We think we have the mono.

OK. We so don't, but boy oh boy it's been hard to get motivated and moving this week. Are we the only ones? Sheesh. We were ridiculously motivated last night with the Journey listening and the dishwashing and the picking outfits and all of these things, but this morning? More with the coffee and less with the funny riffs, we know.

Carlin died. No blog. Imus in trouble and Al Sharpton (*Al* *Sharpton*) deciding whether he will "take action"? No blog. Hung out with a prostitute Saturday night? No blog.

Wait. What?

Yes. Cadence had to be an escort, what with *that* name, her lack of any ID and her boobs doing her talking for her. Nice girl, though. Just graduated college. From Michigan. No. We didn't go all the Spitzer on her. We just tried, valiantly, to get her to admit she sold her body for money while she sat there, alone in a bar in Center City, and avoided question after question from us.

Russert would've been proud.

What. Too soon?

"Michelle, you look good tonight, baby."

"KEVIN!" she screamed. "What does 'Top of the world' feel like?"

Oh no she didn't.

Meanwhile, how great is Kevin Garnett asking Bill Russell where he should go later to get his celebration on?

1. Kevin Garnett: MVP interviewee.
2. Michelle TaFoya: Not so much.
3. Bill Russell: Still a playa.

Holly's bat sh*t crizazy. No one cares.

So we remember the days of yesteryear, when the folks were working and Playboys were easy to come by, just as long as one would clean them for fingerprints and put them *exactly* back where they belonged.

One would sometimes have to make sure one's footprints were erased from the fun rug that one could spell his name in in the folks' bedroom.

But one digresses.

We realized this morning that ever since new job, we haven't been on the TMZ. At all. We've been more with the regular news cycle sites and, gasp, things like local newspaper online comment sections.

So this morning, we checked out the TMZ and learned all about this.

If the E! producers had any balls, they'd let that sh*t implode. On camera. Everyone loves a good plastic meltdown, and Holly is so going to lose her mind.

GO TEAM KENDRA/BRIDGET!

There. We feel better now, and we shall go back to reading the Poynter and caring about things that matter, like the world on its slow burn to destruction and Obama's presidential run and updating our match profile and all of these things.

Question

So we're old, right?

We get that.

We're also a li'l shy sometimes, and always with the thinking. Always.

So when one finishes a four-hour date of pretty awesome conversation and lots o' hearty laughter (her, not us -- we were killing), and one walks said date to her car, when just happens to be parked next to us (FATE! Interceding!), and one doesn't kiss date good night, this is OK, right?

"(We're) a hugger," we said. As we said it, we realized, too late, that she was in prime kiss position. And we caught her off-guard.

"You're a hugger?" she asked.

"Yes," we replied. "We like to hug. Plus, it takes the momentum out of ridiculously awkward moments like we could've just had. So I hug. I like hugging."

"Oh," she said. And again with the laughter.

Oh with the thought of the day

Gee. We sure wish our hairstylist was 5'3" with blonde hair and boobs while he runs his delicate fingers through our hair while washing it with perfect-temperature water.

And now back to what makes us maybe cry...

"Dare to Dream: The Story of U.S. Women's Soccer."

Everytime. Always with the tears. Especially when they show the penalty kicks.

Something about fingers and aftermaths

So deep down inside, in places we don't talk about, we're happy we never have any comments. Thrilled, even. Commenters can be mean, y'all.

(Although you figure out which line we think is *hilarious*, and it's not the one where the commenter makes fun of those less fortunate).

Don't Mess with the OldMan

So yeah, Kung Fu Panda (Kung. Fu. Panda.) beat out Adam Sandler's latest hilarity this weekend at the ol' box office. And Mike Myers with The Love Guru opens soon! (He's a midget! They shot him into the net like a puck! Because he's a midget!).

So this rounds out the whole "Movies We Won't See this Summer, Not Even on a Match Date" Monday morning blog that everyone forgets is back on the air:

1. Sex and the City, although we did hear Charlotte goes topless, which is always good times.
2. The funny panda movie.
3. The funny Sandler movie.
4. The funny Myers movie.
5. Indiana Jones and the wait, how old is he, again?

We will see the Batman for the first time since the original because, you know, Heath Ledger died. But more because he was a pretty good actor who allegedly nailed the part of a psychopath. And we love us some psychopath.

PANDAS! HA! That's too much! We can't stop Laughing! Out! Loud!

We feel older than we normally do.

Now, then. We don't get the Rolling Stone anymore, mainly because it, like most things these days, isn't what it used to be. But at the doctor's office the other day, we mentioned that we're all about the singing and the songwriting and the strumming, so the overly talkative, not so much with the eye contact receptionist handed us the June issue with Mayer, Buddy Guy, Eddie Van Halen and others on the cover.

"Here," she said. "You'll like this."

So one of our favorite things from when we did get the Rolling Stone is on the back page: From the Fault Top 10 Singles. This issue presented the Top 10 from June 10, 1993. This was the day of our dinner dance/prom. This was also two days before we got in our "Lush Mobile," a 1977 Chevy Caprice *Classic* and sped around Newtown, Pa. with Van Halen's "Top of the World" cranked.

Cheesy, yes. But so undeniably hip, as well. So we'll give you the Top 5...

1. Janet Jackson's "That's the Way Love Goes." Remember when Janet was toned and abs and moving her hips to what amounts to the ultimate foreplay song? Yeah. We don't. Mainly because not so much with the foreplay when we were 18 with mushroom 90s hair.


2. Silk's "Freak Me." Let us lick you up and down. 'Til you say stop. We loved this song back then.


3. H-Town's "Knockin' Da Boots." Perhaps our all-time favorite high school memory song, right up there with "Rumpshaker." Right about now we on the information tip, so ladies go get your towels... Pure lyrical genius, the H-Town.


4. SWV's "Weak." Who doesn't love the S, double-double-u to the V?


5. Robin S's "Show Me Love." If there was ever a 90210 go-to artist, oh with the Robin S.


We might know every word to every song listed. We don't know how we feel about this, though.

And then we registered as a "Democrat."

See? Blame "Jersey Joe" Pennacchio, he of nearly 97 signs lining the road next to our homestead and the two many consonants in his name. Why with the signs, Joe? And why with the nickname? We knew today was the primary, and we knew we *were* registered Independent anyway, but boy did you ever make our decision easy. Seriously with the freaking signs already.

And did Hillary concede yet? Grrrrr. Always with the grrrrr.

So regardless of how we feel about Queen Hills over there, we registered as a "Democrat" when we hit up the primary today. And boy did we ever give the poor election lady sh*t by asking her, as soon as we voted, if we could redeclare Independent right then and there, mainly because conformity eats a fat one.

There.

When we run for office someday, we dare you -- and you know who you are -- to add the "eats a fat one" line to the file labeled "Inappropriate Content" you keep on us. And yes, we cleaned up the Facebooks and MySpaces.

Oh with these dames on the Match

"I don't drink alcohol," she says on her profile.

And then with the arrowbacking to find someone who does.