RIP, Martha's

The world was shocked and saddened today by the loss of the world's greatest lesbian and redneck karaoke bar, where the UNCW MFA class of 2004 spent probably way too much of its time during its brief and tenuous tenure in Wilmington. Where the crazy black guy in the wicker hat will spend the remainder of his Prince-performing days is still unknown, but please take a moment to enjoy this photographic retrospective in honor of our fallen friend.

And don't forget...

...there are still six minutes left in Ashley's birthday, so wish her a happy one!

Happy birthday, man! I love you!

Swingers

How many of you lay awake at night, wondering exactly how Ashley and I are going to vote? Show of hands?

Okay, put 'em down. Because your prayers have been answered.

It is with great pomp and circumstance that Ashley and I are proud to introduce our newest blog, Swing State, into the national consciousness.

We don't know who we're voting for, and we don't have a clue what we're talking about (yet), but we want to share the whole schmiel with you-- we invite your comments, your ideologies, your rants and your raves, as long as the last two are directed at actual candidates, and not at us.

If we wanted to be ranted at, we'd run for office ourselves. Except we can't, because we're not old enough. And our platform would be built entirely of candy.

You won't like me when I'm angry.

When I was in graduate school (which is a phrase I very much enjoy saying, because it reminds me of a time when I was actually a writer, as opposed to an auditor, which is still fine, but not quite as impressive), I went to a counselor named Etta who diagnosed me with an anger problem, which fucking pissed me off.

Because at the time, I did not see myself as particularly angry. It would make me mad, yes, when I would go to visit Etta and tell her I was doing very well that particular week, and she would say, "Okay, great! Let's talk about when you were nine and you were ugly and no one liked you." So maybe she got a skewed view of the situation. But that was more of an Etta problem than an anger problem.

But now I'm starting to wonder if maybe I really sort of do have an anger problem, at least lately.

At first I was just taking it out on passing traffic. Normally, I am a very friendly driver, and don't get stressed much if I'm running late or the traffic flow is moving slowly. But lately, I find myself leaning forward in my seat, kept in place only by my strap, ready to leap through my windshield and throttle those people who do not feel it necessary to abide by the speed limit, or who turn without their signals on. I also get angry at cute license plates and cars with ribbon magnets on them, because I feel if they really cared about their particular causes, they would man up and put a sticker on their car, rather than a removable magnet.

I've also become more of an angry person at work-- that person that you don't really want to go near, because they might launch into a diatribe about how it might be wise to give employees more than four days' notice that they're going to change the health insurance.

And Ashley got an earful of something I was angry about the other day-- I don't remember what it was, but I was pretty super pissed.

So one of my New Years' Resolutions this year (and I do make them early, in order to get used to the idea of sticking to them) is to become less of an angry person. Since I don't know how I got angry in the first place, this might be sort of difficult, but I'm definitely going to try, because I don't particularly enjoy it, and it certainly doesn't make me the best party guest for the holidays.

Perhaps I should call Etta and find out what she thinks about it. But she'd probably just refer me to her feeling wheel and then tell me to buy myself something nice, which generally seemed to be her approach to mental healing.

Post Traumatic Potter Sydrome

I don't know about the rest of you, but if you're anything like me, you're still reeling from LOP-- Life After Potter. I personally find myself going to bed early under the pretense of finally getting some sleep (between wedding, Potter and work, I've been averaging 5 hours a night), only to stay up until one a.m. rereading the crucial parts (and purposefully skipping over the two hundred page section in which they do absolutely nothing except camp, which I can experience just by staring at Jellystone Park for a few hours). Also, romantically enough, right this very minute Ben is sitting in the living room, listening to disc 9 of the book on CD.

For those of us unwilling to let the whole thing pass unanalyzed, I suggest heading to Post Potter: After the Deathly Hallows, a support group of sorts created by that Head Girl of Potterdom, Ashley. It is wracked with spoilers, so if you haven't finished reading, or haven't started (riiiiight), do not go there. But if you have, and you want to discuss, there's your chance.

In the meantime, I must retire to (pretend to sleep and) reread The Prince's Tale a couple more times. Alas, poor Snapey. I knew him well.

Eat these, or you are dead to me

This one goes out especially to Ashley, who originally introduced me to the Sara Lee Cheesecake Bites back in aught two. We had them at a Christmas party, I believe, and I never stopped believing in them, even after every grocery store from Wilmington to Ohio seemed to have stopped carrying them. How could any supermarket worth its salt believe that cheesecake and graham cracker crust, coated in chocolate, would not be worth its weight in gold? But sure enough, the other day I was at Giant Eagle, having just picked up a vastly inferior (but still quite tasty) tub of Edy's Caramel something something, when I backtracked to buy more Uncrustables (as they still retain their crack-like quality for me) and instead found, lying on its side and covered in cooler-frost, a single package of the infamous and elusive Sara Lee Cheesecake Bites, which I immediately snatched in a Gollum-esque fashion, unceremoniously ditching the Edy's in the totally wrong cooler. Ben and I have eaten two each so far, and I already live in fear of the day when we run out, which should be three days from now, given our rapid Cheesecake Bite consumption.

Listen, I'm not saying that if you don't eat these cheesecake bites you're less than human or anything. I'm just gently suggesting that your avoidance of this particular foodstuff might just make you a Communist of the Kim Jong Il, Everyone Must Have The Same Dorky Haircut vein. Just saying.