New blog...because I really am that self-obsessed.

Just to let ya'll know, I started a new blog about losing weight. I will be chronicling my journey of losing weight, including weekly updates of my weight, stats, and photos.

Ch-ch-check it out!

P.S. - My new pajama pants/leggings are featured in a photo on my new blog!

Wow.

I have a secret that I would like to admit. Well, it's not so much a secret, but I'll share anyhow.

I am obsessed with pajama pants or any kind of "comfy" pants (this is, of course, in lieu to wearing any pants at all - because we ALL know that that is alwaysalwaysalways my number one option). And also any kind of pajamas, oversized shirts, robes, sweatpants, leggings...as close as humanly possible to being naked and/or comfortable, please.

As most of you know, I spend about 20 hours outside of my house a week (since I am only working part-time). The rest of the time, I am at home, pantsless. And when I have to do those mundane things such as go to the bank, grocery store, dry cleaners, etc. (i.e. leave the house for reasons other than work) I wear pajama pants. I am slightly ashamed of this fact. I'm surprised that I haven't gotten nominated to be on "What Not To Wear." Clinton and Stacy would have an aneurysm if they really knew how many different pairs of pajama pants I own. Oh, yeah, and wearoutinpublic.

So, yesterday, it's no surprise to me that when I went to Target for some groceries and other necessities, I wound up in the loungewear section. For an hour. I had to talk myself out of buying multiple pairs of pajama pants. It was nearly impossible. I can easily rationalize my need for more pairs because I am at home so often. I talked myself out of two pairs (one pink pair and one black pair) and settled on a pair of grey legging-ish pants. And since I got home last night, the pants have not come off.

Except when I went to bed. I can't sleep with pants on.

An amazing musician, Zach Condon (my future baby-daddy)

Zach Condon is a truly gifted musician. He began recording music at the age of 15 (under the band name The Real People). He dropped out of high school at the age of 16 and moved to France, where he lived with his brother and taught himself French. It is in France that he was first exposed to Balkan gypsy music, notably including the Boban Marković Orchestra (which is clearly reflected in his current work). Now 22, he is most known for his work in Beirut. His newest album, The Flying Club Cup, has captivated me and won't relinquish my soul. He is soulful, full of heart, and has a truly haunting voice.

The Flying Club Cup website has videos of all of the songs on this album, and I implore you to take some time to listen to some of the songs. He has a large band/group of friends that play virtually every instrument imaginable, including the ukulele, the accordion, several different horns, the violin, watermelons (!), trash cans, conch shells...and the list goes on and on.

Here are two of the videos you mustmustmust check out:

Nantes.


In The Mausoleum.

Two items to note - the watermelon (!) and the shirt "I listen to bands that don't even exist yet." Amazing.

Try to listen to these songs without falling in love with this man. You can't do it, can you?

Not quite sure what to think...

Really? This guy can get married, but I'm STILL single?*

At least I don't have to lose over 1,000 pounds like he does.

I guess I always have that.

*Oh, and a flatbed truck? REALLY? Really.

Aaannnddd...the origin of DAWESOME.

LMFAO. For reals.

I recently saw this video of Andy Samberg from SNL impersonating Mark Wahlberg. Pretty funny, no doubt.



But, then (!) I happened to stumble across the trailer for the movie "The Happening" (starring Mark Wahlberg), and could hardly contain myself from laughing. It makes Andy's impersonation that much better. Seriously. I dare you to watch this trailer after Andy's impersonation and try not to laugh. You can't do it, can you?



Nailed it!

It made my day so much more dawesomer!

Oh, and say hi to your mother for me, alright?

UPDATE: 10/21/08

And then (!) there was this:

There are no words...

...except "amazing."

-Thanks, Kim, for sending this my way. LOVED IT!

Peeved.

Just because I'm wearing a nametag, it does not mean that you are entitled to use my name. You don't know me.

That is all.

Any takers?

Really? I saw this today on the way to work and couldn't resist. Too obvious.

What a weird fucken day.

Do you ever have one of those days that just seem...off? Long? Arduous? Humorous? Ridiculous? Today has been one of those days all wrapped into one.

It actually started last night with me reading the third book in the "Twilight" series immediately before heading to bed. Bad idea. I spent the night tossing and turning, having incredibly vivid dreams about my soul-mate (who happened to be a vampire) coming to rescue me from...not sure...a bathroom? It was weird and confusing and left me exhausted today. Of course. For, like, the one day a week I have to work. Perfect.

Work was...fucking work. 98% of the people I work with are assholes, and I was left to fry (both physically and mentally) for four straight hours with no break in purgatory aka the Rock 'n Roller Coaster Courtyard aka the surface of the sun. Holy shit, I'm used to hot, but that shit was HOT. And I have the charred knees to prove it...every time my knees touched the ground, another layer of skin would singe off. It's a pretty glorious thing to think about.

Funny story about work, though. Well, funny to me. I totally had a Michael Scott moment and should be institutionalized for my "that's what she said" addiction. I'm standing at the computer in the equipment room waiting for the clock to run out so that I could clock out and overhear something so amazing it takes every fiber of my being to keep myself composed. A photographer was having trouble with his camera and the coordinator was helping him troubleshoot. The coordinator and the equipment person both say, repeatedly, about the flash card in the camera, "Take it out and blow on it." I swear to God I almost had an aneurysm trying to keep myself composed. I could not blurt out "That's what she said" simply because I was at work, with a whole bunch of dudes, who don't know me like that, and, not to mention, it would be so inappropriate. And, yet, they continue to repeat this simple sentence, and I continue to freak out internally. Thankfully, I was able to remain composed long enough to save myself the embarrassment, but I totally wanted to pull a Michael Scott, as is demonstrated at 0:31 seconds of the video below:



I cannot get enough. But, I digress.

So, after work, I had a few errands to run. I went to Barnes & Noble and spent a full hour looking for the perfect planner. I'm only 65% sold on it. I may need to shop some more for theperfect planner. I'm a huge nerd.

After my exhausting shopping excursion, I went to Panera for some dinner to nosh on. Keep in mind, during all this time, shopping, eating, being in public, I'm wearing my work clothes aka my costume aka my fat pants aka the most unflattering shorts known to man. Whilst in Panera, I get hit on by two lesbians. That's right, read that one again. TWO. LESBIANS. I must've really looked like a lesbian today. Awesome. Fucken shorts and charred knees. Dead sexy.

Also, while I am sitting in Panera by a window overlooking the outside patio, there is a fairly young couple with a little boy that decide to feed the gross, huge, scary, hideous crows their leftovers. As soon as that one, single potato chip hit the ground and a mangled crow limped over to it, I shit you not, a dozen more of those fuckers came out of nowhere and started fighting the mangled one for the scraps. Needless to say, it lost. Now, there is a massive swarm of these bloated, black bodies flying around outside, inches from me (granted there was a window between us). Slightly freaking out. Then, the young couple's little boy starts running/waddling through the swarm of disease-infested birds, laughing and drooling. And the parents continue to feed the birds so that the little boy can keep running through them. So, it winds up being a disturbing musical of sorts: food is thrown to the ground, birds swarm, little boy runs through the birds, the birds disperse, food is thrown to the ground, birds swarm...Oh, my God. Way too much for me to handle. Why the FUCK do people feel compelled to feed wild animals? It's not fucking cute. There's a reason they have a show on TV called "When Animals Attack." I don't get it.

Anyway, my next stop is Walgreens. I'm looking for a knee brace to wear to work so that when I kneel down, my knee won't get scorched. It's a Walgreens I've never been in, so I'm immediately disoriented. While I'm walking down the aisles, I completely and totally forget where I am...as in which Walgreens I'm in or what part of town I'm in. It took me about 3 minutes to remember that I was in Dr. Phillips. Scariest 3 minutes of my life.

Oh, and I got a new toothbrush. Score!

rei.com

As most of you know, I have a horrible (or is it so horrible, really?) habit of carrying around a hot pink Nalgene water bottle with me practically everywhere that I go. And since I've been carrying around this beaten up, gross, old, smelly water bottle for the past 18+ months, I thought it was about time to upgrade to a new version.

I found out about rei.com in the September issue of Cosmo magazine on my way to Missy's wedding. Cosmo raved about these eco-friendly water bottles, and I was looking forward to coming home to order one.

Here are some of the specs:

More than just pretty, a SIGG water bottle is extrusion-pressed from a single piece of aluminum for seamless, leakproof construction!

Plus, a taste-neutral, food-compatible enamel is sprayed and baked to the interior surface

The result is a crack-resistant bottle impervious to the acidity of wine, juices and isotonic drinks

Interior coating will not leach into fluids; bottles can be refrigerated but should not be frozen

Mix and match for fun—colorful bottles and caps are completely interchangeable

Rugged aluminum bottles are completely recyclable at the end of their long lives

The image below is the bottle that I ordered, the description being "Earth." There are so many more choices...you should check them out at rei.com!!!

You're the One for Me, Morrissey...so, Let's Pretend We're Bunny Rabbits

Adults say the darndest things...

I was in the laundry room in my apartment building this afternoon moving my wet laundry into the dryers. As I was doing this, I hear a man and a young girl walking around outside. The girl,about 2 years old, pokes her head inside the door and proceeds to stare at me with her large, brown eyes. I smile and wave and say, "Hello," but she just keeps staring at me. Her father follows her inside the room and instructs, "It's okay, Grace, say 'Hello.'"

Grace continues to stare at me while I'm not quite sure what to do. I continue to move the wet clothes to the dryers while keeping an awkward eye on the two of them.

Her father urges her again. "Say 'Hello,' Grace."

Grace finally brightens up and waves at me. The father persists. "Grace, say 'Hi.' It's okay, she doesn't have a hatchet or anything."

Trying to be funny, I look up at the father and say, "At least not today."

The father looks at me and says, "Well, let us know when you have one on you," grabs Grace's hand, and turns around and walks out of the laundry room.

Note to self: Leave hatchet at home tomorrow. And insert foot into mouth.

It's not so bad...

The song "Bling (Confession Of A King)" by the Killers has been on my most-played list for a little over a year. For some reason, it just speaks to me and has helped me get through some emotional times in the past few months...it's been really inspiring and motivating to me, and I just cannot get enough of it. I pretty much listen to it to and from work every day. And every time I work out at the gym. And every time I have my iPod on or near me. Or allthetime.

...Oh, and it gets to the good part around 1:50, so just skip ahead...



When I offer you survival,
You say it's hard enough to live,
It's not so bad, it's not so bad
How do you know that you're right?

I awoke on the roadside,
In the land of the free ride,
And I can't pull it any longer,
The sun is beating down my neck

So I ran with the devil
Left a trail of excuses,
Like a stone on the water,
The elements decide my fate,
Watch it go..."bling".

When I offer you survival,
You say it's hard enough to live,
Don't tell me that it's over,
Stand up
Poor and tired,
But more than this

How do you know that you're right?
If you're not nervous anymore,
It's not so bad, it's not so bad

I feel my vision slipping in and out of focus,
But I'm pushing on for that horizon,
I'm pushing on,
Now I've got the blowing wind against my face

So you sling rocks at the rip tide,
Am I wrong or am I right?
I hit the bottom with a "huh!"
Quite strange,
I get my glory in the desert rain,
Watch it go..."bling".

When I offer you survival,
You say it's hard enough to live,
And I'll tell you when it's over,
Shut up
Poor and tired,
But more than this

How do you know that you're right?
If you're not nervous anymore,
It's not so bad, it's not so bad...

Higher and higher,
We're gonna take it,
Down to the wire,
We're gonna make it,
Out of the fire,
Higher and higher. [x2]

Higher and higher,
We're gonna take it,
Down to the wire,
We're gonna make it out,
Whoa-oh-oh Higher and higher...

It ain't hard to hold,
When it shines like gold,
You'll remember me.

Mamma Mia! Here I go again...

Last night, Kim and I saw the stage performance of "Mamma Mia!" at the Bob Carr Performing Arts Center. The performance far exceeded my expectations...the singing was amazing, the actors were great, and the dance numbers throughout and at the end were fun to watch and put me in a great mood. And it doesn't hurt that the music is uh-maze-ing!!!

The stage performance was exceedingly better than the movie, which made me cringe at several points throughout at both the cheesy acting and the not-so-great singing (but it was still totally hilarious in its absolute ridiculousness).

Some highlights of the evening:

The snorkel/flipper dance number with the boys in the purple wetsuits.
The gaysian...worth it!
Dark horse.
"Say I do!"
Sega!

"You wanna do it in my butt?"

I am utterly speechless.

"I will give you what you need. All I want is your big fat C. Give it to me, if you please. Give it to me, if you please. What, what? In the butt."

My new (old) job.

Today I accepted a part-time position back at DPI as a photographer at the Disney's Hollywood Studios. My last day at my current job is on August 22, and I start training (again) on August 24 to become a PhotoPass photographer (again). I'm excited about this new chapter in life - I have a series of goals that I would like to accomplish in the next six months, and I feel like things are finally falling into place in order for me to do so. Working part-time is definitely going to help me reach and accomplish my goals. Money will be extremely tight for me in the next few months to come, but it is a small price to pay for my happiness.

Here are my goals (so far) for the next six months:

• Remain POSITIVE!
• Completely focus and dedicate myself to being fit, healthy, and happy.
• Complete my parent's wedding album (something I've promised to do for the past two years).
• Organize/sort all of my old photos and negatives for potential use in my portfolio.
• Shoot more! This includes both personal work and/or projects as well as professional work. Essentially, build up my portfolio and incorporate some variety.
• Create a portfolio website for my work.
• Create a print portfolio of my work.
• Take digital imaging classes and/or workshops to enhance my Photoshop skills.
• Network, network, network.
• Enter at least two photography contests.
• Job shadow an event/wedding photographer at the Disney Event Group.
• Work part-time at a photography studio, or job shadow a working photographer.

I'm sure some of my goals will change, some will get thrown out, or the list might grow, but I think that this is a decent list to get stated with.

Wish me luck!

Because I'm feeling extra saucy today...

I'd like to build off of my last post "I Hate All of You" with a bit of my own frustrations.

Fuck you, Brighthouse, for charging me $44.95 a month for internet service that neverfuckingworks. Fuck you and your "service outages" that miraculously seem to coincide with my compulsive desire to check myspace. Oh, yeah, and fuck you, myspace, for reasons too obvious to state.

Fuck you, T-Mobile, for making me continually miss text messages and phone calls. Fuck you for not letting me know I have a voicemail, either.

Fuck you neighbors and your loud-ass children. Please get your daughter under control. I can hear her screaming and her violent temper tantrums through my wall every Sunday morning as you drag her to and from church. And about every other waking moment of her life. Fuck you and your stomping up and down the stairs. I understand that your children have enough energy to sustain a small third-world country, but that is no reason to allow them to run up and down the stairs repeatedly for hours upon hours. Are they building a Lego castle in the bedroom but all the pieces are downstairs, so they must fetch them one by one by running up and down the stairs? FUCK. Fuck you for blaring your TV from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep. It is really not necessary for me to hear Diane Sawyer's annoyingly chipper news segments at 6:15 for Good Morning America when you wake up every morning. Yeah, I know when you wake up. And what you watch. THAT's how loud your TV is. And, really, it's not that good of a morning, America.

I Hate All of You

I've been slightly enamored with the "Best of Craigslist" section. This is one of my favorite postings I've seen lately. I enjoy how it makes me feel so...liberated. And I especially enjoy the use of the word "fuck." Such a wonderful find!

I don't care what color you are. I don't care where you're from. I don't care what you do for a living. I don't care what class you are, how you dress, what you smoke or drink or who you know or whom you've fucked.

I hate you all. I hate every last living, breathing, snot and feces producing, promiscuously copulating, celebrity obsessed, opinionated one of you. From right here in Toronto right around the planet and back, coast to coast, nationwide and internationally. Every. Single. Last. One. Of. You.

Fuck love. Fuck your insipid grasping at some abstract concept of chemical imbalances and reasonless actions, fumbling around in the crowd trying to find some cinematic supposition for real human interaction. Fuck lust, too. Fuck you all, from the lowlife dirtbags that think dropping trou and waving the little soldier in a sloppy arc is a pick-up line to the sniveling of the desperate 'nice guys' who never get the girl due to a total lack of testosterone-grown stones. Fuck you all, from the crazy, under-dressed sluts that judge a person's character by the price of their shirt, right down to the fat, flabby chicks that think personality is enough.

Fuck you drivers, for thinking that a yellow light is a sign that says 'step on the gas'. Fuck you wheelmen and women that think it's okay to sit in a left hand turn in the middle of morning traffic, even though there is a protected left in the intersections before and after where you need to make your turn. Fuck you too, cyclists - you're not exempt from the traffic laws just because your peddling, you miserable spandex-covered, neon-reflective fucks. Fuck you too, pedestrians. Use the fucking crosswalk if you don't want to get hit, and use it before the little countdown clock says '3'. You don't have enough goddamn time to lope across four lanes of traffic.

Fuck you chick on your cellphone. Fuck you attitude packed minimum-wager that makes my coffee. Fuck you cops that spend all their time handing out speeding tickets. Fuck you douche bag doing ten over the limit in the passing lane on the highway. Fuck you lady using exact change at the counter at the grocery store. Fuck you kids having a conversation in the doorway. And fuck you also for not getting the fuck out of your designated handicapped seat when a pregnant or elderly person gets on the fucking bus.

Fuck taxes. Fuck welfare. Fuck the whole selfish, over-politicized and party-driven government system. I'm sick and fucking tired of policies and new laws with seven hundred bylaws that nobody but you and your cabinet reads. Fuck you councilors and your stupid 'district improvement' plans. Fuck you unions, for asking for so much and giving nothing more that what you already give. Fuck the whole process that allows people who are supposed to be working for us work for interests that only benefit the next campaign. Fuck your short-sightedness, your rush to the bandwagons, and your incessant arguing over fuck all. Fuck the parties, fuck the conventions, and fuck your campaigns. Do some real fucking work for a change.

Fuck you bottles of water. You're water. You're not worth two fucking dollars.

Fuck you trendsetters, fuck you fashionistas. Fuck your little dogs and and your idiotic outfits. Fuck your high heels in the snow. Fuck your five dollar coffees and your fifteen dollar veggie burgers. Fuck your health kick, your diet or your fucking new interest in kickboxing or sushi.

Fuck your culture. Fuck your race. Fuck your sense of entitlement. Fuck your sense of uniqueness. Fuck you all for the belief that you have something unique and interesting to contribute. Fuck you for filling the internet with your useless garbage. Fuck your blogs, your wikis, your forums. Fuck your name calling. And most of all, fuck whatever you believe. It's all wrong. Fuck it.

Fuck your complaints. Fuck your addictions. Fuck your dependencies. Fuck your pain. Fuck your tears. Fuck selling whatever it is you sell. Fuck your manipulation of others. Fuck movies. Fuck fucking. Fuck everything you own. Fuck your allergies. Fuck your stupid commons sense. Fuck your spelling and fuck your lack of education, or your ignorance, whatever is applicable.

I don't give a fuck. Shut the fuck up and just get on with it.

"I Was Bit by a Shark!"

Lately I've been having exceptionally strange dreams; last night was no different. The strange thing about last night's dream is that I couldn't stop thinking about it today...it keeps following me around. There were several elements/sub-plots to last night's dream, but the part that really stands out to me is where I am bitten by a shark.

I am on vacation with my family in some remote beach area surrounded by crystal-clear water and randomly occurring sandbars. On the biggest of the sandbars is a series of booths carved into the sand, identical to the booths you can find in a restaurant. However, you are sitting chest-deep in the water on sandy benches. I'm sitting in a booth with my parents, and swimming amongst us in the water are various tropical fish and three-foot sharks. My father decides that he wants to see the shark's teeth, much to my complete surprise and inevitable panic. My father corners a shark, reaches over, and pries open the shark's jaw. He examines the relatively undeveloped dentistry of this particular shark, which only has a single row of seemingly dull teeth. My father is not impressed.

Throughout all of this, I'm sitting in a corner of the booth, silently crying to myself and begging my father to stop. He won't listen. He corners shark after shark, becoming reckless in his quest to examine their teeth. He becomes completely fearless of them and begins placing his hands and arms inside their mouths; he now wants to experience what a bite feels like. Several of the sharks bite down on his arms and hands, but none cause any damage. At this point I am crying hysterically, incapable of forming any words, pulling helplessly at my father and trying to get him away from the sharks. Suddenly, a shark swims directly up to my father and stops inches away from his torso. My father leans down and looks the shark squarely in the eyes. Instantly, the shark lunges forward, rows and rows of sharp teeth exposed, latching on and baring down on my father's left shoulder.

My father is taken aback by this unexpected attack. He reels backwards, stumbling through the soft sand, and looks at me with sadness and a realization of imminent death. The shark swims away in a triumphant glory, satisfied by his damage done.

The next few moments are a blur, but in a sheer force of will, I am able to take my father's injury on as my own in order to spare his life. I knew that I would be capable of surviving the injury, whereas my father, in his old age and poor health, would not. He is instantly cured, not the slightest mark on him; I now bear the full extent of his injuries. I feel little pain. I slowly make my way to the shoreline, holding my gaping wound with my right hand, blood pouring through my shaking fingers. I am alone with my ordeal.

The dream continues on in ways that make even less sense. It was one of the more disturbing dreams I've had lately, which is probably why it's so fresh in my mind and why I can't shake it. And, like I said, it's been following me around all day today. Tonight, when I happen to turn on my computer, the first thing I see on Yahoo! news is this: Ryan Seacrest: "I Was Bit by a Shark!". I thought it was a joke. Seriously. What are the chances?

Here's a bit of the article:

On his KIIS-FM radio show Monday, Ryan Seacrest said he decided to take a dip in the ocean over the weekend when, he said, "I was bit by a shark!" Alas, the American Idol co-host, 33, wasn't hurt too badly, as he still went on the air to blab about it. But he's bitter. Asked by his radio co-host if anyone else got bit, Seacrest lamented: "No, just me, of course! There were like 1,000 people in the ocean, and I get bit by the shark!"

My favorite part? "But he's bitter." Really. I can't stop laughing.

UPDATE (8/5/08): I found out yesterday from a Facebook update that someone I went to high school with, Travis Kvadus, was bit by a shark over the weekend. That, grouped with my dream, Colleen's dream, and Ryan Seacrest's experience, I must say that Iamfreakingout.

Are you putting up a BerLynne wall?

The past two weeks have intricately woven my life with that of two men - Jonathan and John* - and their cohorts - Kelly and Kelly* (this is not a joke, just a sick twist of fate that makes telling these stories to my closest friends devastatingly annoying and confusing).

Jonathan
This story is one that wholly and completely sums up my "romantic" life. Simply put, the life of "the other woman." It seems that I continuously end up in situations with men where I am the (and I quote) "awesome, down-to-earth, tell-it-like-it-is, don't give a fuck, hassle-free, unattainable woman of their dreams." And the thought that runs through my head every time, accompanied by a sickened smirk? Toobadyouareinafuckingrelationshipyoufuckingasshole. And his oh-so-smarmy retort? Oh, but it's okay, really, I swear, because if I wasn't with so-and-so, you'd totally be my girlfriend. Bullshit. So, after Jonathan decided to woo me with his endless wit and charm, he dropped this bombshell on me. And by "endless wit and charm," I mean "about $100 worth of martinis." Yeah, so I was semi-tanked. Which meant we made out. And now, to be quite frank, I can't stop thinking of making out with him again. Which can mean one of two things: he got to me, or, I'm just that horny. I think it's the latter.

John
This story essentially sums up the forced nature of my "dating" experiences. One of the reasons I don't usually like online dating services, blind dates, or the I-know-the-perfect-person-for-you-you-have-to-meet-them scenarios is that itisjusttoodamncontrived. I HATE the added pressure of desperately trying to make it work because you both realize that you are getting older and it's time to begin thinking of settling down, so hey, let's meet, say some stupid shit, and just be in this forced relationship because it's alright to settle. Well, what if I don't want to settle? What if you're not my dream man? Does that make me a terrible person for not wanting to just say "Fuck it, you're hot, I feel great, let's get married"? I may be slightly exaggerating here, but it just seems sometimes when I'm not that into a guy, he takes it so fucking personally. Which is the epitome of what John is doing to me. In his gutless demonstration of his "interest" in me, he sends cryptic text messages, ignores me for days, and relies on Kelly as his source for communicating with me. So, inevitably, this makes me like him less and less. I don't have the time, patience, or personality to deal with this ambiguous behavior. I just don't care that much about it. So, after letting Kelly know that I was unavailable tonight, I get a text message *gasp* directly from John after DAYS of silence, "Are you putting up a BerLynne wall?" Whatthefuck? I only wish I had a witty response for him...

*Names have been changed to protect my innocence.

UPDATE (8/5/08): So, I messaged John through myspace to let him know that right now may not be the best time for me to commit to anything serious, but that we (meaning Kelly, Chris, John, and I) should still hang out. His response to me? He removed himself from my friends list on myspace. Wow.