Oh... Just Go Get A Room (In The White House!)

I swear, President-Elect and Future First Lady Obama (felt so good typing that!) are just too damn cute. I actually choked up a little bit at the genuineness of his thanks to "my best friend for the last sixteen years, the rock of our family and the love of my life". Awwww! Can these two get any more adorable? I am going to go in to sugar shock after 4 (or 8, fingers crossed) years of this.

Welcome to the Island: Jason Statham

Just like Roadtripper, I too have a not so secret thing for Brits, especially those who can kick some ass. So when she brought up the idea but said Daniel Craig was taken, I had no problem coming up with many names to choose from. I was this close to going with Sean Bean (he's had me since Sharpe's Rifles) but then I saw this sent to me courtesy of Roadtripper:



Yowza! I see your bathing beauty shot Roadtripper and raise you that! Only a body like that could have me sitting through The Transporter. But I gladly will if it means I get to see Jason Statham kicking ass, taking names, and doing it all with a rough British accent.

And because you can never have too many shirtless pics of him:

Welcome To The Island: Daniel Craig

Sure, I'll play your silly little game and call you Mr. Bond.

I love action movies. Actually, rewind... I like action movies with sexy, British guys in them. I would much rather watch James Bond charm the pants off a woman and sip a martini than some guy killing everyone in the room with his mere pinky finger. The accent just makes it so much classier, no?

I never thought anyone would replace Sean Connery as the sexiest Bond. Then along came Daniel Craig. "A blonde Bond?!?" everyone screamed. Then he had to go show all the haters that sometimes blondes really do have more fun... or at least more women swooning. Need more proof? I present Exhibit A: The Bathing Suit scene

Ursula Andress no longer holds the patent on sexiest Bond bathing suit moment

Turning Men To Stone Since 1978

My Halloween costume came about rather randomly this year. I had ordered a flapper costume online. Since my only sizing options were "One Size Fits Most" or 1X, I thought it would be a good move to chose the 1X option and give myself a little breathing room. Bad decision! The costume arrived three days before Halloween and was so large that me, Bad Wolf and a third person could have fit in it. I frantically dug through my closet for other options. Had the hat and boots for a cowgirl costume but my only denim skirt is more of the pencil variety and doesn't exactly scream Hee Haw. I have a kick ass Japanese dress that I have been dying to wear but the costume wouldn't have been complete without a little geisha girl wig. Roadtripper + wig = a night of hot, sweaty hell.

I rushed out to the costume store on Halloween day on my lunch break. My only criteria were 1.) no wigs and 2.) must cover my ass, thus eliminating every naughty nun/slutty cheerleader costume.

The end result? Medusa! Yeah. Turn 'em all to stone because that just reflects my current sentiment to most of humanity these days... well, at least the male population.

Armed with spiral rollers (ha ha! snakes... get it?) and tons of hairspray to cajole my stick straight locks in to staying put, I made it work in a last minute way that Tim Gunn would have been proud of. Check out the 'do:



I can't seem to find a full-length picture of me in the costume... so here is one of a very happy and drunk Medusa instead.

Get Your Vote On!

By now, most people have decided who they are voting for (or if they are even going to vote at all.) I love Election Day. My inner political science nerd thinks the whole electoral process is fascinating. Being a veteran makes me appreciate that it is a chance to pick your commander-in-chief (and, in a way, your own boss! Who else can say that?)

Which ever side of the fence you sit on, take a moment to check out this (bi-partisan) clip. It is catchy as hell, and I guarantee you will be singing it while waiting in line at the polls tomorrow.




Thanks to all the voters out there (yeah, yeah... even you insane McCain-Palin supporters!) We may not see eye to eye on every issue but all of us want to see this great country become even greater.

Bad Wolf Didn't Disappear She's Just Been Masquerading as Scully!

Yeah, its a little late, but as Roadtripper has already explained it takes a lot longer to recover from nights of debauchery than it used to. ;) And I realized it had been a bit and I should probably find something to post. I thought hey! I could post my costume pic from Halloween. In case you don't get it, I went as Agent Scully from the X-Files (best show ever). It was last minute and easy to put together. Check out the breasts on the second pic!

My Next Boyfriend...

Today I read an interesting article on one of my favorite blogs. The gist of the article was to list things that you expect from your future boyfriend by using the bad behavior of past boyfriends. Things like "my next boyfriend is not going to have children" or "will be emotionally available."

** Must be popular... they updated their list**

Ha! Amateurs!

Here's my stab at it:

My next boyfriend...

- will not be so moody as to have mental breakdowns and threaten to commit suicide. (Looking at you, ex-Mr. Roadtripper)

- will know who the US fought in World War II. (Sorry, Joe, but the correct answer is not England. And... no... Hitler still isn't British, you dumb ass!)

- will be able to address problems in the relationship directly and not have to resort to talking through your cat. (And I still think Fleabag is a idiotic name for a feline, Eric Version 1.0)

- will not have to resort to telling war stories about killing people in order to make up for certain... ahem... inadequacies. (Worst pillow talk EVER, L)

- will not secretly try on my dresses and take pictures when I am not home (Sorry to call you out J/R but that one still stings a little bit!)

- will not freak out at the mere sight of a tampon, throw it on the ground in front of our white-water rafting group and shout "I'm not gonna carry your fucking tampons!" (Eric Version 3.0)

- will come up with a better name for his nether regions than his "junk". (Looking at you again, Eric Version 3.0. Note to self: stop dating guys named Eric)

- will not already have a girlfriend who lives in California who he is planning to move across the country to live with him. (Did you really think you were that slick, Maj. Pain?)

Zen And The Art Of Beach Jogging

After tying one on a little too heavily on Halloween and spending all day Saturday on the couch recovering (why is a 30 year old even trying to keep up with Marines in their early 20s?), I made a resolution to do something constructive this Sunday. Give the old homestead a cleaning: check. Laundry: yup. Pay bills: complete. Back up hard drive: done. Catch up on all the TV shows stacking up in my DVR: mission accomplished... other than Survivor. I just can't get in to this season.

All that hard work resulted in me having a massive Taco Bell craving. I tried to ignore it but the demand for processed spicy chicken and Fire sauce could not be suppressed. "Fine," I bartered with myself "but only after a jog." I drug my lazy ass across the bridge to Emerald Isle and parked at the closest public beach access before I could talk myself out of it.

Damn if it wasn't the best thing I did all weekend. Weather was perfect, mid-60s with little wind. It was right at 5 PM so the sun was starting its descent. No Ipod necessary when I have a symphony of waves and seagulls. This shit beats running on a treadmill in a crowded gym any day.

All my talk about moving here so I could be close to the beach, and yet I really haven't been taking full advantage of it. This week's goal is to get out there as much as possible, even if it is for a quick walk after work.

And, yes, I still indulged in greasy, nasty Taco Bell. And it was good!