I enjoy being a girl

I’m cranky today, as well as starving. I ate a healthy breakfast, but when I got to work I found myself swept up in the siren song of the Sugar and Spice Bakery, located right across the street from my fair library. S&S are the proud makers of the best fucking sausage rolls this side of the Mississip, as well as a heretofore unseen delight known as the chocolate pinecone. It’s like a donut, only better. I resisted the song, but later I feel as though I may regret it. In fact, I regret it now. Anyway, no time for sausage rolls, I’ve got a storytime this morning. These kids have been a little antsy, so let’s hope they don’t try Miss. Erin’s premenstrual patience. I could very well end up cracking some skulls.


It’s time for your astrological forecast

Aries: You’ve been working too hard lately. Take the day off and hit the Pick-A-Mix kiosk. I’m not kidding when I tell you that paying is really more like a suggestion.

Taurus: You better get your shit hidden because someone is coming to stay with you and there is an excellent chance they’ll pocket some of your goods.

Gemini: You’re feelings are perfectly acceptable. Wes Bently was, at one time, super hot, as well as up and coming. Now that whole Moby thing, talk to me later.

Cancer: Next time a hurricane blows through forget the plywood store. Hit the liquor store. I don’t know what those people were griping about anyway, it’s just like a big old thunderstorm without all the lightning and fun.

Leo: Don’t be making out with another woman’s man, even if he does have all the joints and look like Cloony. Right, there was only one couch, that’s why you were sitting by him. What about in the Jupiter Jump? Was there only room in there for the two of you?

Virgo: Sometimes when you think people don’t really care, it’s because they know you care enough for the both of them. Needless to say, sometimes you should take a deep breath.

Libra: Drink lots of fluids. Also, can you tell me what happened on Bold and the Beautiful?

Scorpio: Did you have that thing checked out yet? You really should. Stuff like that needs something a little stronger than Flintstone vitamins. Besides, I ate all the Dinos.

Sagittarius: I don’t really think you’re using that Buff Puff I gave you.

Capricorn: Um, did I agree to do something for you? ‘Cause I’m gonna have to back out on that whole surrogate mother thing.

Aquarius: Wearing a top hat all the time is not so cool. Even Tom Petty doesn’t do it anymore.

Pisces: Quit saying you’ll call. We both know you won’t and even if we did get together we wouldn’t have anything to talk about. Look, we had a good run. Let’s leave it at that.


I’ve got my finger on the pulse of America

Style is a fickle bitch. I was going through my closet this weekend and there are far too many outfits that were once at the height of teen fashion and now they’re just worn out rags that never looked that good to begin with. When did this happen? Who can say. It’s impossible for me to tell what other people think is ‘in’. Hell, have you all seen that nightmare Vuitton bag with all the shit all over it? Apparently people are breaking their necks to get a hold of one. That’s crazy talk. So, here’s a list of things that are super in for me right now. Remember, this is not the Hot Hot 100, it’s just stuff that’s in:

So Good!
Dr. Pepper, Christopher Isherwood, asperger syndrome, peppermint soap, cottage cheese, Carnivale, carnies in general, Boulevard Wheat, REO Speedwagon, Playboy bunnies, Cipro.


That’s what little girls are made of

I’ve never had good friendships with girls. In most cases I found them to be really mean and twofaced, as well as jealous, petty, and boring. Obviously I feel differently now as I give a shout-out to all my bitches and hoes. Ya’ll know who you are. However, it took me quite a while to get to the point where I would willingly spend time with a girl that I didn’t want something from. Something like sex, drugs, or her boyfriend. I’d like to take this opportunity to trace the roots of my deep seeded mistrust of chicks.

1. Monica from the divorce apartments. After my parents split we moved to these apartments in Midwest City. They were fine, whatever, but the only friend I had at the time was this girl named Monica. She was younger than me. Her sister rode the bus with my sister. Monica was one of those girls who was really tiny, which corresponds to really mean. She’d invite me over to play with her Care Bears, and then she wouldn’t let me touch any of them. Once she invited me to spend the night and then told me to get out of her house at, like, 11:30 in the p.m. When you’re in second grade, that’s the middle of the night. Plus she did that spit thing that makes my stomach churn.

2. Michele. God. She was the killer. We became friends in eighth grade after meeting at Traci Pope’s birthday party. We both thought Traci was a drip (she grew up to become a skeeze) so we hung out. It was middle school, some things were simpler then. She and I became Super BFF to the LYLAS power. Every weekend was spent at her house. We secretly loved the New Kids. Many hours were clocked at Penn Square Mall. I could go on and on about all the middle school shit we did, but it’s really not that interesting. Around our freshman year things started to get weird. Namely it was Michele’s verbal abuse. She’d tell me how the boys liked her better ‘cause she was taller than me. ?? Obviously she failed to see her blistering acne and crazy Jewel teeth. When the boys learned she gave hand jobs, well hell yeah they liked her. Then when I’d get new clothes, she’s run out and get the same ones. It was strange, like she was competing with me, only I wasn’t competing. Things really fell apart when she fucked my Super-Crush and set it up so I’d catch them together. This guy sucked, he very well could’ve been a friend of Darren of the Egg Yolk Eye, as it was he was really into Rush. I was 15. So she fucked him and then held it over my head that she lost her virginity first. In my anguish I lashed out, ditching school with a girl who drove a convertible and had her mom buy us wine coolers, which we guzzled in the Stonegate parking lot. Michele told my mom and I was totally grounded. She had to go. I could go on about her for days. Later she became a white supremacist.

3. Katie. We became friends in college when we both worked at the Clinique counter. Turns out she lived practically across the street from me. Things could not have been cooler. She shared my love of serial killers, we rocked the Clinique look together, we danced, and we partied. Since she was married we could go to parties and I could hook up and she held her own. Once she even dropped me off at this guy’s house so I could trick with him. That’s a true friend. She also did a lot of other stuff that was encouraging and nice and fun. She was with me when I started dating My Dude and went with me to pick out my wedding dress. I asked her to be my maid of honor. OVER MY SISTER! We were tight. Then, she stopped calling me. She blocked my email address. If I saw her on campus she’d avoid me. We had a summer school class together and she didn’t speak to me once. Remember when you were supposed to be in my wedding? Apparently not. Anyway, yesterday I found her on Friendster and sent her a message. According to her she has trouble forming lasting friendships with women.


When we go, we close the door. We’re the class of ’94.

Since my ten-year high school graduation anniversary is coming up I’ve become nostalgic for the high school experience I never had. First let me tell you a little about what high school was really like. John Marshall H.S. was mostly black, had shitty teachers and an awesome cafeteria, there were frequent fights, as well as a kickin’ drumline. Many girls were pregnant. In fact, my sophomore year I was assisting with the German Club fundraiser. We’d gotten a hold of one of those machines that you see at Six Flags where you and your BFF can have your picture taken then put it on a giant button. Well, I had a girl come and ask if I could put her ultra sound print onto a giant button. I had eggplant colored hair and thought Jesus Jones was fucking awesome. I read On the Road quite a few times. My junior year I turned really slutty. It all worked out though.

Now, the kind of high school I want to go to now is a little more like U.S. Grant H.S. John Marshall was on the north side of Oklahoma City, so there were, like I said, mostly black kids and a liberal sprinkling of white kids to balance out the mix. Grant was where all the Hispanic kids went, as well as the white trash kids from the south side. Come with me into my vision.

When I graduate from U.S. Grant, I’m driving a kick ass car, like an IROC or a Cutlass. Needless to say there is nothing but Billy Squier on the tape deck. My rearview is a tangle of roach clips with the feathers, Class of ’94 tassels, and Mardi Gras beads I got at homecoming. My boyfriend is named Darren. His eye is fucked up because he was in a car wreck and got thrown into a barbed wire fence. Now his pupil looks like a broken egg yolk. He and I break up a lot, but I know he loves me. Darren is the king of all the heshers and I suspect they think I’m hot, but they all smell like sweat and Marlboros. One has the worst acne I’ve ever seen. My best friend is named Taunia. She works at The Buckle in Crossroads mall. The mall the white people used to go to. She’s fucked Darren, but that was when we were broken up. They go to vo-tech together. On Friday nights we go drink at Limp Dick Road. One time Aurelio Hinojosa showed up and backed over Chris Perkey in his car. I got out of there before the cops showed up.


Noonday Demon
I don't know what the statistics are and frankly I don't care. Lots of people are depressed and I'm one of them. I often wonder if it's the same for everyone. In my case the feelings of apathy, irritation, and other shit all come in waves. Sometimes those waves are years and years apart. I start to think that I've shaken the deep blue funk that has plagued me. That is decidedly not the case. My funk is back and this time it's personal. I've felt myself slipping toward it for several weeks now, but today was the first day that I had to struggle out of bed. It can only get worse and I predict it will.
Now, I realize that all this is totally boo-hoo, I feel like crap. But you know what? I'm paralyzed by not caring very much. At all really. As much as I would love to dazzle my fair internet with wit and wisdom, all I can think about is the crushing feeling on my shoulders.
I went to a meeting in south Tulsa today. For those of you that are don't know, south Tulsa is a place more evil than the fires of Mordor. A place plagued with christian bookstores, chain restaurants, lily-white republicans, and car dealerships. It was recently said that if 71st and Memorial existed in Portugal 500 years ago, Christopher Columbus wouldn't've bothered.
Anyway, I went to this meeting and I was supposed to get all revved up about children's services in the library. Didn't happen. Could not bring myself to give a shit about any of it. Now I'm back at work, looking forward to another evening of being friendly and helpful, when all I really want to do is drink until I pass out. That's what I did last night and it worked pretty well. However I did have a horrible dream that my father had been set on fire by one of his former students. Sometimes the demon comes in the night.

This has been a private glimpse into my own personal crap box. By the way, did anyone see The O.C. last night? I think between that show and my Dude, I'll pull through this thing. Hopefully before delerium tremens set in.


Uh-huh. And then what happened?

The chill is in the air and with it brings the unofficial end of summer. There was revelry this weekend, but it was not without a hint of sadness. Saturday night was Sarah’s going away party at Chez Lytle. Very good times. The dearth of pregnant women, as well as an appearance by Sarah’s parents, kinda put this country girl on edge. Don’t get me wrong, everyone I met was very nice, but I myself feel awkward standing in the kitchen mixing up the umpteenth cocktail while surrounded by glowing baby-carriers. I kept wanting to ask them if they were jealous, or if the bundle of joy crushing their bladders was enough to make them not want to throw down anymore. Instead I made a joke about my recent pregnancy scare as I went outside to smoke and ended up catching my heel in the cuff of my stylish, yet affordable pants. No drinks were spilled. I spent far too much time telling Sarah’s dad about my own recreational drug use. An impressive calling card, that’s for sure. My dude wasn’t feeling so hot so he went home early, leaving me in the capable hands of Mat and Julie.
The three of us didn’t last much longer. All my party muscles are spent from a summer of abuse. I couldn’t even bring myself to chug dangerous amounts of pinot grigio. Truly a sad state of affairs. While we were ready to leave the party atmosphere, none of us were ready to call it a night, so when Julie promised me Bagel Bites we headed back to Mat’s house. We took a small detour once we realized that the street numbers on Peoria were getting smaller instead of bigger, despite my insistence that we were indeed headed toward 41st. Naturally Bagel Bites turned into more drinking and before I knew it, it was 2:30 in the a.m. and none of us were in any condition to walk down the stairs, much less drive home. So our after party turned into a slumber party. Blow jobs were discussed as well as how many girls Mat had kissed, followed by how many girls I had kissed. When I felt the drunk depression kick in, I knew it was time to go to bed. Mat was chivalrous enough to give me the Budweiser pillow so I wouldn’t have to sleep on the pillow made of Muppet fur. He also loaned me his pajamas to wear home the next morning so I wouldn’t have to put on my trick clothes. Cheers to your good hostmanship Mr. DeKinder.


If you break the chain you'll have seven years bad luck

Or I'm just a sucker for an interview. Barrett made me post this whole beginning part, or I'd just cut to the good stuff. Here's the dilly:

1. Email me and I'll give you five questions to answer.
2. You post your answers.
3. You explain why you've just posted the answers to five seemingly unrelated questions.
4. Then you interview other people who want to answer five potentailly embarassing questions.

Let's play:

5 Questions with Erin Lady Byrne as asked by Barrett Chase:

1.Have you ever seen a real, bona fide ghost?
The words ‘real’ and ‘bona fide’ keep me from answering this one in the affirmative. However, during a short-lived stint in Methodist youth group there was a rumor that the third floor of the church was haunted. Now, we all know that ‘Methodist youth group’ is code for ‘hide-and-go-seek-in-the-dark’. At the time I was nursing a pretty powerful crush on the dreamy, aptly named Kevin Love. One night we were smashed together under a piano in the third floor choir room and I did here some suspicious thumping sounds. It could’ve been of the supernatural variety, but it also could’ve been my heart breaking because Mr. Love didn’t even try to make a move.

2. If you were to attend an apartment-house-style, basement catfight between Bebe Neuwirth and Cate Blanchett, how much would you bet, who would you put your money on, and why?

Without a doubt, my money would be on Neuwirth. She’s flintier than Blanchett and I really think she’d play dirty. I’d bet an entire carton of Viceroy cigarettes and all of my S&H Green Stamps. That these women would be topless goes without saying.

3.Have you ever been arrested? If so, what for? If not, do you think you ever will be?
Thank my lucky stars, no. I have never been arrested and I hope never to be arrested. I know that as much as I like to imagine myself winning the respect of the chicas and the banjie girls with my street smarts and crazy dancing skills, I’d just call my mom and cry until she came and picked me up.

4.Please describe, to your liking, an alternate version of the scene from episode 6 of The O.C., where Ryan makes out with Gabrielle at the party.
Oh, Mr. Chase. What have you gotten yourself into? Now, I was a little drunk upon first viewing, but I’m pretty sure Ryan still had his shirt on when he tapped the ass of Gramma Gabby. Said shirt would be the first to go. Then Gramma Gabby would be the next to go. Then he’d go out to the party and publicly declare his love for Marissa. Crestfallen, Seth climbs to the roof of the pool house and threatens to drink deadly poison. Ryan falls to his knees, begging Seth not to do it.
“I love you Seth, you know I do, but ours is a love that could never be. You’re like a fire inside me, all consuming, and one day I’d wake up and there would be nothing left.”
“That’s not true, Ryan.” Seth’s voice lifts over the spellbound crowd. “Ours is a love that’s shameless and pure. Ever since you came to live with us…I’ve…I’ve never felt so whole.”
Ryan pressed his face into his fists, his body wracked with raw sobs. After a moment his voice could be heard, rough and quiet.
“I just want you in my arms…”
A fragile smile spread across Seth’s face. In the quiet moonlight he glowed. He threw the small phial of poison. For a second it arced over the crowd, silhouetted against the luminaria. Then, with a finite crunch, it shattered in the distance. And with that, it was as if their love was released to the world.
With a running leap, Seth plunged into the pool below. When he surfaced, his unruly curls plastered against his head, Ryan clutched his heart, smiling like the maiden in the tower. Then, without hesitation he dove into the pool and swam to his beloved.

5.Who is the most dangerous person you’ve ever liked, romantically or otherwise?

The Disney incarnation of Robin Hood.


M is for the million smiles you gave me
Today is my mother's birthday. Coincidentally it's also my fourth grade teacher's birthday, but I'm not here to talk about Mrs. Anderson, although I do hope she is well. Like many women my relationship with my mother is many faceted. On one hand we're able to discuss the finer points of Pride and Prejudice and Brendan Fraser's hair. On the other hand she's constantly convinced that I'm one Bud Light away from a killer case of the DT's. She may not be wrong about that last one, but I'll never mention it.
As little girls, my mom raised my sis and I to be the wierd kids. We got to pick out own haircuts, as long as she didn't have to fix them. One shudders to imagine a kid turned loose in Fantastic Sam's, told to pick whatever they wanted. I ended up looking like an ugly, wimpy boy. We weren't allowed to play with Barbies or watch the Miss. America Pageant because they gave us negative body image. We also couldn't watch Speed Racer, Love Boat, or Battle of the Network Stars. We were, however, allowed to watch all the Upstairs/Downstairs we wanted. Once there was nearly a fistfight because Amanda and I wanted to watch the last episode of Shogun but Flambards Confession was on. Mom and Flambards won.
My mom taught me many things. The most important of which is that many people have shit for brains (a favorite phrase of hers). When you meet those people, smile and get the hell away from then as quickly as possible. The other was how to make my own molasses.
My favorite memory of my mother goes like this. Before my brother was born, she had a miscarriage. I was always so proud of the way it was not a big deal to her. I'd heard all these horror stories and assumed that once you have a miscarriage you spend the rest of your life making creepy dolls and trying to steal other peoples kids. Not Sandy. She came home from the hospital, cracked open some Bartles and Jaymes Kountry Kooler, and sat down to enjoy a little Headbangers Ball. I wish everyone could see me mom brandishing her wine cooler and belting out a spot on Girls, Girls, Girls.

Rock on mom. Rock on.


Next career move...
I want to be one of these girls so bad I can taste it. I think Bunny Reno is my favorite.


It’s time for your astrological forecast

Aries: Poor punkin’. You should take a bath, put on your snowman jammies, and get drunk. You should also quit your job.

Taurus: All the boys are calling you, but they just want to get into your Hello Kitty panties. It’s your friend they want. They’re too scared to call her.

Gemini: Mr. Sweeny called. He’s interested in your theories.

Cancer: You should buy a rustic cabin in the woods and grow pot. Then you can sell in on the internet at rock bottom prices.

Leo: You’ve been singing the same song for quite a while and it’s time to stop. I know I’m the Ambassador from the Stars and all, but I’ve run out of stuff to tell you.

Virgo: Sometimes you’re hard to talk to.

Libra: When you tell a person “Oh, I’ve been super busy lately”, they hear “Oh, I don’t want to talk to you”. Just so you know.

Scorpio: You wanna hook up?

Sagittarius: Can you teach me how to throw a baseball not like a girl? Also, could you loan me $50 and a ride to Tijuana?

Capricorn: Ok, we can hook up.

Aquarius: Yeah, you’re never getting your Star Wars Christmas special back.

Pisces: Don’t think I didn’t see you parked in front of my house last night. I mean, I know that’s how we met and all, but now it’s just creepy.


The Motorcycle Boy Reigns
As the last vestiges of summer dribble out of the crusty Bud Dry can, it's time for more of the Hot Hot 100. L-E-T-S GO!!
$S.E. Hinton
$ clean feet
$ water moccassins
$ moccassins in general
$ the word moccassin
$ Hubba-Hubba Hienies
$ naps
$ neck cracks
$ old pictures of familar places
$ glitter stickers
$ bolo ties with turquoise buffalo
$ Frankoma potters
$ Giant indian men with stunning braids
$ old smoking, turban wearing women who drive giant cars
$ Diane Lane
$ eating lunch at scary diners
$ Teamsters
$ Patty Hearst
$ skinny high school boys
$ Sherry, but not Terry
$ Channel 5 Challenge Bowl
$ Frito Chili Pie eaten out of the Frito's bag at a Nowata basketball game
$ Homecoming queens
$ medical oddities
$ homemade friendship bracelets


Don't cry
Don't raise your eye
For all you lucky ladies out there, here's a little more of the
Hot Hot 100
$ mushroom swiss burgers
$ boss on vacation
$ White Russians (this includes Baryshnikov, but only in White Nights)
$ sun tea
$ Mrs. Austin
$ G'n'F'n'R
$ new hoodies
$ snapping turtles
$ Hubba Bubba
$ making out on the couch
$ not being pregnant
$ the hangover chair
$ The one time a little boy said "Take my kisses Mrs. Byrneths"
$ driving fast on the highway when you're a little stoned
$ My grandpa Clay
$ My grandpa Adkins
$ Grandpas in general
$ the new People magazine
$ pocket knives
$ office supplies, especially those little round reenforcers for notebook paper
$ Colorforms
$ corn dogs
$ The Great State Fair of Oklahoma, especially the little monkey that shakes your finger when you give him a quarter.
$ anime e-cards
$ shooting guns out at the strip pits

Remember kids, keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars.


...and I just can't seem to get enough, AHHHOWWW!
Since My Dude has posted his Lame Hot 100, I feel that I must counterbalance that and spread a little Pollyanna good times. Lately there seems to be a rash of people telling me all their shit, all the time and in order to keep up my end of the support system, I need a little sunshine and lollypops. Rainbows everywhere, etc.
Keep in mind, I'm making this up as I go along, so if something is left out, you know, like abortions or NYC, forgive me. Remember, being an asshole on the internet makes the baby Jesus cry. Here it is, maybe not all 100 right now, but more are on the way!!
The Hot Hot 100
$ The O.C.
$ Red lipstick
$ Red high heels
$ Jenna Jameson
$ Traci Lords
$ Pink Lady dip
$ Temptation Island 3
$ Special brownies
$ Tiny little girls with ponytails that stick up in air
$ The Story about Ping
$ True crime
$ Guacamole
$ Rick Springfield
$ "This Land is Your Land"
$ Smashed pennies
$ Pimm's
$ down comforters
$ hot baths with good smelling stuff to put in them
$ bullwhips
$ wood burning kits
$ rope swings
$ bruises
$ Law Stay Away candles
$ The Donkey Lady


Off the hook
In true Labor Day fashion it rained all weekend which allowed me and My Dude to hole ourselves up. We kept busy by sleeping late, eating movie hot dogs, getting high, playing with the kitties, and drinking. There was also a bizarre party at Jon's, which had all the potential of turning into the Wonderland Murders Part II. Also, I saw way more of Pingry than I planned on when I left the house that night. My Dude and I made a daring midnight escape, thus keeping our virture firmly intact. Good times. However, all good things must come to a screeching, heart pounding stop.
This morning began with a trip to the drug store, due to the fact that willing my period into arriving was just not working and I had to face the fact that I could very well have a bun in the oven. I'd been sitting on this potentially catastrophic nugget of information for several days now, not wanting to mention it to My Dude for the simple reason that I could be wrong. My oven could be as empty, black, and crusty as the oven in my kitchen. Why get him all worked up over nothing? Well, when nothing threatened to be something it was time to hit the Med-X.
Fortunately my oven is decidedly empty. Unfortunately my car won't start. My Dude really handled the pregnancy scare way better than the car trouble. Sadly, I think abortions are cheaper than a trip to the garage. They're also more exciting.

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