Dear Lindsay,

Oh our goodness how we loved you in the Mean Girls and haven't seen one of your bombs since then -- well, we've seen your bombs but not the cinema kind we're talkin' about wink wink nudge nudge hahahahaahaa -- anywhores, we're so gonna BandT (hah! We're killin'! Where's Katz to comment when you need him?) to what we like to call the Alphabet Village in Greenwich Lower City tonight and hey, we figured since you and Lane aren't going steady anymore, want to meet up? We'll be the handsomely old but not really lad rockin' the pink and black tie. Holla girl. Seriously. How could you not want *this*? The tie that makes us an honorary Hart Foundation member and we're totally wearing too much Old Spice deodorant! Chicks love the Old Spice almost as much as they love the Old Man Snap!

Love,
OMS

Yes, we're a suck up.

Vince McMahon, in our dream, walking toward the basketball courts: And that's why our policy is what it is. No one issues comments to anyone but me. I'm the source. No one else is allowed to give public statements unless they clear it with me.

OMS, walking briskly next to Vince McMahon: Agreed, sir. It's the perfect media plan. Let (us) just say (we've) been doing this for a long time now and your media policy is spot-on. And if you need a spokesman, (we're) your guy.

Oh that Screech

So Zach is all wow, chick that will be on King of Queens, you'll be hot and a total MILF in 10 years and Kelly is all Jesus I can't wait to have boobs and a pot problem on the 90210 and Screech is all I have a metal detactor and oh the hijinx and Lisa Turtle is all damn I'm fine and way they gotta pair me up with Screech and Kelly is all seriously, can't I take these shorts off? I shaved and Zach is all not now Kapowski I'm about to get my Doug Heffernan on.

Not as fun as 90210, we know.

OK. The Tara Reid line was a hoot.

"I'll suck your c*ck for a $1,000," is a pretty good line, we'll give you that.

But the other 45 minutes and 18 seconds? We just. Kept. Waiting. For. Something. To. Happen.

But enough about the Dude (get it? Because he's a middle-aged stoner who doesn't give a f*ck) and the others.

The thing about the Big Lebowski

Twice we've tried to watch this cult "classic" over the last week. The first time, we made it about two minutes in. Tonight, we made it 46.

Um. The movie, in a word, sucks.

Hey! A Christmas story!

"Honey," said the rotund goateed man inside the Borders, loudly, into his cell phone. "If I got you the Grey's Anatomy DVD, would that be good? Oh. You saw all the episodes? So if you saw them, does that-- oh. OK. Yeah. You saw them all already. OK. I'll keep looking."

And then, about five minutes later: same guy. Same phone. Same wife, hopefully.

"Hi honey, it's me again," he said. "Yeah. I found a good one. Would you like Live Free or Die Hard? Yeah. It's Bruce Willis. It's kind of a light-hearted action movie. It's supposed to be really good, I think."

Meanwhile, darned if we didn't catch the holiday spirit while we shopped in the same store, sans honey guy.

"Iiiiii saw mommeeeee kissing Santa Claus," the adorable li'l 4-year-old sang, pitch-perfect, while listening to the head phones.

And then, about five seconds later: same adorable li'l 4-year-old. Same headphones. Same mommy.

"Mommy! I have to pee!"

Who smokes inside?

Remembering one thing, at least

So on the way home, darned if we didn't crank the ol' DMB when it came on. And oh how we busted out the old school 1999 Dave singing. And darned if we weren't in the best mood ever for the rest of the trip. And hoarse.

And now back to things we say outloud

To bunny rabbit, Tuesday night: "Hop li'l fella! Hop! Wait. How do you hop on the ice like that? Careful, li'l fella! Careful with the hopping! Awww! You're so cute!"

To ourselves, once we forgot about the bunny rabbit a second later: "Tits! (We) love tits!"

And here ends another episode of "And Now Back to Things We Say Outloud."

This one's for Katz

Why. Um. What happened to petting? Or the oral? Wrapping before slapping? Using two? Pill? Using two, plus the pill, and then with the pulling out and not so much with the slapping because you're 16? Anything but bare and, um, in.

Anything.

Right?*

*Remind us someday, when it's time for us to have the, um, talk with our kids. Remind us about what we wrote above. We might try that as the speech. Word for ever-loving word.

It's certainly better than hearing, "Sometimes girls want things, so you have to be careful" just minutes after hearing that Magic Johnson has the AIDS.

But what was the problem?

So we ordered the HBO On Demand more than a week ago because we wanted to watch, for like the fifth time, season 4 of The Wire.

So for more than a week, though, The Wire wasn't available -- despite being heavily advertised all month by the HBO.

So (enough sos for ya?) we called the Cablevision last night, and a nice gent named Wilbur helped us out.

He asked us to turn everything off and unplug the system, which we did. He asked us to wait a few minutes, which we did. Then he asked us to plug in, wait three minutes, and turn on the cable box, which we did.

Voila. The On Demand que was miraculously updated!

But wait, Wilbur. What was the problem?

"We did it together," he replied.

OK. Yay, team. But what was the problem?

"Well we handled it together so it's OK. We did it together."

Thoroughly Jedi-mind-tricked, we then *took* the survey on customer service *and* rated Wilbur as high as we could. We guess we didn't want to let down the, um, team?

Tom Burlington said what, now?

Oh poor *35-year-old* Alycia and her fame overtaking her, um, sane.

Who calls the freaking governor, allegedly, of the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania? Doesn't she know he was too busy rooting for the Eagles?

What. Nothin'? Commonwealth jokes normally kill.

Rest in peace, Mr. Fogelberg

From the AP: Dan Fogelberg, the singer and songwriter whose hits "Leader of the Band" and "Same Old Lang Syne" helped define the soft-rock era, died Sunday at his home in Maine after battling prostate cancer. He was 56.

Singer Dan Fogelberg discovered he had advanced prostate cancer in 2004.

His death was announced Sunday on the singer's Web site.

"Dan left us this morning at 6 a.m. He fought a brave battle with cancer and died peacefully at home in Maine with his wife, Jean, at his side," it read. "His strength, dignity and grace in the face of the daunting challenges of this disease were an inspiration to all who knew him."

Fogelberg discovered he had advanced prostate cancer in 2004. In a statement then, he thanked fans for their support: "It is truly overwhelming and humbling to realize how many lives my music has touched so deeply all these years. ... I thank you from the very depths of my heart."

Fogelberg's music was powerful in its simplicity. He didn't rely on the volume of his voice to convey his emotions; instead, they came through in the soft, tender delivery and his poignant lyrics. Songs like "Same Old Lang Syne" -- in which a man reminisces after meeting an old girlfriend by chance during the holidays -- became classics not only because of his performance, but also for the engaging storyline.

Fogelberg's heyday was in the 1970s and early '80s, when he scored several platinum and multiplatinum records fueled by such hits as "The Power of Gold" and "Leader of the Band," a touching tribute he wrote to his father, a bandleader. Fogelberg put out his first album in 1972.

Holy sh*t to the millionth power. It's the best 90210 episode ever. Finally.

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ohforf*ck'ssake

From the AP: SPRINGFIELD, Mass. - Expect cheers among hardcore online game enthusiasts when they learn Merriam-Webster's Word of the Year. Or, more accurately, expect them to "w00t."

"W00t," a hybrid of letters and numbers used by gamers as an exclamation of happiness or triumph, topped all other terms in the Springfield-based dictionary publisher's online poll for the word that best sums up 2007.

Merriam-Webster's president, John Morse, said "w00t" was an ideal choice because it blends whimsy and new technology.

"It shows a really interesting thing that's going on in language. It's a term that's arrived only because we're now communicating electronically with each other," Morse said.

So what hardcore gamer is going to be able to break away from lancing and creating a better online life so he (let's face it, they're hes) can sprint away from his everyday problems because God doesn't love him enough to actually celebrate the choice of his G33K word?

Just sayin'. Tough love, y'all. That's how we role.

PS: CL1TOR1S!

Does it make us a bad person?

Sunday night: ice cream.

Tuesday night: ice cream.

Last known physical activity: running Saturday morning.

We actually turned down a cookie offer yesterday in the elevator.

"If you can't do it this time of year, when can you?" someone astutely butted-in.

Oh that Tina Fey and our love for her

With her January 2008 Playboy Interview, we remember why we adore Tina Fey so, so much.

"When I was growing up," she says, "to have a good body, you actually had to have a good body. You know what I mean? You had your shape, and whatever your God-given shape was, that was your shape. But now -- and this is what these young Hollywood ladies seem to do -- even if you don't have a great body, you can lose a lot of weight and get superskinny, get a fake tan and fake tits, and you're in the game."

Damn, Hollywood starlets. You just been heidied. Um, we mean, owned.

And then we remembered why we blog

OK. Don't even get us started on the kiosk ladies and the Sir? Sir! Sir? EXCUSE ME SIR! Um. If we don't even acknowledge you breathe our air, than maybe you shouldn't sir us to death, kiosk ladies.

But we digress.

Best moment of an otherwise David Akers field-goal-off-the-uprights day?

"Yes, yes," the Barnes & Noble guy said. "This is the kids' section." We looked down and saw Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Wow. Not so much with the knowing what he was talking about, that guy.

OK. Back to the Tell Me You Love Me marathon.

But we actually got sh*t done, too.

So 24 hours after reupping with the HBO On Demand, this was the list under "Viewed":

Tell Me You Love Me Ep. 5
Jungle Fever
The Wire 27
Sopranos Ep. 5
Six Feet Under 63
Six Feet Under 62
Katie On Demand
The Wire 26
Six Feet Under 61
Six Feet Under 60

But like we said, we actually got other sh*t done. Puzzled, are we, by this.

Rock Bottom? Or Life Evaluation?

So there we were on the couch, maybe drunk, watching Katie Morgan on HBO On Demand teach viewers about this so-called G-spot. And then she taught viewers about this mysterious U-spot, and then we wondered what we were doing on the couch, maybe drunk, watching Katie Morgan do something other than oral.

And then we continued with our Six Feet Under marathon. The last four episodes of the series are almost perfect television, and the lessons about life and death are somewhat astounding. So now we're going for a run, and not so much with the Katie Morgan later.

More with the planning the next phase of our life, which is pretty much a daily chore unless one actually sits down, makes a list, and then breathes. A lot.

Yay for quiet pensive introspective Saturdays!

Meanwhile, back at the work party

Guy in Flannel: MAN! Loosen up!
OMS: (We) are. (We're) good. Good times.
GIF: Man I saw you in that sweater vest and I thought, "HE'S GOT TO LOOSEN UP!"
OMS: (We) are. (We) are. No doubt. Definitely good times. This is good.
GIF: Man you stuck out like a SORE THUMB when you walked in. I knew you needed to loosen up when I saw you, man! This is an 80s theme! You look like you came from work!
OMS: (Thinks to himself) Christ. Again with the loosening up. Does this guy have anything else? (We), um, did come from work. But (we) loosened the tie, so there's that.
GIF: HAH! THAT'S RIGHT YOU DID! GOOD POINT!

Have a holly, jolly Christ-- HOLD UP.

So Rudolph is all hey I'm cute uh oh my nose is kaflooey and Donner is all how the f*ck did this happen, Mrs. Donner, and how the f*ck you been wit bitch and Mrs. Donner is all dunno and Donner is all this can't be and here, put some black on that and people will accept you more and Rudolph is all aiiight let's go do this jump thing and but my node sound like ith duffy and the cute li'l Bambi chick is all hey now that's a fine black nose you have there and good ol' Rudy is all YAAAAYYYYEEEE WATCH ME GET MY JUMP ON and then oh with the coal coming off the nose exposing him for the fraud that he is and oh with Bambi's dad with the whole you can't date that kind thing and Rudolph with the screw you guys I'm goin' home.

But Rudolph can't go home because Donner is a one pissed off raindeer so Rudy is all I'm out hey who's this twinky lookin' fella and the twinky li'l fella is all I'm Hermie I want to be a dentist and Rudy is all hey you sure you don't have the gay and Hermie is all no, why would you say that? and then with the abominable snowman and Yukon Cornelius and blah blah blah land of misfits blah blah blah Hermie's so gay blah blah blah the racial undertones are striking blah blah blah.

And then Rudy with the whole save Christmas thing.

The End.

There's got to be a plausible explanation

So in our dream, we're on stage.

(Surprised? Huh. Didn't think so).

But hah! We're not us. We're actually standing in for Boy George. See, he couldn't make the gig, so Old Man Snap donned the Boy George garb and, yes, opened his set with "I'll Tumble for Ya."

OMS then convinced the stage manager and producer to let him play an original song on the geetar as a "new Boy George single." Since the only Boy George music they had was "I'll Tumble for Ya," OMS also asked the sound guy to go to the local record shop to get Culture Club's Greatest Hits CD and then he rounded up the kids in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles outfits to perform an extended number about pizza.

Sound guy came back with the CD just as the pizza bit ended and, voila, Old Boy George continued with his brilliant impression. With a standing O and calls for an encore, even.

Never fear, readers. We shall analyze herein henceforth to wit:

1. We busted out our Cartman voice last night on the phone with the baby sis.
2. We were thinking about The Rock yesterday, and how he really was a nobody and then he turned the volume up, became The Rock, and then became a movie star.
3. We love our local record store.
4. We do like to play originals on the stage.
5. We have no f*cking clue why with the Boy George. None.
6. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? WTF, indeed.

So to recap, the equation is thus as best we can decipher:

(Impressions) + (Volume on 11) + (Records) + (Audience Adoration) = Um, Boy George

Sh*t.

File this under things you can't really say

See? Supermarkets...

Woman in line at deli counter: I could kill him.
Other woman in line at deli counter: Who?
Woman, still in line at deli counter, not even ordering: That fat shlubby principal. He's awful.
Other woman, equally not ordering and certainly blocking the entire aisle with both her shopping cart and her conspiracy to commit murder: Yeah. He needs to go.
Man: Excuse me. Can I get through here?
OMS: *Sigh*

When Larry Met, Um, Um, Well, Harry?

What. Nothin'?

Look, Larry. Baby. Just embrace it. At this point, it's more than somewhat ridiculous, no? Start a band. You know what the name should be. Make millions. Be happy. Be yourself. Isn't that what life is all about, this being one's self and being happy?

A User Friendly Guide to All Things OMS

Because none of you asked, here is a quick, friendly and helpful User Friendly Guide to All Things Old Man Snap. Why? "I checked it out once, but it was hard to follow," a good friend said last night. "Is that what all blogs are supposed to be?"

Nope. Just this one. Think of it as a window to our quirky, yet brilliantly comedic, brain. Right? Right.

Right, then.

1. We write in the first person plural. Yay for anonymity!

2. Sometimes, we write about running in the rain. Other times, we write about raining in our head. Sometimes, no rain. Sometimes, every once in a great while, sunshine. Sometimes we don't even use verbs.

3. We write weekly Saturday morning Beverly Hills, 90210 recaps. This might be our favorite part of the job. Example? Oh Kelly with the we can't tell Bren, Dylan and what are we doing and Dylan with the yeah, the baby is awesome and Bren with the Dylan how do you know the baby and Dylan with the oh, well I babysat with Kelly once and you know how it is Bren and Bren is all I don't know how it is, Dylan, why don't you tell me and PS I have nothing to share with you about the whole faking the ridiculous French accent thing while going down on Superman in Paris.

4. We often write about our horoscope. This is what's known in the vernacular as "filler."

5. Oh with the fat kid stories.

6. And oh with the ohs. We love the ohs and the sos and the run-on sentences, mainly because we know what run-on sentences are and it's part of the overall subtle commentary of the blog itself.

7. Sometimes we write in riddles even we don't understand.

8. Often, we write with the iTunes on shuffle. Sometimes we kick sweet dance moves while typing. Example? Gorillaz are on right now. We're so doing the the sprinkler.

9. Yes, ACG, we were in a frat once. But hey! Do you call your country a -- well, nevermind. Most days, we deny being in one, let alone running it as an underclassman. Yay for future political aspirations!

10. Every few days or so, we'll post a picture of Scarlett or Lindsay or even Julianne Hough, that hussy from the Dancing with the Stars. Julianne, call us. Or at least please return our MySpace messages. We have sweet dance moves to show you. See 8.

11. Want to hear a funny joke? Always with the deli counter stories. Some of the best bits we have are based on cheese. Um. Huh. Both literally and figuratively.

12. Ew. We hate Pearl Jam's version of Last Kiss. Next.

13. Ah. Mayer with the I Don't Trust Myself with Loving You. Much better.

14. Oh with the issue-laden tidbits.

15. So we sometimes blog about politics, pop culture and breakfast. Oh with the putting the milk in the cupboard and the Honey Nut Cheerios in the fridge and all of these things.

16. Someday, we'll be famous for being the brilliant coffee-filled blogger we are. Until then, we're content with the 90210 recaps and every once in awhile a riff about the Vince McMahon dreams/nightmares.

17. One day, we'll reveal our identity. In the meantime, feel free to friend Rooney Sees Red on the MySpace. Those freaking guys rule.

See? Guide. Keep reading, y'all. It'll only get better. Or something.