They say it's your birthday.

As of today, I have officially had my new blog for one year! I can't even express how much blogging has meant to me in one of the most emotionally challenging years of my life. It has been cathartic, it lets me vent, it helps me figure out my feelings, and, of course, rave endlessly about celebrities.

However, the most wonderful part of blogging has been the incredible network of friends I've made. Whether it is feedback from my real life friends or the wonderful new ones I've made (especially you, Julie!), I can't thank everyone enough. This blog has brought me laughter, encouragement, and positive feedback that will always hold a special place in my heart. I love you all and here's to many more years!

In honor of the one-year mark, I have decided to introduce a new weekly segment. Once a week, I will make a top five list (not in order). Ideally, I would love for other bloggers to do the same (or readers can leave their lists in the comments). So, going along with this entry's title, I will name my...

Top 5 Beatles Songs

1. Something - Beautiful stuff from the often understated George.

2. Eleanor Rigby - Haunting chorus that I find myself humming more than any other song.

3. In My Life - Perhaps the most accurate description of memories ever written. I really, really love John Lennon.

4. Blackbird - So beautiful. Lyrics and acoustic guitar. I also loved the Glee version.

5. All You Need is Love - My life motto. I believe this whole-heartedly.

It pains me not to mention "A Day in the Life," "Yesterday," "Come Together," "Here Comes the Sun," and "I am the Walrus." Oops. Is that cheating?

NO PHOTO! Life lesson.

I have never been one to break the rules.

In fact, I'm actually quite boring. I've never tried any drugs. I don't smoke or drink. I've never stolen anything. I never got detentions in school. I don't talk back to my parents and they never grounded me. I don't honk at people and I've never gotten a speeding ticket. The most trouble I've ever been in with the police was being in a park after sundown - although I admit this has happened on more than a few occasions. I was always terrified of punishment, so I never did anything to warrant it.

Now that I'm an adult, I operate under the assumption that no one will scold me, anymore. For the most part, that's true. Aside from my dad telling me to be quiet every now and then, I've escaped mostly discipline-free the last few years.

Except for one time.

Last summer, I traveled to Italy with my dad for a couple weeks. The trip was absolutely incredible, I took a million pictures, and I'm already searching frantically for reasons to return. Although I loved Venice, my favorite Italian city was Florence. We spent hours perusing the outdoor markets and gold shops on the Ponte Vecchio, ate gelato and listened to musicians play Simon & Garfunkel covers in the Piazza della Signoria, and stared in awe as the beautiful colors of the buildings came to life as the sun slowly set over the Arno River.

My favorite Florentine memory, however, came from the depths of the Galleria della Accademia. After waiting in line in the hot sun for nearly two hours, we finally entered the small art museum. The size of the museum paled in comparison to the nearby Uffizi Gallery, but the Galleria had something far more special - Michelangelo's David.

Although I'm not necessarily an art fanatic, I've always loved David. To me, he is the flawless depiction of male beauty - towering in size and chiseled flawlessly in all the right places. Michelangelo's precision staggers me. The veins in David's arms and unusually large hands would be hard to create in clay, let alone marble. He is simultaneously human and god, real and unreal, the height of human engineering, the culmination of art and science. Although he represents the triumph of man, he is more than man, leaving tourists with a feeling of both appreciation and envy. If you ignore his not-so-impressive package, David is the quintessence of masculine perfection - strong, healthy, young, and colossal.

We all know that I am somewhat of an aficionado of the male body. So, my obsession with David makes sense. Sure enough, he took my breath away in person. He was everything I wanted and more. You turn the corner and, at the end of a long hallway lined with Michelangelo's Captives, there he is. Elevated high off the ground, he stands there, frozen in time, the sun shining on him in this naturally-lit room. I nearly crumbled to the ground.

However, I was with my dad. So, I pulled myself together and secretly wiped the drool off my chin. Guards were circling the perimeter, making sure no one got too close and threatening to kill anyone who took any pictures. I stood there, unable to peel my eyes from him, and was faced with a dilemma.

How do I come face-to-face with the most beautiful man-made creation of all-time and not take a picture?

I tried to rationalize doing it. I can find a picture of David on the internet, but it's just not the same. I may never see him again. If I'm subtle, the guards will never know. On the other hand, however, my immense fear of punishment continued to work its ugly way into my consciousness. What if they see me? What if they kick me out? Is it worth it? I could always just google him or buy a postcard.

After ten minutes of internal struggle, I finally decided to do it. Just once. I worked up all the courage I could muster, made sure my flash was off, and I snapped this.


I held my breath and heard nothing. I glanced around and reassured myself that no one had seen. I felt so naughty. I got such a rush from taking the first picture that I decided to take another. From a different angle.


Then another.


Suddenly, I heard the horrific sound I had been dreading. A stern woman's voice with a heavy Italian accent screamed from across the room, "NO PHOTO!" I tried my best to act oblivious. I looked around with a quizzical look on my face, trying to frame nearby tourists, but there was absolutely no fooling this woman. She stomped toward me with fire in her eyes and continued to scream, "NO PHOTO! NO PHOTO!" I had been caught red-handed. Everyone tore their eyes away from David to look at me. Tears began to fill my eyes and my face turned a shade of red that was actually much closer to purple.

Then, I did something that I still can't explain. I just walked away. My dad, who actually seemed to be laughing despite my mortified reaction, followed me. We stood outside for a moment, tears streaming down my face, ashamed that I had blatantly broken the rules of a such a highly-esteemed institution and disgraced by the attention I had attracted. For a person who cries when someone honks at them, this was utter humiliation.

My dad continued to laugh and shout "NO PHOTO!" at me. Then, in a desperate effort to soothe my pain, he bought me a coconut gelato. Slowly but surely, I regained my composure.

About an hour later, we sat on a bench and I pulled my camera out. Still hesitant, I scanned through the pictures...and a smile slowly came to my face. I had made the right decision. Those pictures were totally worth it.

It was in that moment that I realized for the first time that some rules are meant to be broken. Living your life by the rules might be safe, but it's also boring. You only live once - do it right the first time. Why live with regret? Push yourself to do something out of your comfort zone. It will change the way you view the world and it usually makes for the best memories.

Walk through the door that says 'Employees Only.' Stay out later than you should. Sing loudly and dance without shame. Live spontaneously. Try not to make detailed plans for everything. Talk to a stranger. Spend more than you should. Tell someone how you truly feel about them. Be a more outgoing version of yourself. You'll thank yourself later.

Clearly, I'm not much of a rebel if the most scandalous thing I've ever done is sneak a photo of a sculpture, but you get the picture (no pun intended). I'm still not an advocate for rule-breaking, but sometimes, in the right circumstances and within reason, it's worth the consequences.

...and hey! I can always have my way with imitation David in Las Vegas whenever I want.

Wisconsin Dells extravaganza!

This weekend, I went with my family (minus LP, plus Josh) to Wisconsin Dells to celebrate my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary. They rented a huge three-story cabin at The Wilderness Territory and all 24 of us partied at the famous Wisconsin Dells waterparks.


We arrived on Thursday night, ordered pizza, and hung out with everyone.

Friday, we went on the Princess Kay riverboat cruise, where my grandparents renewed their vows in a beautiful ceremony.



On the lower deck, we had a buffet dinner, a chocolate fountain, personalized M&Ms, and a beautiful wedding cake.



I could not stop taking pictures of the sunset. I wouldn't mind seeing this everyday.




Jamie forced me into singing karaoke with her. We did Avril Lavigne's "What the Hell?" The biggest hit of the night, however, was my 10-year-old cousin Nicholas singing the Black Eyed Peas' "The Time (Dirty Bit)" with my Uncle Steve. Amazing.


It was so wonderful to see my family. Everyone is hilarious and we always have so much fun together. We missed LP quite a bit, but we get to see him this weekend! My Uncle Tom is in South Africa, so he couldn't make it, either. However, we found a way to keep him around for pictures.



Saturday, we spent most of the day at one of the waterparks (called the Lost World). After somehow managing to flip my tube over at the bottom of my first slide, I spent the rest of my time in the lazy river and in the pool.


Somehow, Cameron, my cousin's adorable baby, fell asleep.


We had an amazing time. As usual, it went by way too quickly and I can't wait to see them again.

On a completely unrelated note, David Hasselhoff, the real, verified one, is following me on Twitter. Even weirder? I wasn't following him. I got an e-mail that told me he is now following me. So, I checked and sure enough, it's the authentic, verified cup of Hoffee. So, I followed him back.

Now, I'm wondering how he found me. He must have searched Man Meat.

Man Meat Monday #22

Again, I've taken a regrettable break from blogging. This time, however, I have a perfect excuse - I just spent a wonderful weekend with family in Wisconsin for my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary (pictures to come). I have a busy few weeks coming up, but I will try to be better about my blog!

I have a confession to make. Despite my best efforts, True Blood has finally sucked me in (pun intended). I spent the entirety of the first three seasons mocking it relentlessly, laughing hysterically at Bill Compton, and complaining every Sunday night when everyone I loved was virtually unreachable for an hour. Like the Avatar craze of 2009, I refused to drink the Kool-Aid.

Then, I got my Droid, downloaded the HBO Go app, and, in a fit of complete boredom, decided to watch the first episode. Oops. Although I continued to make fun of Bill Compton, still cannot stand Anna Paquin, and often laughed out loud at things that weren't meant to be funny, I watched the first three seasons in about ten days. Yikes.

Tonight was the Season 4 premiere and it did not disappoint. So, this week, I bring you perhaps the only man meat honoree who might actually treat ME like a slice of meat. Unfortunately, I'm referring to his dinner.

Alexander Skarsgard

Claim to Fame: Actor (True Blood, Generation Kill)

Birthday: August 25, 1976

I will be honest. With the exception of Jordan and Eric Staal, I don't fall for blonde guys. I just don't. I also make it a point to avoid guys who only wear black wifebeaters and/or deep v-neck t-shirts. Then, I saw Alexander Skarsgard.

My initial reaction to Eric Northman, the incredibly sexy Viking vampire and owner of the nightclub Fangtasia on True Blood, was not entirely positive. However, as the episodes continued, I found myself paying more and more attention to the scenes in which he was involved. Then, he cut his hair in season 2 and I was sold.

The combination of his towering physical presence, the soothing, calm feel to his voice, and the sexy smirk and flirtatious comments he makes at Sookie Stackhouse reduces me to a puddle faster than a vampire being staked. He makes Edward Cullen look like a member of the Mickey Mouse Club, and thanks to the good people at HBO, we've seen a lot - and I do mean A LOT - of his 6'4" frame. Plus, have you seen the way he walks? Pretty sure Mr. Skarsgard is packing some serious heat.

So, here are the things you need to know about Alexander Skarsgard: He is from Sweden. He is 6'4". His father was an acclaimed Swedish actor. He enlisted in the military, then studied theater in the UK and the US.

Random Tidbit: He played male model Meekus in Zoolander. He is also in Lady Gaga's music video for "Paparazzi."

Only downfall?: After hours of extensive research, I have sadly convinced myself that Alexander Skarsgard does not, in fact, have actual vampire fangs.


I have never wanted to be an article of clothing more than I want to be this blue sweater.



So, readers: It's your turn. Would you be opposed to a different kind of sucking with Mr. Northman?

Let's just put it this way. He wouldn't have to glamour me to convince me to do anything. In fact, I'd probably be that creepy, awkward girl that frequents Fangtasia in hopes of briefly locking eyes with him.

Yep. Wanna-be fangbanger.

Sleepless nights.

It has taken me quite awhile, but I think I'm starting to realize something.

We are all searching. Every single one of us. We are searching for God, answers, love, jobs, acceptance, happiness, understanding. We are searching for things and we don't even know what they are. No one, absolutely no one, is perfect. We are all broken, fragile and imperfect, constantly searching for things we may never find.

I want a job. I want to fall hopelessly in love. I want complete happiness. I want to find God and I want to know why I'm here. I'm starting to come to the realization that some of these things may never happen. We search for love in the wrong places. We think we can find self-worth in temporary things. We invest so much of ourselves, expecting a tremendous pay-out that was never promised to us in the first place.

So, what's the point?

I think I've found it. It's not about the end result - the temporary gratification you find in a significant other or a well-paying job. Those things can be stripped from you in an instant by forces outside of your control. It's about what you make of it and how you get there.

We decide how we handle situations. We make our own decisions. We decide how we respond to others' decisions. If we remind ourselves that we, too, are broken and searching, we can tolerate anything. Understanding that everyone is in the same ultimate position can provide comfort and tolerance, caring and understanding, empathy and patience. Nothing is easy. We are just trying to find something, trying to make our way in the best way we can. If we can find peace in the knowledge that no one and nothing is perfect, then we can live freely.

Unrealistic expectations of those we love, of things outside of our control, and of ourselves cause so much pain. All we can do is our best and hope that others will do the same. No one is perfect and nothing ends perfectly. A book isn't filled with pages of the ending. It is filled with the journey that leads there.

When we realize that we can't control every outcome, we become much better at accepting the results. Accepting the ugliness of the world is the first step in noticing its beauty. Trying to understand someone else's struggles will help you realize that we are all the same and that we all need support. I am a firm believer in the awesome power of love, encouragement, understanding, and tolerance.

We are all searching...but no one has to do it alone.

Man Meat Monday #21

I've been a terrible blogger lately. Confession: I just got a Droid, so I haven't been on the computer much. However, I'm back, inspired and ready to tackle my ultimate dream man. His new movie, Bad Teacher, comes out this Friday and you better believe that I'll be front and center.

I may verbally drool over athletes, but I assure you that my perfect guy is...

Jason Segel

Claim to Fame: Actor (Forgetting Sarah Marshall, How I Met Your Mother, I Love You, Man)

Birthday: January 18, 1980

I kid you not - Jason Segel is the boyfriend of my dreams. He is absolutely everything I want in a guy. He's hilarious, witty, intelligent, 6'4", thick, plays the piano, and the perfect mixture of huge pervert and cuddly dork. Whether it's his role as the romantic bad boy Nick Andopolis in Freaks and Geeks or the lovable Marshall Eriksen on How I Met Your Mother, Jason completely wins me over in everything he does.

He wrote the entire script for Forgetting Sarah Marshall, which showcases both his talent as a writer and his slightly perverted side. On the other hand, he often admits his passion for puppets and was asked to write and star in the new Muppets movie due out later this year. He writes goofy songs that he performs on the piano, wears Chuck Taylors and novelty t-shirts, and loves musicals (he actually tried to write a vampire musical in real life). He seems like the perfect guy to bring home to your parents - as long as they haven't seen him completely naked like the rest of the country.

We belong together. It doesn't hurt that he looks like this, either.


Random Tidbit: Jason admitted in an interview that during the first reading of his script for the Muppets, he started to cry when he saw Kermit for the first time.

Only downfall?: After Forgetting Sarah Marshall, nothing about Jason is left to the imagination. Wait - who am I kidding? I didn't mind a bit. My good friend, Eric, actually exclaimed, "BRITTANY! IT'S YOUR BIG DAY!" in the theater during Jason's full-frontal scene.

This video is incredible. Again, we belong together. I would not hesitate to 'ride that oaf.'



So, readers: It's your turn. Just like Jason, I think I'm a bit of a pervert-goofball hybrid, so I'll ask you two questions this week.

Would you be Jason Segel's puppet? Quite frankly, sitting on his hand is a personal dream of mine.

AND

Do you daydream about telling your future children how you met their father? Trust me - if Jason Segel is my baby daddy, I've already written the script.

Welcome to The Twilight Zone.

Tonight was the hardest I have ever laughed.

I'm fairly certain that no combination of words could ever do justice to what I just experienced, but I have to try. If not to make you laugh, then to help me remember.

I'll start from the beginning.

Around 1:00 AM, Jenn and I decided on a whim to drive 45 minutes to the nearest Denny's. Sidenote: We have a tendency to drive absurd distances for food at all hours of the evening. In fact, I've referred to us as Harold and Kumar on numerous occasions. So, we set out for the Denny's near the University of Dayton's campus.

As we pulled into the parking lot, we quickly noticed two things: 1. Denny's was completely packed and 2. We were a racial minority. This, of course, didn't bother us and we stepped inside. While waiting in line for the hostess to seat us, we scanned the restaurant, taking verbal note of the vast array of customers.

Some people were dressed in provocative nightclub clothes, others were in t-shirts and jeans. Some were loudly slurring their words while others sat in silence. Some seemed to be high schoolers, others were on the opposite end of 40. There was a group of five women in front of us, most of whom had butch haircuts. One of these women wore a shirt that read: I heart vaginas. Another shirt said: I like girls who like girls. I made some comment to Jenn regarding the impressive diversity of Denny's clientele.

Jenn explained that the nearby group of high school boys laughing hysterically made her nervous. I agreed, adding that I was pretty sure they were making fun of me. Jenn, unaware of her proximity and volume level, assured me that they were laughing at the lesbians in front of us. One member of said group instantly moved away from us, clearly offended. Oops.

We stood awkwardly in line for another five minutes, hoping desperately that a hostess would separate us from the others in line. Jenn quietly sang the theme song for The Twilight Zone. Little did we know how bizarre the night would quickly become.

Luckily, a hostess noticed that a booth had opened in the corner and she escorted us past a number of staring customers and a gentleman who shared an uncanny resemblance with Rick Ross. The large table next to us was occupied by ten people with multi-colored hair, more piercings and tattoos than Dennis Rodman, and The Clash and Sex Pistols t-shirts. We tried unsuccessfully to disappear in the corner.

Our waiter, an attractive guy named Tyrone, came over to take our drink orders. Showing absolutely no signs of subtlety, he openly gawked at Jenn, not dissimilar to the way I stare at Sidney Crosby. He mumbled greetings to us that we couldn't understand and we ordered our drinks.

We discussed True Blood for ten minutes, disagreeing on the attractive merits of Bill Compton and agreeing on those of Eric Northman. During our discussion, the table next to us was vacated and cleaned by Tyrone, who, thanks to Jenn, probably could have used the ample amounts of his drool to clean any surface.

Suddenly, a large, older-looking black woman plunked down at the table next to us. She was dressed in a nice blue dress and, by the look of her eyes, was as high as a kite. As soon as she sat down, she turned to us and exclaimed, "It's my birthday! I turned 63 today!" We exchanged pleasantries, wished her a happy birthday, and smiled as she started to dance and sing, "It's my birthday! Happy Birthday!" over and over to herself.

A minute later, she was joined by a large group of younger, black women - also dressed nicely and clearly intoxicated. At this point, Tyrone brought us our fried cheese melts (my own personal Kryptonite), asked Jenn what her name was, and mumbled something about her being really pretty.

We ate our food in silence, completely entranced by the lively group of women next to us. At random intervals, the woman would sing "It's my birthday! Happy Birthday!" They laughed hysterically, although nothing of note was happening. She started to yell things to Tyrone about how he couldn't use her phone. I tried for a minute to make sense of why she was saying this to him, but ultimately, decided that it was simply because 'phone' rhymes with 'Tyrone.' Hilarity ensued and we were reaching the breaking point.

Suddenly, the woman stood up at her table. In an attempt to get the attention of the entire restaurant, she started to shout at the top of her lungs. She told everyone to be quiet. When she had almost everyone's attention, she explained that it was her birthday and it was her day. She also wished all of the fathers a Happy Father's Day, but then reminded everyone it was her birthday.

No one seemed particularly amused by this. Except for us. We giggled, I was on the verge of losing it. Jenn coaxed me down. Then, all hell broke lose. Three of the women at the table started to sing a very different version of the "Happy Birthday" song than what I've ever heard. A very soulful, black Baptist-like version of the Birthday song.

Slowly but surely, the entire restaurant (which I must remind you probably had a sum total of 10 white people inside) started to join in. I have never heard this song before in my life. People were clapping, swaying back and forth, and singing along. A large, bald black man stood up and started to dance down the aisle toward the birthday girl.

I lost it. I started to laugh so hard that my entire face contorted. Despite my strongest efforts to avoid it, tears began to stream down my cheeks. Amazingly, Jenn held it together for the most part. She urged me to turn around and watch the man dancing toward us. I couldn't for fear of peeing my pants.

He sat next to me in the booth and I turned my head, pretending to look out the window. One of the women at the table exclaimed, "YOU'RE MAKING THAT GIRL CRY OVER THERE!" I sent Jenn a text that read: Is this a Tyler Perry movie?

At this point, Jenn couldn't contain herself. She laughed harder than I've heard her laugh in years. We both cried, laughing hysterically, while an R&B rendition of "Happy Birthday" was performed all around us. Eventually, we pulled ourselves together, grabbed our bill, and high-tailed it out of there.

We left, shell-shocked and in utter disbelief.

Like I said, I could never accurately describe this situation to anyone. It was the single most bizarre and hilarious thing I've ever seen in my life. I tried to take a video with my phone, but Jenn told me that I was being obvious and I decided against it. I wish more than anything that I could have recorded it.

I would have sent it to Tyler Perry with the working title, How Madea got her 63rd Birthday Back.

I am boring.

I'm struggling, guys. The only celebrities I'm particularly drawn to right now are Mark Cuban (and no one wants that) and Jason Segel (and I'm reserving him for another day). Due to recent events, my creativity is also at an all-time low. So, unless I have an epiphany later today, we are going meatless this Monday.

Please accept my sincere apology.

...and watch the Stanley Cup finals tonight (and maybe Wednesday!).

Defending my Boo until the end.

I've been closely following (and criticizing) the NFL Network's Top 100 Players of 2011. The list was voted on by the players themselves, so it is an honor to be on the list at all.

However, this week, it was released that Brian Urlacher, my monster from the midway, was only #49. Here was my exact reaction:


There is no scenario in which Brian Urlacher shouldn't make the top 40, especially after his impressive comeback performance last year. I can go on all day about his stats (*cough* he has the MOST tackles in Bears' history), but I'll leave it alone.

These guys also voted Ben Roethlisberger as #41. Come on - I don't even like him, but I know that with his resume, he's being a bit undersold there. He may not be the prettiest player or a gunslinger in the Brett-Favre ideology, but he usually gets the job done. Get it right, boys!

Don't worry - I don't wear my jerseys backwards.

My problem with MTV.

Recently, I realized that I have a problem with almost every program that has ever been aired on MTV.

I’m not just referring to the channel’s completely deceiving name (MUSIC television). In full disclosure, however, I am bothered by the fact that actual music videos are only shown for a couple hours each day and said music videos are played at a time when only freaks and vampires are awake – myself included, of course.

That being said, I have a genuine issue with nearly every show in the history of MTV (or at least those I’ve witnessed myself). Here are some examples:

Beavis and Butthead. I have no problem with cartoons. In fact, Family Guy is one of my all-time favorite shows. I do, however, require that it has some semblance of intelligence behind it. Beavis and Butthead doesn’t – at all. Also, I’m probably still offended that, throughout my childhood, my sister (whose nickname was Z-Bo) and I were often referred to as Z-Bis and Britthead.

Singled Out. As a child, I often watched this show with my dad. At the time, I thought my dad was interested in the workings of the human mind and how psychology influenced dating and attraction. In hindsight, I realize it probably had more to do with Jenny McCarthy.

The Real World. Every single 20-something has probably flirted with the idea of submitting an audition tape for The Real World. It seems like an incredible opportunity to meet people and live for free in an impressive house in a bustling metropolis. I’ve always been bothered, however, by the program’s lack of overweight cast members. You usually have the black one, the over-drinker, the angry one, the Southern belle, the gay one, etc. I always thought I could provide the show with something new, an intellectual, overweight girl who struggled with her body image, yet provides some insight and rational thought to the house. I quickly realized, however, that MTV is much more intrigued by beautiful people, getting belligerently drunk, starting irrational fights, and hooking up with complete strangers and other housemates – all things I wouldn’t do. So, count me out. Also, think about the future career implications for previous cast members. No one is ever going to hire these kids after seeing them throw up off the side of a balcony, punch someone in the face, or flash strangers in the street. After one year of touring the country and being paid to attend nightclubs to promote attendance, they will be likely be unemployed and laughed at in the grocery store, until they are hired by MTV to take part in the Real World/Road Rules Challenge.

Total Request Live. I won’t lie to you – I was obsessed with this show. During the Carson Daly era, I would rush home from school to watch the show, vote incessantly for the Backstreet Boys, feel like a rebel for knowing all the words to the Eminem songs, and cuss out N’Sync under my breath for being #1 on the countdown and offering two things the BSB couldn’t provide – an overweight member and a member with dreadlocks (I now realize they also offered a gay member). However, when Carson left the show, the music videos were shown for shorter and shorter amounts of time until they were barely shown at all. This, of course, baffled me because it completely went against the original premise of the show. Voters were requesting to see music videos, not hear Quddus and Vanessa Minnillo drone on and on about music news.

Pimp My Ride. If I could choose anyone to remake my car, I would not even consider Xzibit.

Jackass. I absolutely loved this show at the height of its popularity. I think I was blinded by my obsession with Johnny Knoxville (really, an obsession – I had a t-shirt, a pillowcase, the DVDs, etc.). Now, however, I am annoyed by the show’s impact on every single male that has watched a full episode. Really, it doesn’t matter how old they are. After watching an episode of Jackass, every single guy I know wants to do something daring and often attempts an absurd stunt with his friends, even if said stunt isn’t nearly as entertaining as an obese man chasing a midget or getting a tattoo while riding a go-cart. True story: I once saw my brother’s friend light a firecracker that was lodged between his buttcheeks.

My Super Sweet 16. I know I’m not the only one who wants to punch these kids.

16 and Pregnant. So, we go from immature 16 year-olds throwing temper tantrums about party favors and celebrity guest performers to immature 16 year-olds who are actually supposed to raise another human being. This premise is absolutely terrifying.

Cribs. At first glance, Cribs was MTV’s attempt to completely depress viewers by allowing celebrities to showcase their breathtaking houses and amazing cars to a sector of the public that was struggling to pay the rent each month and probably drove a 1996 Jeep Cherokee with a broken muffler and a dent in the side. However, after watching roughly 100 episodes, I realized that I should actually be feeling sorry for the celebrities, not the other way around. Their refrigerator is always empty, the house completely devoid of people, tiki torches inexplicably lit for a pool party with no guests. How lonely. I think I’ll take my comfortable, cheap-motel-like house over an enormous mansion with absolutely no one inside.

…which brings me to…

The Jersey Shore. There are almost no words for this show. I’m ashamed to admit that I can name the cast members and have watched more than a few episodes. As hard as I try, I can’t really justify it. I might watch it in order to feel better about myself – an attempt to quench my insatiable ‘holier than thou’ thirst. Maybe I watch it because I’m genuinely entertained by their absurd comments and am interested in the events of their lives, but I’m leaning more toward the former explanation. At any rate, it blows my mind that the most popular show in the history of MTV has no plot whatsoever, unless you count eight sleazeballs who drink, degrade others, hook up with complete strangers, consider fist-pumping a valid dance move, claim to be Italian (yet embarrass actual Italians), tan, work out, and fight like children a legitimate storyline. I know I don’t. I sincerely hope that no one takes this show seriously or wants to emulate them in any way because quite frankly, I think the minds of the cast members of The Jersey Shore aren’t unlike the houses on Cribs – large empty spaces with absolutely no one inside.

So, in conclusion, it has become blatantly clear to me that MTV’s programming doesn’t have to be remotely good in order to succeed. In fact, it should probably be incredibly, mind-numbingly stupid.

Man Meat Monday #20

As much as I miss football this time of year, I usually try my best to embrace the situation at hand: baseball season.

So, friends, I bring you...

Joey Votto

Claim to Fame: First baseman for the Cincinnati Reds

Birthday: September 10, 1983

There isn't too much to say about Joey. He's integral to my favorite baseball team, one of the best first basemen in the MLB, and oh yeah - he's beautiful. Born and raised in Toronto, Joey was drafted out of high school in the second round by the Reds. After spending a few years playing in the minors, Joey was called up for his first major league game in 2007. The rest is history.

Not only is Joey a Cincinnati fan favorite, but he was voted MVP for the National League (by nearly a unanimous vote) last year. Luckily, the Reds know a good thing when they see it - they reached a three-year, $38 million agreement with him in January. This means one thing for me: Unlimited drooling at Reds' games until 2013.

Random Tidbit: Despite being Canadian, Joey never really liked hockey. This fact could also double as his 'only downfall.'

Only downfall?: I have seen a youtube video of Joey blantantly ignoring a kid who asked him for his autograph. My soul crumbled and I tried to push it out of my memory, but I can't.

On the other hand, here is a youtube video I could watch endlessly.



So, readers: It's your turn. What base would you go to with Joey Votto?

...cause I'm pretty sure I'd let him hit a delicious walk-off homerun.



Seriously, watch his reaction. Perfect.

A little glimmer of happiness.

The last couple weeks have been trying times for me. Between Jim Tressel's resignation, finding a naked girl that I don't know in my bed during my sister's party, and other things that I refuse to even mention, I've been struggling.

So, I've decided to make another post on the things that are making me smile lately.

- I love this nail polish.


- My brother was named squad leader for his platoon at Fort Lee! I am so proud of him and can't wait to see him over the 4th of July.
- Chris Cooley making pottery on NFL Network's Total Access. *drool*


- Re-runs of Entourage. My sister and Josh are catching up and I keep watching them, although I've seen them all multiple times.
- New Lady Gaga, particularly "You and I."
- UDF Blue Moo Cookie Dough ice cream.
- Although I haven't worn them yet, I love my new bathing suit and dress.


- Pirate Radio. I watched it last week and it was one of the best movies I've seen in a while. Small bonus? Chris O'Dowd is in it.
- Sidney Crosby was cleared to start his off-ice workouts. Baby steps.
- Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman. It is a collection of hilarious essays on pop culture and I love it so far.

What's been making YOU happy recently?