Fearless, Clueless, Witless ... Wu-less?

What would you do if you were at home late at night and you heard someone trying to break into your house? I discovered tonight that I, for one, would be up shoot creek.

I'm doing my usual 2 a.m., probably should go to bed but will look at just one more Web site thing when I think I hear keys fumbling in the lock on my front door. Shake it off as the music blares from the speakers ... but then I hear it again. Turn off the music and oh my holy crap someone is trying to get into my house!

Heart pounding, I spring out of my chair, and here's what my self-preservation instincts make me do: bolt to the front door, brandishing nothing but my tiny fists to confront my would-be attacker. For a second, my mind says, "Wait! Grab the phone, call 911, go out the back door!" But my feet, with a mind of their own, continue to propel me toward the front -- I don't know why -- so I could give the person a proper welcome? "Greetings, burglar, welcome to my defenseless home ..."

I reach the door, and for a split second my heart is in my throat as I see a tall, shadowy figure ... and then a wave of relief/surprise as I realize it's my friend Amanda, who has a set of my keys. She just needs a place to crash for the night, no big deal. But it takes me a good five minutes or so to stop shaking. Holy crap!

So, what lessons can we learn from this story?

1. It's never too late to call me. Really. It's only ever too early (before 11 a.m.), with exceptions if you're calling long distance and/or I haven't heard from you in ages.
2. I need to go out and buy a baseball bat to keep by my nightstand -- something, anything to wield besides my phone.
3. Good lord, I'm bad in a crisis.

Dog Days, Be Gone!

I'm ready for September. And not just cuz we'll finally start easing away from Martian temperatures. Look what's coming down the pike!

Sept. 8: Fly home to Indy for some quality family time.
Sept. 10: High school reunion, for a nerve-racking time.
Sept. 13: Season premiere of "Gilmore Girls," hooray! (Hope it doesn't suck.)
Sept. 19: Season premiere of "Arrested Development." (Can hardly contain excitement!)
Sept. 21: Season premiere of "America's Next Top Model." (Let the bitchfest begin!)
Sept. 27: White Stripes concert -- with the Shins!
Sept. 28: Season premiere of "Veronica Mars." (Will be in state of bliss.)
Sept. 29: Season premiere of "Everwood." (It's a good show. Really!)

Yes, this is my lamest blog post to date. Really, I just wanted to get this down for my own handy reference. If you have a problem with that, take it up with my pal George:

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Had the bestest time over the weekend with my friend Jamie, who was visiting from Dallas.

We hit some museums, did a bit -- okay, a lot -- of shopping and celebrated our friend Doris's 30th birthday. I'll try to spare you much of the interesting-only-to-me details. Just a few observations:

• It gets as @*&$! hot here as in Texas, only it's worse because we had to walk or Metro everywhere. I thought I had escaped the oppressive heat. I was wrong.
• Every gal deserves a pedicure in the summertime.
• Cabs are not as scary as I thought, but still scary.
• I don't think I could get through life without my girlfriends. And gossiping!

Julia Child and the Whiskettes! (aka JamKat, awu and Doris)
Fashion aside: Am I wearing pajama bottoms?

Getting in touch with my inner mammal. Fashion aside: new necklace!

Me and Jammy with Nathan, remembering the good times in Dallas.
Fashion aside: I got Nathan that shirt!

La Cage au Folle

Have you been to my apartment? If so, you know that the front door opens onto a landing that is enclosed by a gate. The little space is like a vestibule when the gate is locked. These are things you need to know to appreciate what happened to me I did to myself today.

Running late to meet a friend this afternoon, I was doing the Tasmanian devil thing through my apartment. Rush, rush, put on makeup, rush, rush, stuff phone and wallet in purse, rush, rush, grab umbrella and keys, slam door behind me. Locked.

Oh shit.

I looked down, and a little Care Bear was smiling up at me. The Care Bear that's on a keychain that is attached to my mailbox key. This is so not a Funshine moment. I tried the door -- no dice, only the faint mocking of my real keys from inside the apartment, sitting in what until this moment was my handy-dandy key container. Turned around and tried the gate in vain, discovering that the zillion pushups my personal trainer makes me do each week haven't prepared me for bending iron.

I was trapped.

All of a sudden, being late seemed so not like a big deal. I called my landlord (please pick up please pick up please pick up), got his voicemail. Argh.

Called my friend Jeff, whom I was supposed to be meeting, literally, across the street. He came over and showed much restraint in not laughing heartily and mercifully did not take a picture with his camera phone. As he left to try the back door (locked -- what is this, Fort Knox?), I tried my landlord again, and, praise be, he answered. He works only a few minutes away, so Jeff (thank you!) kept me company from the other side of the bars -- in the rain -- until he came. I gotta say, that's as close to being an inmate or a zoo exhibit as I wanna get.

The whole thing lasted about 25 minutes. Yeah, it really could have been worse. Yeah, I still feel like a dolt.

The moral of the story: Care Bears = evil.

You Know, It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp

Tell me about it, right?

So I've been on a minor movie tear lately. Lots of good stuff out there now: "Wedding Crashers," "March of the Penguins," "Me and You and Everyone We Know," "Crash." Who'd a-thunk that my favorite ahead of the romantic comedy, the quirky indie flick, the star-studded thought-provoker and the good-gosh-aren't-they-cute penguin movie would be the film about a pimp, his hos and rap music -- set in Memphis!

That would be "Hustle & Flow."

I just loved how the movie pulled me into this world I'd otherwise never know and made me laugh, cringe and care about the people. And the music! It's got a beat, and you can dance to it!

This is the girl who prefers Sondheim over Springsteen, Ella over Elvis, and Rodgers and Hammerstein over the Rolling Stones. But, hey, I'm hip! I'm down. I'm looking up "crunk" right now in the urban dictionary ... .

A Girl Named Ooo

Salut! Je m'appelle Ooo.

Yes, that's my name, Ooo. In French class, at least. I signed up for this class a few weeks ago so I could improve my conversation skills. It's been okay so far, but the funniest part is that the instructor, whose first name is Dieudonne ("God given"), somehow has decided that my name isn't Angie, but "Ooo." Basically,"Wu" pronounced in a French accent. Everyone else in the class he calls by their first name (Lau-REN, Shei-LA, Eliza-BET). And then, there's moi, Ooo.

Ooo, la la!