May 10, 2008
This secret tip is so wicked awesome it is sure to help alleviate even the worst mouse clicking fatigue. And, hey! Who knew Leopard and Windows XP had so much in common? BOOYAH!
April 22, 2008
Did you notice my new site?! Did it myself! I KNOW, right?! SWEET. And TechnoGeekery totally matches! Woo!
Okay, first of all, there is News regarding my video podcast o’ technogeekery, which I relay to you in my latest episode of TechnoGeekery with Chassy Cat (which I will always upload via my brand-spanking new Podango’s Flash 9 player in my sidebar here at DWM. I KNOW, right?!):
On this Very Special Episode of TechnoGeekery, I announce the show’s very first Corporate Sponsor: Johnson & Johnson’s Aveeno Baby products.
That’s right! TechnoGeekery, along with the Mommycast and Friends Family Channel and Aveeno Baby, is making total podcast history! No, REALLY. Please feel free (and by “feel free” I mean, “do this, please, please, oh please…”) to click on the Aveeno Baby banner under “The Latest at TechnoGeekery” at my TechnoGeekery site to learn more about their products (and to show just how awesome we TechnoGeeks are, naturally!). Thank you so much for your support.
Oh, and buy Aveeno lotion. Then tell me about how awesome it is in the comment section of my TechnoGeekery site. And then click on the Aveeno banner again. Are you getting what I’m saying here? CLICK!
Also, if you haven’t visited me at iTunes, please stop by and leave me tons of positive feedback! Unless you have nothing nice to say, in which case, stay AWAY.
And FINALLY… the recommendation portion of this post:
Despite an unsolicited newfound intimate knowledge of Jason Segel’s manbits, Forgetting Sarah Marshall is laugh out loud funny. It’s got my girl Kristen Bell (Veronica Mars!) in it, and seriously, her British rocker boyfriends steals every scene he’s in. And there are PUPPETS, people! PUPPETS!
In fact, this movie was so laugh out loud HIII-larious, that I will probably have to see it again! Oh, because the packed theater laughed so loudly that I missed stuff, not because of the manbits. Sheesh. Get your minds out of the gutters. (Yes, I’m talking to YOU, William and Nils…)
Check it out! Hey, I meant the MOVIE.
Honestly. You people…
February 27, 2008
Veronica Mars REWIND: Papa’s Cabin (Part I)
Veronica Mars REWIND: Papa’s Cabin (Part II)
Nothing perks an injured gal up more than an email from her friendly neighborhood Sheriff Lamb (AKA: Michael Muhney of Veronica Mars fame)! Of course, until a few days ago I thought the email from Sheriff Lamb, I mean Michael Muhney, was simply the product of my Percocet-induced loopy-doopy mind, but NO! He really WROTE to me! Out of the BLUE! Because he’s AWESOME! I mean, he wrote to me while dandling his newborn baby on his KNEE! And I can’t believe I just used the word “DANDLING”! Because who SAYS that?!
Of course, the contents of said email are private and close to my heart, so BACK OFF.
Anyway, now I’m feeling a bit nostalgic, so I thought I would re-post my interview –okay, FINE, Paige was there, too, but whatever— with the most awesome Michael Muhney, who is obviously, like, my BFF now, right? Right? Oh, BTW, Paige, Sheriff Lamb, I mean Michael Muhney, says, “Hi.” But whatever. He still likes me best. Clearly.
**Aside to My BFF, Michael Muhney, Intended to Display My Self-Importance: Michael Muhney, you know I think you rock. And since you apparently know Joss FREAKING Whedon (squeeee!) well enough to have actual conversations with him… *just breathe… breathe…*… well, here’s hoping he realizes how rockin’ you are, too. **
Man. I don’t remember the video being THAT long. But still? AWESOME!
Also, don’t forget to check out my — I mean, OUR (my bad, Paige!)– special tribute to Sheriff Lamb, lovingly produced after his life was cut tragically short by the almighty crack of a baseball bat to the head.
February 27, 2008
I thought I would re-post a few of my old Veronica Mars REWIND episodes because Michael Muhney rocks. Click HERE for more info!
July 26, 2007
Lately I’ve been pondering the complexities of friendship. And not just any friendship, but Best Friend Forever-ship. BFFship, if you will. You see, shortly after I married TGIM, I cross-stitched (okay, shut it) “Happiness is Being Married to My Best Friend” (seriously, I will cut you), which I then framed and proudly hung on our apartment wall. Honestly. I don’t think you properly understand just how painful it is for me to disclose this heretofore repressed memory of archetypal suburban domesticity, but I do it for the sake of my ART, okay? Because only recently I have discovered the inherent flaw in my claim of spousal BFFship which I unwittingly bought into for several years. The sad fact is… well, TGIM?
Yeah. He’s a guy.
Don’t get me wrong. In the grand scheme of things, there is nobody I would rather be with. In the event of, say, nuclear holocaust or a big-ass spider on the kitchen floor, TGIM is the person I want in my corner. Romantic cruise or candle-lit dinner for two? He’s my guy. My numero uno. My… TGIM.
Yet… recently I was listening to my best of good friends, Paige, talk about heading out to Hawaii to be with her sister as she gives birth to her second baby. Since I knew all about the recent experience Paige had doing the same thing for a friend, it was easy to envision her providing comfort, encouragement, back massages, even ice chips for her sister. Aw! So sweet!
Then I recollected TGIM during the birth of our second child, sitting at the edge of MY hospital bed staring at the television, remote control in hand, saying in a reasonable voice, “Come on! It’s not that bad. I’ll massage your back during the commercials!”
And that’s when it really hit me. Guys and gals? Totally different, yo?
What I’ve learned is that a woman should never underestimate the power of a best girlfriend. And not just any girlfriend, but a kindred spirit. A bosom bud. A BFF. And yesterday this point was driven home in spades.
Allow me to illustrate:
See, I was feeling all brave and buoyant and masochistic yesterday and before I knew it I was at the mall shopping for a new swimming suit.
I know, right?! Oh, and just so you know, my body just shivered convulsively at the memory. No, seriously. I totally shuddered. I just thought I’d point that out, you know, just to illustrate. I mean, since you can’t see me an all. For reals, y’all. I’m all in a dither! In fact, I typed “aswo;4wrj” instead of what I intended to write next (because of the shaking?), so I had to delete “aswo;4wrj” and explain about the shuddering and the convulsing and whatnot, which has completely thrown off my train of thought and just goes to show that even still I am in the throes of emotional perturbation after an afternoon spent swimsuit shopping at the mall.
Oh! The swimsuit! Right. Thing is, I sometimes have these little spurts of insanity. Eh. What’cha gonna do?
Amazingly, though, I found one. A swimsuit, that is. And not just any old swimsuit, oh no, but a ONE-PIECE swimsuit! And do you know what? Do you? I loved it. LOVED it! (if someone could just head on over to my momma’s house and revive her, please, that would be so great, thanks…) I loved that swimsuit so dang much I wanted to marry it and have its bikini babies, it was that cute! With the ruffled halter neckline and the ruching at the bust and the slimming effect of the dark chocolatey material and whatnot? I was all, “Hey, there, sexy little one-piece, how YOU doin’?”
Unbelievably, I snagged the last pair of these cheeky little Roxy swim short-shorts (too easy?) that totally matched. The coup de grace? Everything was on sale! Honestly. You better believe I was all over that deal. ‘Cha. My momma didn’t raise no fool. (speaking of… seriously, just a quick peek in at my mom? someone? just let me know…)
You’re probably asking yourself what any of this swimsuit nonsense has to do with friendship, what with the absence of any sort of camaraderie thus far in my story. Perhaps you are trying to make sense of it all by gleaning my swimsuit saga for meaning, perhaps drawing parallels betwixt (yes, betwixt!) the psychological import of finding a slimming, modest swimsuit and the emotional well-being derived from a friendship with a supportive, unpretentious girlfriend. You’d be dead wrong, of course. Good lord, people. Sometimes a swimsuit (fetching though it may be) is just a swimsuit. Has Freud taught us nothing?
No, actually, my point is this: I called TGIM to tell him I found a kickass swimsuit with matching short-shorts which I subsequently snagged and bought (on sale!) for my very own.
“How much?” he asked with obvious trepidation.
Well, that was disappointing.
So I called Paige to let HER know that I found a kickass swimsuit with matching short-shorts which I subsequently snagged and bought (on sale!) for my very own.
“Sweet! Well, get yourself on over here and model it, girlfriend! Woo!”
Ah. Much better.
Better still, when I actually did go over and model my new bathing ensemble, no fault could be found in Paige’s raptures over the extraordinary cuteness of the suit or in her admiration for my ability to Shop the Sale.
(In the interest of full disclosure I got a similar, equally enthusiastic response from TGIM after I snapped a picture of myself in said bathing ensemble and sent it to his phone, but that is SO not the point.)
My point, manic though it may be presented here (I’m trying to go off the Diet Dr. Pepper, I truly am, honest), is that although my husband is my best guy, my steady rock, my lover, he is just not a GIRL. He won’t put on yoga pants and go trapezing with me on my birthday. No, sir. He doesn’t want to hear me complain about PMS, or about being bloated due to overindulgence in cheese fries, or how all my hair seems to be falling out and I wonder if it’s the product I’m using? Nor does he want to listen to me go on and on about podcasting, or how Let’s Dish! takes the stress out of dinner, or how YouTube is the devil. And he certainly doesn’t want to speculate on the possible meaning behind a look that took place between Veronica and Logan on Veronica Mars. I mean, he WILL listen, because he’s a super nice guy. But he won’t GET it. Not like a best girlfriend– a BFF– will get it.
He tries, of course. In fact, just the other day he called me at work to tell me that he heard on the radio that Lindsay Lohan had been arrested for DUI and possession of cocaine. Just because he thought I’d want to know! Aw! But did he want to discuss anything beyond the possible jail time she was looking at, such as the ridiculousness of celebrity “rehab” centers like Promises or the possible ramifications of this arrest on LiLo’s career? NO. Because he just doesn’t get it. Not like a BFF gets it. And that’s what BFFship is all about.
I realize now that my heartfelt cross-stitch (SHUT. IT.) was almost right. Happiness is being married to my best GUY friend. Oh, I know, I know…. but semantics, shmemantics! All I’m saying is I am so very lucky to have found the wonderful man I’ve chosen to spend my life with…. but I’ve come to realize how much happier, how much fuller life can be when one is also lucky enough to have found a BFF.