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!