Pay a visit to your local library.

I am a fan of public libraries. It seems no matter where you go: Austin, Portland, Dallas..it's always the same scene. Crazy people ranting, children, fat old people, and awkward teenagers. And me! I get a little shiver of excitement when I walk in the doors. Especially if it's an old building in the middle of a neighborhood. It's like coming home, even if it's my first time.

So imagine my dismay when I realized I've been living in Dallas for almost six months and haven't gotten a library card! Shoot, I just figured out where the durn thing was last weekend when I went for a bike ride! So I put on my Mom Shorts and pink helmet and hit the road. I also made sure to pack proof of my address and a license. Unfortunately, libraries are sticklers about this. My Lakewood Branch is just fabulous. Sometimes, librarians can be mean. I dunno why, my own mother is one, I guess they just get embittered that no one reads anymore and children are obese Wii-playing brats. But these ladies were nice.

There was an interesting selection of DVDs, that's for sure. The entire series of "The Waltons" was there...you can betcha I'll be hitting that one up! Also three copies of the Pamela Anderson and Denise Richards classic, "Blonde and Blonder." I actually almost rented that, but realized there are so many quality films out there that I simply can't waste my time with such drivel. So I rented The Quiet Man, The Flamingo Kid, and The Big Easy. Love my Dennis Quaid! Book-wise, I settled on Leonard Nemoy's son's memoir. It's all about his addiction and alcoholism. I can't wait!

Hooray for janky bikes, libraries, and the carrot cake cupcakes I'm about to make. With cream cheese frosting.

Concerts make me hate people (more).

So I used to go to concerts/shows/what have you alllll the time in high school. I couldn't drink, I was scared of boys...but I could drive! So my best friend and I would drive forty minutes to downtown Austin...on a school night, mind you! We'd put on our best Charlotte Russe top and boot-cut jeans and paint the town underage red. We were always on our best behavior. I doubt we even batted eyes at the opposite sex or tried to sneak in a beer. Nope, we were high on life.

Fast forward. I'm 24, and I hate going to concerts. I know I hate them, and yet, I still get dragged to them. Granted, I love Morrissey. But I hate the people who go to these shows. Especially in the Big D. I'm sorry, I hate to use this term "dumb bitches" buuuttttt omg there were some DB's up in that joint. I had to hear some skinny-ass Dallasites yammer on about their bridal dresses for thirty minutes. Why? Why go to a show to talk about your stupid-ass life?

Then there was the short chubster karaoke-ing his way through the show. But I digress. I sound bitter and old. I am. Morrissey was fab. He took his shirt off and threw it in the audience and I saw his sweaty pecs. The End.

Wearing ugly clothes makes me happy.

See?