Category Archives: fashion

I got my lunch packed up, my boots tied tight, I hope I don’t get in a fight…

I’ve been so busy I totally missed back-to-school time! What WILL the kids do without my back-to-school fashion roundup, I ask you? I mean, they’re probably going back to school this week wearing pajamas, all, “AMY DIDN’T TELL US WHAT TO WEAR” and that makes me SO SAD. I’m sorry, youth of America. I’ve been busy working and working and working and sometimes sleeping. I know I’ve let you down. Here, I’ll fix it. Better late than never. I hope some of these things are still on the shelves.

(via random websites on the interwebs that all say they know what’s up)

Boyfriend jeans

I like that you have to peg the legs. We did this when I was in school. TWENTY YEARS AGO. What was old is now new! I AM COOL AGAIN! (Pee ess I was never cool.)

Apparently this is what they call jeans that are all slouchy and distressed and fit all loose. I don’t have an issue with these. They look comfortable. Although I don’t think you could actually wear your boyfriend’s jeans. They wouldn’t fit. How often do people date someone that’s exactly the same size as them? Also, high school boys smell weird and you shouldn’t be getting naked with them anyway, you’re only a kid. Stop that.

Skinny jeans

I guess you don’t sit down when wearing these. That would make taking classes a little difficult.

This website calls skinny jeans “Spanx you can wear on the outside!” and I think that’s misleading because the point of Spanx is that your clothes cover up the Spanx and also all of your random fat-rolls that are thrown asunder by the Spanx. If you’re wearing your Spanx on the outside, people will see all MANNER of ills. Also, I feel like skinny jeans are cutting off circulation to your hooha, and you’re going to want that for teen sex. Also, look, there’s like scientific proof that skinny jeans are bad for your health. SCIENCE KIDS! It’s not just a class you take after homeroom! Skinny jeans pinch one of the nerves in your outer thigh and make your legs tingly, not the good kind of tingly like when Jimmy McGee walks by in his letter sweater, either. (What? Kids don’t wear letter sweaters anymore? Shut up, I don’t know.) So I’m saying no no no nein on the skinny jeans, even though they’re supposedly what all the cool kids wear. Who wants to be a cool kid, anyway? If you watch any afterschool specials, the cool kids always die from driving while texting or whatever anyway.


These look so tight. Look at the pocket on the left, it’s all poking up out of protest.

STOP TRYING TO MAKE FETCH HAPPEN. IT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. Oh, wait, shit, fetch happened? These stupid things are actually popular? Ugh, I feel like if you wore these you’re walking around with only tights on. They make me nervous. I didn’t understand them last hear and I don’t understand them now. Just don’t wear them. Ignore them and maybe they’ll go away.


ZOMG THIS WEAR THIS. Because when the other kids see this, you’re totally elected queen of the prom. No question about it.

This site tells me that bangle bracelets, big brooches, and wicker handbags are all the rage. GRANDMA DID YOU WRITE THIS? Seriously, if these things are in style, my grandmother is CUTTING EDGE BABY. I don’t know too many teens but the ones I do know aren’t wearing grandma-chic. Ignore this tip. If you wear these things, people are going to laugh at you. THEY’RE ALL GOING TO LAUGH AT YOU, CARRIE! THEY’RE ALL GOING TO LAUGH AT YOU!


Here we read that thigh-high boots are in for 2012. You know who else wore thigh-high boots? Vivian Ward.

She says who..she says when…she says…who…

I don’t think you need to be wearing thigh-high stripper boots to high school. If you want to wear them on your time off, that’s your call, but you’ve got like 80 more years of your life to be skeezy, so why don’t you wait a few years? Wear practical shoes to school. I don’t even know that any of us wore heels when I was in school. We wore sneakers. Sometimes we wore flats, if we were dressed up. Is dressing like a teenage prostitute the thing? We here at Lucy’s Football do not approve of you looking like a teenage prostitute. We think you are much too classy for that.

Puffed shoulders

Adorable, if you’re built like a waif ballerina, I guess.

Apparently, puffed shoulders are the thing? I don’t approve. What do you think this is, the 30s, and we’re all in leg o’mutton sleeves?

Let me know when these come back into style, I’m going to hide in the closet.

No no no. This is foolish. Listen, I feel like a lot of these tips come from Gossip Girl. YES. The clothes on Gossip Girl are gorgeous. But they’re totally impractical and no one dresses like that. Everyone thinks they’re a Serena or a Blair but in all actuality everyone’s either a Vanessa or a Dorota. You know it’s true.

Superdistressed jeans

Oh, come on now. Really? Really, truly?

Um. These are a mess and if you want jeans that are a mess I’ll give you every pair of jeans I’ve thrown away after spilling something on them that I can’t get out of them. You look like you had an accident while bleaching evidence of a tub-murder out of the hotel where you work. When I was a wee Amy, I wanted jeans that were acid-washed and my mom said the same thing to me and I was all “PARENTS JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND” and now I understand. Sorry, Mom. These look ridiculous.

A natural, clear complexion

Because skin like this just HAPPENS. Or you can buy it over the counter, like NAILPOLISH.

OH THIS IS AN EASY ONE BECAUSE YOU CAN BUY IT ANYWHERE! Ugh, come on, what the hell? Listen. Some of us (I’m not pointing FINGERS, here, but ME ME ME) had something catastrophic happen when puberty set in, and the acne fairy visited. Now, I know you’re all saying “oh, yep, me too, Amy, me too.” No. I’m not saying once and a while I had a little zit like in the Judy Blume books. I’m saying, you know those terrible before-and-after photos they show on the Proactiv commercials that are probably photoshopped where the person looks like he or she was ground zero at a nuclear bomb test site? NEWS FLASH. There’s a slight change they’re not photoshopped. Because SOME PEOPLE (ahem me ahem) looked like that in their teen years. Well, some of the teen years. It got so bad that my parents shelled out major buckaroos and brought me to a fancy-schmancy dermatologist who prescribed me the medication that saved my remaining two marbles of teenage self-esteem. However, I’m pretty sure it will cause birth defects to any future children, so I’m not having any. Among other reasons. So for five years, I used this medication religiously, and it worked SO WELL that people were all “UGH AMY HAS THE BEST SKIN” which made me laugh and laugh because it was all a TRICK brought on my MEDICATION and I don’t use it anymore because the side effects were that I couldn’t go in the sun ever and it randomly made pieces of my face peel off and plus it was very expensive, and after the teen years my face stopped revolting (and BEING so revolting) for the most part, but now sometimes randomly I’ll break out, like my face will say, HA HA, just wanted to let you know I’M STILL HERE YOU JERK, and I’ll sigh and say YOU STUPID GENETICS. So, in case you were wondering, kids, I know people tell you that acne stops when you’re out of your teen years but it’s totally a lie. My mom’s in her sixties and still breaks out. Sorry. I hate to break it to you (HA GOOD ONE! Break!), but it’s true. Some of us are just more blessed than others in the ways of disgusting breakouts.

Anyway, it’s mean to put “glowy skin” on a list of things kids need for back-to-school. Because it’s not like all the kids can just get that. It’s genetics. And it’s who can afford the fancy dermatologist who’s willing to prescribe medication that’s not quite legal in the States yet. THANK YOU DOCTOR WHATEVER YOUR NAME WAS!

Yes, there’s a possibility I went to Dr. Nick.

So there you have it, kids. Apparently, you need to wear stripper boots and tight tight pants and shirts with poofy upper-arm areas and my grandma’s jewelry. You are going to look ridiculous, so I suggest as soon as you put all of this on, you take it all off again, put on some nice khakis and a t-shirt with something geeky on it and a pair of comfy Chucks, and you go back to school RELAXED. And if one of the chicks walks by with puffy sleeves and stripper boots you can laugh and laugh because you KNOW she’s going to eat it on the stairs. Those stairs are slippery, yo.

Comfy and classic. You can’t go wrong.

HAPPY BACK TO SCHOOL KIDDOS! Learn all the things! Have all the fun! Be nice to each other, please!

Besides, these boots aren’t made for runnin’.

Random crap today. I know, I’m totally about the random crap lately? Sorry. It’s that time of year. My brain’s going about a million miles an hour. Also, for some reason, half of the computers in the office are not working today, so I’m kind of petrified mine’s going to just shit the bed any minute now and then WHERE WILL WE BE.

Tonight I’m off to the theater to watch my first full run of Rumors before tech week next week. I’m very excited. It’s going to be awesome, and, well, “They’re YOUR friends, Jesus,” of course.

Also, do any of you work with the laziest person ever? Like, you’re working and working and working (yes, yes, I know at this EXACT MOMENT I’m not exactly working, I’m blogging, but let me assure you that I’ve BEEN working and I constantly keep stopping in ORDER to work) and you keep hearing the laziest person ever just walking all around the office having conversations about shit like what she watched on TV last night and how stamp prices are through the roof and then about an hour later she comes to you and she’s all “This is a TIME CRUNCH! I need this IMMEDIATELY! I’m ON DEADLINE!” and you’re thinking, “Hmm, maybe if you were a little better with the time management and the chatting, you wouldn’t be in this totally annoying pickle that I am not at all interested in helping you with at all?” Anyone else work with this person? If so, any idea how I can dispose of a body and not get caught? Awesome, thanks.

Listen, I’m pretty sure Dumbcat is plotting my demise. Last night I was all comfy-cozy in my bed and 99.9% asleep, and he was asleep next to me on my pillow, which he likes to do and I totally let him because I love his face, and then, out of NOWHERE, he got the heebie-jeebies and decided he had to get off the bed NOW NOW NOW, and he LEAPT off the pillow, used me as a launching pad, and hurtled into the dark of the bedroom, leaving huge claw marks across my throat. So that’s proof, right there, he’s attempting to murder me in my sleep, right? Like, today, I kind of look like I was assaulted in a dark alley by a madman. When I asked him what that was all about this morning (what, you don’t have human conversations with your cat? Well, you’re missing out, I’m telling you right now) he WOULD NOT ANSWER ME. Totally saucy, that hitman cat!


I’m pretty sure the FBI has a folder on me somewhere

So I found this article yesterday where the writers at The Mary Sue were upset because Google Analytics, based on their search histories, think they’re men.

I see both sides of that. Yes, it’s sexist, sure, and it needs to be fixed, because it’s 2012 and women like things that have been known as “traditionally male” until somewhat recently, thanks, Google, way to get with the future. But it’s also early stages for Google Analytics, so they’re still learning. I don’t think it MEANS to be sexist. It’s a computer. And it’s only there to target what ads we see, anyway. And who even LOOKS at the ads? I wasn’t even aware that Google was putting ads up anywhere that were targeted to me.

So then I clicked on the link in the article and it showed me what MY analytics were. TOTALLY INTERESTING. Because there’s nothing anyone likes more than knowing what Big Brother thinks of you!

On my home computer, Google thinks, based on my search history, I’m 35-44 years old, female, and I like animals, celebrities, and “home pest control.” Ha! That’s totally because of my intensive Rough on Rats research. So, in other words, if someone locally dies of arsenic poisoning, the FBI’s coming to get me, aren’t they. DAMMIT. I blame Jim for this, I totally do. JIM! If I get arrested for murdering someone with arsenic based on my totally in-depth Rough on Rats reporting, you’d better come bail me out.

Also, animals I get, but celebrities? I don’t do a lot of searching for celebrities. That’s kind of a fail, Google.

OH! And, non-related, so SIDE NOTE, my mom was able to see the article about my great-grand-aunt, the ROUGH ON RATS MURDERESS, but she wasn’t able to scan it and PDF it to me because my great-grandmother super-glued it into an album totally angrily, according to my mom. But I did find out her name. I just did a search but Google doesn’t know anything about my relative, the murderess. That’s probably because the newspapers where I come from aren’t online yet. More to come, even if I have to hand-copy the damn article when I go home and retype it, or take a photo of it with my phone!

BACK ON TRACK. Then I clicked on the link on my work computer and it has NO IDEA how old I am here, but thinks I am female (well! I am glad Google is so sure of my gender!) and that I search mostly for things related to theater, shoes, makeup, and psychology. Theater and psychology, I get. Shoes? I don’t know the last time I BOUGHT shoes, let alone searched for them. Makeup makes me laugh because there’s this one website I check every day for what’s on television that night, and it talks about makeup a lot on it, but it’s not actually ABOUT makeup, so apparently Google thinks I’m big into eyeshadow. HERE IS WHAT I THINK ABOUT MAKEUP. Ready?

It confuses the shit out of me.

I understand the following: lip gloss, eye shadow, nail polish, eyeliner, and face powder.

I understand, but hate the hassle of: mascara and lipstick.

I do not understand, and do not even own: blush, that brown base shit you’re supposed to put on first before you put on makeup.

So! Google thinks I am a LADY who likes LADY-THINGS. Even though, I’m pretty sure I’ve shown, through my confusion by makeup above, that I am not good at this being a lady thing. It also totally got my age bracket right. That’s nice. Thanks, Google! That’s…kind of creeptastic! But I don’t care. I’m not reading your ads, anyway.

If you knew what I was thinking, you’d run away screaming

So I saw this today and thought, oh, crap, oh, no.

Then I thought, wait, it’s on Fox News, so it’s probably not true.

Then I found it ELSEWHERE. Oh, shit. And this article is FANCY. It’s like the HEINAKROON of articles. It has brain scans and EVERYTHING.

So apparently, scientists found a way to decode our thoughts and turn them back into the words they are using SCIENCE and BRAIN SCANS and BRAIN WAVES and THE FUTURE. I’m not even going to pretend I understand this. It’s totally confusing.

The only thing in this that sets my mind at ease is the sentence, “He played down fears it could lead to range of ‘mind reading’ devices as the technique can only, at the moment, be done on patients willing to have surgery.”

GOOD. I don’t want anyone reading my thoughts. Mostly because they are a MESS. All scattery and disorganized. My brain’s like the junk-drawer of thoughts. I don’t want anyone seeing that! That’s where I shove all the things I don’t want anyone KNOWING about when they come over to visit! You know, like when you have a last-minute visitor, and you’re all “DIRTY CLOTHES IN THE SHOWER NOW NOW NOW?” That’s my BRAIN. All dirty clothes in the shower and stacks of unread mail under the couch.

Yes, yes, I get that this is totally good news for stroke victims and Alzheimer’s patients. It’s also the freakiest. Gah. Keep out of my BRAIN, scientists.

And you thought a two-hour movie was bad

This is for @lgalaviz, mostly, but you all can benefit from the awesome.

So @lgalaviz doesn’t like musicals because they burst into song and this makes her suspicious because in real life, this doesn’t happen. I’d argue that real life would be SO MUCH MORE AWESOME if this did happen, but everyone has their opinions on how real life should or shouldn’t be a musical, so I’ll go with it.

SO, after I blogged about Breakfast at Tiffany’s and our Sarcastic Movie Night, one of my commenters (who I also know in real life and who knows everything about musicals – seriously, N. is the go-to guy if you have a musical question, I love that) asked if I knew it had been an ill-fated Broadway musical. When I told him I didn’t, he pointed me to the Wikipedia page.

Now, this is not too far out of the realm of possibility – think about it, it’s got all the hallmarks that would make a good musical, a romance, pretty sets, a light enough plot, etc. And worse mistakes have been made in the history of Broadway. I mean, they made Carrie into a musical in 1988 which closed after only 21 total performances. (I’d give my left BOOB to have seen Carrie the musical, seriously.)

Things that are awesomely horrible from this page:

It was written by Edward Albee, who also wrote, among many other things, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf (and The Zoo Story, which I love, love, love.)

Mary Tyler Moore, Richard Chamberlain, and Sally Kellerman were some of the stars

It played four previews on Broadway in 1966 but never opened.

“On a daily basis, the cast was given new material hours before curtain time. Burrows’ departure (the original author) put a damper on the proceedings, resulting in low morale among cast members, and Moore was convinced Merrick planned to fire her soon after opening night.”

“It was not uncommon for the show to run nearly four hours.”

According to the producer, “he shut down the production ‘rather than subject the drama critics and the public to an excruciatingly boring evening.’”

“The show’s failure is legendary among theatre historians and buffs. It has been said that if as many people who have claimed to have seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s really had, it would have run forever.”

Here’s the listing for it on the Internet Broadway Database (YES, that’s really a thing, SHUT UP.) Look how fancy! Who are these characters? Who’s Jeff? Who’s Mags? This is confusing.

@lgalaviz! Can you even imagine? NOT ONLY based on something we kind of agree isn’t that great. NOT ONLY is Holly the only character left we recognize, other than her ex-husband, and Holly’s definitely the least sympathetic character in the show, other than racist Mickey Rooney. NOT ONLY a musical, which you hate. FOUR HOURS LONG! This is like all the things you hate most in the world, all rolled up into a ball! It would make you have an allergic reaction, with the hatred! AND, it was 1966, you couldn’t even use, say, your cell phone or something to distract you! THIS IS THE WORST.

I’m pretty sure hell for @lgalaviz would be having to watch this over and over and OVER.

OH SIDE NOTE. So I might not get Star Wars in time for our next Sarcastic Movie Night so we’re now trying to narrow it down to either St. Elmo’s Fire or The Blair Witch Project. STAY TUNED MY LITTLE JUJUBES.

OK! That was a lot of random crap, I am spent. OH. Are you all watching Justified? If you aren’t, you need to be. Get seasons one and two and catch up and then start watching season 3. Seriously, the performances on this show are amazing, and I’m not just saying that because Timothy Olyphant looks like this.

It's all about the hat. And the leaning. He does a lot of hat-wearing. And leaning. And shooting.

Honestly, as much as I love my Olyphant, this is who keeps me coming back every week.

He looks like a cartoon character, but he can act the face off most people on television. You'll see.

Just start watching. You’ll see. He’s HYPNOTIC, this guy.


Also, AW! Timothy Olyphant and Walt Goggins are FRIENDS! This is ADORABLE, you guys!

They’re YOUR friends, Jesus.

Oh golly! Gee, damn! (Or, how to watch a movie with Twitter and vodka)

So last night was Sarcastic Movie Night. Which you know, if you follow me on Twitter. You probably wanted to kick me in the head last night, actually, if you follow me on Twitter. SORRY. Sarcastic Movie Night! Only fun for people participating!

Here’s the genesis of Sarcastic Movie Night. I tweeted a while ago about whipped cream vodka, which I’d had in a mixed drink out one night with my friend C. The drink tasted like an alcoholic Dreamsicle, and was amazing. If I remember correctly, the food was not so amazing, but who cares! Alcoholic Dreamsicle! @lgalaviz and I started talking about whipped cream vodka, and she came up with the idea of how much fun it would be to watch a movie and make fun of it while drinking whipped cream vodka. WELL. I am never one to back down from a challenge. Well, no, that’s a lie, if the challenge is something like “I challenge you to climb a rope ladder” or something, I’ll back down. Effing moving-all-over scary rope ladders.

Choosing a movie was not easy. When choosing a movie for Sarcastic Movie Night, you have to choose a movie that everyone can make fun of, that no one has extremely strong positive feelings about, and that is readily available to everyone. This is only really a problem for me, since I am the only human left alive without Netflix. (SIGH, FINE, I will explain my aversion to Netflix. I don’t have any gaming systems and my computer’s a piece of shit and I can’t afford one of the boxes you need for your TV, therefore the streaming option is out for me. And I don’t have enough time to watch all the series and movies, and the one time I signed up for the free trial, movies sat unwatched for weeks watching me with their accusing DVD-eyes and I felt HORRIBLE. So I didn’t pay for it when the end of my free trial happened and it POOF went AWAY. Also, if you’re totally patient – and I am – you can get anything you want, pretty much, free from the library. And LISTEN. I love free, more than I love penguins.)

So we discussed and discussed, and @lgalaviz said she thought Breakfast at Tiffany’s would be a good idea. Now, I blogged about this before, but I HATE Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I know! Everyone loves this movie. It’s like on everyone’s short list as the best thing since kitten unicorn rainbows or whatever. But all I remembered is that Audrey Hepburn threw her cat (that she refused to name, argh) into the rain, and that Mickey Rooney played an Asian stereotype.

So @lgalaviz won out (mostly because she promised I could make fun of it) and we chose Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Now, at this point, we had talked about it on Twitter, and both had blogged about it, so TWO OTHER PEOPLE were interested. I KNOW. We’re totally inspirational. I mean, that’s like double the people we’d started with. Since everyone else has Netflix they just added it to their queues, but I had to either get it from the library (and you only get them for five days, and who knows when we were going to be able to match schedules to watch it?) or I could go online to buy it. And since I was pre-ordering the Bloggess’s book anyway, (by the way? Get your asses over there and pre-order this book and let’s get Jenny’s pre-orders up to like astronomical numbers, because I love her just about as much as any of my imaginary internet people and she deserves all the good things, and also, it’s going to be HILARIOUS) and needed to fill up my cart to meet the free shipping total (yeah, I hate paying for Amazon shipping, as mentioned, I LOVE FREE SHIT) I found it for $9 and purchased it. A MOVIE THAT I HATE. I’m totally committed to Sarcastic Movie Night.

Then I had to buy the whipped cream vodka. At the store, there were many choices. One of which was Swedish Fish-flavored vodka. I am not kidding. It was scary. I believe this might have confused @heinakroon who thought it was actually fish-flavored. However, like a mighty hunter, I stalked and murdered my prey. Or, found it on the shelf and brought it home. LIKE A BOSS.


Then we had to wait for Amazon to get their shit together and ship it to me, which took forever and a day because I foolishly ordered it with my pre-ordered book, and they were GOING to wait to ship it all together – IN APRIL – but then I went nuts and ordered three more books (by the way, who has too many books? That’d be me, thanks. But they were on SALE!) and then Amazon was all “FINE WE WILL SHIP ALL YOUR SHIT TOGETHER because you are AN OBSESSIVE SHOPPER DAMN” and I got it yesterday.

I'm already Siskel and Eberting this movie, before we even had movie night.

Then we set a time. 8pm! Saturday night! I work until 6 on Saturdays, so that worked out FINE. They wanted me to work late but I was all NO WAY SUCKERS. Sarcastic MOVIE Night. And they were all, whatever, Amy, I think you’re making shit up right now, and I was all NO I AM NOT.

So first I made a nice glass of whipped cream vodka. What did I mix it with? NOTHING. Why? I DIDN’T PLAN THAT FAR AHEAD. I know. I suck. See, all I had for mixers were fruit punch and cherry limeade? Those would be HORRIBLE with whipped-cream vodka. Right? Totally.

Um…whipped cream vodka…tasted like burning. Like barely whipped-cream flavored burning. This wasn’t going well at all.


So! For our crew, we had @lgalaviz, @patrixmyth, @julierosesmk, and myself, and then @zippy219 (who didn’t have Breakfast at Tiffany’s but was watching Carrie and snarking at it WITH us, so she was participating IN SPIRIT, because she is AWESOME.) Then we had @lahikmajoe, who lives in Germany, and who was asleep. But we included him in EVERY SINGLE TWEET. Why did we do this? I have no idea. I don’t think he ever showed any interest in being involved in Sarcastic Movie Night. I think someone just started including him and he got swept away in the tide of tweets. So poor @lahikmajoe is waking up tomorrow to probably 200 or so tweets. SORRY, @lahikmajoe. WE MISS YOU WHEN YOU ARE SLEEPING.

(SIDE NOTE! @patrixmyth ALSO lives in Germany. However, he participated. I think this is because he is made of magic. Seriously, the man never seems to sleep. I’m in awe of him.)

Now, here was the first problem. Well, other than the fact that my father, who you KNOW thinks everyone online is a., imaginary, and b., a psychokiller, thought the whole plan was a trick to get me murdered. No, I’m not kidding. He said that the next thing my “imaginary friends” were going to ask me to do was to drink “Jim Jones Koolaid” and he hoped I didn’t do that. I told him I already had Koolaid in the cupboard so I was ready in case that plan was put into place and he didn’t think that was funny at ALL. So first I had to calm him down by explaining that watching a movie with people on Twitter while drinking whipped cream vodka was not, in fact, very dangerous, and it was more dangerous, probably, to go to a bar and pick up a stranger and have unprotected sex with them in a bathroom stall, and then he was all “WERE YOU PLANNING ON DOING THAT, TOO?” and I had to explain that no, I was NOT, actually, planning on doing that, it was just a COMPARISON, to show him that I could be doing things that were a lot scarier. This took a lot longer than I’d planned and almost caused me to miss Sarcastic Movie Night.

Back to the problem. Have you ever tried to coordinate four people starting a movie at the exact same time when you’re all in different places and times? It is not an easy thing to do. We were, on average, five minutes difference from each other all night. So one of us would be all “whoa, look at that hat” and the other one would be all “why is that person crying into a mirror” and no one was on the same scene in the movie, ever. I can’t imagine that any of us would be very good spies. You know how spies always have to synchronize their watches? We would not be good at that.

Also, it is VERY HARD to tweet and watch a movie at the same time. I think I missed important things. Like, at one point, everyone but me noticed that one person at a party was wearing a watch on her ankle. I didn’t notice this important plot point. I’m sure I was busy tweeting. The movie probably would have taken a very different turn for me if I had noticed an ankle-watch. Also, @patrixmyth noticed that at the end, Paul paid the cab driver, and I thought they just ran out of the cab without paying. It’s hard to pay attention to both a phone and a television at the same time.

Anyway. Sarcastic Movie Night was a grand success. Much hilarity was had; I would put tweets in here to show you how awesome it all was, but again, Twitter hates me and won’t allow me to put tweets into my posts yet, so you’ll just have to imagine how awesome it was. Because it WAS.

But here is what I learned, during Sarcastic Movie Night. YES, I learned something. I KNOW. It was like a Very Special Episode of Blossom, what with the learning.

Are you ready?

Breakfast at Tiffany’s isn’t as bad of a movie as I’d thought, the first time I watched it.


Are there horrible things? YES.

Mickey Rooney’s racist landlord character is still the worst thing ever.

It's worse than this. He also used an offensive accent, and ran into things with his head.

“Moon River” is a very annoying song. “My huckleberry friend?” Give me a break. If someone called me their huckleberry friend, I’d poke them in the eye. Except for Doc Holliday in Tombstone. As previously stated, he can call me his huckleberry ANYTIME.

Holly Golightly’s character is flighty and doesn’t care much for others for most of the movie, and this is annoying. Characters who are so devil-may-care make me stabby. There are no CONSEQUENCES! Nothing matters but ME! Aren’t I CUTE! Look at my adorable WHIMS! Gag.

This is really a movie about two whores who fall in love, and I’ll fight you if you say otherwise. They might not be streetwalkers, but Paul and Holly are whores. They sleep with people in exchange for money. That’s whores.

“Sally Tomato” is a very stupid name for a gangster.

The scene where they pilfered from the five & dime was annoying, because I hate thievery. But then they wore these masks, which reminded me of that scene from The Shining that gives me nightmares, and THANKS A LOT BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S.

There is nothing cute about these masks. These are Manson-family-style masks.

Refusing to name a cat because you have issues with owning things because YOU are a wild thing that REFUSES TO BE TAMED and then throwing your cat into the rain isn’t cute, it’s animal abuse. You suck. Along the same lines, refusing to call someone by his given name, and calling him “Fred” throughout the movie, is not cute, it’s affected and annoying.

Paul telling Holly, “I love you! You belong to me!” was just about the worst admission of love, ever. I’m with her when she freaks out over this. Telling someone this is a lot like saying “I love you! I want to wear your skin like a cape!”

Their relationship is not doomed to end well. Neither of them has any money; she has very high-price tastes, and he seemed to have $50 to his name and be not-a-very-successful writer. I mean, love’s grand, but it doesn’t put tater tots in your belly at the end of the day.


The movie was gorgeous. Not just the costumes, or the actors (although they were) but the set design and dressing as well. And the city, of course. I love New York, and I can see how this movie made people want to visit it. New York is a character in this movie, for sure, and you fall in love with it (more than Hepburn or Peppard, actually – about as much as Cat – because it is blameless in the “I’m so CUTE!”-ness of the two of them.)

Audrey Hepburn was really, for a completely annoying character, just stunning. I mean, those costumes! And she’s just exquisitely beautiful. Look at her. I mean, just look. How can anyone, even me with my heart of stone, not be charmed by this?

I usually hate hats, but DAMN can she pull them off.

There aren’t a lot of photos where she doesn’t have that dumb cigarette holder that’s a mile and a half long that she kept setting shit on fire with and I refused to put a photo of her up here with that thing. Also, I like this hat.

Also, George Peppard. Can this guy ever wear a suit. Whoo!

Yes, I'm aware this scene wasn't in the movie. LOOK HOW HANDSOME. I couldn't resist.

If you only know Peppard from The A-Team, well, listen, he used to be Mad-Men handsome, I’m telling you right now. *swoon*

@lgalaviz was in love with the cars in the movie. I promised her I would make her a remixed version of the movie with only cars and card catalogs and dial phones and such. I don’t know how to do this, so it was an empty promise. The idea is sound, though. At one point, there was a red cab with fins. It made us happy. (Also, when they went to the library, there were card catalogs, which made me drool.)

For all the annoying pre-hipster hipsterism, there was some genuine emotion happening in the movie. I know. I even noticed it being all drunk on whipped cream vodka and making fun of it on Twitter.

I’m not sure what happened. I HATED this movie the first time around. This time, I actually didn’t mind it. I hated the things I listed above, but the beauty of the movie itself kind of won me over. Am I mellowing with age? Was it the vodka? Am I broken now? Was I broken the first time I watched it?

ANYWAY. Sarcastic Movie Night! A success!

Also, the whipped cream vodka progressively got less offensive. I mean, it never got GOOD. But I think it burned off the first layer of my tastebuds so it got less horrible to taste as the night progressed. I can’t say I went back for a second helping, though. (Oh, and by the way, who was the classy broad drinking it out of a commemorative theater coffee mug given to her by the cast of a show she’d worked on recently? That’d be ME. Yeah, I have no glasses appropriate for liquor-drinking. I thought it might eat through a plastic Tupperware tumbler. I KNOW, I AM THE CLASSIEST.)

This morning, @lahikmajoe wasn’t even mad he woke up to about 200 tweets (just another sign that he is my secret sibling) and I had the headache from hell for the first couple hours of being awake, THANK YOU WHIPPED CREAM VODKA. I’m sticking to magic wine from now on. Ugh.

We’ve chosen the next movie for Sarcastic Movie Night! Are you ready? I know you’ll want to join in, because it is sure to be MISS KITTY FANTASTICO. Ready?

Dun dun DUNNNN.

I haven’t seen this movie since 1996, and that was the first time (and only time) I saw it, and I was forced to watch it (along with the other two movies in the original trilogy) all in a row by the boy I was in love with at the time and I was SO TIRED and he kept saying “Come on, this is BRILLIANT” and I was all “I AM SO TIRED WHATEVER” and so I have this weird irrational hatred of all things Star Wars. But I have been assured I’m allowed to make fun of it if I want. Also, I suppose, if nothing else, I can drool over young Harrison Ford, right? RIGHT.

So this is how you watch a movie with Twitter and vodka and snarking. Aren’t you glad you know how? I know you are. You, too, can do this same thing with YOUR friends! Only, I’d avoid the whipped cream vodka. It seems like a good idea, until you’re actually drinking it. Trust me on this. I made that mistake so you don’t have to.

Under your skin (no, seriously, way under, with a needle and everything)

Happy Friday, minions and minionettes! This has been one long-ass week. And mine was only four days long, due to my vacation on Monday. SPEAKING of which, I have MORE vacation this upcoming Monday. As most Americans do, since Martin Luther King Jr. Day is Monday, but my office will be open, because we don’t believe in holidays from January to April. But not me, Sally! I will be in pajamas until noon. VACATION!

And speaking of which, this is one action-packed weekend. Let me tell you all about it. What’s that? You don’t care? Well, I’m sure there’s some celebrity gossip blog you could be reading, Snarky McSnarkface, so hop on over to TMZ and find out what someone NON-awesome’s doing, see how that works out for you.

FIRST, tonight I will do laundry. OK, that’s not the most awesome, granted. But one needs clean clothes at some point, and I suppose it’s a good idea to have them. So laundry day must happen. Also, @lgalaviz has promised grumpy tweets tonight starting at about 7pm my time, so I’m expecting to be thoroughly entertained.

Then, tomorrow, work. Again, not all that exciting. I promise the exciting is coming.

THEN THEN THEN. I’m going to see Bebe Neuwirth in concert. OK, for those of you who don’t know who that is, here, does this ring a bell? 

Yep, I’m going to see Frasier’s wife from Cheers. No, she’s not going to be performing AS Frasier’s wife from Cheers. She is actually quite an accomplished Broadway actress with an amazing voice, and the blurb about the concert says she will be “performing pop songs alongside some of the greatest Broadway hits, from Sondheim to Weill, with her signature vibrato style.” Yes, I realize this would send the normal human screaming for the door; I’m so excited I’m totally bouncing right now.

Also, look, she’s totally hot: 

AND her big thing is animal rescue, so I love her MORE.

THEN I’m going to go home and drink a lot of magic wine to catch up with my Twitter Saturday night drinking crew, because by then I’ll be totally behind.

Then, Sunday, I’m going to see a staged reading of a Neil LaBute play, Reasons to be Pretty. If you don’t know who Neil LaBute is, shame on you SHAME I SAY, SHUN THE NONBELIEVER SHUNNNNN, because he’s one of my favorite playwrights working today. He’s dark and twisty and just a wee bit evil and I adore him, even though he’s a bit of a bastard to women in his work. (If you’re not a play reader, rent In the Company of Men and The Shape of Things, both his work. You’ll either love them or hate them. If you love them, read his plays, especially Fat Pig; if you hate them, you and I probably wouldn’t get along very well in real life, because you probably like cheery things like sunny days and wishing on shiny pennies too much.) Also I saw him do a lecture once and he was funny and intelligent and self-deprecating and I loved him more. Reasons to be Pretty is about a lot of things – relationships, fidelity, how you see yourself, how others see you, the power of words – it’s wonderful. AND some of my favorite people are in it. AND it’s pay-what-you-will. AND it’s being performed in a library. I really can’t be more excited about this.

And THEN, Monday, I have OOH AAH a vacation day, so I will be blogging up a storm, and then Monday NIGHT, I am meeting two of my favorite people, C and C (that’s confusing, that’s like C&C Music Factory, hee!) for dinner at one of my favorite local restaurants so we can catch up and have all the good times. And possibly also adult beverages. And some of the best food in town. Seriously, come to Albany, and eat at New World Bistro Bar. It will make you irrationally happy. I don’t know a single person who’s eaten there who’s left all, “Meh, whatever.”

See? That’s a weekend chock full o’goodness, right there. I know you’re totally jealous. I would be if I wasn’t me, too. It’s ok, I’ll brag all about it on here, it’ll be like you were there with me, only not there because I don’t know you, I can’t be bringing strangers around with me all willy-nilly.

OH! Yeah, I totally have a topic today. I know, way to bury the lead. Like that? It’s like I’m a newspaperman. Or woman. Or how about reporter, that’s gender-neutral.

OK, so last night I totally got that haircut I was talking about yesterday, only when I told the stylist I wanted shoulder-length she apparently thought that meant chin-length. So now I kind of look like a deranged pilgrim? But it’ll grow back. Today’s response from my co-workers has been (sorry, “co-worker,” only one said anything because no one else cares): “Hey, you got a haircut! That sure is…short!” So that wasn’t all that promising. I’d post the photo I put up on Twitter last night but the photo-hosting service that Twitter uses is blocked here at work. OH HEY. Guess what? Twitter got unblocked at work. I DON’T KNOW EITHER. It’s kind of a mystery. Why is the IT guy playing with my emotions? Whatever, don’t care, have Twitter, all’s right with the world.

Anyway, the stylist was Chatty Cathy (yeah, I don’t know if her name was Cathy, I didn’t ask) and she told me many things, like how she hates country music, and how the deli next door is run by Polish people but they’re “still really nice” (“Still?” I don’t know. Is there something about Polish people I don’t know? Also, on that topic, apparently they have EUROPEAN CHOCOLATE BARS over there. I’m so going one of these days to see if there are Flake bars. You know about Flake bars, right? Flake bars are my CRACK. I love them more than BREATHING. I love them more than PENGUINS) and also then she started talking about how she wanted to get an anchor piercing and went into very, very excruciating detail about how this is performed.

OK, so for those of you who aren’t aware, an anchor piercing looks like this (the one near her eye, not the one in her nose):

My thoughts on piercing: love it. LOVE IT. I know, I’m totally an old person? But I’m all for piercing. And tattooing. I mean, not weirdo tattooing. Not like, some of those tattoos you see that are misspelled or have weird eyes or girls with big boobs or whatever. No no no. But I think it’s your body, and you know what? You do what you want with it, babe. Thing is, THINK ABOUT IT FIRST. Don’t do it because: you just went through a breakup, you want attention, someone just died, you want to be sexy, etc. Do it after some serious thought, do it safely, and do it because it makes YOU feel good and sexy and amazing.

I’m a little more squicked out about things like scarification and such, but you know what, if you like it, you do it. It’s your thing. It’s your body.

I have piercings. They’re all totally PG, don’t be scared. My ears are pierced all up and down. I have a nose ring. I have a tongue ring which I probably should remove at some point or I’m going to be the grandma in the nursing home with the tongue ring but I adore it so yeah, I’ll be that lady, whatever. It makes my dentist yell at me, though. “You’ll RUIN your TEETH!” the dentist says. Yeah, maybe. But it’s pretty and I love it. Also, it makes The Nephew laugh. “What is that?” he asks me. “What is that ball in there?” and I say, “That’s Aunt Amy’s tongue ring, isn’t that funny?” and he laughs and laughs and touches his own tongue and I say, “Do you want one of those someday?” and he says, “NO!” and laughs and laughs some more and tells me to stick out my tongue, and I do, because I love him and, as mentioned a gajillion times, if it makes the kiddo laugh, I’ll do it.

The nose ring hurt like a son of a bitch because I did it wrong. I got it before everyone was getting them, and the chick that did it was all, “I know how to do these!” and did it WITH A BACK ON IT with AN EARRING GUN and when it swelled up (as piercings do) I thought I would die and I had to pry the back off with tweezers. But it healed eventually and I’ve had it for over fifteen years now. The tongue ring I was smarter about and had done professionally and it was only swollen for one day and healed well and bothers no one, except my parents, who never fail to say, “Maybe it’s time to take that stupid thing out now, what do you say?” and I just ignore them, because I love it, even though I’m old.

I can’t wear the nose ring at work, though. It’s “unprofessional.” And I can’t stick out my tongue when clients are around, that’s also unprofessional. Well, I’d think that sticking out one’s tongue around clients would be unprofessional, whether you had a tongue ring or not, right? Right.

ANYWAY. So the stylist was describing an anchor piercing. Which are actually kind of cool, and you can get them all over (do a search – some look better than others, though, who thought it was a good idea to get one on your ring finger like a permanent engagement ring? Hmm) but HOLY HELL getting them in and out! 

See? There are two parts (the two on the left of the photo) – the one on the far left is the jewel that sits on top of your skin, and the one in the middle is what goes under your skin. You can, once it’s healed, unscrew the jewel and replace it with another, you know, to color-coordinate, or whatever, I don’t know. The one on the far right is the two pieces screwed together.

Has anyone spotted what’s making me ick, here? THAT BIG FLAT PIECE HAS TO GO UNDER YOUR SKIN.

So the tech creates a pocket with a needle or a dermal punch and then INSERTS THAT FLAT PART and then you bleed for like thirty minutes and then you have your pretty anchor piercing.

But! Here’s the fun part.

Want it removed?




Gah. Gah. Gah.

No, no thanks. I think they’re pretty, I totally do, but I want piercings that I can choose to remove on my own terms and let my body heal them up and then done, maybe just a little scar.

Also, I don’t know if this was really the conversation a stylist should be having with her client. Probably this is why my hair is so damn short and I look like a deranged pilgrim, because she was planning on getting one of these things tomorrow and she was all freaked out.

Oh, also she was telling me about some people she knew who had them and had to get them removed because they kept getting caught on things and then pulling and bleeding like shirts and dogs. I – um. No. Thanks. I think I’ll stick with what I’ve got.

I AM totally thinking of getting my next tattoo, though, which I realize I kind of waited until I was an old person to get, but I’ve been waiting for the stars to align or some such shit. Words, I think. I want words instead of art this time. Here’s the problem – I LIKE ALL THE WORDS. I have probably twenty different lines of poetry/literature I want. VERY HARD TO DECIDE. If I got them all, I’d end up the tattooed lady, which would probably not go over well considering nose rings are unprofessional here and one guy got let go a few years ago, supposedly for job-related issues, but we think it was because one day it was very hot and he took off his suitcoat and he had heretofore-unbeknownst-to-us tattoo sleeves which I loved but the people here were VERY DISTRESSED BY.

Alright. BACK TO WORK CRACK THE WHIP CRACKY NOISE. Happy weekend, everyone! May all your dreams come true, and, barring that, may you not get stabby, not even one teeny-tiny time!

Losing my mind, getting my hair did, must be Thursday.

Today has been insane. INSANE. Possibly in the membrane, even. That’s just how insane.

So I get here, and the receptionist called out (AGAIN – I think she’s probably dying, I mean, what else could explain all of these absences except death? Oh, hypochondria? Yeah, I suppose there’s that, sure) so that means I’M ON DECK SKIPPY. Listen, I’m like the worst receptionist. Yes, sure, sure, I can answer a phone. Who can’t answer a phone? I even have a very pleasant phone voice. That’s like the only nice thing they say at my annual reviews, “You have a very pleasant phone voice.” But THEN the other admin person called out sick, too, so that leaves just me to do all of the typing work, PLUS answer the phones pleasantly, PLUS do the mail, PLUS body-check my co-workers who are totally nefariously trying to take each other’s scheduled conference rooms at unscheduled times, PLUS deal with the weirdo man-off-the-street people who just wander in here all “Hey, do you want to buy a copier?” (do you think any company is all, “ZOMG! A COPIER! I didn’t even think – WHAT AN AWESOME IDEA! JIM! FRANK! GET UP HERE! Listen to THIS! This guy wants to sell us a COPIER! I mean, think of the things we could DO if we had a COPIER!” Who doesn’t have a copier, man-off-the-street? I mean, seriously? And also, do you think that the person sitting at the front desk, who is obviously the lowest man on the totem pole, like the person who all the other totem-polians are stepping on and squashing, has the ability to authorize a copier purchase? Those things are PRICEY, yo), PLUS deal with the fact that one of the doors fell off one of our bathroom stalls so I have to deal with people telling me that every five minutes even though I sent out an email all “I KNOW ABOUT THE DOOR STOP TELLING ME SOMEONE’S COMING TO FIX IT CHILLAX,” PLUS listen, I kind of wanted to blog at some point today, you know? Ergh.

(Oh, yeah, side note, I have no idea what’s happening in the women’s bathroom here. Doors fall off, toilets keep getting clogged, someone keeps cutting their hair in one of the stalls so you walk in and there are like tumbleweeds of hair in the corners, someone keeps leaving magazines in the toilet-seat-cover dispensers; it’s kind of like going to the bathroom in a mental institution. You never know what you’re going to find. Ever. And it’s scary to think about.)

So anyway, yeah, today has been kind of the suck, I’m not going to lie, what with the mental institution bathrooms that possibly someone hulked out in and the phones ringing and the work and the people all calling in sick and also it snowed last night so every five minutes someone has to talk to me about the snow. “Did you see the snow?” No. No, I didn’t. I don’t have HUGE CEILING TO FLOOR WINDOWS RIGHT HERE. What’s snow? What’s this “snow” of which you speak? ZOMG WHAT IS THAT ON THE GROUND OUT THERE I AM SO SCARED RIGHT NOW. Yes, Sir Obvious, I SAW THE SNOW. I brushed it off my car this morning, I wore boots to work, I drove here in it. I live in New York, bub. Heads up, it sometimes snows here, usually in the winter months. IT IS NOT UNHEARD OF.

Anyway, so probably I should have spent all that time I was working thinking of some sort of theme to write about today but I am totally on brain-fry. SO MANY THINGS ARE HAPPENING HERE.

Also, I said the funniest joke to one of my coworkers and he was all serious-face when it was done. WHY DON’T YOU PEOPLE LOVE ME. OK, listen, is this not the best? So some woman dropped off some swag here yesterday? The swag was weirdo swag, though. Shoeshine kits and calculators that are made of rubber and bendy. Yeah, I don’t know, either. The shoeshine kits, especially. Except they did make me want to pretend to be Andy from Parks & Rec for a little while out in the lobby, see if I could start a new career. ANYWAY. So my coworker was all “CALCULATOR I WANT ONE” and then was playing with it and was all sadfaced because the minus key didn’t work. And, instead of saying, “Well, you know what they say, free shit is usually garbage” (what, they don’t usually say that? I say that. Don’t most people say that?) I said, “That calculator is trying to get you to keep a positive outlook.” HA! Get it? Because the MINUS key didn’t work! And he was SAD about it! POSITIVE outlook! That was the funniest, I know you’re all thinking that I’m totally probably like the funniest person ever. And you’re right, of course. Nope. Not my coworker. He just walked away, sadly shaking his head over his broken free rubber calculator. I don’t know what I have to do to get these people to see I’m like the best thing ever, seriously. I mean, probably I could pratfall, but even I’m not willing to take it that far. I’m using my A material and NOTHING. It’s like playing tennis against a wall made of GLUE.

So I’m totally getting a haircut tonight unless the snowpocalypse occurs. This is exciting, because it happens like once a year. I know. I totally lose my girl membership card for this. Listen, I have hair issues. Here are my hair issues. I know you’re totally on pins and needles because you are so excited to hear what they are. THE PHONE KEEPS RINGING IT IS NOT MY FAULT THE BLOG IS SUCK TODAY. Blame the receptionist of death, I am.

My hair is unruly. No matter what style my hair is in, it doesn’t do what I want it to. I have crazy person hair. Also eyes, but that’s not what we’re talking about, now is it. So I could get layers, short hair, long hair, bangs, a Flock of Seagulls do, whatever – it’s still going to either be flyaway or greasy, or frizzy or flat, depending on the day and also I think whatever mood it’s in. Also, it’s always going to have three cowlicks in the front (YES THREE I DON’T KNOW EITHER) and it’s always going to have a whole shitload of little frizzy things on the top, no matter what I do, unless I wear a hat. Oh, also, it eats hairspray. I can put a gallon of hairspray in, so it’s like a helmet, and then in ten minutes it’s like I put in NO hairspray. Crazy-person hair. Like this. I LOOK LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME.

I don’t like to spend time styling it. I have my morning down to a science. I get up, I slump around bemoaning the fact that I’m not independently wealthy, I get ready for work, I eat, I go. Doing something to my hair would take like an additional – what, fifteen, twenty minutes? So I’d have to get up EARLIER. What the hell. No. I brush my hair, I get it wet and I smush it around so it doesn’t stick up for a few minutes, until it dries, when it sticks up all over because CRAZY PERSON HAIR, and I’m good to go. I’m a total guy about my hair. It’s because I’ve given up, seriously. My hair’s unwillingness to work with me has broken me.

I don’t approve of haircuts that make me spend time styling it. So really, my options are limited. I can get it all one length; I can get layers; or, I suppose, I could get a buzz cut, but I look totally weird with short hair, so really my options are all one length or layers. I’m pretty easy to deal with at the salon.

I don’t like dealing with the small talk that happens at the salon. What are you supposed to say to the stylist who’s all up in your personal space? And it’s awkward if you talk and it’s awkward if you don’t so really, it’s just totally awkward.

Here’s me at the salon:

Me: Can you cut this?

Stylist: What kind of style were you thinking?

Me: Meh. I don’t care.

Stylist: Um…you don’t…I don’t understand…

Me: I don’t want to spend time styling it. So cut it to my shoulders, so I don’t have to come back here for another year. You can put in layers if you want. Or don’t. Surprise me.

Stylist: This is…um…what if you hate it?

Me: I always hate it. I can’t imagine I could hate it worse once you make it shorter.

Stylist: We could do bangs?

Me: I have three cowlicks. And my hair’s got about as much body as an abandoned morgue. Bangs are a no-go, sis.

Stylist: So…

Me: Cut. To shoulder-length. Layers. Or no layers. Your call.

Stylist: Your lack of interest in this is truly befuddling. Are you sure you’re female?

Me: Not always, no.

So! Haircut! Shorter! Layers or no layers! I DO NOT CARE! But seriously, shit’s got to get done sometime. It’s been ten months since I last got a haircut. Who goes ten months without getting a haircut? I’m totally broken, haircut-wise. Oh, also I totally go to the cheap place for a haircut. Not a real salon. Why would I go to the real salon? I’d be embarrassed to tell someone who does this professionally and takes it seriously that I just don’t care. Like, I care about the fate of monkeys more than I care about my haircut. And I DETEST monkeys.

Alright. Since I started writing this, I’ve gotten FIVE MORE PROJECTS and the PHONES WON’T STOP RINGING and for some reason UPS dropped off a gajillion boxes and everyone who walks by is all WHAT ARE THESE WHY ARE THEY HERE and hell if I know, I’m just the fill-in receptionist, do you see my name on them? No you do not, Questiony Sam, but if one more person asks I’m going to say that I have an online shopping problem and see how long it takes the office game of telephone to get that shit spread around like wildfire.

Happy days, people! Wish me all the luck! There’s a bottle of magic wine with my name on it waiting for me in my fridge if I survive today!

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