tangent twenty-one: Backstreet's back. so am I.

Alright.

Do you see what I did there? I included the same song lyric in the title and the greeting. I'm awesome. Although maybe not to any of you considering it's been, what? like 8 months since I last posted. I'm only a little bit sorry. Life gets busy, and I'm not a good multi-tasker when it comes to big stuff. Little stuff I'm okay with. You know, like watching a marathon on Bravo while simultaneously playing online Bingo and Scrabble on my phone. I'm not sure why online Bingo entertains me so much. I think it's because I win a lot. And even though I don't win anything but virtual tokens, it somehow persuades me to believe that I am of greater importance than the rest of the people on this earth. Or at least of greater importance than the rest of the people playing online Bingo. For one measly moment I am on a pedestal. I think it's pretty safe to say that if I'm the one playing online Bingo and you're the one being productive or perhaps playing real Bingo for real money then you're of greater importance. Well, if you actually win. If not, I'm the one who hasn't lost any money and I still get to play. I know what you're thinking though. How uncool is this chick. Maybe. But at least I'm honest. Also, I'm not uncool. Ask my mom. Okay, moving on. If you are a diligent reader and have kept up with Tangent M from day one, you're already aware that the Backstreet Boys hold a special place in my heart. And by special, I mean a place above any heartthrob who has ever held a spot as my crush, including Devon Sawa, Edward Cullen, and Alex Hau. Alex Hau was my number one crush from 5th grade until 7th grade. He's real. He's not a B-list celebrity or a teenage vampire (at least I don't think he is). He's also German, which adds nothing to this story. If he's like me and googles himself from time to time then he's in for a fun surprise when this post pops up. Surprise, Alex! We're facebook friends though, and my crush on him faded after I left Christ the King elementary school and went to Marist in the 8th grade (at which point I discovered senior football players who were older, cuter, but also did not know I existed). Even if Alex is vain and googles himself, I can't see it being that awkward if he reads this. Flattering, at most. Probably creepy more than anything. Whatever. It's not like he didn't know I had a crush on him back then. I wasn't very good about keeping my mouth shut about it. And I'm sure staring at him from across the room every day for 2 years wasn't a clue. Right. I used to try and like the things he liked. Even though I didn't. For example, due to him I own a neon green canister full of pogs and one glow-in-the-dark slammer. How do you even play pogs? That was something I failed to find out back then. It didn't matter. He never "asked me out". Because in middle school the proper way to make someone your girlfriend is by asking them out, even though you are without a driver's license and a vehicle in which to go out. But it was still protocol. No disrespect to Alex, but this tangent is not about him. This tangent is about The Backstreet Boys. You probably think I'm the only one who still likes them. False. If that were true I probably could've gotten front row seats at the mini concert I went to a few weekends ago in Charlotte. And by concert I mean an outdoor Halloween party put on by a bar and local radio station in a parking lot. Whatever. There was a stage so I'm calling it a concert. On the way up to Charlotte my friend Beth (who also loves BSB with all of her heart and soul) and I began to make fun of our favorite band for having many songs that sound so similar. Strike that. We weren't making fun, we were just commenting while laughing almost to the point of urinating. You know how that goes. Between you and me though, I felt a little bit guilty for doing so. I was under the impression that I was the only one who still fought for BSB and believed in them (because I do and always will). I was wrong. Unless, however, those skanks were there solely for the Halloween party. People enjoy dressing up. Especially skanks. Because for a night they aren't skanks. They're interesting things like bunnies and kittens and other critters that can somehow be transformed into whorish costumes. I don't have a problem with the way anyone dresses. Honestly. It's up to you how you clothe (or don't clothe) yourself. And if you have a banging body, more power to you. My problem with skanky Halloween costumes is their lack of creativity. Also, October usually proves to be a very cold month in many places so it's hard for me to comprehend how a leotard and fishnets keep these girls warm. I saw a lot of skanks at that concert. A lot. And also, if you don't have the body to wear a skanky critter costume then don't. Because now you're skanky and fat and probably freezing your extremely large ass off. I saw a lot of fat skanky Dorothys that night. There must have been a lot of XLs left on the rack. Believe me, I'm not one to harp on anyone's size. I need to lose more than a couple LBs myself; however, I did not subject myself to mockery by wearing a loin cloth that night and calling it a costume so I feel obligated to put in my two cents about those who did. I chose to wear my tried and true devilled egg costume. I've had it since junior year of high school, and I love it. It's comfortable, I can wear anything under it, and it covers my large ass. It's also a pretty freaking cute costume. Poor Beth tried to be an 80s girl but ended up looking more like an 80s hooker. She's not fat and her costume didn't have ears, so she doesn't fall under that category I mentioned earlier. That's a picture of us at the top. It was a fun night. Like I've mentioned twice already, there are way more BSB fans out there than I thought. (I'm still convinced I'm the biggest.) What's funny about it now is that the fans are all grown up. Sort of. I guess by still being fans we haven't grown up that much. In age we have though. We're all able to drink now. And we don't have to have our parents accompany us to concerts anymore (which I'm sure they're thankful about). Before BSB graced the stage with their pretty little faces, a Michael Jackson cover band played for entirely too long. I'm not saying Who's Bad wasn't great, but when you have hundreds of screaming boy band fans you're not who they're there to see. I shouldn't have drank so much because towards the end of Who's Bad's set list I had to pee. Like real bad. I thought I was going to have to pee my pants (which would have been possible considering how big the egg is), but I took the risk and made a mad dash to the porter potties. That took way too long, and I did the pee dance in front of everyone in the line. You know, when you cross your legs and hold it and sing to yourself while swaying awkwardly in hopes the urine will somehow magically disappear from your bladder. I even prayed. Yes, seriously. It was a dire situation, and I needed God to make it happen so I could run, pee, and get back to my pretty good spot to see the loves of my life. It happened. Once I went to the bathroom I raced my eggy body back to the enormous crowd of hormonal females and tried to push my way back to where my friends were. No one was happy about that. I got called a bitch for doing so because people thought I was lying about needing to get to my friends. Understandably so. I saw that stunt pulled many a times that night. I made it though. And when BSB came on I was like a drunken 12 year old who had nothing to worry about in the world. My digital camera sucks so the pictures didn't turn out too great, but I did capture some videos and will include one (or three) at the end of this tangent. When I got home that Sunday I showed my boyfriend the videos and he was speechless that grown women were screaming like little girls over, yes, the Backstreet Boys. It just goes to show that some things never get old (well, okay, the Backstreet Boys are pretty old) but you get what I mean. I'm off to do work. Hopefully it won't be so long until we meet again. Also, you might want to turn the volume down a smidge. The screaming is intense.

one.

two.

three.

Is your heart beating as fast as mine? Okay. I'm out.

Peace. Love. I'll always want it that way.

tangent twenty: gorillas enjoy Phil Collins.

Ciao.

I started boot camp yesterday, and my body and I are currently in a big fight. No worries. A tangent will spawn from the experience...maybe a few tangents. Today, however, is Tuneage Tuesday. I may have stretched that term lately because the last two tangents written on Tuesdays weren't so much about music. Their titles were, which is how I got away with it. I'm in advertising. I'm quick like that. Funny I should mention advertising. Today's tangent is actually about an ad. It's an older ad, but the first time I saw it I almost peed my pants. I didn't. Don't get grossed out. Don't ask me about the ad's purpose. I have no clue. All I can say is that you will remember it once you've seen it. And you will automatically associate this odd video with the product it promotes. After watching this for the first time I let out a sigh of relief. It's good to know that once I get out of ad school I'll be allowed to make bizarre ads...even if along the way I have to sell toilet paper via cartoon bears. The following video makes my career purposeful. Please watch. Please laugh. Please come close to urinating.

Peace. Love. You're not supposed to get it.

tangent nineteen: just say no to emoticons.

That is all.

Peace. Love. [Insert smiley with tongue out and brows furrowed here].

tangent eighteen: rock the vote. not.

No one is voting. The poll is coming down. Maybe that means no one is reading. Whatevs. Looked at or not, the tangents will still be produced. We've already discussed my narcissistic tendencies. Ahem, excuse me. I've already discussed my narcissistic tendencies.

Peace. Love. No you can't.

tangent seventeen: cop-out.

Happy Monday. 

I had every intention of coming up with a new and fantastic tangent today, but instead I didn't. A little while ago I was invited to go to the Hawks game, so I'm going to steal one of those lame lists from facebook, copy it onto here, and call it a day. Unoriginal? Perhaps. But I'm not about to pass up a fun night to stay home and blog. I'd like to keep a few cool points in the bank. Anyway, the list you see below is one of those "25 Things About Me" copy-and-paste notes that take up too much time to fill out and aren't all that interesting to anyone else other than the vain person filling out said list. Regardless, here is mine. It was originally posted on facebook in February. Enjoy delving into my narcissism. And if you've already seen it, well...sucks for you.

Confirmation That I Need a Life:

1. I'd gladly let a hippo eat me just for a chance to hug one.
   
2. At the first sign of a tornado (warning, watch, severe thunderstorm possibly producing a funnel cloud) I'm in the basement or a bathtub. Greatest fear.
   
3. I watch Spongebob, Fairly Odd Parents, and Jimmy Neutron on Nickelodeon. And laugh hard.
   
4. My real last name is Langston-Wood.
   
5. While I respect her courageous fashion choices, I think Carrie Bradshaw is one of the most selfish fictional characters ever to grace my television set...Meredith Grey probably beats her, but I stopped watching Grey's Anatomy a long time ago and do not feel the need to analyze its female leading role.
   
6. To go along with number 5, I thought the Sex & the City movie blew.
   
7. Backstreet Boys. Yes, still.
   
8. I want to live in the Greek isles someday.
   
9. Most Friday nights I'd rather hang out with my brother at home than go to the bars.
   
10. One of the best pieces of advice I've ever received came from Maggie Kelly (my friend Natalie's mom): Don't buy expensive shoes until you get out of college. Bar funk is not partial to brands.
    
11. Diet Dr Pepper and cheese dip are necessities in my life.
    
12. I'm really good about not calling people back.
    
13. I'm scared that when I have kids it will be socially acceptable to propose to someone via text message.
    
14. I love text messaging.
    
15. I really like 6 Flags, but I hate that my hands smell like wet pennies after spending a day there.
    
16. I think energy drinks are disgusting.
    
17. My dog smells like she's wet even when she's dry. We keep her outside.
    
18. Coffee. Gross. Cigarettes. Grosser.
    
19. I fly all the time, but every time the plane takes off I still worry it's going to crash.
    
20. Not everybody loves Raymond.
    
21. A spoonful of peanut butter is guaranteed to make my day better.
    
22. I'm addicted to classic ChapStick.
    
23. In the winter you'll find me in Uggs. In the summer, Haviana flip-flops.
    
24. I don't miss college.
    
25. Right now I'm in class, and I haven't been paying attention. I'm going to have to teach it to myself. Awesome.
    

You probably figured this out, but #25 is not applicable anymore. I'm sure you caught that though because you're a genius. At any rate, I'm off. Go Hawks.

Peace. Love. Space Jam.

tangent sixteen: green day.

O'Hey.

I am done with second quarter and feel the need to rant. I actually have an excuse because it's St. Patrick's Day. So now I'm going to talk about verde. Learn Spanish if you don't understand that. Specifically, I want to discuss what happens to many people who forget to wear green on March 17. Some people choose not to do so out of protest to conventional standards. A handful of those people sit together in corners wearing black and discussing why convention and conformity do not apply to them. I think they have somewhat of a good idea there, but their execution leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I'd prefer for them to whine far away from my ears. We aren't discussing my problem with the color black or a bunch of egocentric emo kids though. We're discussing green. Well, I'm discussing green. You're reading about it. Maybe. Back to those who don't wear green. It's your prerogative if you decide not to partake in drunken Irish festivities. You shouldn't feel obligated to wear a "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" tight-fitting baby-T or an obnoxious blinking leprechaun button. You shouldn't even feel compelled to wear a smidgen of green if you don't want to. Let's be honest here for a second. St. Patrick's Day is really just spring break compressed into 24 hours. And if that's not your thing, then so be it. I personally enjoy the quasi-holiday. I do not, however, enjoy the pinchers. If you still pinch people for not wearing green then you just volunteered your way onto my "I'd like to punch you in the face" list. Don't be an asshole. Pinching serves no purpose other than legitimate proof that someone (the pincher) sucks. And not the mean kind of sucks, the irritating kind of sucks...which is way worse. I don't care if you think it's funny to parade around the office and pinch your co-workers who forgot their tiny Paddy flair. The only reason they even wear it is to avoid people like you. You aren't 7 anymore. Let the non-greeners go through March 17 in peace. In my opinion, pinching lies on the same plane with Carrot Top. Annoying and useless. So join me in my attempt to stop the pinchers from spreading their venomous fingers. Should you choose to be witty after reading this and decide to squeeze a portion of my skin in between your thumb and pointer finger then I can almost guarantee you'll be moved to the top of the previously-mentioned list. I hope those of you who dig today have green beers in hand and are about to sway back and forth to "Piano Man" at an overcrowded Irish pub. I'll see you in a few.

Peace. Love. Ginger fever.

tangent fifteen: voter registration.

Hi. 

I just added something new to my blog. A weekly question that you can cast your vote about. Pumped? I knew you would be. The questions will not be hard. Unless you are an imbecile. Alright. Go knock yourself out on the bottom of the sidebar.

Peace. Love. Yes you can.

tangent fourteen: my Oscar nominees.

Evening.

I'm going to make this as short as possible so I can get back to watching Degrassi, my newest obsession and time-sucker. Seeing as that I only saw Slumdog Millionaire, I don't have too much to say about any of the other nominees. Slumdog was an amazing piece of cinematic awesomeness, so I'm glad it won 694 awards. Well-deserved, in my opinion. I did make a mental list of my favorite moments tonight, and I would like to share them with you. In addition to my favorites, I also made a separate mental list of my least favorite moments. If you don't mind, I'm going to share those with you, as well. If you do mind, then I hate you. No, no. I'm being facetious. Although I might hate you anyway, for other reasons. Probably not though because I don't really hate anyone. "Hate" is, like many teachers and wise sages over the years have told me, a very strong word. So while you might annoy me a lot, I can almost guarantee that I don't hate you. There's always an exception to the rule though. And I hate to admit it, but I use "hate" a lot more than I should. Like just now, for instance. I don't really hate to admit it. But to say, "I strongly dislike to admit it" sounds ridiculous. "Hate" may be strong, but it is, in fact, easier. Okay. Enough of that. Now, for the drum roll...brrrrrrrr. (That is not supposed to look like the sound of shivering.) Here are the nominees of my favorite and least favorite Oscar moments:

Moments That Made My Heart Flutter:

1. Danny Boyle jumping up and down like Tigger on purpose.
   
2. Zac Efron looking old enough for me to legally date instead of molest...finally.
   
3. Robert Pattinson acting like a vampire even though he wasn't supposed to.
   
4. Mickey Rourke's nomination.
   
5. Halle Berry's dress.
   
6. Kate Winslet's acceptance speech.
   
7. Heath Ledger's family's acceptance speech.
8. Memorial dedication video. (Gets me every single time.)
9. The big musical shindig. (With a cameo from Zac Efron.)
   
10. Ben Stiller's riveting portrayal of Joaquin Phoenix.
    

Moments That Made My Heart Sputter: 

1. Barbara's pre-Oscars buzz kill.
   
2. Zac Efron's trollop of a date.
   
3. Christopher Walken's creepiness multiplied due to his long hair.
   
4. Mickey Rourke's face.
   
5. Reese Witherspoon copying Queen Latifah's dress. Or vice versa. (Tsk, tsk, ladies.)
   
6. Jessica Biel sans her only redeeming quality, Timberlake.
   
7. Sophia Loren's aging progress.
   
8. Not being able to see the memorial dedication video. (I'm sorry, Academy. Not all of us have 900-inch flat-screens.)
   
9. Beyonce's sparkling red loin cloth.
   
10. Joaquin Phoenix's absence (from both the awards and the acting world).
    

I should mention that my short-term memory is somewhat of a faulty trait, and had I written my thoughts down while watching the Oscars, my wit would have been sharper and my writing much funnier. Oh well. I distracted you for a little while, right? Okay. Back to work, slacker. 

Peace. Love. Why was Miley invited?

tangent thirteen: bite me.

Guess who's back? 

After an extra long vacay I'm back and ready to roll. I know I promised to write a lot during my break; however, I opted not to and did other things instead. I slept, watched a lot of unnecessary television, went to my 5 year high school reunion (AKA "shit show 2k8"), and went on a cruise with my family (and brought in the new year with a smooch on the cheek from my mother). Jealous? I'm sure. My first quarter at The Circus went really well, and it's good to know that I'm heading in the right direction in terms of what I want to do with the rest of my life. At least for now. You could probably care less about that so I'll ease into my newest tangent before you start bitching. While I did waste a lot of my time watching mindless TV shows and galavanting around Atlanta will my fellow high school chums during the break, I also divvied up some of my time to a fictional male specimen known to some as Edward Cullen. I, however, prefer to refer to him as "perfection". Edward Cullen is one of the characters in the Twilight book series by Stephenie Meyer. Now, if you are an observant and nitpicky person then you are A) obnoxious but B) also probably remembering something I wrote in tangent ten. I merely stated that I didn't understand the hype concerning Twilight. I never made fun of those who did. I retract my statement because I understand the hype now. At about 2:30 on Christmas Eve day I was perusing through Target, trying to find last minute Christmas gifts (if you know me, you aren't the least bit surprised) and a shiny paperback book cover caught my eye. There it was. A simple, yet perfect depiction of the forbidden fruit resting in the pale palms of two delicate hands. It was as if Eve herself was offering me a bite...Christmas Eve. Oh, the irony! I tried to hold my ground and walk past the preteen book section in order to make it to the DVD wall faster but something else caught my eye, paralyzing me even longer. The price sticker. Once I saw that, I knew I had been defeated. I took the bait and bought the book. Metaphorically speaking, one might say I took a bite. Eve's good. Whether out of respect for Christmas and my family or trying to salvage whatever morsel of dignity I had left, I  put the book on my bed and left it there until the next day. Once I had thanked Santa for my grey Uggs and make-up, I trudged upstairs to watch A Christmas Story. (I like the 24 hour marathon...it never gets old to me.) Just as I was about to turn on the tele via remote, that faint glittery glimmer caught my eye again. Blast, there was no turning back now. Christmas dinner at Gamma's (my badass grandmother) always starts at 6 pm. It's tradition. I began reading Twilight at 2:45ish. Surely, I thought, I would have enough time to get ready. But Edward Cullen just kept luring me in, page by page, with his cold, chiseled body and his chameleon-like eyes, and I couldn't move from my spot on the bed. 4 o'clock rolls around and I'm still pajama-clad, sans a shower, and falling deeper in love with Edward. This was no school girl Devon Sawa crush. This was real. Besides, Devon is just a mere mortal. I contemplated getting up and doing a rain dance so Atlanta might become more like Forks. I even checked the locks on my windows to see if they were painted shut. They were, and I cursed them because Edward would not be able to come into my bedroom. 5:15. No shower. No movement apart from my fingers flipping the pages. Not even a bathroom break. This was serious. My mom yelled at me from downstairs to make sure I was on my way to getting ready, and she informed me that they were going to ride in a separate car. Not a good idea, Mom. Not a good idea at all. I was suddenly 12 years old again...not because I was ridiculously engrossed in a tween book series about vampires but because I was lying to my mother about my grooming progress. I had made none. Damn that 544-page temptress. I'm not sure what snapped me out of my Edward love daze, but I finally got up and bathed, making my brother and me over 30 minutes late to Christmas dinner. You might be thinking, "Melissa, isn't 30 minutes late like early for you?" Well, hardy har har, you jackass. That's pretty funny. Not. Christmas dinner was fine, except for the gaping and rapidly expanding hole in my heart, otherwise known as my incessant longing for more Edward. I couldn't wait to get back to Meyer's literary ingenuity. Some things prevented that from happening, and I was forced to put down the book for longer than I wanted to. It wasn't until the cruise that I was able to pick it back up again. I silently apologized to Edward for my betrayal and finished Twilight in a flash. I then began to read New Moon, the sequel to Twilight, and I sunk to a new low. After ringing in the new year with my mom's kiss, I left the lido deck party, went to my room, changed into pajamas, and...wait for it...wait for it...read. Welcome to 2009, Melissa. You kind of believe in vampires. You're kind of delusional. What a great start. I even went and saw Twilight the movie 3 hours after returning home from the cruise. It didn't do my imagination justice; however, Robert Pattinson can sink his teeth into my neck any day. I am currently on the 3rd book of the series, but luckily school has somewhat brought me back to reality...not by choice. I'm worried I'll never be able to date again because I've concluded that my type is vampire and seeing as that they don't exist (or do they?) I am doomed to live a life alone vying with 7th graders for nonexistent Edward's love. Of course, I am kidding...I think. I didn't want to reveal any of the books' plots and stories because I urge you to pick it up and begin the journey yourself. I get the hype now. You should too.

Peace. Love. Move over, Devon.

tangent twelve: coming attractions.

For real. Updating soon. Don't get your panties in a wad. I have so much up my sleeve, you don't even know. (Comma splice? Not sure.)

Peace. Love. Wedgies rule.