not-so-daily pic

rate this weblog, please.
Psst--Green is good, red is bad.
the best pretty good okay pretty bad the worst   help?

webrings and cliques

« webloggers »

<< | linksluts | >>

< # blog girls ? >

<< | Southern Blogs | >>

| CollegeBlog | > | >> | ?

- pitas! +

« ? (oYo) # »

a rose by any other name...
02:59 a.m.
I have a love/hate relationship with my name. My first name, that is. I don't think it is terribly fitting. You see, "Brittany," and the hundred variations thereof, has gotten a bad rep.

As a kid I was sort of proud of it. It was pretty rare among girls my age. I never had a class with another Brittany my entire educational career, up until I went to college, that is. Besides, Brittany was the head Chipette and Alvin's leading lady. I thought *that* was pretty cool. It was at least better than the gaggle of Jennifers and Stephanies I knew.

Suddenly, it was everywhere. Oprah announced "Brittany" as the number one female baby name of 1998. At work, I began to hear my name more and more frequently--and sometimes in not-so-pleasant tones. "Brittany, sit down." "Brittney, get over here, now." As a waitress, it is my job to listen for and be attentive to my customers. This, as you might imagine, can be very frustrating diversion on a hopping Saturday night.

Don't get me wrong, it is no big deal, really. But not a single night passes when after introducing myself to the table, I hear, "You related to that Britney Spears?"
First and foremost, we have the same first name, Brainiac; try getting a clue before you decide to open your mouth. Secondly, if I were in fact in any way "related" to Miss Spears. . .*do you think I would tell anybody?*

Back in seventh grade, just to be little divas, my friend Carrie and I decided we'd go by our middle names in band class (I played french horn--not something more than a handful of people know.). Her's was Leigh, mine Lynn. We remembered for a few days during roll call but quickly forgot our new personas. By November, Mr. Barnes was calling us by our known names, and oddly enough, no one ever mentioned it...

Brittney: sounds like I should wear charm bracelets and chew gum with pink, glossy lips. That isn't me.

See also: Brittney on Britney.


indulge me
01:30 p.m.
I have begun adding comment links to the end of each post. The link will take you to a place where you can drop me a line about said post or discuss with others the content of it. I am adding these links in order to make it as easy as possible for you to give feedback. (Read: unabashed, adoring love and admiration)

Oh, the sinister games our egos play...


Dude, where's my _____?
12:37 a.m.
At The Well's esteemed movie conference, there is a hilarious topic that suggests that any movie title, with a little tweaking, can be similar to "Dude, where's my car?"

For instance, here are a few that gave me pause and fits of laughter:
The Fugitive: Dude, Where's my Arm?
Citizen Kane: Dude, Where's my Sled?
Speed: Dude, Where's the Bomb?
Schindler's List: Dude, What the Fuck is Ghandi doing in Poland? (Mountain Dew shot out of my nose when I read this one. Gross, but true.)
American Pie: Dude, Where's my Flute?

Of course, I had to contribute, but the best I could come up with was The Straight Story: Dude, Where's my Dancing Midget? It is too obscure and not very funny. I'm guilty of that more than I'd like to admit actually, obscure and not very funny. Oh well. I almost went with The Piano: Dude, Where's my Finger? But wouldn't that have been a disaster?


good times
03:49 p.m.
I hope, I hope, I hope that Keith and I will being going to see Amelie tomorrow. I have heard so many wonderful things about this film--"it is two hours of everything that is wonderful about cinema, and life." The trailer makes it look just adorable.

Ooh, and I have an interview next Thursday with the Nashville Independent Film Festival. They are looking for someone to do mostly data entry and word processing for the time being, but closer to June when the event occurs, the tasks may become more "industry oriented." It beats a measley practicuum on campus, I'd say.

And, Jason, I can't wait to see you again.


all my guy friends may never recover
05:36 p.m.
Over at you can see the video for Pagan Poetry. Just like all the rest, this video is astonishing. I was surprised, at first, when I noticed her bare breasts bobbing into view in the second half of the video.

Anyone who's heard any significant amount of Bjork's material would agree that her music and lyrics are inherently sexual and passionate. It is her child-like, elfin/vixen persona that brings around many of her listeners. After just a few seconds the sheer beauty of her nakedness combined with the strains of the song came rushing at me, and I had a "moment."

I suggest you go have one to.


this is why it is called misc. etc.
02:54 a.m.
You could smell her on his clothes and hands--the warm, familiar scent of sweet cinnamon bread.

He could feel his heart rising up hard in his throat.

Slowly, and ever so surely, he placed his hand in his pocket and turned on his heel and left.

The train he left town on moaned and groaned just as she did that very evening.


just in time for the holidays
12:45 a.m.
Per my very digital mom's request, I updated my amazon wishlist, as seen at right. She didn't ask me to fatten it up like I did, but it may come as a relief that most of the items are available used.

Which is fine by me. Old books read the same as new books. Same goes for CDs. And DVDs. In fact, I'm a used kind of girl all the way around.

Heh. Funny how things sometimes just write themselves.

(The URL for my wishlist has been corrected--thanks Keith! You always notice my flaws, don't ya? ;)


it's coming up
02:45 p.m.
Thanksgiving. I found out yesterday that it is next week.

I have an awful lot to be thankful for. Food, clothing, shelter, freedom, mostly-acne-free skin, a job, my health, kind parents, an education, Twin Peaks, my lovely sister, the strength to give up smoking, a sense of humor.
See? Lots of stuff.

But today, I am mostly thankful for my friend Keith. More than thankful, I am lucky to have him enrich my life. We are different yet exaclty the same.
Sometimes I feel as though I glide through this life with nothing more than a handful of acquaintances who on any day of the week would be just as content to be somewhere else with someone else. Not true in this case.
I value our time, we laugh shamelessly at each others jokes, I can tell him *anything* and he's cool as shit.

So, what do you know? I've got a friend. A real one. And it rocks.

ooh, drama
02:10 p.m.
As a daily reader of, and sometimes poster to Metafilter, I sometimes wonder why I waste my time. The posted links are becoming less and less unique and interesting and the community members can be so elitist and judgemental that most people fear the reprecussions of posting even the most harmless comment.

But today, this post by GriffX about the Taleban's retreat from Kabul reminded by why I stick around. Hear, hear.

And at the local level...

The proprietor of the restaurant I have worked at for over four years was fired this morning. I am in severe shock.

A very short version of this ongoing drama is this:
Mike, a very small, very stupid man who was recently a manager there, was demoted. He was demoted because he made inappropriate comments to one of the female staff memebers. The lude comments were the perverbial straws that broke the camel's back. He is most assuredly also guilty of lying, stealing and having no managerial skills of any kind.

On his way down, it was his final fuck you to take "the bitch in charge" down with him. He has been trying for weeks to rat her out for something, even if he had to make it up: her knowledge of kitchen employees smoking pot during trash runs, allowing underage employees to drink at the bar. Neither of these things are true.

It finally occurs to Mike that perhaps the truth might be more scathing than a lie. He tells our area supervisor that Cathy (the proprietor) allowed for "open bar" on Mother's Day (the busiest day for restaurants all year). Which she did. After a 14 hour shift, she allowed those who worked to have a few drinks at the bar after we closed. A small, impromptu party.

Apparently, this impromptu party is clearly against the rules and she was let go just this morning. This woman is my friend, and frankly one of the primary reasons I continue to work there. And now, I just don't know.

There is specualtion that there will be even more drama to come. The girl to whom the offensive words were spoken is also a friend of Cathy's. And basically she decided not to sue for just that reason. But with all of these new developments, this may be just the fuel she needs to go ahead with a lawsuit (which, by the way, she will easily win--with witnesses and the nature of the comment).

I'm simply floored. I can't believe what has happened here. I hate to think that the weasily, wormy Mike has gotten the last laugh.

the deb guy
10:37 p.m.
In high school I had a boyfriend named Nathan. He was a shy red-head with a passion for music and poetry. The kid had unbelievable smarts and talent. He was quirky and eccentric. We had a very intense love affair for more than a year and still remain friendly acquaintances.

Since then he has made quite a name for himself. He is the frontman for a wildly popular local band, Submethod. In the years since we graduated and drifted our seperate ways I was aware of the near cult following he had created for himself with the 18 and under crowd. Apparently any girl with a penchant for black hair dye and a few holes in her face took an immediate liking to ole Nate. And it has been said that he enjoys his groupies.

And with that I give you The Deb Guy. The Deb Guy is a website created by someone fascinated from afar with Nathan. It is thorough, if not a touch obsessive. I rather enjoyed reading up on Mr. Ells' charmed life and those who worship him.

It didn't take me long to find this--a parody site of the Deb Guy site called The Deb Guy Girl.

Funny what you can find on the internet on a lazy Monday night.

This is sort of becoming a theme, isn't it?
03:18 p.m.
By far. The coolest thing I've seen all day: Use your instinct. Experience the Black Lodge. The owls are not what they seem.

(Guilty confession: While writing my legal brief for my Mass Media Law class I dug a half-smoked butt from the trash can and lit it. I took *one* drag, I swear to God, and tossed it in the toilet ashamed and disgusted. How vile. How depraved. But I'll tell you folks, I shan't lie--I *did* inhale.)

they say time doesn't exist in the black lodge
11:44 a.m.
This is bad. This is very, very bad.

(Still no cigarette. Although, oddly, I have begun grinding my teeth.)

my blood runs a little cleaner
01:29 a.m.
I'm in the midst of quitting smoking.

I have gone more than 48 hours without a cigarette.

Tonight I have injested 12 Vitamin C drops, 7 Lifesavers, 3 Hershey's Kisses and a handful of Runts. Oh yeah, and I "smoked" a pencil in a severe moment of desperation.

In order to busy my hands I redecorated a little. I think it looks kind of nice, don't you?





view guestbook
sign guestbook


daily reading
fiona elise
I Really Must Insist You Leave.
mass transit