Spirit Animals

Also, the sigil of House Jess would be this:

But maybe with some flames or something to make it more intimidating when I carry it into battle.
Source.

Imaginary Boyfriend Thursday... Yes We're Still Talking About This Show Edition

Well, I thought I might as well keep with the theme of my blog this week.  That theme being "Jess Is A Giant Idiot/Nerd".

So you can probably guess that my imaginary boyfriend is a character from Game of Thrones, but which one shall it be?

There are so many choices.

Robb Stark, King In My Pants the North.

I'm not even being ironic here... I think Samwell Tarly is fucking adorable.

Twincestual Jaime Lannister

The Dinklage? He can get it.

Well, I just couldn't decide. So I did what any sane person would do and asked my mom to choose.

Her verdict... only the cutest bastard in the whole wide world would due for her one and only daughter.

I'll just bet he does.

And to put it right over the top here is an excerpt from a recent interview:

"And lest you think they’ve become so famous they’ve forgotten where they came from, Harington had to whisper into his cell, “I’ll call you back, Mum,” before we got started."

Out of Control

My Game of Thrones Season 1 DVDs arrived yesterday, which means I stayed up way too damn late watching the special features.

Also, I am on the verge of ordering a bracelet like this:

Source.

That says "You know nothing, Jon Snow" instead of "Winter is coming".

Because I have apparently lost my goddamn mind.

But, you know what, you guys?  Only 4 more sleeps until the King In My Pants the North returns! Huzzah!

Oh... hi, Robb.

You Must Change Your Life

I know it probably seems like I have the interests and mentality of a 13 year old girl from the Valley, but in between the nail polish and imaginary boyfriends I fancy myself a semi-intelligent person.

Here are some things you probably didn't know about me:

- Sometimes I read things other than romance novels.
- I have 3/4 of an art history degree.
- One time David Sedaris told me I should start smoking.
- I love poetry.

This poem happened to stop me in my tracks over the weekend, and I wanted to share it with you.

 Archaic Torso of Apollo by Rainer Maria Rilke

(emphasis is mine)

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,


gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.


Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur:


would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life. 

10 Reasons I May Never Be An Adult

1. I am incapable of folding and putting away a basket of laundry.  The best I can manage is one or the other.

2. I have been known to eat trail mix for dinner for days in order to avoid grocery shopping.

3. One day last week I forgot to brush my teeth.  Gross, I know.

4. Remember in that M. Night Shyamalan movie Signs when the daughter kept leaving glasses of water all over the house, and that ended up playing an important part in the (not so) big twisty ending?  Yeah, my house looks like that all of the time until I force myself to gather up all of the glasses and wash them.  This usually coincides with the moment that I run out of glasses. Double gross, I know.

5. When I cook I like to pretend I am hosting my own cooking show.

6. My ringtone is the keyboard cat song.

7. I hate raw tomatoes.

8. Sometimes when someone comes to the door I hide so I don't have to answer it.

9. I can't sleep on Christmas Eve because I'm so excited.

10. I really want one of those Dorito tacos from Taco Bell.

First Five!!

I'm feeling lazy today... probably because I stayed up too late reading Game of Thrones and daydreaming about my favorite Scotsman.

So I'm taking the easy route today by playing the first five game with my iPod.

Let's see what shenanigans Sir iPod is up to today.

1. Bryn - Vampire Weekend

2. Live Bed Show - Pulp

3. Miss World - Hole

4. Benny and the Jets - Elton John

5. When the Stars Go Blue - Ryan Adams

I think my iPod is trying way too hard to be cool.  It's like one of those teenagers that works in a record store desperately trying to impress everyone with the depth and breadth of it's musical tastes.  My iPod is a real hipster douchebag today.

On the other hand, I really like all of these songs... so who is the real douchebag?

Imaginary Boyfriend Thursday... Big and Scottish Edition

Have we talked about how much I lovelovelove Game of Thrones?

It's true.  I'm a big ol' nerd for it.  It tickles the same nerd fancy Lord of the Rings does.  My big, epic, swash-buckling, nerd fancy just can't help itself.  Put some dudes in armor and have them fight to the death over a ring or a throne or a dragon egg, and I will ride or die.

So I was working and, you know, minding my own business, and thinking about Game of Thrones, and thinking specifically about my most favoritest character, Sandor Clegane...

Okay... Sandor's face is scarred because his older brother, this asshole named  Gregor, held his head in a fire when they were younger and now he is scared of fire.  He wears a helmet that looks like a dog's head and his nickname is "The Hound".  He is amazeballs.

...and then I was thinking about the actor that plays Sandor...

Rory McCann. You guys, he was a fucking lumberjack. For realsies 

...and then I was thinking about how tall and big and Scottish he is (6'6" you guys!)... and I thought "I could just climb him like a tree."  And then I Google image searched him and found that someone had already made this:

So thank you to whoever you are!  We just experienced a Rory McCann-sponsored mind meld!  We are spirit animals and probably best friends! We could braid each other's hair and write love letters to Rory while listening to Jodeci!

But eventually I will murder you in your sleep because, bitch, he's mine.

Dduk Bok-ki: A Recipe and an Interview With My Mom

I thought I would try something a little different today, and share something my mom cooked and then interview her about it.

Last night my mom made something quite a bit different from our standard middle-American fare.  She made Dduk Bok-ki.

What?

Yes, Dduk Bok-ki.  It's a Korean dish made with thin sliced bulgogi marinated beef and rice dumplings in a spicy/sweet sauce.

Yeah... we're not exactly artsy fartsy food photographers.

You guys... it was so good.

First things first, the recipe:

Here's what you'll need (my mom found a Korean market in our area called Grace Market, but I'm guessing you can find these ingredients at most Asian markets).

The giant bag next to the carrots is the red pepper powder. Apparently
you can't buy a small package of this.  She used 1/2 tsp. for this recipe. Sheesh.

1 lb package of dduk (these are the rice dumplings... they're kind of like super thick rice noodles)
1/2 lb any thinly sliced beef (she marinated hers in bulgogi marinade overnight)
1/2 c. julienned carrots
1 bunch green onions, roughly chopped
2 T soy sauce
2 T gohchoojang (Korean red pepper paste)
1/2 - 1 tsp gohchoo garoo (Korean red chili pepper powder)
2 T sugar
2 T sesame oil
1 - 2 cloves garlic, super finely minced
salt and pepper to taste

Thaw dduk and soak in cold water for a couple of hours.  Drain the dduk and cut into 2 to 3 inch pieces (if necessary... the dduk my mom bought was already cut into pieces this size). Toss into boiling water and cook until soft, approximately 5 minutes. Drain.

Mix together the soy sauce, red pepper paste, red chili powder, sugar, sesame oil, and garlic to make the sauce. Set aside.

Stir fry the beef and vegetables in a small amount of oil until the beef is cooked through. Add the dduk and sauce and stir until everything is coated and heated through.  Dump out onto serving dish, add salt and pepper to taste, and enjoy.

The dduk tasted like big squishy rice gnocchi dough balls.  So delish!


And, now, an interview with my mother (SPOILER ALERT! My father makes an appearance).


Me: Hi.
Mom: Hi.
Me: Please state your name:
Mom: Cheryl He..
Me: I'm not putting your last name. It's not safe.
Mom: Cheryl. With a 'C'.
Me: Are you Korean?
Mom: No. I'm carnie.

The working family theory is that our ancestors were carnival folk or gypsies.  Or both.

Me: Why are you cooking Korean food?
Mom: My ex-sister in law made this for me 30 years ago, and I liked it.
Me:  Remember that time you tried to kill a rat in the backyard with a baseball bat?
Mom: I think it was the front yard. Over in the old house?
Me: Yes.
Mom: Yeah, I remember.
Me: Did this turn out as well as you thought it would?
Mom: I think so. I think it turned out better than I thought it would.
Me: Which celebrity do you most resemble?
Mom: (confused look)
Dad: Moe, Larry, or Curley? (laughs at his own joke and leaves the room)
Mom: I'm afraid of what you are putting from this interview.
Me: I'm just putting whatever you say.
Mom: I know, but you are asking me about the rat at the old house. Roseanne Barr... I don't know!
Me: Which celebrity do you think I should marry?
Mom: George Clooney. Or Prince Harry.
Me: Okay.

Tiger Lady

Well, I'm in the midst of period hell today.


Yes, my period.  We're talking about it.


I refuse to call it "shark week" or "my visit with Aunt Flo" or any other cutesy-wutesy nickname we as women have come up with to make it seem slightly less awful than it actually is.


Also, you should know that I get really fired up and feminist-y when I have my period because it fucking pisses me off that we have to do this every month.  HATE IT.


Which is why I think every one should read this open letter from Kelly Oxford.

AN  OPEN  LETTER  FOR  MEN  AND  WOMEN  ABOUT  MENSTRUATION

Ladies,

It’s only recently occurred to me that this entire ordeal of menstruation has been SEVERELY downplayed and we are feeding into it.
Last night my husband asked, “Why are you being such a bitch?”
He knows I am having my period. Why is he asking?
I came up with an answer, it’s because men and women keep this shit out of mind. I’m tired of it.
Bleeding for a week every month was probably downplayed to “period” by the same guy who says that a female “rape fantasy” means you are the victim.

If I told a guy that I had been bleeding for 3 days, he would not ask me why I was in a bad mood. If I then followed up by informing him that I actually can bleed for 7-9 days every month and survive he might even view me as some sort of hero.

Ladies, the world isn’t going to change until tampon commercials use red dye, instead of blue, to demonstrate absorbency.

Let’s think about this: Women are discreet about their periods - even with one another.
I want to say “OWN IT” when I see a woman shielding a tampon in her palm, or covering the bag of pads in her cart with a bag of marshmallows.
Because it is okay.
Not only is it okay, it’s your goddamn right to talk about it and hold it over the heads of every man you know. Not literally, of course.

Can you imagine the kind of shit we’d see if it were men having periods?
Commercials with warriors patting themselves on the backs for another month surviving the great “bleed”.
It wouldn’t be called a “period” as in, the “period” of time men don’t have as much fun doing fucky times with you….
Men would openly pass out absorbent socks for their wangs and smoke cigarettes while women looked on in disbelief and offer them more cigarettes for having lived through another week of blood.

But us? Well, it’s just too gross to think about. Women having their periods has been ingrained in our minds as THE MOST disgusting repetitive human event next to shit.
Here is why.
It’s to keep us from benefiting from it.
So I say, flaunt those tampons ladies, remind your partner when you are bleeding that you-are-indeed-bleeding, and when he gets grossed out it would be a good time to also bring up that whole rape fantasy thing too.

Your friend,
Kelly

So, you know what?  We are women and we are bad asses, and we need to start bragging about that like ALL OF THE TIME.  Men brag about every minor horseshit thing they've ever sort of accomplished, why shouldn't we?

Imaginary Boyfriend Thursday... Belated Edition

Whoa... how did I miss Imaginary Boyfriend Thursday?

I guess with all of the boob shrinkage and knee injuries, it just passed me by.

I would try to come up with someone new this week, but the truth is I have a pretty standard rotation of  ol' standby imaginary boyfriends.

This week I'm all about Prince Harry again.

Maybe it has something to do with all of the photos and videos of him dorking out and being awesome on his recent tour of Jamaica, Belize, and Brazil.

Maybe I'm a weirdo, but this video of Prince Harry awkwardly dancing in super adorable blue suede shoes just does it for me.

Twirl me, Harry... twirl me!!

I Don't Know Much

... but I know my knee hurts and my bra is too big. And I know I love you.

Yeah, that's right, I've only lost like 2 lbs, but apparently it's all in my bra.  Who knows?

The good news is that after a depressingly awful 2nd workout, I felt much better yesterday... like I could actually sort of, kind of keep up with the class.  So that's good.

I'm not sure what to do about this knee situation, though.  Having never been what anyone might consider an "athlete", I don't have a lot of experience coping with injuries.  Do I push through or rest it?

Here are my symptoms:
- Pain
- In
- My
- Knee


Basically when I put too much weight on my left leg I get a pain on the inside edge of my knee, and it feels like my knee is about to fold in on itself.

Kind of like this:

Is that bad?

Armored

Well one hour, 2 sports bras, an ibuprofen, and a gallon of water later.... and I survived my first day of fitness boot camp.

It wasn't pretty, though, and I was basically doing the remedial fitness boot camp workout, but, hey, I got through it.

"Why two sports bras?" I imagine some of you precious darlings are asking.

Well, kids... you see, I have a lot of what I like to call "personality" up top.

You know.... personality.  

My girl Christina knows what's up.

And all of this personality makes exercising/jogging/sometimes even just walking uncomfortable. But I've devised a foolproof method of handling this... basically my foolproof method is a torture device composed of two ill-fitting sports bras.  It works, but it's not exactly comfortable or attractive.

Basically, this comic from Busty Girl Comics (aka the story of my life) sums it up pretty perfectly:

Only 23 more workouts to go!

Springin' Forward Like A Mother Trucker

It's Doomsday, you guys.

I went to the fitness assessment for my fitness boot camp on Saturday, and unfortunately they didn't turn me away which means I have to go to the actual work out tonight.

I'm still really nervous about this.

In other news, I had a good two weeks of leaving for work in something other than pitch darkness, and daylight savings has pretty much ruined that.  Thanks, asshole.

And speaking of assholes.  Would you look at this pair?

If there was ever an argument for eugenics and forced sterilization, this is it.

And Another Thing...

Emotipugs is the best thing that ever happened on the Internet Machine.

It's pugs and emotions.  All in one place.

Also, this video that Dooce posted the other day is just delightful in a hundred different ways.



Mikhael Paskalev - I spy from André Chocron on Vimeo.

Although I am a little upset that this guy stole all of my best dance moves.

And that's all I've got.

Have a great weekend, kids!

This Ain't My First Time At The Rodeo

It's International Women's Day, and I've been thinking about what it means to me to be a woman in our current society.

And then I saw this, and it summed it up better than anything I've ever seen:

Don't get me wrong... Ol' Joan was batshit crazy, but she had a pair of big brass ones.  And we all need those sometimes.

Imaginary Boyfriend Thursday... 100th Post Edition!

You guys, this is my blog's 100th post!

Champagne pyramid for everyone!

Well, we've accomplished a lot in 100 posts.  We've talked about boys.  We've talked about cake and other food stuffs.  We've dealt with pedophiles. And my love affair with a sea captain.

Basically, we're a band of brothers now.

That's us emerging from the rubble of my blog together. We're bonded. None of you are allowed to leave. Ever.

No, seriously. EVER.


And, as a tribute to your loyalty, I'm going to allow you unlimited snuggle time with my husband and my dog.

But only for today.

I hope he doesn't spend the whole time talking about me.

I Forgot What I Was Going To Say

Oh hey.

I would write an actual blog today, but I'm temporarily mesmerized by this photo.  Excuse me.

In the meantime, have a good laugh over this Bad Lip Reading - Rick Santorum video.

I Think I've Made A Huge Mistake

You guys, my sister in law texted me yesterday and I'm not sure what happened, but it ended with me agreeing to do one of those fitness bootcamps with her.

Oh dear sweet baby Jesus, what have I done?

What if the whole thing is just running while some guy with a shaved head screams in your ear until you cry and then vomit in front of everyone?

What if they make me stand in front of the class to demonstrate the wrong way to do an exercise like that time Mr. Greenwood made me stand up in front of the entire biology class so everyone could see what a widow's peak was?

In Mr. Greenwood's defense, I do practically look like Eddie Munster.

What if I poop my pants?

What if we're working out in the park and a pack of youths walk by and start laughing and pointing at us?

What then, huh?

First Five! A Confession! And A Spirit Animal!

Well I woke up this morning with Rebecca Black's Friday stuck in my head with no idea how it even got there.

But I guess that's cosmic payment for the terrible thing I did last night.

What did I do?  Weeeell... I may have downloaded something for my iPod that pretty much trumps every other awful thing I've ever downloaded.

And, you guys, I have a Ke$ha song on my iPod... and more Flo Rida than any one person has a right to own... so that's really saying something.

Okay... here goes.  Last night I downloaded this:

I know. The entire thing is on my iPod right now.

Here's the thing, though... just look at that track list!  With the exception of Christina Perri and Bruno Mars, it's pretty awesome.  And you can only get most of the songs (besides the Christina Perri and Bruno Mars) by downloading the entire GD thing.  So I did it. So there.

Okay... let's see if my iPod can palate cleanse this Rebecca Black situation away.

1. Pot Kettle Black - Tilly and the Wall

2. The Trolley Song (from Meet Me In St. Louis) - Judy Garland

3. It's Oh So Quiet - Björk

4. Nasty - Janet Jackson

5. Candyman - Christina Aguilera

Whoa, Mr iPod Man... you just blew it out of the park today.

And this photo I found on the internet machine is blowing it out of the park at pretty much explaining my entire existence.

Have a great Friday, kids! Fun Fun Fun Fun.

Okay... This Is Just Awesome

You guys, I could watch make up and hair tutorials all day, every day.

I could also watch vintage newsreels all day, every day.

So check out this AMAZEBALLS 'Secrets of Makeup' newsreel from 1936.

I just DIE.

Imaginary Boyfriend Thursday... As Classic As A Chanel Suit Edition

Ah... Clooney.  Cloon.  Georgie.

I'm the only one allowed to call him 'Georgie'.  I mean... I guess if you're curious to find out what it's like to get punched in the teeth, you can call him 'Georgie' too.

Okay... that got kind of dark.

Clooney is classic.

Clooney is timeless.

Clooney is a Brooks Brothers tuxedo and a glass of scotch.

But he's also a laugh so hard your stomach hurts and a madcap night that ends with you in the drunk tank.

And that is why Clooney is pretty much my Imaginary Boyfriend For Life.