I like cake!

My review of Hello Kitty Roller Rescue got published on f13.net. Here it is for your viewing plezh.

I also have an awesome head cold that has me pretty incapacitated. I'm gonna eat some baked beans and watch I Love the 80s 3D.

2, 4, 6, 8, 10!

Last night was so much fun! The Go! Team fucking rocked. I haven't shaken my ass that hard since I was like, 18.

Here I am looking retarded next to Ninja. I swear I'm not fat in real life.

The pictures with the guitarists didn't come out that great. Oh wells.

You may be asking yourself, "since when is Heather such a huge starfucker?" To which I'd reply: "One doesn't have many opportunities to be a rabid fangirl in Portland, so when one does, one must strike while the iron is hot." And I've learned that if you ask nicely, you can get almost anything you want. And I never forget to say thank you.

Today is the day after, and I'm not sore yet. That little delight is usually saved for the second day after. I think I may have overdone it in kickboxing last night. I know I overdid it at the show, jumping up and down like a 16 year old black cheerleader from the Bronx for two hours. My ankles hurt a little and my ears are still pretty fuzzy. What'll inevitably happen is I'll wake up for my job interview tomorrow and be completely fucking hobbled and they'll think they hafta hire me because they don't have any disabled people in the office.

Oh, if you haven't listened to the Go! Team yet, do. They sound like what little black girls are singing when they double-dutch.

Alton Brown Has a Very Hairy Chest

Noticeably so.

Scott and I met him yesterday at Wild About Game, a food event that included a wild game cookoff of which Mr. Brown was a judge. I kept asking people working the event, "when do we get to meet Alton Brown?" And since no one knew, I just followed a waiter to the judges' room and peeked in. There he was! He had a shitload of food to taste, so Scott and I took off for awhile and got back just when the last dish was being presented. We waited outside the room and when he stood up I ran over to the door and pounced on him! He was visibly startled by my sudden presence.

I nervously asked, "would it be totally inappropriate if I asked you to sign this?" and presented my old copy of On Food and Cooking, an early food science tome by Harold McGee. He looked at the book, looked at me, and said, "You want me to sign this? Are you sure?" He sort of oohed and aahed over it for a minute, and I joked he could sign it "McGee" if he wanted. He sat down and started writing:

Then he glanced at my tattoo and said he'd never seen a girl with DNA on her arm before. I was really nervous and shaky, which is strange because he seems pretty normal. I felt that I'd already bugged him enough so I didn't bother asking for a picture with him. Then I thanked him, shook his hand and giddily ran back to my table. Yay!

I wanted to send him another thank you, but it seems that people have been sending him rude things on his site, so he's disabled the contact part of his page. Oh, well.

Now I just have a figure out a way to meet Tony Bourdain....

Disaster averted!

This morning in pilates we were doing some move where you're on your back, kinda on your shoulders, and with your legs slightly spread and your arms on the floor, you lift your legs up so they're pointing up in the air. When I did this I sucked so much air into my vagina that I knew, I just *knew* I would have the hugest pussy-fart if I tried the rest of the move. I quickly got up and ran to the bathroom where I swear I queefed for like, 5 minutes.

Oh, don't look at me like that. You know you've been there.

I love on some buffalo wings, all dressed in delectable sauce.

Well said, Roast Beef. Well said.

A Letter to the Fiery Furnaces

Dear Fiery Furnaces,
How are you? You guys rocked last night. I appreciate the artistry and showmanship of playing your old stuff totally different. Eleanor seems to have lost some weight and now resembles a young Patti Smith with a cuter face. Love the haircut. Did you notice the dude in front? He looked like he learned to dance by playing DDR. Way to live up to white stereotypes, Acid Trip! And then that Ally McBeal girl who was doing the generic 80s thrash-the-shoulders-shake-the-head-back-and-forth dance threw a flower onstage, clearly wishing for validation from Eleanor. But Eleanor was enamored of Go-Go Boots, the hopeless fangirl who impressed the band with her knowledge of every song lyric (as evidenced by her singing along to every tune). She was to you what Houx is to Metric. Lucky girl got the playlist and props from Eleanor, but if Houx had been there, an onstage hug would surely have ensued.

Oh, hey, do you know who else was at your show last night? The fucking SHINS! That's who! Scott and I bumped into them outside, casually talking amongst themselves. Actually, Scott recognized them and I sauntered up and asked them if I could please have my picture taken with them. They said yes and I, embarassed that I had interrupted and possibly outed them, said thanks and strolled away quickly. Unfortunately, every time I try to post that picture I get an error message from blogger. Oh wells. I'll try again later.

So, in addition to seeing a stellar show in a venue small enough to accomodate my need to be 5 feet from the stage, I got to say "sup" to my favorite band. Yay.

Your friend,
Heather