A Bed of Oysters

In all fairness, I really can't give other people a hard time about never updating their blogs if I refuse to update mine. It's not so much a refusal as it is an increasing obsession with doing absolutely nothing after work, save for sitting on my couch, watching seasons 1-5 of Angel, and counting my Weight Watchers points. Between the SmartOnes desserts and Wesley Wendham-Price's intense character development over the course of season 2, who has time to "update the blog" or even "clean the condo" ?

I would like to point out, however, that I have been actively attending social functions with one Matt Stersic, who can now, I believe, be easily Googled to this exact spot. Hi, Stersic-seekers! So- I go to Savannah, he comes to Atlanta, I make him rescue kittens, move furniture, move my friends' furniture. . . and he makes me breakfast. Which I can then convert into Weight Watchers points!

Speaking of kittens . . . look how happy not-so-tiny Oscar is with Amy! He done folded himself in half!


Amy took this picture. She actually also folded the cat.

Alas, I have missed out on some golden blogging opportunities, not the least of which is the titular location upon which I had my first oyster harvesting experience. On New Year's Eve (day), I joined Stersic and Ms. Amy Salley and others in providing a much needed service to Dave Bradley's father, who needed 8,000,000 oysters for his fabulous New Year's Eve party. Conveniently, the Bradley Estate has its own oyster bed. In exchange for a few hours of manual labor in the shoe-sucking mud, we received pizza, beer, and seriously bankable glory points. And also oysters. In lieu of my incredibly witty descriptions (or . . . in support of, I guess), I shall present you with a pictorial:


A big-ass bed of oysters. And the people who make it happen. Every day. For you.


A multi-tasking redneck. Just kidding- it's Dave climbing a ladder while hoisting a bucket of oysters AND smoking!


Matt looking not at all uncool or mentally handicapped.


Liz and I tastefully display our oysters, while Amy just tastes hers. Ew.


After this we took Daddy's Rolls out on the grounds and did doughnuts.


Psyche! We actually just hit golf balls off the roof of his dock.

Dance Resolution

That title is not really that funny. Or at all funny. Sue me.

So- just in time for the new year and all of it's possibilities ("this is the year that everything changes!"), I just happen to stumble upon the one site that will single-handedly feed the guilty pleasure which is my mild obsession with celebrity gossip.

See I KNOW that these people aren't important at all, but in some ways I think it's much healthier to keep up with dirt on people you DON'T know as opposed to people you DO know (pssst! Ned got a tattoo! It's huge! It will sag when he's old!).

But because I'm a grown up and I CAN, I do usually sift through the entertainment news included in the daily MSNBC email I receive. Who is Karl Rove? Hell if I know. But Brad Pitt is adopting Angelina Jolie's spanking new baby girl! Yeehaw!

And now, thanks to relatively entertaining shrine to bad boob jobs, Awful Plastic Surgery, I found my way to my new favorite website.

Behold- The Superficial. Tagline: Because You're Ugly.

If you're too lazy to click on the link and read, let me present you a sample of its splendor. This little entry concerns Mischa Barton's new boyfriend, who is some guy I've never heard of before and who kind of looks like Slash:

I'll admit, this is the first time I've ever actually seen Mischa Barton's new boyfriend, club owner Cisco Adler. And since he used to date Kimberly Stewart, I guess it was foolish of me to expect something even vaguely human-looking. I know that Mischa's last boyfriend was a lump of grease, but at least he was a lump of grease with enough money to buy Lenin's brain. I don't know how much Cisco Adler is worth, but by the looks of it, I'd say 73 cents and a bag of Zesty Doritos. Sure, that would be more delicious than Lenin's brain, but it wouldn't be nearly as cool.

Sigh. And I really did think that this would be the year I started personally eradicating homelessness instead of worrying about Jessica Simpson's lip implants . . .