It's official -- I suck at applying to reality TV shows. Last year, I was denied by The Mole, and this year, despite my undeniable chemistry with would-be teammate Deb Drake, I am denied by The Amazing Race. Actually, this is sort of embarassing. If I apply one more time, people might think I have a problem.

I am still hoping the misguided producers will realize they've made a horrible mistake and rectify it next week: according to the Television Without Pity boards, all callbacks in SF are done. Interestingly, the fanatic TWOPers also claim that many Race teams are picked from previous applications and applications for other shows like Survivor, or that the chosen have connections to the production company. Can't a girl get a fair chance around here?

Anyway.

Sort of funny in a not-so-funny kind of way, while I was pondering the implications of the .net URL owned by 80s cover band Poprocks, Jess just informed me that she was receiving scary letters from scary lawyers demanding that she relinquish her 5-year-old domain name. Stupid candy company. What could Jess's site possibly be called if not Poprocks?! We'll have to start thinking of ideas.

In related website news, two interesting e-mails recently reached my inbox by way of runonsentence.com. The first is sort of freaky: After running a search for "Blissium," a young student (let's call him "Jim") claims to have come upon my blog (wherein I mentioned the alleged herbal drug, a while back) and decided to share what he's learned. Which is basically a phone number to order the stuff and a request for more info. Though Jim does seem like a fine lad, I wonder if a collegiate type would really use the words, "risk-free trial" in a casual e-mail?

The second one is sort of touching: I was contacted by a high-school friend of my mom's (let's call her "June") who has been looking for her for years. June has been unsuccessful due to the fact that my mom was remarried 20 years ago and thus has changed her name 2x. Apparently, she finally managed to track her down through classmates.com and then, my site: I quote my mom (an unbiased expert, I swear!) in an ancient article for WildWeb. So, June wrote me a really sweet e-mail last week asking for my mom's contact info.

Sometimes, I just really love the Internet.

Hey, Citysearch redesigned.

I loved it when, last night, opening band Poprocks urged everyone to check out their website: poprocks.net. I wondered then, if they get big and famous, will Jess be able to sell her URL for millions? Would she do it? And how much mistaken traffic must she already get, and how many happily surprised customers? The possibilities are endless.

I also loved it that Poprocks played Baby Got Back, Separate Ways and Paradise City. Actually, I think they might be my dream band.

Despite a severe lack of Drake, we enjoyed our second Super Diamond experience with deep appreciation and wild abandon. Sarah and I decided that Surreal should passionately pull a girl up on stage, a la Bruce, to add a little twist to his act. We considered throwing ourselves up there, but then decided that our intense stares and obvious eternal love would inspire him to act first. Sadly, we were mistaken.

Sue played her first-ever air hockey game at Kennedy's before, and Lynn led the dance floor at meat-market Fiddler's Green after. So how can I complain, really?

In my effort to catch up on all movies with horrifically overplayed catchphrases, Bryan and I watched "Training Day" last night. You remember -- "King Kong aint got NOTHIN on me!" Well, I was extremely disappointed to learn that the actual line is, "King Kong aint got SHIT on me!" I think "nothin" has a much nicer ring to it.

Drake was supposed to be visiting this weekend but now isn't, thanks to her blasted lawyerly obligations. That stinks. I was really looking forward to sharing Super Diamond, massages, and old Buffy episodes. Nonetheless, we are still going to see Super D for the second time -- so I now have no excuse and must simply consider myself a groupie.

It's Sarah's birthday on Monday!

WARNING: EXCESSIVELY EXORBITANT NUMBER OF BABY PICTURES WITHIN

At the end of the weekend, Adam Sandler asked me: "So what do you think of Matthew?"

"As far as babies go, he's pretty cool," I said. "He's super-cute, and I like how he was quiet in the car."

Last week, my mom informed me that the female reproductive system starts shutting down at age 27. Just in case I was starting to get worried about her potenital future grandchildren.

I wasn't.

Basically, I think I am a danger to babies because my life is too sharp, scalding and poisonous to humans under the age of 18. Or 21. And babies make everything slower, thus I need my camera to entertain me while strollers are folded and diaper bags refilled.

Baby talk aside, the weekend in LA was fun, punctuated by a virtual celebrity sighting (Bryan swears he saw Jeri Ryan, and she looked "pretty terrific"), dinner out on the town, and a failed attempt to visit a strip club. (The whole no-alcohol thing was a real deterrent.)

Oh and, I saw tumbleweeds for the very first time! (Please pretend you can see them in that picture.) We encountered a super-weird storm on the way home; on the way down we had no such luck so once again I played with my camera. Do you see a theme here?

I also find it pretty interesting that while I photographed this male derriere over the weekend, in a galaxy far, far away, Heather photographed this male derriere. Pretty interesting, indeed.

First: I am deeply, truly, and inexplicably in love with the new Eminem song.

Next: After wine with Heather last night (and a little Six Feet Under), I finally watched the X-Files series finale. (I know, this show has been passe forever, but c'mon! It's the end of an era.) Despite the fact that it was engaging, and emotional, especially the Mulder-Scully interaction, the episode seemed to collapse under its own weight in too many ways. I mean, how can you sum up nine years of plot twists that so often contradicted, confused or belabored? The ironic part is, I was just starting to really love Agent Doggett. More than Mulder. For one, the best headline ever came from the now-named Television Without Pity, which posted a recap called "You're the Man Now, Doggett," during the run of those infernal "Finding Forrester" commercials. If I'm making any sense at all...

By the way, if you saw the Survivor reunion (sorry, I'm a TV slut), didn't you think Neleh looked exactly like a blond Alanis?!

I haven't put up pictures yet from the weekend, thus preventing the usual tale-telling. Will do so tomorrow, I hope.

Finally: Every time I get home now I immediately ask, "DID AMAZING RACE CALL?!" Oh please, let the answer be "yes" one day.

This is a very TV-intensive week.

This weekend we're going to LA to visit my dear friend Stephanie. I've known Stephanie since 3rd grade. She has a baby, a mortgage, and a husband named Adam Sandler. He works for The Price Is Right -- no lie. The troubling part is, we'll be driving up 101 when the following things are occurring:

1. The 3-hour Survivor: Marquesas finale
2. The end-of-it-all X-Files finale
3. The second season's penultimate episode of Six Feet Under

This concerns me.

A friend at work spoke some very wise words yesterday:

"Sometimes, fashion hurts."

Aint that the truth.

Oh and, I can't believe Eric just informed me that this guy stole my idea. I'll have to torment him by e-mail now, or something. Mmm, Turkish mashed potatoes.

It's kind of a kick to tell people that I'm engaged. The range of reactions start somewhere around "disinterested" (my brother) to "complete state of apoplectic shock" (my oldest, dearest friend). The thing that's weirdest for me is that when others would tell me about their own engagements before, I'd always say nice things as expected while thinking in my head, "sucka!" I guess that starts to wear a little thin when you turn 30.

Since the event, my life has been a blur of phone calls, ring panic, and random traveling. Oh and, totally excessive picture taking. Because I am centuries behind in blog years, I will bore you only with my favorite moments of my favorite moments from the past 10 days:

The Trip to Seattle
I already mentioned seeing Liev Schreiber, so my next favorite moment would have to be when, after ordering grilled cheese at 2AM through room service, I attempted to put the tray (it smelled) outside my pretty hotel room. I stumbled out and leaned down to place it gingerly on the ground and -- slam! Next thing you know I am straggling down to the front desk for an extra key -- sweatpants, glasses, ratsnest and all. I love it when that happens.

Allyson Goes Sailing With Work
The main point of this seafaring exercise was the whole "team building" angle (I like the hotdogs and hamburgers angle myself, but hey, that's just me), which struck me as ironic when it became clear that Elissa and I, as the sole female crew members on our boat, would be allowed only to Windex the portholes and peel the bananas. (And I mean that in the most non-suggestive way.) When Elissa suggested we handle the "jib," Captain Chauvinism politely redirected our attention instead to keeping the ends of the ropes neat and tidy. That's about when I comandeered the PA system to warn my coworkers of impending doom.

The Mint Strikes Again
Sarah and Frank make beautiful music together. Sarah really nails it here.

French Lessons at Bottom of the Hill
I liked when the first band was on, and the music was so loud, that Heather and I pretended we were in a silent movie. This requires lots of grand gestures, overdramatics and exaggerated laughing, crying, and shocked expressions. Actually, I think we might always act like this.

In other news, I was pleased to see that Jeff Corwin was chosen as one of People's 50 Most Beautiful -- I find his "Experience" quite entertaining -- and displeased to learn that Dave Matthews' new song is in service of an upcoming Adam Sandler movie. First Ben and Jerry's, and now this! Oh, Dave.

Inspired by the high seas, I've decided to demonstrate why I should not be allowed to participate in poetry Friday.

I bow
to the boom
I jab
at the jib
I like most
the term
"Starboard"
I am
A sailor
No.
I am
A karaoker

Plus, it's Saturday.

I also finally put up the photos Jess alluded to last week: Where she and I led experiments with various forms of feline torture possible using only your typical household items. (We'll leave the boys out of it for now.) If you care to take me to task on this, I will kindly lend you the innocent-looking beast for a night or two. Then, we'll talk.

Tomorrow is the crazy-ass sailing trip with work. Me, operating boat-related equipment, popping Dramamine and sporting the Topsiders. (insert theme to Gilligan's Island here) It should be quite the tale.

Next up: Photos from last night in Seattle. Let's just suffice it to say for now that, in hindsight, I do believe my true mission in life is to travel the country and experience karaoke in all 50 states. "The States' State of Karaoke," or "The States of Karaoke," or something like that. Perhaps this could go hand-in-hand with the Airline Food Project. Oh, and, major celeb sighting! (Eeeeeeeek, we even made eye contact!) Sometimes I do love the work trips.

After 20 birthdays celebrated, 4 apartments rented, 2 cats adopted, 7 jobs held, 2 car accidents experienced, 1 karaoke duet performed, 2 trips to the emergency room undertaken, 5 countries traveled, 1 cross-country trip driven, 3 grandparents lost, 1 airplane jump braved, and exactly 0 break-ups, Bryan and I are officially engaged.

For those who haven't said it aloud, I know: It's about time. But for those who truly know me, you understand. And you realize that, despite all of the above, I continue to be a little bit freaked out. Happy, but a little bit freaked out. Luckily I have sweetest boy on the planet on my side. (One who is also willing to indulge my penchant for goofy pictures, which is definitely a prerequisite. That, and this.)

All I ask is that questions regarding wedding dresses, varieties of flowers, party size, reception location, flavors of icing and DJ vs. live band are held until further notice.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Forgive me blog, it's been many days since my last post. In light of the above, things have been a little scattered, not to mention that I am now in Redmond, WA on an unexpected business trip. Despite this, there are a few items of note I would like to report. First of all, the surprise weekend mentioned last Friday was indeed built around the engagement event, which caused excess sweating (his, not mine) and excess wine drinking (mine, not his). We traveled to Monterey for two days, where in addition to eternal questions, great fun at cheesy tourist spots was addressed. A few highlights:

1. Who knew that Bubba Gump's restaurant would actually have decent food? I certainly never expected such a thing. I'm only in it for the photos. Oh, and of course, the t-shirts.
2. Jellyfish are cool.
3. Monterey is apparently preoccupied with the notion of "as seen on TV" (I mean, who isn't?) and this has manifest itself in many different ways, all of them wonderful.
4. Historic Inns offer decpetive charm, but extraordinarily comfortable beds.
5. The sign connected to these smokestacks, whose smoke eerily melds with the clouds beyond, claims to be responsible for "refractories and minerals." I have to wonder.

And I need at least 3 numbered items for...

6. Though the restaurant Bryan chose for the proposal was indeed divine, I sometimes like to say he instead selected my newest favorite west-coast spot for the task at hand.
7. The 1950s postcards, still sold in the 1950s giftshop, are beyond reproach. I will have to scan one in this weekend.
8. I wonder if the Mystery Spot holds weddings?

Though I was a little disappointed to learn that Santa Cruz is not alone, I am oddly fascinated by the prospect of a nationwide tour of, as they say, off-beat tourist attractions. I like tour guides who are "wise to government coverups and the shifty vagaries of science."

In related news, after a year or so of non-involvement, I've found the last two X-Files episodes to be quite excellent.

The producers of Amazing Race have miraculously granted us a much-needed reprieve, extending the application deadline by a week. This is quite fortunate, since Drake was practically on the verge of missing her flight to Jazz Fest in New Orleans. Plus, it gives me seven extra days to ponder "three adjectives that best describe" me and whether or not blogging counts as a hobby. Thank god.

Oh, and! I have a new idea for a group blog. If new ideas for group blogging are still en vogue. I like it because it revolves around a question/theme that has intriguing possibilities... I will ponder this more and possibly launch something next week.

This weekend the boy is whisking me away for a surprise romantic weekend to celebrate x years together. I'm still trying to figure out how he's planning to get to Paris and back in the course of 2 days...

Finally, I offer this piece of Friday advice (no poems for this girl) to all my female friends out there: If you don't want male coworkers habitually and seemingly uncontrollably glancing at your chest, don't wear t-shirts with words, butterflies or unidentifiable objects on them. Good weekends to all!

If you don't already know, this humbling display of interconnected words and pictures will lead you to the inevitable conclusion that Jess is an amazing person. Please do check it out if you have time. (Did you know she won the airline ticket contest?)

I realize this is completely cliche, but I still can't believe my dental hygenist today tried to engage me in deep, involved conversation while my mouth was cranked open and a beige, skinny suction tool hung from its corner. Especially since the topic of conversation was the lawsuit against Microsoft: She wanted my long-form opinion and insider commentary on the impact such legal action has on the work morale of company employees. Seriously.

The interesting thing about me and the dentist, if there is one, is that I always think I'm totally fine with the whole thing -- and then halfway through I realize I'm clenching my hands so tightly under the plastic-coated bib I could turn coal into diamond. Hm.

Also, this is the dentist that kissed (I mean actually kissed) one of my friends after her cleaning. Thus, escaping with merely clenched hands is a bit of a coup. (Though, of course, it's always exciting to see what will happen.)