Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Attn: Mark Darcy

This is a PSA to Mark Darcy.  Should you be planning to come to my doorstep before I go on my mini-break to Paris, please be there this Friday morning at 8:30am sharp.  I will happily ask you what you're doing there.  You will happily respond that you forgot something, to kiss me goodbye.  And no, I will not mind. 

Cue snow, "Someone Like You,"  and really tiny knickers.

Friday, April 27, 2012

"What do you like to do on Friday nights?"

This seems to be a popular question these days when meeting new people.  Strange.  I would be in favor of switching this to "Saturday nights," but no one consulted me before popularizing the trend.

So, in answer, I have to say I'm always quite tired on Friday nights.  So, naturally, that means I like to go home, walk my dog, and then run 10 miles.  I mean, I can still go to bed by 10 and excuse it since I exercised.  *This is how my brain works.

Occasionally, I buy tickets to random events and convince friends to join me.  That's been a growing trend.  I used to fall asleep while watching the Soup, as Sarah might remember.  It was a ritual.  And even while snoozing, I usually chuckled at the right times, I'm told.

But tonight, I was convinced I was going to run.  What a good habit to bring back.  Then, I got a wave of "ugh," and I just wanted to go home and watch a movie.  But in realizing that 'current plan' would involve reliving this week, I had the sudden urge to start crying.  And I'm not a crier. (I'm not even a Cryer, as in Jon's sister.)  And my week wasn't really worth crying over.  I actually found it pretty funny.  Maybe even downright hysterical.

Still.  I have this fear that I'm about to go to Blockbuster and start balling over some ridiculous movie case that portrays a woman seeking love.  She probably has a "considering my options" smirk on her face and a guy looking at the camera with crossed arms with a "what are you gonna do, can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em" face.  Ugh.  I cannot be subjected to this drivel. 

Maybe I should go the other way and go into a screening of Titanic (a movie I hate) where crying is mandatory.  Hmm.

Or maybe I should go home and read a book instead.  Preferably not the one above-described movie was based on.

I'm going to fall asleep in ten minutes.

Me and The Scientologist

Weight:  x+8, all pretzels dipped in nutella, all the time.  Must. Stop. Buying. Both.

Don't worry, I will post the Cary Elwes interview in style of Colin Firth interview soon.  But in the meantime, I feel I owe people an explanation on how on earth I went on a date with a scientologist.  (Since that's the punch line, get ready for a really boring story.)

I signed up with this matchmaker Jen.  In the future, I'll just be referring to her as Jen, so you'll have to have read this and remember it.  Take note.  I met with Jen, told her what I was looking for, and that was that.  Every week, she sends me info on some new guy I'm not interested in dating.  Fun, and totally worth the money.  If you're a gazillionaire who has lots of time on your hands and is planning to be cryogenically frozen before menopause.  Which I am not.

Curious what these guys could be like?  You know you are.  Here are the first subjects.  (Scientologist is #5, if you need to skip ahead for time constraints.)

(1) 40-something year old (she actually wouldn't tell me what his precise age was), bald man who lives in Orange County.  I told her (a) I'm not interested in dating people in Orange County and (b) not bald guys whose age you won't tell me.  Note:  she sent me a picture of him wearing a hat and sunglasses so I couldn't tell right away.  I was thoroughly upset for days with her, but you know, silently and without expressing it other than to tell her that honesty was really important to me in this process.  Dignified, no?  A rare moment.

(2) 37-year-old, decent looking, entrepreneur, really cute personality.  Oh, but he lives in Boston now, which she didn't know.  Good work.

(3) 35-year-old, more than decent looking guy who lives in the neighboring community and works in finance.  I believe her words were "I seriously think this could be your future husband."  But, oops, she sent him a photo of me with my dog, and he's allergic to dogs and hates them.  (Sandy is hypoallergenic, but still a dog.  And a guy who hates a dog is bad news.  That's a Dealbreaka', ladies, in Liz Lemon voice.)  Again, totally avoidable misstep.  And another week passes.

(4) 42-year-old, grey headed, heavy set guy who lives in Orange County.  This is when I started getting upset and also feeling like perhaps she was not telling me something.  Like I'm an ugly, fat slob who looks too old to have children anymore.  But in reality, what I know to be true is that she's trying to pawn me off on their male clients instead of listening to me and trying to match me with guys I might like.  She actually fought me on this with "but he likes dogs."  I fought back with "yeah, so do all the guys at the crowded dog parks."  Whatcha got to say to that, huh?

(5) 32-year-old, decent looking guy, who's a photographer in LA, who is not allergic to dogs.  I'm sorry, what's that?  An eligible bachelor?  So I went to lunch with him yesterday.  Charming guy, not going to lie.  I could tell he was a little more surfer dude than I'd typically think would work with Type-A me, but you know, what the heck.  We seemed to be getting along - a little playful banter trying to guess things about each other just based on reading each other.  Like how many siblings, high school prototype, etc.  Warm smile, seemed to listen, honest.  Let's pause on honest for a sec.  At the end, he said something like "hope you won't be too late getting back to work," and I asked him where he was headed next.  He laughed and said he probably shouldn't tell me.  Then, he said he was heading to the Scientology Center to meet someone.  I know what you're thinking, I should have assumed this meant that he himself was a scientologist.  But I didn't, and I laughed.  Many of us long to walk inside those doors and find out what it's all about.  If you've lived near one of the centers, which I have, you've seen the guys and girls (alike) walking around in polo shirts tucked into khaki pants, and thought "what could possibly be going on in there that this is the appropriate uniform?"  And also "Tom Cruise would never wear that."  So, now you might not be as shocked that I laughed, thinking he was one of those guys whose curiosity had gotten the better of him, and today was the day he and his friend had dared to step inside to relieve said curiosity.  *I would do this. In fact, one day, when feeling especially healthy and having prepared a safe word, I WILL do this!*  But it was not a joke.  He then told me about Dianetics, and I picked up the pace back to my car while spouting out tidbits I fortunately knew like how "the first stages are really just common sense and healthy living, aren't they?"  I did not ask him what he thought about post-partum depression.  Phew.

Since then, I have politely told Jen that while he's an excellent guy, she might want to know he's a scientologist, and some ladies in LA might not mind that, but I do.  The end.

Reading/viewing assignment:  Edge of Reason, lawyer's ball.  Bridget insulting conservatives in front of conservatives.  Check another off my list of awkward Bridget moments.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

The Original Wet Shirt

Before Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy climbed out of a lake with a clingy wet shirt that Bridget would drool over, there was another wet shirt.  This one was Black.  Ripped.  Soaked in blood.  It was partially torn off in the Fire Pit, taken off in the Pit of Despair, and miraculously found and reassembled at Miracle Max's.  (Guess that's why they call him Miracle Max.)

Any guesses? 

It was worn by Cary Elwes as he played Westley aka the Dread Pirate Roberts.  And I met him tonight. 

Back story on my love for The Princess Bride:
It came out in 1987.  I was 8.  I did not go see it in the theater.  But one day soon after, a video store clerk recommended it to me.  Probably because I was a little girl, and he'd heard little girls liked it.  Probably not because he'd watched it and knew it was the best movie of all time, ever, never-ever to be dethroned.  Probably not because of that.  But fortunately, I was a little girl, and so he recommended it to me.  And I watched it.  And I loved it.  Loved it like I will never love any other movie ever again.  How could I?  It's the best!

The next time we went to the video store, I rented it again.  Then again.  Then again.  Then again.  At this point, my mom thought there was something wrong with me.  She asked me why I didn't want to rent a different movie since I'd already seen The Princess Bride many times before.  Well, I'll tell you, Mom.  It's because it's the best movie ever.  So, yeah.  At the time, I think my answer was "but I haven't memorized it yet."  (I did soon after.  I wrote the script down while watching the video, with ample amounts of pausing.)

Then, I offered to recite it from start to finish on our family car-ride to Florida.  I believe the response was "please, God, no."  Still, I started with the baseball video game noises of Take Me Out To The Ball Game, but I probably stopped when my mother either hit me or pulled over and left me for dead on the side of the road.

To say this movie has had a profound effect on my life would be to say the sun has a profound effect on how we distinguish between day and night.  I define good people as people who say it is their favorite movie and others as people who must not have seen it yet.  I have bought multiple copies of it on DVD and given it to people because they've said they'd never seen it.

So, when I went to see Princess Bride in the theater tonight and found out we were having a surprise guest of Cary Elwes after the movie, I about lost my mind.  Ok, I lost my mind, but I held my body together.  Westley is everything I've ever wanted in a man.  He's smart, not to mention clever, vulnerable, loyal, loving, funny, and, um, dreamy-looking (with eyes like the sea after a storm).  There's just no contest between him and other men.  As.  You.  Wish.

In Bridget Jones: Edge of Reason, Bridget interviews her obsession Colin Firth.  It's the funniest chapter of literature in existence.  I'd like to channel that with a little bit of Chris Farley interviewing Paul McCartney, and that will be my version of an interview I had with Cary Elwes in my mind tonight.  (See, the actual interview we watched was led by a douchebag, so I decided to imagine my own.)

But that will come tomorrow for I'll need time to live up to those excellent examples.  For now, just think about what it would be like to touch Cary Elwes.  And know that I've done that.  Hellz yeah.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Conversations with my Boss

Weight:  x+7, because that's normal, to gain a pound after running a half-marathon in 2 hours, 11 minutes, and 45 seconds with an average pace of 10:03, right?  Harumph.  Only me.

ANYWAY, the real reason to post this here is because I can't very well post it on facebook...and I think you'll agree it needed to be recorded for posterity.

Here are the conversations I had with my boss today:
A) How a show about a female correctional facility would need to include pillow fights.
B) Why Southerners shouldn't feel bad about their heritage.
C) Would I put on make-up while driving - to which I responded deadpan:  "No, of course not.  I would never leave the house without make-up."  (Joke, har har har.)
D) And then in a pitch meeting - Him: Talk to Kelley later because she's running my development company.  Me:  I think I just got promoted.  Him:  I'm probably going to have to start paying you more, huh?  Me:  Uh huh.  In shoes.  (Afterwards)  Him:  That couldn't have been that much of a shock, right?  Me:  Um, yeah, I thought you were hiring someone for the job.  Him:  Come on, no one I know works as hard as you.  Cut to me leaving early today....

And because I may have just dreamt all of this, and I'll at least want to remember the dream in its entirety, we then had this conversation -
E) Where he introduced a republican talking point and then cut himself off.  My jaw dropped, and we then had to discuss how we were seeing a unicorn, live and in person.

Ok, you can pinch me now.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Survival Imminent, due to friends

Weight: x+6, yeah well whatever.

I'm happy to report that I'm surviving my disappointment quite well. The best cure so far has been to stay active, so thank you to the friends who have agreed to go to random events lately, including:

The Cicada Club, the Ballet, Jane Austen Unscripted Improv, Cirque du Soleil, trivia, hikes, tonight's comedy show, tomorrow's musical, watching Katniss kick some a$$ in Hunger Games, a 5k, and (though no friends will participate) Sarah for volunteering to be my emergency contact should I pass out on the final 2 miles of Saturday's half-marathon...up the Cahuenga Pass. (Ridiculous course plan.) Sarah, I'm writing your info on my arm with a sharpie, just in case. ;-). Not to mention calls and emails from friends farther away.

So thank you, friends! Y'all are great!

Friday, March 23, 2012

Bridget on Love Karma

Weight:  x+4.  (That wraps up the good news.  Moving on.)

To be fair, I attended a Ruby Wedding party this evening.  It was equally as successful as Bridget's, meaning not successful at all.  But as with all things in life (sans sobriety), Bridget has amply prepared me for disappointment.  Her cure:  eating and going to Paris with urban family, so long as she can find her pants.  Surprisingly, I've got no appetite for food of any sort (and yes, that includes chocolate...even pretzels dipped in nutella - further proof, there is an uneaten Chickfila sandwich in my fridge).  Traveling is a great cure for me as well, but I have a busy weekend, so it will just have to wait a bit.  But I've got a different cure in mind, and the whole thing is really just about having A cure, not necessarily the same one as Bridge.  After all, we're different people, I'm delighted to report.

My last known cure was church and a bar method class...and a trip to my favorite place on the planet Barnes & Noble.  (My exact favorite place on the planet is the Barnes & Noble children's section at the Grove, but Burbank's can make do in a bind.)  Since it's after midnight, those aren't going to work.  But I have another idea.  Instead of feeling sorry for myself, something I oppose at all costs, I'm going to think about all of the things I've done wrong to others in similar circumstances and hope to learn something from the experiences.

First of all, I must confess that no fewer than 2 and no more than 10 (this range should sound familiar to every guy who has ever asked me for a *number*) guys have stood in front of me - sans relationship, sans encouragement on my part, and sans, well, sanity I suppose - and told me that they loved me.  Not one of these confessions ended with a kiss or much else on my part.  I became flustered, I probably said unintentionally hurtful things (because after a statement like that, nothing ISN'T hurtful except for reciprocation).  One of these occurrences very easily *could* have ended with a kiss, and he knows who he is, and I love to remind him to kick himself about it.  Oy, I'm a mean one.  (We're getting married when he turns 40, so the joke's on me!)  So it's only fair that the same should happen to me when the tables are turned.

But let's dig even deeper than that to find out just how much bad love karma I have to deal with before I'm due for some good news:

Kindergarten:  Adam was the hottest guy at Parrish Day School, and he was all mine for a glorious week.  I'm pretty sure that I stole him from one of my friends, and I'm pretty sure one of my friends stole him from me afterwards.  So that one is probably a wash.  I believe he was my first kiss, but I never count it as I can't say for sure I knew what kissing was then.

First Grade:  Poor Ned on the playground who would run around and try to kiss me.  I believe my exact response was "ew, gross!"

Second Grade:  Will flew a paper airplane into the back of my head in class.  So naturally, I took the paper airplane up to the teacher to tattle on him.  When she opened the piece of paper, he had written on the page that he liked me and asked me out.  (To where, the swings?  I have no idea.  Just sayin'.)  Given that info, I did nothing but pout about how embarrassed I was.

Third Grade:  I think I'm in the clear on this one, but there's a chapter from elementary school that only my best friend Tonia holds the key to, and I may never know exactly what happened.  It consisted of a group of boys liking me, and me not having any idea.  Meanwhile, all the girls hated me for it.  So more memorable moments from elementary school involve "the time that one girl hit me" and "that time another girl gave a class presentation on hating me."  Oh, and one more thing, but let's save that for...

Fourth Grade:  When I made it known that I didn't like Chuck, even though he was obsessed with me.  He would even call me while watching Duck Tales, which in retrospect is really precious.  Since he's probably in jail now, I'm going to give myself a pass on that one.  But I think I was equally mean to a boy named Keith who surely didn't deserve it.  He was quiet and nice enough.  Oh well.  In Fourth Grade, my teacher wanted me desperately to be in a class couple with Walt, whom I feel it should be noted is a distant cousin of mine.  Oh, Georgia.  She'd also lead the class in chanting "Blood" at me to see me squirm.  She deserves the prize.

Fifth Grade:  My crush (which was fake, by the way) was embarrassingly revealed after a game of slumber party truth or dare.  After it was revealed, I dealt with my embarrassment by telling everyone the "real" truth:  that I didn't like boys yet.  Nope, not even New Kids on The Block really.  Oops!  (Is that also when the lesbian rumors started?  Hmm.)

Sixth Grade:  This was the year when I really did have a crush on my 5th grade supposed crush.  It amounted to nothing.  If I hurt others that year, I'm as equally unaware of it as I was the elementary secret crushes.

Seventh Grade:  Boy did I fall for Chad.  This was the year of the Rec Center party (where rich parents would rent out the local recreational center for parties with music and boys), and I was always turning down guys who weren't Chad who asked me to dance.  Btw, Chad never asked me to dance.  Maybe that's also a wash?  Nope, whoops, I almost forgot about Derek, the guy who sat next to me every lunch period.  I was stuck in one of those random gym classes for lunch, and we had to eat with our classes.  I had no friends in this particular class. (I really didn't know anyone in there as they were older and not in the, um, same level classes I was in.  Before you judge me, it was 7th grade, and one of the girls was pregnant.  Often class would be disrupted by girls pulling each other's hair out.  Wild times at HC Jr. High.)  But despite having no friends, I would still read my Sweet Valley High mysteries over and over again rather than talk to Derek who literally drooled over me.  Ashamedly so, I have to say I was sad when he would be out sick or something like that.  Oh, Seventh grade, how horrible you were in every way.

Eighth Grade:  I don't recall harming any poor boys, possibly because I got braces which made me equivalent with the Hunchback of Notre Dame in terms of attractiveness.  Wait, I take that back.  I most definitely remember refusing to dance with a sweet boy at a dance, and that karma bit me in the butt two years later when I liked him and had to watch him make out with another girl on the bus to cross country meets.  I had a crush on a guy named Gil who, I believe, was dating a cheerleader.  I really wanted to be a cheerleader that year, so...

Ninth Grade: I became a cheerleader, and those girls definitely helped the lesbian rumors float through school.  Nice girls, they were.  As is the stereotype, a football player decided he was in love with me.  Note:  I'm not sure he ever spoke directly TO me, but anyway.  I was HORRIBLE to him.  If I wrote down what I actually said about him, no one would ever forgive me for it.  Bad, bad love karma source, right here.  Meanwhile, I was crushing on Mr. Drama as well as Mr. Funny man who sat behind me in Geometry.  (Geometry is the class where I was first nominated for Student of the Month, and everyone said it was because I wore short skirts and sat on the front row...and Coach Boyd was a perv.  Right, I couldn't have been good at math, people.  I only have a college degree in it.  Suck it!)  Oh, and around this time, I have another first hand story of how I was horrible to boys as the boy in question is my best friend's husband.  WHOM I LIKED at the time, and yet STILL was apparently a bitch to him, or to actually quote him, "gave [him] an eat dirt face."  I am good at flirting.  (We all thank God for intervening here, so let's call that one a wash as well.  It worked out for the best.)  Then, there was the time that my best friend and I went on a science trip (nerds) where two boys flirted with us (double nerds), and we giggled and talked about how we had a crush on this guy whom everyone thought was gay.  (And people don't understand the recent teen obsession with Twilight?  PEOPLE!  CALL ME!)  Oh, and this was also the year that I told Mr. Drama I had a crush on him (wow, go me), and he turned me down with "let's stay friends."  Maybe partially because I said the really mean thing about Football Player in front of him to "impress him."  And partially because he was obsessed with another cheerleader who wouldn't give him the time of day (a thing I believe she will always regret, but I sincerely hope I'm wrong).  So, in summary, I was a horrible, horrible, very bad girl, but at least that one time I was brave.  I will be working off Ninth Grade karma for the rest of my life.

Tenth Grade:  Remember those two nerds from the science trip?  Yeah...I dated both of them....and dumped both of them.  And they were friends, so that was nice of me.  Nerd #1 Shaun- I really think I messed with his head because he would later ask to be moved out of a class I was in because he "didn't want to have to see me everyday."  Nerd #2 John - I told him I wasn't ready to be in a relationship, which, by the way, was the truth.  See next year.  At the end of the year, they rejoined forces and forked my yard.  I never really got what purpose it served.  Just confused me and my grandfather.  Of note, my best friend started dating her husband at the end of the year, a thing that never would have happened had I not given him an 'eat dirt' face.  Because friends do not date their friends' exes.  See how that's the theme for the year?  So, I'm going to give myself some kind of karma gold star for helping their happy marriage exist.  (Um, yes, I am that desperate for some good love karma.  You are reading these atrocities, right?)

Eleventh Grade:  Remember those nerds from before?  Yeah, I got back together with John, and we were really happy.  That's about all I'd like to say about that, at least for tonight.  But before that happened, I earned some more bad love karma by asking out my guy friend Justin.  He was into one of my friends, but I knew she wasn't into him...or at least I really did think I knew that.  Anyway.  It was such a waste because a lot of us drama folks were totally (yes, Clueless came out that year, so 'totally' is appropriate) into him.  So, I was kinda sorta stabbing my one friend in the back while also kinda hurting another friend who'd been in love with him forever.  And yet miraculously no one murdered me!  Yeay, 10 Commandments!  Perhaps it's because the so-called "date" we went on consisted of him blaring Phantom of the Opera music at me which he also sang along to.  I'm not touching that one, so don't ask me to.

Twelfth Grade:  Still with John.  He dumped me once, TJ's now husband made him cry about that (thanks robi!), and I dumped him once for good measure, I guess.  Around this time, one of the random declarations of love happened.  That's a hilarious story for another time.  It's really more of a character study.  I don't know exactly how it factors in, but this was also the year where Michael whom I had known since 2nd grade decided to sing the Barbie jingle based on whatever I was wearing that day.  Personal fave:  Sharecropper Barbie (wearing overalls - they were all the rage).  Least favorite:  Flat Butt Barbie.  I still obsess over that, sadly.  I figure I probably did something mean to him in the preceding 10 years to justify his ridicule.  The only thing that came to mind at the time was beating him out for math awards.  Just a guess, that probably wasn't it.

Freshman Year:  Still with John for the most part.  I got some karma points back in the mix that year for sure as I tried my first non-committal relationship and watched him date someone else who lived in my dorm.  Gosh did I hate her and TJ hate him for that one.  (Yeah, I know.  TJ's always been smarter.)  I had a study buddy named Mitch that was kind of a stand-in for whatever I needed, and I think there were no karma points gained or lost there.  Oh, and I flirted with a guy named Ben, which still cracks me up to no end.  Maybe because his idea of flirting was sitting on the front row of Honors Calc with me and reading the newspaper and/or napping during class.  He also liked to tell me what color underwear I was wearing.  He lives out here now and did me a solid while I was in film school.  So, thanks Ben!  Even if you've turned into a jock-turned-actor-turned-musician.

Sophomore Year:  Intro to the other RAs.  Matt, Marc and Brian (yes, Brian, I saved the best for last).  Matt I would date off and on for, oh, ever minus the last two years.  Marc would declare his love for me the day after we met. (So we're at two now, but who's counting.)  And Brian, whom I technically met the year before, would be my rock...see next year when he declares his love for me.  There were too many others to list here, so let's sum up with "a bunch of guys I refused to go out with more than twice."  (I will be using that abbreviation a lot in the coming years.)  Matt gave me karma points, Marc took them back tenfold.  Brian watched and listened.  Well, Brian and Mr. Moose.  I went to Oxford that summer and had a crush on someone who reminded me of Shaun from high school, but when push came to shove, nothing came from it.  I realized my mistake before I really made it.  Oh, I almost forgot about Rrrrick.  We were both double majors in Math and English, and we made sure to have the same classes.  I liked him, he had a girlfriend, we studied together locked away in our dorm rooms.  He would tell me his dreams about me and about how his girlfriend was 'so far away.'  Trying to steal another girl's man.  That couldn't be good for my karma.

Junior Year: Oh, dear, junior year.  I felt bad about myself and got together with Marc.  Wait, let me be honest.  I felt bad about myself, flirted with Marc who was in a relationship at the time - a relationship he ended immediately to get with me - and then I proceeded to be with him, mainly out of guilt and shame.  MEANWHILE, Brian had fallen for me, told me so, SHOULD have kissed me and didn't, found out about me and Marc, graduated, and didn't talk to me for years.  I had to track his ass down, and I did.  Ain't no way I'm letting him run again.  You hear that, Brian?  Other than Ninth grade, I would say the worst love karma comes from this one.  There might have been a proposal in there somewhere.  Moving on.

That summer, again at Oxford.  I discovered alcohol!  I made a fool out of myself in front of old study buddy Mitch.  But boy did I have fun dancing.  And as a coda to the years of being an RA where I had some of the most rewarding male friendships of my life, Oxford served as the final precious time for that - that is until grad school.

Senior Year, which was really my Master's year: Matt came back in the picture, and the year ended with me moving to Boston where he was living.  I gain some points here for being brave, and I lose some points for a pretty big lie I would apologize for the rest of my time with Matt.  Oh, and I flirted with my professor.  Not that anything came from it (even if I hadn't been with Matt), but it was worth noting for weirdness alone.  He later gave me a nice letter of recommendation for grad school.  Anyway...I think that goes in the bad karma file.

Post 1: Yeah, Matt and I didn't last too long.  We have yet another string of "guys I refused to go out with more than twice."  When referring to these strings of guys, I want to say that at the time I was refusing them, I really did think it was for the best for them as well.  I don't know if that could factor into the Karma, oh gracious Karma dealer, but I would like it submitted into evidence.  Not going out on a third date with a guy whom you don't see there being much hope for a relationship with seems like common sense.  Ok, so perhaps when telling the guy you don't want to go out with him again, you should probably refrain from derogatory remarks or drunken slurs (I rarely did either, happy to report).  Another incident I'd rather not discuss, but I'd still like to give myself 5 karma points for doing the best I could in a truly awkward situation.

This and the following 6 years would constitute my "being mean to random boys" years.  You know, the years where you go to bars to have fun and act like guys are idiots if they flirt with you?  No?  You don't know?  Oh, that's because I'm a bitch, and I've got the bad love karma to prove it.  From this chapter, I'd like to highlight the following exchange:
In Destin FL, with friend Sara.  A guy who worked at an LA Fitness (I remember because I thought that meant he lived in LA, and it didn't).  He flirted with us; I was having none of it and no doubt said something mean that triggered him to call me overweight. (I was *maybe* 5 pounds overweight.)  I said "yeah, well, it's your job to believe you can fix that problem.  But there's no fix to making you smarter."  That's right, I said that.  I'm the worst.

Post 2:  Matt some more, and one other guy whom I actually did see more than twice but was surprisingly not interested in anything but my body.  I see this as the exception that proves the rule in terms of my being a good judge of character.  This is when I took a screenwriting course with all guys.  Gotta say, those were some fun times after class.

Post 3: Oh, did I forget to mention my massive crush on another gay guy (yeah, I said another, what of it)?  That happens around here.  Oh, and Matt of course.

2 years of Grad School:  Lots of guy friends, no boyfriends.  Welcome relief.  I did crush on a guy in a relationship.  Because clearly that was a good way to stay out of one, and I needed that.

Post Grad 1, 2, 3:  And we're back to Matt already, are we?  We can summarize the next three years with Matt and another string of guys I refused to see more than twice.  And my mom died in there somewhere.  Surely that's worth a karma point?  Also, this is when I told Sara I wasn't going to be mean to guys anymore, so she made me talk to that guy in Puerto Rico.  You know, the ex-con who may or may not have had the dead body of his girlfriend up in his room?  Anyway, much to her amusement, I chatted with him and was nice to him, and I think I deserve some good karma for it.  Ante up!

Post Grad 4: Matt's finally gone, for reals.  And all of the munchkins rejoiced in Oz.  Instantly went out with two guys I would refuse to see more than twice....that same week.  Dumped both by saying I wasn't over my ex.  Yeah, which was kinda the point of going out with them, right?  One was super nice and wonderful, and I really regret the timing there.  Oh well.

Post Grad 5:  A date here or there, but pretty slow as I nursed my wounds and became the awesomely independent person I am today who would never fall back into the Venus Fly Trap that is Matt.  There was the guy who told me he had a crush on me.  I'm proud to say that I was really nice to him and respected his brave front of a group of people no less.  It even made me think - if I were in Georgia, would I date him?  I pretty much think I would have.  C'est la vie.

Post Grad 6: Well, here we are, my friends.  You see how I got here.  You see I deserved what has come to me.  But the real question is: has the bad karma finally been repaid?  Can it ever be repaid? 

I'm an eternal optimist, so I say yes it can be indeed.  Rain drops are going to clear up, put on a happy face.  I don't know if it has been repaid or if I have a few more blows to come, but I know I will overcome this.  Because after all, WWBJD.

Friday, March 16, 2012

In Preparation for Next Week's Ruby Wedding Appearance

Fiona Apple has all of the answers:

I'm gonna make a mistake-
I'm gonna do it on purpose
I'm gonna waste my time
'cause I'm full as a tick
And I'm scratching at the surface
And what I find is mine
And when the day is done, and I look back
And the fact is I had fun, fumbling around
All the advice I shunned, and I ran
Where they told me not to run, but I sure
Had fun, so
I'm gonna eff it up again
I'm gonna do another detour
Unpave my path
And if you wanna make sense
Whatcha looking at me for
I'm no good at that
And when I find my way back,
The fact is I just may stay, or I may not
I've acquired quite a taste
For a well-made mistake
I wanna mistake why can't I make a mistake?
I'm always doing what I think I should
Almost always doing everybody good
Do I wanna do right, of course but
Do I really wanna feel I'm forced to
Answer you, hell no
I've acquired quite a taste
For a well-made mistake, I wanna
Make a mistake, why can't I make a mistake
I'm always doing what I think I should
Almost always doing everybody good