane people allow themselves to behave when it comes to football. I've always had an issue with this aspect of the game. It's taken too seriously, professional players make way too much money and are not held responsible for their actions in society nearly enough, fans take the devotion of their favorite team to a level that is quite frankly ridiculous, and this is to just name a few. A good friend of mine was at the Vikings v. Bears game at the Metrodome this weekend. He's a die-hard Bears fan, born and raised in Chicago where he still lives, and went to the game to cheer for his team. Last time I checked, that wasn't illegal or wrong in any moral sort of way. But he was straight up harassed by Vikings fans at the Dome, who went further than just throwing things at him during the game (which is, let's face it, a normal action that occurrs at lots of football stadiums around the country when it comes to fans of the visiting team). These fans made it racial. They brought back the "n" word. I guess you could say the "n" word never truly went away, I guess it was just my hope that it had. It's so disappointing. Why do people have to act this way, just because you root for opposing teams? I'm all for a little light hearted trash talking, but come on people, this is fucking ridiculous.

I want to keep enjoying the NFL. I love the drama of it, week in and week out, but the hype is getting hard to handle. Rivalry is not an acceptable excuse for people to act like ignorant hicks. Why can't we all just get along?

The Source of Random Laughter

A coworker just informed me that when I move to the cube across the floor from her, she's going to miss my random laughter. That's cute. Here is the source of my [current] random laughter, which in turn inspired her to tell me that she'll miss me:

Hey Baby/Control+Alt+Delete

If I Could Be Queen For Just One Day

Along with Squab's, the following would apply in the Republic of St. Pauly Girl.

To be banned from The Republic:

1) Project plans and/or status reports
2) The following phrases: "inform the plan", "guidepost", "solve-for", and "vetting".
3) Incentive bonuses
4) Cubes
5) Paris Hilton (and anyone in her posse)

To be mandated in The Republic:

1) Bonuses. Straight up. Big ones.
2) Chinese delivery no matter where you live.
3) Free HBO
4) All fashion models must weigh no less than 150 pounds.
5) Dog walking services come with purchase of the dog.

A View from St. Pauly Girls Shoes

Get to work way early in order to organize yourselve for the meriad of questions that you have for your Project Manager and teammates. Go sit at the table where the meeting is to take place. When no one shows up, go back to your desk and decide to take your recycling to the copy room. When you're on your way to the copy room, you happen to pass by your collegues cube where your PM is meeting with of your teammates, although the meeting was deemed unnecessary. On your way back from the copyroom, you notice that your PM is now meeting with your other teammate, and assume that your PM is making the rounds to each teammate individually. When you stop to ask if the regular meeting is to still take place, you're told that everyone decided we didn't need it. You wonder why, if they don't "need" the meeting, they're still technically meeting. You also wonder why you were not consulted upon the cancellation of said meeting when you're the one who has a list of questions/issues/concerns/clusterfucks a million miles long yet you're the only one who doesn't get to meet because the meeting was deemed unnessary. Tell your PM you wish to speak with her and receive a positive response. Go back to your desk and twiddle your thumbs, look busy just in case the CIO walks by (which he tends only to do when you take a moment to surf the web). You can hear your PM talking to one of your teammate about various things and you're pretty sure she's not coming over to speak with you about your list of questions/issues/concerns/clusterfucks, so you say "Screw it", to yourself, not outloud, throw your list of questions/issues/concerns/clusterfucks away (as their relevance is apparently insignificant) and go down to Caribou for your Medium Light Roast - no room for cream. When you get to the Bou, the line is 150 people long, but you decide it's worth it and proceed to wait. When you finally get to the counter, not only do you get 10 cents off even though you didn't even attempt to answer the trivia question, but you also get a free upgrade to a Large. A Large! With no room for cream! Contented, you walk back up to your desk and decide that your day will be devoted to keeping up to date with Go Fug Yourself, as your list of questions/issues/concerns/clusterfucks has seemed to resolve itself. You sip your coffee and look forward to leaving work early as a personal reward for coming in before the sun came up.

Pat yourself on the back, St. Pauly Girl. Job well done.

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UPDATE: Get an email from your PM saying she's at her desk if you want to swing by. When you look at the clock you realize that you have another meeting starting in 2 minutes. You proceed with your original plan for the day and do not respond.

You know you missed a dose of your Zoloft when....

...you can't stop crying because the Crocodile Hunter is dead. Yes, it's a tragic story but it's not like I know the guy. I cried like it was my grandfather's funeral. Unreal.

I'll be getting right back to my Zoloft now, thankyouverymuch.

Rest in Peace, St. Pauly Girl

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

You Can Take the Girl Out of the Midwest, But You Can’t Take the Midwest Out of the Girl

St. Pauly Boy and I traveled to good ol’ Orange County, CA for a mini-vacation this past weekend. The trip was encouraged by a Dave Matthews concert in Irvine, which happens to be where SPB’s apartment is, where he stays when he travels there for business. We turned it into a long weekend where we spent time relaxing, driving down the coast, eating out at fabulous restaurants, and wave jumping at the beach.

There are many great aspects of SoCal, one being the amazingly & consistently perfect weather. It was sunny and warm everyday and never too hot to be uncomfortable. But the weather cannot deter us from outlining our negative experiences in The OC. Both SPB and I feel the same about this area of the country….too many snobs, too much materialism, too much fake-wealth*, too many fake boobs, too many Coco Chanel sunglasses, too many strip malls, office parks, and actual real-sized malls, and way too much traffic on The 405. Maybe it’s just me, but seeing a license plate on the back of a Lexus that says “PAMPRRRR” does not make me envious of the owner/leaser of that car. It makes me sad that they feel it necessary to display their materialistic lifestyle for the world to see. Now, I’m not suggesting that SPB and I don’t have our fair share of unnecessary material items or “toys”, if you will, but in our humble area of the country it seems to be a lot less in-your-face than it is in The OC. It’s a way of life out there. It’s a standard. You must have expensive things in order to survive. At least that’s how it feels to a lowly Midwestern girl, such as myself. I realize there are probably some very normal folks out there, it’s unfortunate that they are overshadowed by all the assholes.

We spend one of our relaxing days on the beach, which I haven’t actually done since I was about 17 years old and took a trip to South Carolina to visit a high school friend over the summer. I had to relearn the ways of the ocean that day. How to keep yourself from falling over when even the teeniest of waves hits your legs. How to walk through the sand without completely falling over. How to dig yourself out of the hole that the tide pulls you into on it’s way back out to sea as the next wave competes with it’s direction. Quite frankly, it scared me. The power of the waves is not something that I take lightly. I’m not even a big fan of swimming in rivers, much less a body of water where it’s physically impossible to see to the other side, much less swim to it. But what I did love is the sense of pure exhaustion that you leave the beach with, like your body is telling you “THAT’s what exercise feels like you big lazy piece of shit!”. I certainly slept good that night.

Another accomplishment that I am proud of from my CA weekend is my new taste for Sushi. SPB is a sushi-connoisseur, of sorts. Obsessed with all things raw w/seaweed & rice. I’ve tried my hand at the California Roll and even a bit of Unagi (which is actually cooked, I come to find out, making it much less frightening). But when asked what I thought after cramming the whole piece of Eel in my mouth, I replied with “Well, it’s definitely fishy.” But my sushi-lovin’ husband took me to his favorite sushi spot in Seal Beach, a restaurant called Koi. And let me tell you, I’m on the bandwagon now. I had Toro, Saki, and Unagi and I loved every little bite. It was music to SPB’s ears, let me tell you.

When we weren’t out to eat or laying on the beach, we were vegging-out in the apartment watching the Boob Tube.** Before SPB even got out of bed on Saturday, I managed to watch 3 Cary Grant movies in a row and could have stayed for the remainder of the Cary Grant Marathon on TCM. How easy it is to get sucked in by him. I don’t regret a single moment.

We did have our very first celebrity citing after 4 weekend vacations to SoCal. We arrived early to the LAX on our way home on Sunday afternoon so we decided to actually use SPB’s membership to the Northwest World Club (a.k.a. vip lounge mainly used by business travelers who’s company pays for the membership but it’s not worth paying for yourself because it’s pretty much a huge let down). I was filling up my Sierra Mist from the soda fountain and I heard a guy say “We’ll be ready for you in 10 minutes, Mr. Norton”. I didn’t think anything of it until I turned around and was face-to-face with Ed Norton. He made eye contact with me and all I could do was grin at him, which I’m sure looked really fucking stupid, but he grinned back and I was on my way. I sat down next to my husband and stared at the back of his head while I pretended to read my book. When the man came back to collect Mr. Norton, I watched as he took his time to finish his text message on his Blackberry, gathered up his backpack, threw on his sunglasses (s.e.x.y., not gonna lie to you), and proceeded to follow his butler (or whatever that guy was). I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I’m not used to seeing celebrities in person, it’s only happened a hand-full of times. So I stared. I didn’t realize it, but I stared. I’m a humble Midwestern girl with absolutely no idea how to behave in the presence of movie stars. He didn’t seem to care, he was a pretty laid back airline customer who was just trying to get where he was going. After he left, I decided that I very much needed to sit in his chair. So I did. And when it was time to board our flight, we left the World Club and proceeded to our gate and SPB took the opportunity to get his fair-share of the Norton Ass Juice (his words, not mine) by grabbing my butt. I was bummed Ed*** wasn’t going to Minneapolis. I wanted to spend more time gawking.

All in all, it was a fabulous trip. But as the flight captain welcomed us to the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul after landing, I felt home again. And home is where my professional sports teams are, so I think we’ll call it home forever.


P.S. The concert was cool too.
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* If you lease a Range Rover or a Hummer, you are not “wealthy”. If you carry a 100,000 debt on your credit cards and lease a “luxury” apartment for $5000 a month, you are not “wealthy”. That sort of thing.

** Don’t lecture me about laying around watching TV when I’m in a place like CA where I should be outside enjoying the beautiful weather. It’s my damn vacation.

*** I think it’s ok with him that I call him Ed after we shared that very intimate moment at the airport.

Weekly Recap: St. Pauly Girl's Lessons Learned

1. Make sure your alarm clock is set to the appropriate AM/PM setting.

2. Always double check that the windows on your car are rolled up when there's a possibility of rain in the forecast. Triple check the sunroof.

3. Don't take your meds on an empty stomach. They aren't kidding around when they say that Dizziness is a strong possibility as a side-effect.

4. The dog doesn't always understand that the screen door is not supposed to function as a "doggy door". May need to keep the storm door closed at all times unless you are into the Ghetto Fabulous look of a torn screen door.

5. Always answer your phone when a Montpetit is calling.

GOD I can't wait for school to start again.

Why would the school season have any effect on my life, you ask? We don't have kids, neither one of us is in school right now, and neither one of us teach for a living. And yet, I am counting down until the kids* go back to school. Well, let me explain. The school year brings CURFEW back into business. I'm not talking about city law enforcement I'm talking about parental law enforcement. During the school year, the kiddies have to be home by the time the street lights come on and the older kids have so much homework because they go to shee-shee private prep schools that they don't have enough time to stay out late at night. Shit, the 9th graders are already working on the college applications, they don't have time to terrorize the neighborhood during the school year!

But during the summer, they are allowed to roam free. No fences. No leashes**. And no goddamn curfew. If there are curfew's, they certainly aren't enforced. Whatever happened to the concept of Summer School?? I want every single kid in the Highland Park neighborhood to be required to attend school year round. I'm taking it to the damn school board, I swear to god.

I guess I need to explain the reason for my rampage. This morning I was watering & feeding the dog when I looked out my kitchen window and discovered that someone had built a wall out of the brick pavers that were left over from the patio project, which we hadn't gotten around to moving into the fenced in area of the yard so they were chillin' on the side of the house, next to the sidewalk. They were totally on our property, not blocking anyone's way, these punk ass kids just decided to be complete a-holes and reek havoc for all the people in my neighborhood who have to get to Ford Parkway on their way to work. So I was out there, lugging these goddamn bricks back into the yard, steam coming out of my ears Popeye style, plotting the revenge on the skater punk ass kids in HP who hang out across the street at the gas station and smoke cigarettes and harass young girls.

We also had an incident a while back where a delivery from Eddie Bauer had been dropped off on our front stoop, only when I got home, it had been stolen.

So, while I hope to raise my own future Ivy Leaguers someday, I reserve the right to hate the little bastards for the moment.

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*Whoever's kids, I don't care, just start school again, please.

** Would it be wrong to impose the same restrictions on kids 16 and under as the city has on pets? If you take them in public, they must be on a leash that is a minimum of 6 feet long. 3 feet long if they own a skateboard. That sounds good to me.

The Terrorists Ruined My Family Reunion

Everyone, please commence feeling bad for Dean and Annette Carpenter. The Terrorists are depriving their poor Texan family of homemade jam.

At the entrances to security lines, agents announced the new restrictions and offered to take people's newly banned items and throw them out. Lip balm, mascara and skin creams and even muscle rub piled up in their hand-held trays. One man, told that, yes, mouthwash spray was now prohibited from the cabin, took four last sprays and tossed his canister into the agent's tray.

Just after 7 a.m., Dean and Annette Carpenter of Isanti, Minn., on their way to a family reunion in Corpus Christi, Tex., were forced to leave several jars of homemade jelly in their car.

"It's too bad," Dean Carpenter said. "It affects the whole event."

(See entire article here.)

Now, I fully understand the havoc that has overcome air travel in the United States. My husband flies upwards of 100,000 miles per year. I've had to dig lighters out of the bottomless-pit that I call My Handbag. I get it. But when my local newspaper finds it necessary to make homemade jelly a national tragedy, I struggle to find the right level of sympathy.

Closed circuit to Douchebag Carpenter (who not only had to throw away his precious jelly, but also had to dig through a number of trash cans looking for his wife's license because she was sure she threw it away with her lip gloss accidentally, only to discover that it was in his fucking pocket the whole time)....you know what, nevermind. I don't even have the energy to closed circuit him.

Save travels to everyone out there in the skies. God speed to whoever had to fly with the Jellyless Carpenter's.

Things That Suck

People tell me that I get irritated too easily. That in itself irritates me. Here's a list of things that suck because they irritate me.

(no particular order)

1. Packer fans
2. Sludge from KFan
3. Rock people who say hip-hop sucks
4. Hip-hop people that say rock sucks
5. Cat Stevens
6. Dusting
7. Being allergic to dust
8. Not having TIVO in my bedroom
9. Bars without good happy hour specials
10. Soccer moms in mini-vans
11. Terrell Owens
12. Brett Farve
13. Dart tournaments on TV
14. Roundabouts in the US
15. 25 MPH speedlimits
16. Decorated mailboxes
17. Anyone who parks right in front of my house
18. Anyone who parks right in front of my driveway
19. Skaters (sorry honey)
20. Being interrupted
21. Being told to be quiet
22. Being told "I could hear you laughing all the way down the hall." This makes me angry.
23. Dick Enrico, or whatever, from the 2nd Wind store
24. Erik The Bike Man
25. My job
26. Running out of underwear
27. Buying ice
28. Compromising
29. Dale on "King of the Hill"
30. Beer snobs
31. Skinny jeans and pumps. Why why WHY did this come back in style?
32. The Tour de France and the stupid guy who won. Until we found out he was doping. So sick of hearing about steriods.
33. Steriods
34. Barry Bonds
35. People who rip on me because I'm a Dave Matthews fan. GFY, I can like who I wanna like.
36. Door-to-door solicitors.
37. Door-to-door solicitors who actually give you dirty looks when you say you're not interested. Um, are you on MY property right now? Pretty sure you are. I can be interested in anything I damn well please and you're not one of them.
38. Email forwards
39. Listening to my voice mail
40. Coupons
41. The big fucking pile of dirt in my driveway.
42. How much it's going to cost me to have the big fucking pile of dirt removed. Yes, I know about Craig's List. I can't wait for Craig to get off his ass and pick up my dirt, goddammit.
43. People who say "oh I liked that band before they were big, now I won't listen to them anymore".
44. Everyone who posts on the Rube Chat webboard on Kfan.com.
45. Walking the dog.
46. That show My Super Sweet Sixteen or whatever, on Mtv. Those parents should have never been allowed to procreate.
47. Anytime Carrie Bradshaw runs in her high heels.
48. My neighbor's granddaughter. She doesn't really suck, I'm just getting really sick of her because she's over all the time. Now I know how my neighbors felt when I was little.
49. Humidity
50. Everyone who voted for W.

Batteries Not Included

St. Pauly Boy and I live in a cute little house in a cute little neighborhood of St. Paul. The interior of the house is small, but adorable. All of the woodwork is painted white, the walls have nice neutral colors that fit perfectly with our decor (with the exception of the extra bedroom which was the 3 year old's room for the previous owners & has hand painted chicks all over, which are nauseatingly cute but not exactly prime for SPB's office space). The only thing about the house that needed work was the back yard. So for the past year or so we've been hitting it hard in the back yard.* Last summer we tore out the entire yard, built a retaining wall, regraded the landscape, laid new sod, and built a cedar fence. Ok, someone else built the fence for us, but we did all the rest by hand. This summer's yard project was a brick patio. It took us 3 straight weeks and was officially completed this past Friday. For those of you who remember the last 3 weeks of weather we've been having in the TC's, you should fully comprehend was an assinine project this was to complete with 90% humidity and 102 degree hotness. But we did it. And we L.O.V.E. our new patio. There was no lack of drama during this project. Arguments, meltdowns, heat exhaustion, the sorest muscles ever, absolutely not one item of food in our refriderator, & a neglected doggers with much too much pent up energy. Would I say it was all worth it? No. If we had to do it over, someone else would have sweated their balls off and gotten paid in doing so. Our next place of residence will come with Patio Included. And batteries, if needed.












Behold! The newly build St. Pauly Family Spa.











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*Trust me, I wish I could say that statement was sexual in nature but given the traffic factor, sex in the back yard is pretty much impossible unless you're goal is to be the porn star of Highland Park.

National Day of Hangovers

National Night Out kicked my ass last night, you guys. I never knew that our block was full of a bunch of beer guzzling, chain smoking, insomniac geriatrics. The last thing I remember is sitting on my neighbors patio, in the pouring rain, hunkered down under the umbrella, wearing a white cardigan sweater with an embroidered cardinal on it that someone gave me to keep warm, bumming Benson & Hedges Ultra Light 100's off my 68 year old neighbor, Mary Ann, with her 12 year old grandaughter sitting on my lap. When we finally stumbled back to our own lot, it was 1am. ONE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. That's how late the geriatrics kept me out last night. And god only knows how many beers they made me drink, but I think I may have even agreed to get up with Mary Ann at 3am every day to pray the rosary. I'm not completely confident that I would have passed a breathalizer on my way to work today, or during my 8:30am meeting.

I never expected this. I never knew how insane my neighbors were. Now I know.

And I love them even more than I did before.

Open Letter to My Future Nephew (Not By Blood, But By Friendship), Pedro

Dear Pedro,

I saw your very first photo today! You look so cute in your mama's tummy! Ok, from the front you looked a little skeletal, but that's just because you haven't yet grown the big fat baby cheeks that I'm going to pinch until they turn rosey. But hey buddy, you got time, it's all good. Your mom said you were busy doing sommersalts during the photoshoot. You should be a gymnast. They have hot bodies. I'll teach you how to do a cartwheel as soon as you're born, k? Oh gosh, there's a lot of stuff I'm gonna teach you. Like how to bother Bailey Boo (hint: she doesn't like anything anywhere near her butt) and how to best ensure your photo gets up on the Fridge-of-Fame up at the cabin. That one will be easier for you than it was for me. Come to think of it...am I even up there?? And don't worry, I'll fill you in on everything that's been happening on the Real World/Road Rules Challenge. That Coral is one tough bitch. Oh, maybe I shouldn't teach you that word quite yet. But if you do say it, say it like this: beeeeeeyoootch. And then snap your fingers in a Z formation. All the other babies at day care are going to be so jealous of how cool you are.

Keep on keepin' on, Pedro! I'll write again soon!

XOXO,
Auntie St. Pauly Girl

New Approach To Internet Match-Making

Settle For Brian

Pay special attention to his Pro/Con list. Hey, at least he's honest, ladies!!

If this doesn't give you chills, you are dead inside.

You, Me, and Steely Dan

To preface this, I must explain the coincidence that Steely Dan has come up twice in my life, just during the past week. A few nights ago, St. Pauly Boy and I are laying in bed, I'm reading my book and he's just laying there about to go to sleep (which takes on average .02 seconds, by the way). All of a sudden he gets up and leaves the room and returns a minute later with his iPod and says, "I have this song in my head and if I don't hear it right now, I won't be able to sleep." I'm thinking, ok, that's cool, do your thing. And then I ask, "What song?" Well, right out of left field came the answer...."Babylon Sister, by Steely Dan".

Hm. The entire time I've known this man I have never heard him utter the words Steely Dan in my presence. And then I got the craving to hear the song, so I took one ear bud and he took the other and we grooved out to some Steely Dan before going to sleep. It was odd. Not because I think Steely Dan is odd or anything, it was just a very random thing to have stuck in your head and then physically NEED it before you can sleep. But whatever.

So the 2nd time Steely makes an appearance in my life is just now, when I was reading World of B, and good old B had a link to the most fabulous letter I have ever read. Who knew there was such controversy over the new movie, You, Me, and Dupree?? How could there possibly be drama with a Wilson brother movie? Well, according to the Steely Dan boys, shit's about to hit the fan. They explain it all in their open letter to Luke Wilson.

Damn those guys are a trip. I almost want to go to their show now. Almost.