bridesmaids: a review

you know the great thing about being a blogger? i can deem myself competent enough to do things like review hysterical films, without really having the credentials to do so. booyah. so, since it's fresh in my mind, i have to talk to you about bridesmaids - the funniest, most gut-wrenching movie i have ever seen. this is the vulgar comedy women like me have waited an eternity to see. though i like to think i have a cunning wit and sharp sense of humor (and super humble) i typically am not the "laugh aloud" type in theaters; i find people like that slightly annoying. but watching six foul-mouthed comediennes put a man-flick like the hangover to SHAME by being infinitely more witty, clever and push way more social boundaries had me rolling the entire time. besides, kristin wiig has had me in her back pocket ever since moonlighting as a bitchy assistant in knocked up and it doesn't hurt that she's my most fave SNL regular (you know, the retarded sister with baby hands in the lawrence welk skits with a five-head and snaggleteeth?)

here's the premise in case you haven't seen the movie yet. kristin wiig leads the cast as annie walker, the out-of-luck former baker that's now doing time at a shitty jewelers and living with two foul british siblings and eventually with her celebrity-caricature-drawing mother. when annie's lifelong best friend lillian (played by maya rudolph) gets engaged, she sets out to prove she can kill it as an MOH and heads up an all-star cast of fellow bridesmaids in the usual pre-wedding antics - bach party, dress shopping, luncheons, showers, etc.when confronted with lillian's new, filthy rich BFF helen, annie lives like she's got something to prove. although broke as a joke, she bumbles and bluffs her way through MOH-dom but doesn't come out unscathed, managing to ruin pretty much everything associated with the her maidly duties. the hilarity that ensues is side splitting. you can forget whatever your favorite movie was before, because bridesmaids will undoubtedly replace it. sidenote: while i ADORE all the ladies in this film, melissa mccarthy (formerly known as suki on gilmore girls) completely steals the show as the groom's butchy sister with enough killer one-liners to fill a book.

i could recount each of my favorite scenes to you but then i'd be spending my precious time detailing the entire 2 hour film and keeping $9 in your pocket and i wouldn't want to do something like that in these tough economic times. i did especially love the dress shopping fiasco, when annie takes the gang to a brazilian hole-in-the-wall for lunch and ends up giving the entire bridal party the sweats and shits in a bridal boutique. but my most favorite scene is the plane ride heading to a bachelorette weekend in vegas. it was just one show-stopping quote after another. i'll leave you with a few juicy ones below. if you had a fave, share!

if you have a pulse, you MUST go see it while it's still in theaters. grab your girls (or guys) and get ready for 120 minutes of laughing until the tears come. it's double duty - you exercise your liver and get your monthly cry in!



drunk annie: it's called CIVIL RIGHTS. this is the 90's.

megan: i'm glad he's single, cause i'm gonna climb him like a tree.

rita: what are we doing for the bachelorette party?
megan: female fight club. i say we grease up and - SURPRISE! beat the crap out of her.

helen: it's not good to have a meal before a fitting.
megan: not for me. i naturally just don't bloat.

rita: (talking about her 3 boys) they are cute, but when they reach that age...DISGUSTING. they smell, they are sticky, they say things that are horrible. everything is covered in semen. i literally broke a blanket in half the other day.

annie's mom: i'm sure she meets him in the evening, beaver first.

best love song

this song will get my blood pumping EVERY TIME. love it. and the curious little music video. i haven't even finished watching it i'm so jazzed over it's arrival (: just a little something to get you through hump day.

paisley

best way to banish a hot and heavy case of the mondays? with brad paisley's new album, this is country music. i've got my fresh pre-ordered copy and have already passed it on to, oh, 10+ friends. because as i always say, sharing is caring.

this is brad's greatest album yet, chock full with features from carrie underwood, alabama, blake shelton, sheryl crow, don henley, clint eastwood, marty stuart and carl jackson. early frontrunners for album favorites are remind me (with carrie) and old alabama. seriously, go getcha'self a copy and spread the love.

week in pictures

it's rebecca black's FAVORITE DAY OF THE WEEK! and to be honest, it's almost mine - thursdays just can't be beat in my book. anywho, i'll keep this short and sweet with a few pics of my week. seattle finally got the memo that it's almost summer and my sweet alabaster face saw the sun on repeat. YOU have yourself a great weekend! hopefully i'll see you tonight @ the hot bodies in motion show. oh, and make sure to think happy, happy thoughts for my dear friend erica saarloos and her groom, nate elmenhurst, who are tying the knot tomorrow in los olivos, california. wedding bells be ringing for TGS!

davy crockett has made her first kill, much like the original DC who killed him a "bar" when he was only three. in other news, my photoshopping skills are coming right along.

persistence pays - if you bug your receptionist long enough you WILL get tickets to the company's diamond club private suite fo' free. that's how it's done, son.

the aforementioned sun had me running to the rooftop of my building with davy in tow.

drinks, good company and a really good book just sweetened the pot

the fruits of our (me + davy girl) 4 hour sunday morning stroll around magnolia.

homegirl had the time of her young life chasing every crow alive.

cold, hard proof that the sun did indeed shine on ma face

robb-isms

for some reason, i was thinking about my dad last night as i drove downtown to the mariner's game. scenes from my childhood kept running through my head like little things my dad would do or ridiculous rules he gave us (more to come on those) or just how all-around awesome he was. these idiosyncrasies are better known as "robb-isms".

dad was a trendy dude back in the 80s & 90s - ray bans, sperry top siders, hypercolor sweatshirt, letting my mom work outside the home (joke dude, joke), etc. not to say that he's un-trendy these days...he's super in-style if you're referring to the over-50- hunts-critters-in-their-spare-time-and-if-they-got-remarried-right-now-they'd-register-at-sportsman's-warehouse-and-cabela's kind of crowd. the more i was reminiscing over my dad's old rules, the more i was completely laughing out loud (no, i will not use that dreaded acronym) thinking about them. to this day, i'm still not sure of their purpose so dad, if you're reading this (highly unlikely), feel free to weigh in.

1. can't wear painted nails to school/church - he busted me in evening church one week with nails painted the alternating colors of the hornets (purple & robin's egg blue) and the ban went into effect. obviously because it was "a distraction to my classmate's and those around me". this rule held firm all the way through junior high. i completely understand this since, i too, get distracted from the teaching of the Lord's Word when i see painted nails in church

2. Beds made & clothes ironed before going to school - totally understand the "beds made" part. totally never did it. this is why i had zero privileges from ages 9-17. having my clothes ironed, i'm not so sure about. we had to choose our school outfits the night before and make sure grandma ironed them and laid them out before watching the new episode of zoom or smallville. if i were to make an educated guess as to the purpose of this rule, i'd probably say it had something to do with us not looking like "ragamuffins" or "Oakies" (got called those by my parents a lot growing up and hated it)

3. bedtime at 8...in junior high - the 5 year old i babysit has a later bedtime than i did. robb was seriously cutthroat about it too. i spent a solid hour every monday bargaining with him to stay up until 9 so i could catch the new 7th heaven. usually he'd settle for a half hour later, so i've seen the first half of nearly every episode in it's 100-year run. or i'd get the bum end of the deal and stay up until 9 on monday, only to be in bed by SEVEN on tuesday. that robb barnes drove a mean bargain...

4. stop trying to kill slash psychologically destroy spencer - now that i think about it, remington and i spent an inordinate amount of time picking on spencer. we got busted shooting arrows at him (rem, i believe), throwing a metal-tipped dart into his back (me), chasing him with a pitchfork (me), throwing june drops (tiny, baby pears that are harder than a rock) at him (both of us), conniving him into licking a lightbulb that had been on for 4+ hours (definitely me), letting my rooster jump on his back, calling him an inordinate amount of cruel nicknames and letting him run with the belief that "you're in such hot water" meant mom was literally going to stick him in a pot of boiling water (spence, feel free to chime in if i'm missing anything...)

5. no trick-or-treating - to this day i still have never TOT'ed. i do recall putting on our matching green and purple striped sweaters and getting to go to great grandma and grandpa's house to eat candy...the same candy they had on their table the other 364 days of the year. this rule had something to do with october 31st being the "devil's holiday"

6. if it's fixed for you, you will eat it - that includes those times when rem tells you, "dad, i can't eat this, i feel sick" and you still have to dig in, resulting in beef burrito vomit all over the table

7. no slumber parties if the people aren't blood relatives or unusually close to us - that meant any overnight birthday parties found the applicable barnes child whisked away at dark and returned by daylight. even the 6th grade overnighter to camp kilowan - gone at night, back by morning. so embarassing

is that enough for you? are you shocked and amazed that i turned out somewhat normal, despite living in the third reich? somehow i came out of dallas, oregon relatively unscathed - with homegrown mennonite-esque values and little to no knowledge about how babies are made. i still have no idea so if you're in the know...let's be in touch.

if i were donald trump

i would buy an industrial loft and piiiiiiiiiiiiiiimp it out. like nearly every 20-something seattle hipster alive, i dig the sight of exposed brick, concrete floors and eclectic kitsch. you definitely wouldn't know it though by looking at my condo now. i mean, i do have two pairs of antlers on my wall (so progressive) and enough texas paraphenalia to last me a lifetime but, since i'm a renter, the walls are neutral and, overall, my place has about as much sex appeal as the 40-year-old virgin. i can deal with it - my lease is almost up and although i hate hate hate moving, it's the primo opportunity to swag out your space.

so back to donald trump...if i had his cheddar, i would not have gold-encrusted toilets (he seriously does) or statues of nakey people. i would spend it on some of these niceties to make house a home.

p.s. apologies for the blog going all "13-year-old-emo-kid-with-greasy-bangs-in-her-face-and-systemic-acne". life gets tough sometimes and writing covers a multitude of hurts

end of an era

hands down, my favorite people on earth are my family. the barnes clan has it all - rugged good looks, brawn, brain, adorable dogs and humility. strong silent type? look no further than my dad. brainiac? rem, ashly and mom. perpetual servant? grandma matie. adorable, 4' 9" raisin with a sharp tongue? great grandma. and the crown jewel of the clan - our resident leaf blowing in the breeze of life (with perfect bone structure to boot) - spencer. my main squeeze just quit his job, bought a Lezbaru and has pulled chocks to go conquer the wilds of Colorado as a river rafting guide. i realize this sounds like the plot of another van wilder installment but such is the life of my baby brother. college graduation, shitty seattle weather, a dead-end job and one heaping dose of wanderlust combined to create the perfect storm for spence's emerald city exit. he left today with all his worldly belongings and a huge smile on his face.

i'm genuinely excited for him but also horribly sad at the same time. spence and i were thick as thieves in high school and after suffering through a whole year without him freshman year, i managed to connive him into going to the same college as me and living three floors above me. booyah. brave little soul even shacked up with me and my four gorgeous ladies for a summer in our magnolia estrogen pit. suffice it to say we are close. reallllllly close. moving to texas was so awesome for me but also was the longest i've gone without seeing spence and the furthest i've ever been from him. upon my return to seattle, i posted up in my boss' basement for 2+ months until spencer and i could move into our postage stamp condo together. though i cringed at the smell of his man cave, the lack of mennonite cleaning skills and being forced to watch reruns of "las vegas" every day on our lunch hour (oh yeah, did i mention we worked for the same company?) - i already miss him SO MUCH. eesh. he's been gone for 6 hours and i've cried three times already. woe. is. me.

all this to say - i'm super bummed. it breaks my heart to think that now the three barnes children have officially gone their separate ways and spence and i will never live together again. but this isn't about me. i hope that colorado is to spencer what texas was to me - eye opening and life changing. even more...i hope i can convince him to chuck deuces to seattle for good and move with me somewhere new. i just can't imagine this being the end of our era! we've got a lot of living yet to do and there's no one else i'd rather do mine with. so, if you're holding a glass, raise it to spencer the river rat and send him some love as he starts a new chapter.

oh, and i have this shiny new guest room (that smells so fresh and so clean, clean). so come visit me! seriously. i'll feed you, i'll let you play with my adorable smush-faced pup and i'll play tour guide to perfection. see you soon?

now, enjoy a surplus of kt & spencer pictures. i HIGHLY recommend you scroll all the way down. there may be a blast from the 1998 past where i look like a man child in my loony toons shirt, breakaway pants and adidas sandals. yeah, the kind NBA playas wear. NBD.

this is country music

i started reading cash: the autobiography of johnny cash several nights ago and am fully smitten. the man wrote like he spoke - straightforward, candidly and with no frills. i love when you can actually hear someone in their writing style. johnny's words were tempered with gratitude for everything around him - june, his family, "the gift" (his mom's moniker for his voice), health, happiness, jamaica (where he spent much of his time) and his upbringing. early on, i was struck by his observation in chapter two:

i was talking with a friend of mine the other day: that country life as I knew it might really be a thing of the past and when music people today, performers and fans alike, talk about being "country," they don't mean they know or even care about the land and the life it sustains and regulates. they're talking more about choices - a way to look, a group to belong to, a kind of music to call their own. which begs a question: is there anything behind the symbols of modern "country," or are the symbols themselves the whole story? are the hats, the boots, the pickup trucks, and the honky-tonking poses all that's left of a disintegrating culture? back in arkansas, a way of life produced a certain kind of music. does a certain kind of music now produce a way of life? maybe that's okay. i don't know. i wonder how many people have ever filled a cotton sack. i wonder if they know that before i became 'not country' in the '90s, their predecessors were calling me 'not country' in the '50s and the '60s and the '70s too (i was invisible in the 80s)

since my musical taste breaks down to 35% chris brown, 55% country music, 10% other, i've legitimately given a lot of thought to the content of the hillbilly tunage i'm filling my ears with. and i totally understand what johnny is saying. did lady antebellum really "grow up on the side of the road where church bells ring and strong love grows"? did brad paisley actually know a "perfect little path" where he "used to hunt" so he can check me for ticks? is faith hill truly a "mississippi girl"? these questions may not plague you while listening to the soft strains of lil wayne or lady gag-me but they haunt me. okay, that's not true, but i do find myself wondering on a daily basis if they sing from experience or if they're just singing about they're cheating wife, drinking beers, lakeside sunsets and Lord and Savior to sell records. all while wearing Rock & Republics and a $199 plaid shirt. these are just the ponderings of a wandering mind. if you read yesterday's post you now know that i have a lot of time on my hands to contemplate such matters (: my point being, it may not be important to you but give a sharper listen the next time your favorite tune sneaks on the airwaves. show some serious love to those artists that sing from a place of truth and reality, no matter the genre.

on being alone

(i just spent the last hour+ typing this post and it magically disappeared from my page...here's my futile attempt to re-create)

confession: i love being alone

i was always that kid who "talks too much in class", is "overly social" and "could spend less time visiting and more time working". well, my teachers will sorely regret these comments when i skyrocket to fame as the greatest blogger who ever lived. whoa, fantasy overtook me there for a moment. my bad. from early on, i established my identity in the fine art of social butterflyism and built my life around constantly being with other people. and for the longest time, i don't think i realized that had everything to do with me not knowing who i was. why would i want to be alone and spend time with myself, someone i had no idea about, when i could be with other people far more entertaining and lively? new school years were gold mines to me - new teachers, classes and FRIENDS. MORE FRIENDS. college was like motha flippin summer camp. moving in was followed by a flurry of friend requests and gwinn dates. then i moved to texas and set up camp as the self-proclaimed Queen of Del Rio, i made friends faster than wal-mart could sell out of cholula and pampers. and many of these beautiful people are nearer and dearer to me than most i'd met in my previous 23 years. i was even chided for being too friendly by a certain someone, citing their mother's wisdom that, "you can't be friends with everyone. it shows you have no taste".

then i migrated back to the emerald city full of all this steam only to find myself homeless and pretty alone. not hobo-under-the-overpass homeless but living-in-my-boss'-basement-and-babysitting-every-day-for-free kind of homeless. which is worse? you tell me. and the strangest thing happened - real life. friends had real jobs and lives outside of their 9-5 and seeing friends took work. i got pretty lonely, pretty quick. lowest of the low was calling my parents sobbing after i'd spent 7 hours after work just sitting on the couch zoning. i was so depressed i couldn't even get up after feigning function all day at work. those few months were so blue. i read a lot and threw an inordinate amount of pity parties. i made very little effort to see people, expecting them to reach out to me. and then slowly but surely, the cloud lifted. i forced myself to start doing things - go sailing with my 60 year old co-worker and his beer-swilling cronies, travel and see new places, go home a lot and deepen my relationship with family and friends, got a gym membership and yoga-ed the days away, got this delicious puppy who's stolen my heart and my free time. i reconnected with old friends and thrived meeting new, beautiful folk like BTHOMP and br@!n and their wolfpack that followed.

and somehow i found myself not only loving these times of new adventures and people but also relishing the time i spent alone. things started making a little more sense too. of course i'd never enjoyed being alone before because i never had been. i'd never taken the time to use loneliness to excavate what was inside me and see what i loved, treasured and had failed to nurture. i finally understood what rainer rilke meant when he said,

be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. amd the point is, to live everything. live the questions now. perhaps you with then gradually, without knowing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

it took that heavy season of aloneness to really understand what i'm about, what i want out of life and where i'm going. and the victory has been sweet - i feel a renewed sense of purpose, self-love and appreciation for those wonderful people in my life who feed the heart of who i am. so go. spend some serious time being alone. park it on a bench with your iPhone, a good book and a blank notebook. write, read, relish! get to know yourself really, really well and live everything. live those questions and don't be surprised when you find yourself standing amongst the answers.

bhldn's marketing ploy

old news but has anyone seen BHLDN?

it's the latest brainchild of anthropologie, also known in my home as Mecca. while i love anthropologie (and their sales racks within which very nearly had me convinced i needed a $199 gold driftwood lamp last week), bhldn is reaaaaaalllllllly cookin' my grits. first there was the internet BUZZ over it's arrival. many blogs overused the word "swoon" in countless derivatives such as, "swoon-worthy", "positively swooning", "swoonfest", etc. do they realize that swooning is synonymous with fainting, losing consciousness, or "a state of hysterical rapture or ecstasy"?

regardless, now that they have come out with their decor line, i believe i've discovered their marketing strategy which i've outlined in the below faux dialogue.

marketing director (MD): go to the nearest flea market and buy everything you see that is dainty, rustic and looks like it came from your dead grandmother's estate sale. anything that looks dirty, heavily used or older than 1995, we will call "vintage"

buyer: (100 hours later) okay, i scoured the place and found some SWOON-WORTHY finds!

MD: oh, DO show!

buyer: rust-covered vintage forks! handkerchiefs! a dirty old bucket to hold ice and retro bottles of soda pop! and a bunch of vintage plates we can epoxy to these vintage goblets and sell as "vintage treat pedestals" for $78+!

MD: gosh, i'm just swooning over these! great job, buyer. now, how much did all of this cost?

buyer: i got three truckloads of junk, er, stuff for $175.

MD: perfect. let's mark everything up 1,000-fold and slap it on BHLDN's website by early next week. that will give us enough time to generate some internet buzz and get frothing brides-to-be in a preemptive tizzy over our latest line!

i'm no heartless monster. i do find all of their things quite cunning, delightful and their website a veritable explosion of everything today's bride desires - lace, scalloped edges, glitter in abundance, birds, old wood, cork and everything in miniature. i'm not immune to the adorableness of it all, i promise! but i also refuse to pay $328 for a cake server even if it's handmade by an italian artisana and consists of a "soft texture achieved through a repetitive hammering technique". i also will not be purchasing a $224 paper flower bouquet or a $598 cake topper with a Swarovski-encrusted bow, pearls, brass and enameled metal.

thank you, BHLDN for making brides everywhere feel the need to sell their first born to afford your silver dipped leaf placeholders. forget you (or the cee-lo version, whichever you prefer).

adele

the woman don't lie. love her.

the blog will be ON like donkey kong next week, dontcha fret.