a new home.

Thanks to the awesome amazing wonderful LiLu, my blog has a fancy new layout and a new home over at http://www.sloppywords.net . So, if you want to mosey on over there and check it out, maybe subscribe to the blog feed (http://www.sloppywords.net/feed/), or resubscribe with the Google Friend Connect thingamajig, then that would be awesome.

snow days, pancakes, and my eventual migration to wordpress.

My Snow Day Morning.

4:45 am. Text from the school. All campuses are closed. Tweet my happiness. Go back to sleep.

5:23 am. Cat starts chewing on my hair. Ignore and fall back asleep.

6:14 am. Text from a coworker asking if library is closed. Reply back that even if it is open, the rest of the campus is closed, and I'm not going in. Now have a cat sitting on my stomach, staring at me and rubbing her cold wet snotty nose all over my arm. Ignore cat and resume sleep.

7:44 am. Boss calls to ask if I'm going into work. Tell her about the official campus text saying everything was closed. At least, I think that's what I told her. It's not the best idea for me to talk to anyone when I'm just waking up. God only knows what I told her. Hope I still have a job tomorrow. Decide that sleep is better than working about job.

8 am-10 am. Am awaken at various intervals by cat. Cat uses such tactics as chewing on hair, pawing at my face, snotty nose on my arms and face, meowing, sitting on my chest and meowing while pawing at my face.

10:03 am. Admit defeat. Get out of bed to feed cat. Annoyed to see food in her bowl. Give her more food then ponder my own breakfast choices.

10:07 am. Generic SlimFast is better for my waistline, but it's a snow day. Snow days clearly mean PANCAKES!!!!

10:59 am. Finish making pancakes. Try to figure out why in the hell it took me almost an hour to make fucking pancakes.

11:12 am. Pancakes gone.

11:13 am. I wanna throw up.

11:58 am. Did not throw up, but have spent the time watching a rerun of What Not to Wear. Wonder what Stacy and Clinton would want me to wear. Probably not as much plaid as I currently wear.

12 pm. Decide to move my blog over to WordPress. I really want to get an actual website of my own going. And not just for my blog, but as an outlet to sell my books. Because, lets face it, I'm an attention-seeking, wanna-be-money-making whore. Now am going to spend my day attempting all of that stuff. So, if you're reading this, be patient, and I'll give you an update once I've mosied on over to WordPress.

an apple a day makes me want to cry.

How do I manage to fuck up everything that Mac creates?

Seriously. It's like I have this magical talent to screw up Apple products. Products that are supposed to be unscrewable.

I know unscrewable isn't a word, and is probably how must dudes feel about me, but let's just keep the lid tightly vacuumed-sealed on that can of worms right now.

First it was sophomore year when I got a crash course in Mac for an online magazine I was writing for. The instructor was all "Macs are the best computer because Steve Jobs has a penis made out of gold blah blah blah Macs never freeze up like Windows" which is about the time I got the Spinning Beach Ball of Doom on the computer I was using.

Being an avid Windows user (only because I'm too poor to purchase a MacBook), I gave the guy a How-Now-Brown-Cow look. He freaked out and was like "This never happens" to which I replied coolly, "Yeah, about that."

Fast-forward to the present and my THIRD attempt to download iTunes 9 to my computer because irrational, irresponsible me bought an iTouch today because people in WalMart made me angry enough to blow $295. And, just to make sure that none of my tax refund survives this weekend, I also bought an external hard drive because I have Windows and unlike greater-than-thou Macs, Windows crashes. A lot. And I have a lot of shit on this computer that I don't want to lose.

So, got my new iTouch, plug it into my computer, do a little dance because I'm six-year-old-with-a-new-bike-for-Christmas excited, and then my computer tells me to download iTunes 9. Fine. No big deal. I've been needing to do that for awhile anyway.

Three hours and a headache later, I'm on my THIRD download of the damn program since it refuses to install on my cheap ass, not a MacBook computer.

WHAT IN THE HELL DID I EVER DO TO YOU STEVE JOBS?!?!?!?

Update. Upon trying to install my third update of the damn iTunes 9, I get this message: "The application has failed to start because its side-by-side configuration is incorrect."

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?!

I'm taking the iPod back and getting a Zune.

are you there self-control? it's me, crystal.

Every year, the library where I work partners up with the public library and holds a book sale to help fund events going on in the community. Being staff, this is the first year I participated in helping sit stuff up.

You guys. I bought 26 books.

26 mother-lovin' books.

I hear people talk about self-control, and I get the concept, but the execution is a little fuzzy for me. And I'm okay with that because I just got 26 books for 15 bucks, including the complete short stories of Hemingway, The Giving Tree (even if it is sexist), and Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, which I have never read.

I know. How I ever survived elementary school is totally beyond me.

get the sensation.

Oh God, y'all (I'm embracing my roots. I'm from the country, and I like tolerate it that way), I've had the dumbest week of my life.

And it's only Tuesday, for Neil's sake (I've totally upgraded from Pete, it's all about NPH, baby).

After a bat crazy hormonal Sunday and Monday, I'm finally back on track. Mostly. There's still some stuff to sort out, but I'm feeling more optimistic about things and have adapted that saying "what will be, will be", which I really hate. I'm far too impatient to just wait shit out. I like knowing. I'm an instant gratification fiend. That's why I can't keep to diets, exercise, or anything else that involves being healthy and giving up this bag of York peppermint patties that I've nearly cleaned out. Seriously, I will cut a bitch if they take away the deliciousness that is 140 CALORIES FOR 3 PIECES?!?!?!?!?!?! Holy Hannah in hightops.

York Peppermint Patties: Get the sensation (of the circulation being cut off to your legs because your jeans are way too tight after consuming York Peppermint Patties)

But the week is bound to get better. I'm working a book sale tomorrow for work, so that should be fun. Especially since I'll get almost first dibs on the books. And I've been itchin' to fill up my latest bookshelf/nightstand. Hello books, goodbye checking account.

And speaking of books and my money, my book is still available for purchase. It's right over there in the sidebar. Look at it. It's all purple and shiny and shit. You totally want one. Go ahead, buy one. You're only hurting yourself if you don't. Buy it, buy it, peer pressure, everyone's doing it, buy it, buy it.

Or not. It's fine. I'll still keep you around, regardless.

i'm probably going to hell.

This is one of the worst things I've ever seen. And it's awful. Oh Lord, is it bad.

But it makes me laugh like a hyena. And I need to laugh today.

saving money is for the self-controlled.

I have this thing about saving money...

I can't do it.

Seriously. I'm trying to save money for Europe next year because, hello, Greek boys. I did prefer Italian boys, but Jersey Shore has forever tarnished my view on Italian stallions. Eh, at this point, boys with accents that's not Redneck, Masshole, or Sarah Palin are okay in my book too.

And I've done decent on my savings. I have about enough for a nice little mini-vacay to New Orleans, complete with hotel, airfare, and one of those fishbowl drinks that will undoubtedly leave me with my head in a toilet at a Cajun restaurant with purple, green, and gold paint splashed on the walls, and I will mumble in between heaves that I must have offended the hoodoo community and this is how they get their revenge, and I will ignore the reality that is that I drank a fishbowl full of fucking booze in twenty minutes and then ate seafood because I thought it would be a good idea for the seafood to go live in its natural habitat of the contents of the said fishbowl I had consumed. Drunk me would totally think this way.

So, yeah. That's where I am now. In just a month or so, I'd have enough money to go back to New York. I could buy the ticket now and go in, like, April or May or whenever it isn't cold as balls up there, and I could actually do a bunch of irresponsible reckless shopping. Which is my favorite kind of shopping. Or I could go to California. Or DC. Or somewhere that isn't Kentucky and would totally blow up all my plans for Europe next year.

Must. Travel. Must. Spend. All. My. Money. Must. Not. Leave. A. Penny. Unspent.

snow storm, html, booze, and fyi the weatherman is a boob man

They're calling for snow here and I seriously have my doubts about this (codename: The Susan Stance). Don't get me wrong, I hope it snows a foot, but I just can't agree with all the weather forecasters. The paranoid part of me thinks that meteorologists and the major grocery chains are in cahoots together. WalMart pays Chris Allen (our weatherman, who is definitely a boob man, as evident in the following YouTube video) an undisclosed amount of money and he threatens six inches of snow and tells the townsfolk that they best go stock up on milk and bread.



Yes, this is the guy that people in my town get their weather information from. No, he didn't do this on the air. Still, it's hilarious. And mildly offensive. Which only makes it more hilarious.

If it does turn out that I'm snowed in all weekend, I'm screwed because all I have to survive on is ramen and alcohol. Because, even though I graduated college last December, I can't give up the college kid diet. Mostly because my paycheck goes back to loans, bills, and clothes.... what? I'm a girl, I can't help it, and most everything I buy is on sale/clearance/so crazy cheap that I can't NOT buy it. (Hello green dress from Old Navy for $3.50. And the identical one in purple.)

To keep me busy during this snowed-in weekend is my goal to relearn HTML. Yes, I've gone full-fledged nuts. I fully intend to buy a domain sometime in the next month and my lovely roommate/bestie sent me an uber amount of links on HTML and CSS to help get me started on a site. So, yes, my weekend: snowed in, drunk on daiquiris, full of ramen, and editing HTML.

I am a party animal. Yow.

Also, if you know HTML/any sites that offer codes/templates free for the taking, please let me know. I will love you long time. But not in that way... unless the codes/templates are really swell.

the words don't work.

Hey there, kiddos. I want to go ahead and type up an entry before my computer keyboard completely craps out on me like it did while ago. I've been having trouble with the 9 and 0 key. To make the symbols appear, I have to Mike Tyson-punch the keys. Just a few moments ago, when I was trying to type in my email password, the entire keyboard refused to work. All the punching in the world wouldn't help it.

After a quick hibernation of my computer, the keys are (obviously) working again. I have no idea what happened, but it may have sent me into a panic attack where I may have yelled out, "But I'm a writer!!!" and Tweeted from my cell phone the devastating news.

So, yes, tax refund is going to a new computer. Even though I love this one. I mean, I wrote my first novel on this bad boy. And it has my Hanson stickers on it (yes I have Hanson stickers, shut up, I'm a super cool person) as well as the Stephen Colbert Award for Literacy Excellence nominee sticker that I may or may not have swiped from a library book. In my defense, there was a whole page of stickers and Stephen Colbert expressed in the first pages of his book, I Am America (and So Can You), that the book should not be in libraries. I was just giving that library what for. Mr. Colbert would be proud, I think.

In other news, I think that I'm going to get my own little website. Mostly for my novel because I really, really, REALLY need a way to promote it more. But also a place to host my blog. And I feel like having my blog right there alongside the book will make people more apt to buy the book. If they see my writing style in my blog, they'll be like, "Wow, she's a super rad girl. I'm going to buy her book and recommend that all my mega gnarly friends buy a copy too because, hello, the author uses words like 'rad' and 'gnarly' in her scenarios."

The only problem with this is that I don't remember HTML from my website days in high school (enter Crystal the Mega High School dork here). Like, at all. And that's a damn shame because I knew it all: HTML, CSS, even a little Java. And now? Nothing. Zilch. Nada. I definitely can't afford to hire someone and I'm too cheap to buy DreamWeaver. What all this means is that I'm going to sweat, swear, and bawl my way through learning HTML again. Because I've lost my ever-lovin' mind.

To end this gibberish, let me pose a question: what do y'all like to see on semi-personal websites? Anything from flashy designs to guestbooks (do they even have guestbooks anymore?) to drop-down menus.

whoring out and what gary marshall has to do with that.

All right, you guys, I am seriously running out of places to whore out my book. I've made so many Facebook status updates about it that my own mother is probably hiding me from her News Feed. Well, if my mom had Facebook, that is, then she totally would block me. The Twitter Fail Whale is going to explode if I link to CreateSpace and Amazon one more time. Even Blogger is shaking its head like, "Bitch, give it up already. This is a lost cause and no one is going to love your book, especially not Garry Marshall because we all know it's your dream to be part of a Garry Marshall film because you're a total weirdo who doesn't have normal dreams like solving world hunger or learning how to fly a plane."

But I can't give it up. That's why I've emailed Trashionista, ModCloth's account on GoodReads.com, and was just in the shower thinking about penning a letter to Ellen about how she should start her own fancy-schmancy book club (only one that has fun books because, really, there's enough sadness and suffering in the world, we don't need to read about it for entertainment purposes, Oprah) and how she should include my book in that club because, hello, it was my idea for her to start one. I get grandfathered in for being a clever S.O.B. I've also taken to CreateSpace's forums for shameless plugs. For eff's sake, I even posted a link to it on my 20sb.net page and on the Chick Lit Lover's group there because I have no self control over it at this point. Seriously. I need a twelve-step program or hours vegging out in front of the TV watching Clueless and National Treasure while eating popcorn dipped in salsa. Don't give me that look, it's the most fucking delicious thing you will ever put in your mouth (that's what she said).

If nothing else, my hometown's newspaper might run a story on me. And that's something. Especially since Jerry Bruckheimer (yeah, the Pirates of the Caribbean one) lives nearby. Yes, Jerry Bruckheimer set up shop in a small town in Kentucky. Rich people are insane eccentric. Maybe he'll open the newspaper one morning while munching on some Fiber One blueberry toaster pastries (oh my God, you guys, those things are so delicious, and thirty calories less than regular old Pop-Tarts, and you can make all the poop jokes you want, I don't care, I love these things), see this article about me and be all, "Holy shit! I've got to turn this book into a movie... somebody get me Garry Marshall on the phone, STAT!"

Hey, it could happen. Try a little optimism. Also, try these Fiber One pop-tarts.

Mmm... poop-tarts.

midnight margaritas.

After referencing Practical Magic last night, today has been all about Midnight Margaritas (and Goodwill). Only thing about this is you can't buy booze on Sunday in Kentucky. A mention to cross the state line and go in to Tennessee had some merit, but it turns out that all you can buy there on Sundays is beer. Which is just stupid. Okay, Tennessee? That's a stupid law. I called RiteAid in town (it's not Sunday at midnight, after all) and they don't carry alcohol. In fact, the employee I talked to was really snooty about it. Just because I call a drugstore on the Sabbath asking questions about booze doesn't make me a bad person. So take your moral goodness and stick it where the sun doesn't shine, RiteAid.

The roommates and I just returned from a local bar near campus where we consumed a bacon and pineapple pizza and a beer. While enjoyable, I still pine for a margarita. And I realize that it's after midnight now and booze should be attainable at my local CVS Pharmacy, but I'm sleepy and ready to hit the hay and have sweet, sweet dreams of John Krasinski. Tomorrow though, oh tomorrow, we are celebrating Midday Margaritas. Starting at noon, we are going to drink. And, if we're able to find it on OnDemand, incorporate a Jersey Shore drinking game into this Midday Margarita madness.

You know, I'm not going to lie. I'm looking kind of forward to drinking in the afternoon.

I don't have a problem.

Also, if you look to your right, I've placed a little picture of my book cover and added links at the places where it's available for purchase. So, you know, if you wanted to, you could purchase it with just a few little clicks of the old mouse. Buy my book and you will get to see more pictures of my adorable cat, Emmy, such as this gem:

Doesn't she just make you want to purchase a silly chick lit novel from an unknown author?

emmy cat

I have the cutest cat in the world. That is all.

how you can help.

It's so easy to complain about the silly little things going on in my life, but this entry isn't about that. It's about others.

What happened in Haiti was a horrible, terrible thing. While I sit here and wonder about the future of late night TV, there are people dying beneath piles of rubble, and children who will never see their parents again, and lovers that are forever parted, and none of that is right. But we can help, whether we live in the US, Europe, or Antarctica.

Times are hard, and I get that, but if you can donate ten bucks, go for it. Here are some excellent organizations to start with:

Americares
American Red Cross
Doctors Without Borders
UNICEF

If you're low on funds, there's always the Greater Goods Network. Just by clicking a button, you can give a bowl of food to someone in need, help pay for mammograms, and even help out with animal rescue. This relief may not go to the people in Haiti, but it is going to someone in need. All of the sites, such as The Hunger Site, are also asking for donations to help the victims of the earthquake in Haiti. They also have an online store filled with some great gifts for yourself or someone you know, and the money goes to helping others. And that's a win-win for us all. I have buttons on the sidebar that link to the Greater Goods Network sites, by the way.

Also, I'm a firm believer that charity starts at home. Help out someone in need in your town if you can, even if it's just picking up a piece of paper off the ground and throwing it away recycling it or as cliche` as helping a little old lady across the street. It's like those commercials (which I really hate, but have a good message, regardless): Kindness, pass it on.

Take care of yourself. And the people around you. We're all in this together, you know.

general tso, we've got a good thing going.

Craving General Tso's chicken and rice delivered right to my door sounded like a lovely dinner option. And really puts that going to the gym at 6 am tomorrow in perspective (yeah, 6am, color me crazy). Since my preferred Chinese restaurant is closed right now - they close during winter and summer break since there are so few students in town - I took a chance and called the other Chinese restaurant in town.

As an aside, it is ridiculous that I live in a city with only two Chinese restaurants that deliver.

So, I called and ordered some food (and a two-liter of Diet Coke, you know, just to be ironic), decided to watch Wedding Crashers instead of Ella Enchanted (shuddup, I like that movie, and Hugh Dancy is so pretty I want to cry), and burrow myself a nice little hole in the couch.

Some time goes by, the cat senses that food is on its way, and is at the door before I am when the delivery person arrives.

THE DELIVERY PERSON WAS THE CUTE BOY FROM NEW YEAR'S. THE ONE WHO OFFERED ME A RIDE HOME TWICE (I declined his offer because he was a stranger and, you know, my momma didn't raise no fool). THE CUTE BOY WITH THE NERDY GLASSES THAT MADE HIM CUTE ENOUGH TO MAKE ME WANT TO WRITE A PARAGRAPH IN ALL CAPS.

Let me just say that I'm glad I chose Wedding Crashers. I would not have been able to handle this if I had Ella Enchanted, what with the talking snake and Cary Elwes not looking like he did The Princess Bride, on the TV screen.

The conversation was kind of sad because 1) I was surprised, and that is not a time when I'm in best element and 2) I'm me so... yeah. As he was leaving, he told me to have a good dinner. I told him to do the same, then corrected myself, unless he hadn't had dinner yet then, in which case, I hope he has a good dinner.

Yes, I really did say all of that to him. Did I mention that I am unable to shut my mouth at times when I really should? After I babbled all of that, he may have invited me out to the bar tonight. I'm not really sure. We were talking across the parking lot and he said the name of one of the bars, but as a question. Like, do you go there often or, are you going there tonight?

Now I don't know what to do.

I mean, I'm not going out tonight. I can't, really. But, at the same time, this is all just weird. I mean, I see this guy on New Year's Eve - and I like to think that New Year's Eve is significant, in the same way I find Independence Day significant (sparkle and booze makes holidays significant for me) - then two times after that, just by sheer chance. And one time he's delivering Chinese food to my door? Come on. This is all just bizarre. In a super fun way.

I wonder where I'll see him next... if it's at a Hanson concert, I'm going to say it's meant to be.

guilt trip.

Today has been shitty.
Last night sucked.
But my book is available for purchase at CreateSpace.com. It should be on Amazon in a few days. If you feel so compelled, you can buy a copy. I would pretty much love you forever if you did. And it would make my day better.

Buy Always the Last to Know here. It will make my day better.

Pretend that Puss in Boots asked you to buy this book. You can't resist that face.

all the single ladies, put your hands up.

As much as I bitch and moan about being single, I'm starting to really appreciate my non-existent relationship status. So, while I sit here and listen to Hanson while devouring a Hershey's chocolate bar (the mysteries as to why I'm single? Solved, right there), I'm going to write out why I'm happy on my own, just so that when I get super PMS-y and sad, I can look back on this list and go "oh, yeah, that's why being single kicks ass.

Odds of me actually saying that are about as good as me not eating all this Hershey's bar.

Number 1. Shaving.
It has been eight days since I've shaved my legs. I know that's gross, but my little warped brain thinks that my extra leg hair is going to help keep me warm during these cold January days as I walk to work in the mornings. If I was with someone, I'd totally have to keep the leg hair under control. But as a single gal? Fuck it. It's just not worth it.

Number 2. My bed.
Sleeping diagonally across the bed is AMAZING. I discovered this New Year's Day when I fell asleep while watching the Looney Tunes marathon on Cartoon Network. Yes, I took a nap while watching cartoons; I am, essentially, a four-year-old. Now that I've discovered this new sleeping position, I'm having a hard time adjusting back to the normal way of sleeping which, for me, involves wrapping the blanket around me like a caterpillar does in its cocoon. But, trust me, I look nothing like a beautiful butterfly when I emerge from my blanket cocoon in the mornings.

Number 3. Boys.
I can look at boys and smile at them and drop all those subconscious body language techniques I've read about in Cosmo and not feel guilty about it. True that nothing happens with these boys (mostly because of Hanson and Hershey's), but, hey, it's not to dream and not be guilt-ridden.

Number 4. All those other reasons.
Okay, I'm struggling at this point and I don't want to use all those typical reasons why it's so great being single like "freedom to do what you want", which I think is bullshit. You should have your freedom because, really, not having freedom in a relationship? Yeah, that's called slavery. The only exception to this is if you're freeing things from your pants. That's called "cheating", and that is bullshit.

Having said all of that, if that cute boy with the nerdy glasses (that multiplied his cuteness by approximately a gazillion) from New Year's Eve ever asks me out, I'm not looking back.

hillbilly ovaries.

Last night, I had cramps like no other. Seriously, it was like my ovaries were the Hatfields and the McCoys, and the Hatfield ovary had stolen the McCoy ovary's pig or something, and they were duking it out. Even Emmy, my very chubby and adorable cat, took pity on me and kneaded my abs with her paws before sitting on my stomach (it was like a massaging heat pad... I have the best cat in the world) as I was lying and writhing in pain around midnight.

Best cat in. the. WORLD.

Okay, maybe writhing in pain is an exaggeration, but whatever. I didn't feel good. Put the combination of my pain tolerance level (which is in the negative 60s) with the fact that I'm an only child, and a paper cut may as well be a gunshot wound.

I fought back today. I just finished my Winsor Pilates 20 minute workout DVD. I've always been told exercise helps cramps and, even though I always thought that was bullshit, I decided to give it a shot.

It turns out that I was right. Exercise doesn't relieve cramp pain. It just makes you forget about your hillbilly ovaries because your actual abs hurt so much more from "breathing into your powerhouse" and, you know, exerting energy.

So, from here on out, I think I'm just going to relieve cramp pain the old fashioned way: by eating Hershey's chocolate bars and telling the Always commercials that urge me to "Have a happy period. Always." to fuck off.

MMMbooze.

There is a Hanson drinking game.

I don't know how this beauty of a game flew in under my radar because 1) I love Hanson, 2) I love booze, and 3) I'm fairly certain all my dreams would come true if the two were combined in some way.

Whatever the reason, I am glad to discover this gem of a game and fully intend on playing it as soon as possible.

Now, you have to be wondering, how do you play a Hanson drinking game, Crystal?

(Okay, you're probably not wondering, you probably don't even care, but I control the content that goes on this blog, stupid as it may be, so tough cookies, I'm telling you.)

Well, you need a few things.

1) Booze.
2) At least one other person because, hello, it's a game. And drinking alone is depressing, but playing a Hanson drinking game alone would probably end up in suicide over such a sad existence... which is why I'm really hoping Jessica, my Hanson-concert-partner-in-crime, is in town next weekend to play this ridiculous game. Otherwise, things ain't gonna end pretty for this blogger.
3) Hanson's 1997 home video, Tulsa, Tokyo, and the Middle of Nowhere. Which I own on VHS since I can't track down the DVD version of it, and is a large part of the reason I still own a VCR.


If the VHS box cover with its amazing graphics (which, really, are quite reminiscent of how my walls looked when I was eleven), here's one of the beauties of TTMON (oh, yeah, there are Hanson abbreviations out there... terrifying, isn't it?)



Now, the rules of this Hanson drinking game, which I swiped off the Hanson Livejournal community, are as follows:

-- Drink whenever Taylor sounds like a girl
-- Drink whenever Zac or Isaac do weird voices
-- Drink whenever Zac spazzes out
-- Drink whenever someone quotes the movie

I'm not entirely sure that anyone could make it through this movie alive while playing this game. Back in '97, Zac was one spazzy little motherfucker. And Isaac was a dork. And Taylor's voice was crack-a-lackin' like woah. Hello, alcohol poisoning.

the perfect movie credentials.

I just Tweeted that Miss Congeniality is the perfect movie. I realize that I could catch some serious slack from that, but I have my reasons. Miss Congeniality has all the things that make a movie great: a makeover, shit that blows up, and a happy ending.

Now that I think about, makeovers, explosions, and happy endings are only part of the cocktail that makes a perfect movie. For a perfect movie, you need the following items, shaken, not stirred:

1 - A makeover.

It's superficial, I know, but so is Hollywood. The first that come to mind are The Princess Diaries and Pretty Woman, both stellar movies directed by Gary Marshall. The fact that Gary Marshall is awesome (if I ever become an actress, I want to star in a Gary Marshall film) makes it okay that these movies lack explosives.

Oh, yeah, there are amendments to these rules. I don't know what these amendments are until I make them up but, hey, one of the key features of the perfect movie is to keep the audience on their toes. The Perfect Movie Credentials (PMCs) should do the same.

2 - Explosives and/or Guns.

Yeah, that's right. Girls like movies where shit blows up. My favorite stuff blowing up movie? Independence Day. Which features many of the PMCs that will be mentioned, but no makeovers.

3 - A Happy Ending.

Duh.

4 - Keeps the Audience on Their Toes/Wanting More.

The rule to this is that, if you give the audience more in terms of a sequel, then it better not suck. That's right, I'm looking at you Harold & Kumar: Escape from Guantanamo Bay. I love Kal Penn and even I had trouble making my way through that movie. But the first movie kept audiences' attention and, if you're my friend Vinnie, on the movie theater floor laughing, despite makeovers and explosions.

5 - Music
This PMC gets subcategories because I'm the one making this list.
5a - Music in the form of a killer soundtrack.
-- This award would go to Juno, for a great soundtrack that's just too damn quirky not to like.
5b- Music in the form of spontaneous singing.
-- Grease. Obviously. And Grease has a makeover and a happy ending, though I can't forget how angry the ending of that movie made my grandma who thought it was wrong that Sandy changed herself for Danny. Clearly, my grandma was a smart lady.
5c - Music in the form of intentional singing.
-- Coal Miner's Daughter and Walk the Line fulfill this need. They also fulfill the need of being about artists that are listed in my "favorite music" on Facebook. Honorable mention in this PMC goes to The Wedding Singer and the song "Somebody Kill Me Please".

6 - Quotability.

Every movie needs at least one line. And maybe this is just me being a movie quote whore, but I like being able to hear a line from a movie and knowing immediately what movie it is. Things like "Now, that's what I call high-quality H2O" or "No Stairway? De-nied." It should be said that the quotes don't have to be poignant and meaningful, just memorable.

7 - Humor.

It doesn't have to be like The Hangover and have me laughing from start to finish, but every movie should have a few zingers because, otherwise, what's the point? Some of the best in this category are National Treasure (did you guys honestly think I would use the words "perfect" and "movie" in a blog entry and not include the words "National Treasure"?) and Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. And I realize that these both are Disney/Jerry Bruckheimer babies as well as having less than wonderful sequels (I like to think that Pirates stopped after the first movie), but they're still able to throw in the funny without being stupid.

With these PMCs and me too lazy to write any more, I've concluded that the only perfect movie is Some Like It Hot.
And I know that there's some argument in that, especially since some people don't like Marilyn Monroe's acting (and even though I love Marilyn, she was horribly messed up during the filming of Some Like It Hot. So much so, in fact, that she had to read some lines off cue cards, and this did hurt her acting.), but it has all the PMCs:

Makeovers? Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon crossdress.
Explosions/Guns? Tony and Jack dress as women in order to hide out from the mob after they witness a murder. It's the mob, obviously there are guns.
A Happy Ending? Without giving anything away, yep.
Keep the Audience on Their Toes/Wanting More? Totally. Jack and Tony are hysterical.
Music? Marilyn Monroe is the singer in the all-woman band that Jack and Tony join.
Quotability? "Story of my life. I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop." and "Well, nobody's perfect."
Humor? Jack Lemmon was hilarious when he wasn't dressed in drag. Him masquerading as a woman is just hysterical. And so is the movie. It's fantastic.

And, I feel better about this decision after just reading the trivia for the movie on imdb.com. The American Film Institution ranked it #1 in the 100 Funniest Movies and #14 on 100 Greatest Movies.

More than anything else, I think making this list means that I should work for the American Film Institution. I wonder how one would go about enlisting their services with that...