I have these visions of running up to wil wheaton and kicking him in the shins. hard. my nominated friends were a lot more gracious in their responses to the bloggie awards, but I have no problems resorting to five-year-old childish violence when it’s appropriate. those girls were a LOT more deserving of the awards than someone who uses his waning-acting-so-I-had-to-turn-to-blogging fame to suck up people, rather than brilliant designs, thoughtful and funny insights, and general concern for other people.
grrrrrr.
ok, I’m going to clue you in on how pathetically weird I can be: I’m dying for a cup of coffee. It’s sitting there, piping hot and calling my name from the kitchen counter. However, I can not do a single thing in the morning before I brush my teeth. I know, I know — but you’re going to drink coffee! your breath’s gunna stink anyway! I don’t know. I just can’t do it. And even worse? If I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I have to go through the whole routine of peeing, too. And I’m feeling too lazy to get up and pee, even though I really have to. Sometimes I’ll walk around for hours, even though I have to pee really badly, because I’m feeling too lazy to go through the process of unbuckling my belt, unzipping — and well, you know the rest.
And I really, really want that coffee. I’m a freak.

a gross story to start your day:
my parents own a nursery school. a while back, my mother had a kid who just loved picking his nose. she tolerated it for a bit — after all, most kids pick their noses, apparently — but she had to say something when she saw him eating it.
“johnny! why are you eating your boogers?” she asked.
“because, Miss Marie, I like the way they feel when I squish them between my teeth,” he replied.
true story.

move over bacon… here comes something leaner. at least according to richie-boy’s 1200 calorie diet plan, I should be leaner in three weeks. and that’s not even with the “kick-off” week plan! that one can’t be more than 900 calories a day. hell, there were days I’d eat that for breakfast. and hey, is sizzlelean even still around?
anyway, I’m fried. my brain’s fried, my body’s fried, and I’m starting to crumple around the edges, like overcooked bacon. not sure how I feel comparing myself to fried pig fat, but hey, it’s just been one of those weeks.
and it’s only tuesday. morning.
I’m not the only thing fried either, apparently. my laptop decided to go pop! fizzle! whoosh! while I was trying to sleep last night. so now I’m using jay’s and deciding whether or not the computer just needs a little rest, or if I need to bring it to the laptop doctor. it won’t even start up. and man, do I know how that feels!

Jay just came into the room and asked “Would it look too gaudy… ” but he didn’t get to finish. If someone actually has to ask me if something would look gaudy, it’s gunna look gaudy.
hell, this almost borders on gaudy. but I’d switch back to public transportation if I could sit on that couch every morning.
this site is like jackass without the planning. go check out the idiot who thought jumping off his roof would be fun.
been a fun day, can’t you tell? btw, 1200 calories is not enough for a normal person to survive on. about the time mid-afternoon rolled around, I was ravenous enough to almost start gnawing on the cardboard desks. and I was a bitch. a whiny, crying, stubborn, overemotional bitch. toss in a full moon into the mix, and it was a glorious afternoon for all involved. so to you, Richard Simmons, I raise my extra-large glass of gin and tonic. sweat to that, my friend.

help! random request: I’m looking for a poem I believe is by Sharon Olds — it’s titled something like, “I Could Not Tell” — it’s about how mortified she is with herself that she put her child at risk while racing for a bus… if you have it, please email it to me… I want to use it for my class Thursday, and I can’t find it anywhere. thanks!

first things first: we’re going to the superbowl! I’m not really justified in saying we, since I really only started giving a schlit about football about a month ago. but now that I know what all those downs and penalties mean, I’m right there screaming at the tv along with jay. yay! I’m soooo looking forward to next sunday!
should I be creeped? someone did a search for erika+renee+lanier+poem. please tell me it was one of you!
I’m not sure how I feel about this yet. something about exploiting a poor, elderly woman doesn’t sit quite right with me. however, the conversations with granny is worth a good giggle.
I broke down today and bought richard simmon’s “foodmover” — it’s just like deal-a-meal, except you’ve got these little windows you open and close. I’m mortified at the amount of food I’m allowed on a 1200/1400 calorie diet. here I am, thinking I’m doing just fine on my own, and I swear I’ve got to be eating 2800 calories a day! doesn’t help that someone found my site today through watch+a+girl+get+fat+pictures. SIGH. I’m eternally grateful, however, that I will never, ever look like this.

you know you’re getting pathetically old… or just old. or maybe just pathetic…
anyway, we have these free movie passes from when we went to see Shrek — the sound was horrible, and the kids were screaming, so the theatre gave everyone free passes. we figured we’d use them last night to go see Oceans 11. nuh uh.
the first clue we weren’t going to make it through the theatre should have been the fifty teenagers gathered out front, punching each other and screaming that their dad was coming to pick them up later, or that ohmygod, did you see Mikey looking at me?. I couldn’t help but think, shouldn’t you be in bed by now? or at least have a curfew, so you could go home and sit on the computer and hook up with some forty-year old dirty man posing as a hottie fifteen-year-old in a chatroom?
the second clue should have been the line of fifty people waiting to buy tickets. what the hell is that? where did all these people come from? and then I realized — we never go out for a Saturday night movie. it’s usually a Saturday afternoon, or a Sunday evening… but never Saturday night. I felt so… old. I didn’t even have the energy to try to run down the screaming teens as we left the theatre parking lot. le sigh.

I feel I know you all pretty well. you probably think you know me pretty well, too, right? good. cause I’m about to get really personal.
two years in the life of my Victoria’s Secret credit card:
pre-pre-jay: comfy cotton undies.
the first few months of our relationship: satin panties.
the last year, living with jay: anything lacy and see-through, since I wanted to dispell the myth that women get comfortable in a relationship and go back to grandma undies. hell, I have a drawer full of thongs I dread digging out (of both the drawer AND my ass). but, I didn’t want to become the “comfy” girlfriend that quickly.
post-shopping tonight: back to comfy cotton undies from victoria’s secret for me! yay!
turns out, cute cotton undies can be sexy! why didn’t I have this conversation with him before the horrific red-velvet thong incident? I now have a drawer full of cute love-print vicky’s cotton undies, and I’m so looking forward to wearing them! so, let’s have a little girl talk — what do you wear? do you make these drastic underthings changes in your relationships as well? does anyone honestly believe that thongs are a good thing? guys — do you really care what your girl is wearing under her jeans, as long as you get to take them off later? and what is up with those carefree thong pantyliners, anyway? like you really need one more thing creeping up your ass?

I know I posted about setting a date for the wedding, but I don’t think I posted about the place. we’re having it at giorgios on long island. it’s a beautiful place. here are a couple of pictures (1 . 2 . 3) — keep in mind, they’re doing construction on it now, so the part with the huge windows will all be hardwood floors — we’ll have the ceremony in front of the windows, and during the reception, it’ll have couches and little tables for people to relax.
you can get a better sense of the place if you actually go to their site (which I’m itching to redesign for them. does that ever happen to my fellow redesign freaks? you see someone’s page, and you go (to yourself, naturally), oh, what fun I could have with that page! but you don’t dare say anything, because I know I think I’d be offended if someone said to me (in the voice of my wonderful, gay male friend, of course), oh darling, please let me beautify your page for you! (except he said to me, when we first met, “Oh honey, who taught you to accessorize?” with a little “tsk tsk” in his voice.) anyway, the things I would do if I could walk around and redesign everything. then again, it would become erika’s world, filled with things I think are pretty, and not everybody agrees with my ideas of pretty. I’m babbling.)
[note: wah wah. edited out my whining.]
heard from the doctor today. apparently my neck pain is a result of two fused discs in my neck — I was born with it, but just found out through the xrays. Now, I have to go see a spinal specialist. I hate doctors. I’m terrified of finding out anything that’s wrong with me. I’m terrified of the phrase “spinal specialist.”
I just really, really want to crawl into bed.