The scene: I went to New York City (where bad Salsa is made...and also bad jokes like this one) this weekend. I have to say, I have a love/hate relationship with New York, and NO ONE prints that on a t-shirt. Because of this, I can never buy the most popular New York souvenir. It's depressing.
So, here it is, my sliding scale of feelings toward NY.
10) "I Heart NY" I haven't felt this, and it would be simpler if I just could already! I imagine it's when you've watched every Woody Allen film, and you just feel like NY is totally living up to it. How I'd feel about Scotland. Just the end-all / be-all best place ever!
9) "I really like NY" When my high school friend texts me that he's starring in Jersey Boys tonight, and I just happen to be in town and can make it. It's a pretty freaking amazingly good moment.
8) "I think NY is pretty cool." When you get on the subway, have to make connections, and you still get off at the RIGHT stop, just in time to ice-skate in Rockefeller Center.
7) "NY has some good qualities" When you go to the Natural History Museum, and the line is out the door so you have to buy your tickets on your iPhone and bribe the security guard to let you in the Exit so you can print your tickets at the kiosk. But DINOSAURS.
6) "I had a good time in NY once." When you are on the trip in the middle of August and sweating through your shirt (and you only packed ONE shirt a day, horrible luck), but you remember that time you were there in January to see the Daily Show on your birthday, and you got to talk to Jon Stewart. Or that other time you were there in lovely March and you got to shake hands with Stephen Colbert. Why can't this time be like those? Right, August.
5) "I can tolerate NY" When you realize you've been running around so much that you haven't been eating, and you certainly haven't had any water because, gross. But it's all good, because you stumble upon a diner that's open 24/7. Seems like as good a time as ever to try this matzo ball soup everyone likes.
4) "I've been worse places than NY" When you're there, and you're so very lost and tired, and you have already spent your last $20 bill on your LAST cab ride, and you swear you're going to figure out this mysterious "Express" train if it kills you...but then you remember that time you were in Boston and the cold wind was so strong that you couldn't walk 2 blocks...you ran into that Starbucks to warm up before turning around and going home. This too shall pass.
3) "Huh, I didn't know NY was the Mecca of Jerks." When you get shoved one too many times, and you hailed a cab, but someone else stole it, and the next cab driver takes you, but he must have just been released from his anger management class because OH BOY, how can anyone relax when they're being tossed out the window and annoyed with constant honking...but then he expects a tip?
2) "Can someone please take me back to JFK? Please?" When you just can't take the cramped, crowded spaces anymore. Will someone open a window? WHAT IS TOUCHING MY LEG!!
1) "Get me the F out of this dirty, rat infested cesspool!" When you change your return ticket to an earlier one because you'd rather sit in a seat where you can't get up for 6 hours and breathe recycled air than spend one more second in the grossest place on earth.
So yeah. We have a love/hate relationship. I'd like to say that this past weekend, I experienced a 9-5. Not too shabby!
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Mark Darcy Lives...for now
I have the new Bridget Jones book Mad About The Boy, and I'm excited to read it. Really I am. It's just...the minute I open the book, I'm entering a Mark Darcyless universe. This is very taxing.
So here is my last moment before I accepted his fate. It was a nice ride, Mark.
PS - On the other hand, I am engaged now. So there's that.
So here is my last moment before I accepted his fate. It was a nice ride, Mark.
PS - On the other hand, I am engaged now. So there's that.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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$$ in Hunger Games, a 5k, and (though no friends will participate) Sarah for volunteering to be my emergency contact should I pass out on the final 2 miles of Saturday's half-marathon...up the Cahuenga Pass. (Ridiculous course plan.) Sarah, I'm writing your info on my arm with a sharpie, just in case. ;-). Not to mention calls and emails from friends farther away.
So thank you, friends! Y'all are great!
I'm happy to report that I'm surviving my disappointment quite well. The best cure so far has been to stay active, so thank you to the friends who have agreed to go to random events lately, including:
The Cicada Club, the Ballet, Jane Austen Unscripted Improv, Cirque du Soleil, trivia, hikes, tonight's comedy show, tomorrow's musical, watching Katniss kick some a$$ 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 honesty...in 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.
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 honesty...in 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
Why-
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
Why-
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
Why-
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
Why-
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
And They Say Romantic Comedies Aren't Realistic
I can't help but chuckle as I watch action movies or spy TV shows, etc. There's almost always a scene in which a woman has to seduce a man while wearing a ball gown. The men they're trying to seduce are almost always conveniently hosting lavish parties where it doesn't even faze them that someone they've never met is there - and usually stealing attention on the dance floor.
Reality check: These are not the men that these women would really have to seduce. They wouldn't be wearing white tuxedos and drinking 30 year old scotch, fyi. No, the powerful men in reality would be wearing hoodie sweatshirts, glasses, and converse sneakers. They could more easily pass for homeless than lavish. The hot women seducing them would need to get an invitation to their exclusive arcade (where they have the original Ms. PacMan game, and you might even be able to touch it IF you wash your hands first). If the girl has long, flowing hair, full lips, and a tramp stamp, and if she showed a passing interest in hearing stories of the first time the guy hacked into the Pentagon's server, she's golden. (Yeah, that's right - Social Network.)
So, stop telling me I'm unrealistic in imagining that Colin Firth might find me charming for doing something as mundane as tripping over my heels. (Note: I would never trip over my heels. That's just crazy talk.) I'm actually just as realistic as the average writer, regardless of the genre.
Side note: I'm reminded of a fun scene in Ocean's 13 when the gender tables are turned. Finally, it's Matt Damon who must play the 'seductress' to Ellen Barkin. For the record, Matt, the nose plays.
Reality check: These are not the men that these women would really have to seduce. They wouldn't be wearing white tuxedos and drinking 30 year old scotch, fyi. No, the powerful men in reality would be wearing hoodie sweatshirts, glasses, and converse sneakers. They could more easily pass for homeless than lavish. The hot women seducing them would need to get an invitation to their exclusive arcade (where they have the original Ms. PacMan game, and you might even be able to touch it IF you wash your hands first). If the girl has long, flowing hair, full lips, and a tramp stamp, and if she showed a passing interest in hearing stories of the first time the guy hacked into the Pentagon's server, she's golden. (Yeah, that's right - Social Network.)
So, stop telling me I'm unrealistic in imagining that Colin Firth might find me charming for doing something as mundane as tripping over my heels. (Note: I would never trip over my heels. That's just crazy talk.) I'm actually just as realistic as the average writer, regardless of the genre.
Side note: I'm reminded of a fun scene in Ocean's 13 when the gender tables are turned. Finally, it's Matt Damon who must play the 'seductress' to Ellen Barkin. For the record, Matt, the nose plays.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Me and Mindy Kaling
![Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) [Book]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_tZ-6A_te7ChGwCEollElEPG5f3vnKDHNjFf0IcxRkYTYtIIDV7VM3eEzFpudTGrI--f4hrwQriGfwkTA-DvxTmPuVym4lrCfgmiXH5kqL0ycQ-nZo4iNNYnjtev2mTgtxm8A4CZlFPZ-tkbw3CUb99kZSiFH8QlQ=s0-d "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) [Book]")
As everyone knows, Kelly Kapoor (as played by Mindy Kaling) loves Bridget Jones and impersonates her sometimes on customer service calls. She likes ice cream. She needs a boyfriend.If you haven't read it yet, spoiler: Mindy ALSO loves Bridget Jones as shown in her new book Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns)....which you should totally read, like, nowish. She specifically talks about how a nontraumatic event has made her cry: when Mark Darcy tells Bridget that he likes her just the way she is as she's making an "Irish Exit" from the smug married dinner party. (Ok, maybe it's not technically an Irish Exit, but we didn't SEE her say goodbye. Same thing.) Yes, Mindy. It is fabulous. It's not Ephrony, but that's kinda why it's so awesome.
The major take-away from her book (other than laughter and delight that we could totally be best friends - no seriously, I might stalk you, Mindy) is that I discovered I might be afraid of dating "men." Eek! I didn't realize it, but yes, Mindy, you're right! I'm scared when guys have everything together and have all of these real grown up opinions about things. I don't know if I'm ready for the medicine cabinet with Lipitor in it just yet. If you want to see me squirm, have a guy mention how his stockbroker saved him some money, allowing him to take a week long vacation to Brazil where he went to museums by choice instead of getting drunk and scamming on half-naked babes on the beach. What? That should be drool-inducing, but I'd be scared to death! Apparently, I want to be the more cultured, mature person in the relationship, and that is a P-R-O-B-L-E-M! Note: not because I know a lot of guys like this and have been running for the hills upon meeting them, but because I'm apparently not even looking for them!
Eye opening. I needed that. Thanks, Mindy. (That makes us totally BFFs now, by the way. My closet es su closet.)
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Happy Holidays is not a "War on Christmas"
As a Christian, I have to come out with it already. I say "Happy Holidays." I buy two sets of cards - one with Christmas mentioned and one without. Or else I just buy ones without, if my needs are small enough for one box of cards. And for my money, that does not take ANYTHING away from Christmas.
War-on-Christmas people, you just can't have it both ways! You can't win being the most popular winter holiday, expect everyone to respect your right to celebrate it with time off work, presents, and heck, even bonuses, AND then also claim that you are victims. Sorry, doesn't work that way.
In sports terms (which I know absolutely nothing about), that would be like winning the Superbowl and expecting the losing team's city to host a parade for you that you aren't even going to attend.
By all means, wish EACH OTHER a very merry Christmas. No one has ever said you can't. I believe THAT is something your often misquoted 1st amendment would protect. But what the heck do you care if people say other things? I'm sorry, are we living in Nazi Germany? Do we all need to start our conversations with Heil Hitler?
If you want to know what is the real war-on-Christmas, it's that you're AOK with people celebrating Christmas as a family tradition, about as religious as Thanksgiving. (Note: this is not something I have a problem with.) Every time a non-Christian wishes someone Merry Christmas, that should be a little part of you dying. It's certainly a little part of your argument dying.
I try my darndest NOT to wish Merry Christmas to anyone who doesn't celebrate it. Some celebrate it as a religious holiday, some not so much. If you celebrate it, you get a Merry Christmas. BUT I completely respect everyone's right NOT to celebrate Christmas, and I would feel much more comfortable wishing those people Happy Holidays. After all, we're talking about wishing well upon people, right? So isn't this fight already a huge contradiction of intent?
The second part of your argument that I have a problem with: The victim mentality. Why, oh why, oh why do you CHOOSE to make yourselves victims here? A) It's a stretch to even begin to see you as one. B) Who on earth wants to be a victim? (See previous post.) C) If you really were victims - not legally allowed to mention Christmas in public - that would go against the constitution, you're right....but you're not, so shut it.
Summary: I'm a Christian. I'm not a victim. And I say "Happy Holidays." What would you prefer I say to you, f&*k you? That's another option.
War-on-Christmas people, you just can't have it both ways! You can't win being the most popular winter holiday, expect everyone to respect your right to celebrate it with time off work, presents, and heck, even bonuses, AND then also claim that you are victims. Sorry, doesn't work that way.
In sports terms (which I know absolutely nothing about), that would be like winning the Superbowl and expecting the losing team's city to host a parade for you that you aren't even going to attend.
By all means, wish EACH OTHER a very merry Christmas. No one has ever said you can't. I believe THAT is something your often misquoted 1st amendment would protect. But what the heck do you care if people say other things? I'm sorry, are we living in Nazi Germany? Do we all need to start our conversations with Heil Hitler?
If you want to know what is the real war-on-Christmas, it's that you're AOK with people celebrating Christmas as a family tradition, about as religious as Thanksgiving. (Note: this is not something I have a problem with.) Every time a non-Christian wishes someone Merry Christmas, that should be a little part of you dying. It's certainly a little part of your argument dying.
I try my darndest NOT to wish Merry Christmas to anyone who doesn't celebrate it. Some celebrate it as a religious holiday, some not so much. If you celebrate it, you get a Merry Christmas. BUT I completely respect everyone's right NOT to celebrate Christmas, and I would feel much more comfortable wishing those people Happy Holidays. After all, we're talking about wishing well upon people, right? So isn't this fight already a huge contradiction of intent?
The second part of your argument that I have a problem with: The victim mentality. Why, oh why, oh why do you CHOOSE to make yourselves victims here? A) It's a stretch to even begin to see you as one. B) Who on earth wants to be a victim? (See previous post.) C) If you really were victims - not legally allowed to mention Christmas in public - that would go against the constitution, you're right....but you're not, so shut it.
Summary: I'm a Christian. I'm not a victim. And I say "Happy Holidays." What would you prefer I say to you, f&*k you? That's another option.
Bridget on Victimology
My #1 favorite thing about Bridget Jones is how she refuses to be a victim.
I also try to refuse to be a victim. I do strange things my friends don't understand to make sure I'm not a victim. For example, I'll try to move a sofa out of a tight doorway so that if the paint chips off in the attempt, I have no one to blame but myself. That's right. I did that. And guess what? The paint chipped. What of it? See, I can handle that the choices I make in life lead to bad outcomes. I can't handle blaming "the establishment" or anyone else for my suffering. (In this case, suffering is looking at chipped paint in the doorway...I really should just get that fixed.)
When words that resemble "excuses" come out of my mouth, a little vomit does as well. I focus on making "explanations" not excuses, but it's a terribly thin line. After all, some explanations are necessary in life. For instance, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings by leaving you out. I sincerely thought you had other plans." Without that explanation, you could have a Three's Company style 'misunderstanding' that can only be worked out by things getting much, much worse...until the Roepers sort things out. Still, thin line. I'm working on it, Bridge.
Tell me, does Bridget Jones explain in great detail that she didn't know the mic just needed to be switched on? Does she make a sign to hang around her neck explaining how she thought she was attending a Tarts and Vicars party because Geoffrey forgot to call her? Does she whine and complain that Daniel cheated on her? That she was given the wrong cue and that why she flashed (and then toppled) a TV camera? Does she blame her crew when she misses an important interview whilst buying Polos and a packet of Wheat Crunchies?
Answer: no, she does not. Quite admirably so, I'd say.
So long as Bridget can have a good movie montage where she drinks a lot of vodka, throws away self-help books and falls off a stationary bike, she's golden. She will not be defeated by anyone, much less a bad man and an American stick insect. She will look for new jobs, telling them the blunt truth of why she's on the job market, land one, and then tell the bad man she'd prefer kissing Saddam Hussein's a$$ to working within ten yards of him. Plan of attack - Follow through - Success. R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to her!
So while a lot of Bridget's characteristics are, ahem, an acquired taste let's say, her dedication to not being a victim is one that can be admired by one and all.
I also try to refuse to be a victim. I do strange things my friends don't understand to make sure I'm not a victim. For example, I'll try to move a sofa out of a tight doorway so that if the paint chips off in the attempt, I have no one to blame but myself. That's right. I did that. And guess what? The paint chipped. What of it? See, I can handle that the choices I make in life lead to bad outcomes. I can't handle blaming "the establishment" or anyone else for my suffering. (In this case, suffering is looking at chipped paint in the doorway...I really should just get that fixed.)
When words that resemble "excuses" come out of my mouth, a little vomit does as well. I focus on making "explanations" not excuses, but it's a terribly thin line. After all, some explanations are necessary in life. For instance, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings by leaving you out. I sincerely thought you had other plans." Without that explanation, you could have a Three's Company style 'misunderstanding' that can only be worked out by things getting much, much worse...until the Roepers sort things out. Still, thin line. I'm working on it, Bridge.
Tell me, does Bridget Jones explain in great detail that she didn't know the mic just needed to be switched on? Does she make a sign to hang around her neck explaining how she thought she was attending a Tarts and Vicars party because Geoffrey forgot to call her? Does she whine and complain that Daniel cheated on her? That she was given the wrong cue and that why she flashed (and then toppled) a TV camera? Does she blame her crew when she misses an important interview whilst buying Polos and a packet of Wheat Crunchies?
Answer: no, she does not. Quite admirably so, I'd say.
So long as Bridget can have a good movie montage where she drinks a lot of vodka, throws away self-help books and falls off a stationary bike, she's golden. She will not be defeated by anyone, much less a bad man and an American stick insect. She will look for new jobs, telling them the blunt truth of why she's on the job market, land one, and then tell the bad man she'd prefer kissing Saddam Hussein's a$$ to working within ten yards of him. Plan of attack - Follow through - Success. R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to her!
So while a lot of Bridget's characteristics are, ahem, an acquired taste let's say, her dedication to not being a victim is one that can be admired by one and all.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Smug New Mothers
The story's out. The third film will be about Bridget Jones, the new mother, entitled "Bridget Jones's Baby."
http://www.deadline.com/2011/11/peter-cattaneo-in-talks-to-direct-bridget-jones-3/
Pros:
In short, Hooray for there being a new movie with Bridget and my two favorite Brits. Boo for there being a v. g. chance that this will win tons of Razzies.
PS - does anyone remember when Renee Zellweger was actually nominated for an Oscar for Bridget Jones? Thrilled me to the core. Oh look how far we've fallen, Bridge. I fear for your future, but only out of love.
Pssst. Helen Fielding....ever thought about making a Daniel Cleaver spin-off movie instead of a sequel?
http://www.deadline.com/2011/11/peter-cattaneo-in-talks-to-direct-bridget-jones-3/
Pros:
- Colin Firth will most definitely be in tons of scenes, given that Mark Darcy had better be the Daddy.
- It would be quite challenging to fit in a scene of her doing drugs in Thailand, my least favorite scene of the sequel.
- The weight gain and insecurities will be a proper theme for a new mother.
- I can't wait to see the Joneses and the Darcys as grandparents. Joy!
- It's another chance for Bridget to be on the screen and go through an important life chapter, giving us possible quotes for when we go through it ourselves. The new "eating the entire contents of one's fridge" after a break-up could be "the only thing worse than a smug new mother - lots of smug new mothers."
- Edge of Reason's best scene is a DVD extra where Bridget interviews Colin Firth. This is a bit reminiscent of Love Actually's best scene being the extended version of Hugh Grant dancing that was also a DVD extra. In other words, those movies stunk. A fact which does not stop me from watching them when they come on television.
- There's no drinking or smoking for a new mom....sigh. But there can be "talking total nonsense."
- We know Daniel Cleaver will make an appearance, but the stakes seem just a little too high for a rekindling of their romance. I don't want to see him wrecking their home, complete with a BABY!
- Oh please, dear God in heaven, don't let there be a projectile vomiting scene in which Baby spits up on Mark Darcy's barrister gown. I will cry if you reduce yourselves to that level of comedy.
- Will she have become a smug married herself? The risk exists. Oy.
- There is a chance that this actually will end with her delivering the baby in the hospital...oh how wrong they could possibly do that. In fact, there's pretty much no way they could do it right.
- If they even use the word paternity test, I'm walking out. Full stop.
- Everyone remembers there's no book this is based on, right?
In short, Hooray for there being a new movie with Bridget and my two favorite Brits. Boo for there being a v. g. chance that this will win tons of Razzies.
PS - does anyone remember when Renee Zellweger was actually nominated for an Oscar for Bridget Jones? Thrilled me to the core. Oh look how far we've fallen, Bridge. I fear for your future, but only out of love.
Pssst. Helen Fielding....ever thought about making a Daniel Cleaver spin-off movie instead of a sequel?
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
No Blue Soup! aka Suck it, Bridget!
 |
| The Spread |
This is my spread sans dessert (which was in the fridge). Not too shabby, aye? Best meal ever, some might say. (They might...they happened not to say it, but they might have not been the "some" who would. That's all I'm sayin'.) Though I must credit Crystal with making the salad. Still, I chopped the tomatoes and "planned" to make it...I just ran out of time.
The crowd favorite appears to have been the Sweet Potato Gnocchi with comments like "why can't you just make that every night" and "please make this again for Thanksgiving!" Done! |
| Rachel, Nick, Crystal, Kelly, Sarah, and Heather. (Not pictured: Sandy) |
Here is the urban family after cleaning their plates. Look at the happy faces, satisfied with the fact that they didn't have to ingest blue soup, omelette, and marmalade after hours of careful cooking!
As we watched BJD the second time, we added a bit more context to the film by "having our colors done" a la Color Me Beautiful. There were a lot of tips in there that were, well, dated let's say.
I'm not sure if this is when Crystal plotted buying "Color For Men" for Nick. But that happened.*Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver did not show. I blame Sarah for that. She was supposed to bring them. And apparently much plotting was done by Crystal and Kelly to make it happen as well.
Summary: I made the better meal but got none of the sweet rewards in the form of British men fighting over me to the tune of It's Raining Men. Sigh.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Happy Birthday, Bridget!
November 9th. Cigarettes 3. Birthdays 33.
Tonight is the night I promised long ago - the urban family dinner party commemorating Bridget Jones's birthday. While a friend told me I should not actually make blue soup, omelet, and marmalade (after 4 hours of careful cooking), it was quite tempting.
Instead, tonight's menu includes mainly things I've never made before that could become problematic and represent the "blue soup" phenomenon.
The Menu:
Heirloom Tomato and Fresh Mozzarella Salad
Pesto Cheese Manicotti
Sweet Potato Gnocchi with Sage Butter sauce
Roasted Green Beans
Tiramisu
And Wine of course. Lots of wine.
I did a very un-Bridget like thing and did a lot of pre-planning and prepping. I prepped for about 4 hours last night, so I can already report some disastrous results.
For instance, the tiramisu recipe I chose was based on it being much easier than actually making tiramisu from scratch. My first recipe called for pre-made lady fingers, but having found none in stores, I opted for a recipe with a pre-made Angel Food cake instead. Easy enough, no? No indeed. I was supposed to "whip" the whipping cream and marscapone cheese until it was "stiff." That never happened. I got to the point where I thought it was getting less stiff instead of more stiff and stopped. In short, the tiramisu is a runny mess in my fridge, and it's the only completed item for the menu. This bodes well for the meal.
But other prepping worked out much better. I made the sweet potato gnocchi (I'm a big fan of both sweet potatoes and gnocchi) completely and totally from scratch, and I do think it's going to work out pretty well. The only remaining obstacle will be when I make the sauce tonight and saute them. Fingers crossed.
The cheese manicotti is the only thing I've successfully made before. (I've roasted green beans, but they didn't turn out too well...I ended up throwing them away uneaten.) To prove that this dinner would indeed fit the "blue soup" requirement, my manicotti shells split while boiling them, so they are pretty much a broken, folded pasta mess with cheese. I happen to like a folded pasta mess with cheese. I hope my urban family does as well.
Let me extend an open invitation for Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver to join the festivities tonight. Please note you will be required to fight each other, preferably to the tune of It's Raining Men. (Hallelujah!) I have it on iTunes. Not a problem.
In other news, Caperberries...apparently always a bad idea.
Tonight is the night I promised long ago - the urban family dinner party commemorating Bridget Jones's birthday. While a friend told me I should not actually make blue soup, omelet, and marmalade (after 4 hours of careful cooking), it was quite tempting.
Instead, tonight's menu includes mainly things I've never made before that could become problematic and represent the "blue soup" phenomenon.
The Menu:
Heirloom Tomato and Fresh Mozzarella Salad
Pesto Cheese Manicotti
Sweet Potato Gnocchi with Sage Butter sauce
Roasted Green Beans
Tiramisu
And Wine of course. Lots of wine.
I did a very un-Bridget like thing and did a lot of pre-planning and prepping. I prepped for about 4 hours last night, so I can already report some disastrous results.
For instance, the tiramisu recipe I chose was based on it being much easier than actually making tiramisu from scratch. My first recipe called for pre-made lady fingers, but having found none in stores, I opted for a recipe with a pre-made Angel Food cake instead. Easy enough, no? No indeed. I was supposed to "whip" the whipping cream and marscapone cheese until it was "stiff." That never happened. I got to the point where I thought it was getting less stiff instead of more stiff and stopped. In short, the tiramisu is a runny mess in my fridge, and it's the only completed item for the menu. This bodes well for the meal.
But other prepping worked out much better. I made the sweet potato gnocchi (I'm a big fan of both sweet potatoes and gnocchi) completely and totally from scratch, and I do think it's going to work out pretty well. The only remaining obstacle will be when I make the sauce tonight and saute them. Fingers crossed.
The cheese manicotti is the only thing I've successfully made before. (I've roasted green beans, but they didn't turn out too well...I ended up throwing them away uneaten.) To prove that this dinner would indeed fit the "blue soup" requirement, my manicotti shells split while boiling them, so they are pretty much a broken, folded pasta mess with cheese. I happen to like a folded pasta mess with cheese. I hope my urban family does as well.
Let me extend an open invitation for Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver to join the festivities tonight. Please note you will be required to fight each other, preferably to the tune of It's Raining Men. (Hallelujah!) I have it on iTunes. Not a problem.
In other news, Caperberries...apparently always a bad idea.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
"Featuring someone called Aghani-Heaney"
"Or two people called Kafir Aghani and Eleanor Heaney." "Right, that's the one."
I'm fairly a-political, but in saying that I have to add that I'm also staunchly liberal. (Contradiction!)
Still, I really hate extremes, and that's what I mean by being a-political. I don't like the Tea Party, I don't understand Occupy Wall Street. I would like to give the world a hug.
I've gotten in a fewarguments discussions about politics with members of the other side. I tend to be polite and try to find middle ground, hoping that the conversation will end sooner that way. I don't think that I associate with evil people, so therefore I don't believe that the people I'm arguing discussing politics with who happen to have opposing views are {Satan, Hitler, Osama bin Laden}. I figure we all want what's good for the country, but we just don't agree on what that is or how to go about achieving it. Fair enough, right?
However, being "reasonable" usually makes the people Iargue discuss with think that I'm not "really" a liberal or that I could be swayed to the dark other side. They find out that I can't by my responding with this simple fact. I've made my peace with the extreme liberals who have sit-ins and throw red paint on fur coats. I will never make my peace with extreme conservatives who bomb abortion clinics. So, that's a deal breaker there. Not switching teams.
However, someone appears to have called my bluff! I don't for the life of me understand this "sit-in" called Occupy Wall Street. I know one side says they are just lazy people blaming others for their laziness in not having a job or money. The other side says that they are protesting corporate influence on government. (My question back to them: is this really the best idea you had to do that?)
I hate to say it, but I think I don't understand the movement because it's an unorganized mess of people who don't know what they want. Each side is right about SOME of the participants, but not all. I can't really get on board with it because of that ambivalence.
But you know what I'm going to say next, right? I still like 'em a hell of a lot more than the Tea Party. So, not switching teams.
PS - Weight: x+16, ridiculous ridiculousness.
I'm fairly a-political, but in saying that I have to add that I'm also staunchly liberal. (Contradiction!)
Still, I really hate extremes, and that's what I mean by being a-political. I don't like the Tea Party, I don't understand Occupy Wall Street. I would like to give the world a hug.
I've gotten in a few
However, being "reasonable" usually makes the people I
However, someone appears to have called my bluff! I don't for the life of me understand this "sit-in" called Occupy Wall Street. I know one side says they are just lazy people blaming others for their laziness in not having a job or money. The other side says that they are protesting corporate influence on government. (My question back to them: is this really the best idea you had to do that?)
I hate to say it, but I think I don't understand the movement because it's an unorganized mess of people who don't know what they want. Each side is right about SOME of the participants, but not all. I can't really get on board with it because of that ambivalence.
But you know what I'm going to say next, right? I still like 'em a hell of a lot more than the Tea Party. So, not switching teams.
PS - Weight: x+16, ridiculous ridiculousness.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Things I Wish Weren't True
Weight: x+17.5 - scale anomaly. Believe new scale is one of those personal trainers that just yells at you and makes you feel bad about yourself until you work harder or commit suicide. Plan on beating scale by standing on one foot tomorrow. That'll teach it!
They really and truly are making a third Bridget Jones movie, complete with Renee, Hugh and (drool) Colin, but they don't have a director and start shooting in January. That inspires a lot of confidence.
http://www.deadline.com/2011/10/paul-feig-exits-bridget-jones-3-looking-for-british-director-for-january-start/
Let me list a few reasons that this seems like a bad idea:
1) There's not a third book. So what is this based on?
2) The second movie....not a classic (unless you count such Razzie winners like The Blue Lagoon and Snakes on a Plane as classics, which is arguably true).
3) As mentioned above, they start shooting in January and don't have a director. Wowza.
4) Did I mention how bad the second movie was? Because Bridget lover that I am, I must finally admit it was quite painful.
5) How will Bridget randomly be falling into bed with Daniel Cleaver this time? Will he rufi her? Will there be, gasp, some kind of misunderstanding?
Let me list one reason this seems like a good idea:
1) There will be a scene in which Mark and Daniel fight, right? We've had an alley, a fountain...what could be next? Parliament under Big Ben? The London Eye? In front of Buckingham Palace?
In summary, I need script approval for this project.
They really and truly are making a third Bridget Jones movie, complete with Renee, Hugh and (drool) Colin, but they don't have a director and start shooting in January. That inspires a lot of confidence.
http://www.deadline.com/2011/10/paul-feig-exits-bridget-jones-3-looking-for-british-director-for-january-start/
Let me list a few reasons that this seems like a bad idea:
1) There's not a third book. So what is this based on?
2) The second movie....not a classic (unless you count such Razzie winners like The Blue Lagoon and Snakes on a Plane as classics, which is arguably true).
3) As mentioned above, they start shooting in January and don't have a director. Wowza.
4) Did I mention how bad the second movie was? Because Bridget lover that I am, I must finally admit it was quite painful.
5) How will Bridget randomly be falling into bed with Daniel Cleaver this time? Will he rufi her? Will there be, gasp, some kind of misunderstanding?
Let me list one reason this seems like a good idea:
1) There will be a scene in which Mark and Daniel fight, right? We've had an alley, a fountain...what could be next? Parliament under Big Ben? The London Eye? In front of Buckingham Palace?
In summary, I need script approval for this project.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Weight: x+17.8 (Yes, that counts as losing weight...)
Random thoughts in my head right now...
I took my first gym class in years, and yes, I still hate them. A lot. I was feeling so "open to new things" and positive that I made a big mistake. I told the instructor my real name. Whoops! So for the full hour, all I heard was "Kelley, tuck your seat, roll your shoulders back, hold your abs tight" - I wish I had told her my name was Sasha. Being the New Girl in class sucks. However, I think I was the only one to do "real" push-ups. Yeah, that's right, all 40 of them! 4-0! I'm considering that a WIN! (PS - how is it that I ran 8 miles straight without stopping yesterday, and I put my freaking leg up on a bar, and it's shaking uncontrollably after an 8-count, argh!)
If the class was designed to make me want to come home and jam as many pretzels dipped in nutella in my mouth in a minute, then mission accomplished! (Also, Selena Gomez blamed nutella for some health issues recently, and I just want to say: Selena, if you lied and are really on drugs, you're going down! Why would you give nutella a bad name? Moms have ENOUGH trouble getting their kids to eat a healthy breakfast of chocolate flavored toast! Wasn't sullying the Bieb's good name enough for you?)
In other news, I freaking love Fox's New Girl. I couldn't love it more. I could try, but it might take some kind of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind procedure where I was forced to forget all of the other awesome shows I've loved before. I'm hugging it in my mind.
And since I work in TV and have strong opinions about shows, I thought I'd give you my synopsis of the 2nd episode of Playboy Club:
Bunny 1: Hey, remember what happened last week?
Bunny 2: Yeah.
Bunny 1: Darn, I was hoping you forgot so I could remind you for an hour.
Bunny 2: Go ahead and act like I said I didn't remember. We don't have any better ideas after all.
Bunny 1: OK!
Wow, guys. That was painful.
Random thoughts in my head right now...
I took my first gym class in years, and yes, I still hate them. A lot. I was feeling so "open to new things" and positive that I made a big mistake. I told the instructor my real name. Whoops! So for the full hour, all I heard was "Kelley, tuck your seat, roll your shoulders back, hold your abs tight" - I wish I had told her my name was Sasha. Being the New Girl in class sucks. However, I think I was the only one to do "real" push-ups. Yeah, that's right, all 40 of them! 4-0! I'm considering that a WIN! (PS - how is it that I ran 8 miles straight without stopping yesterday, and I put my freaking leg up on a bar, and it's shaking uncontrollably after an 8-count, argh!)
If the class was designed to make me want to come home and jam as many pretzels dipped in nutella in my mouth in a minute, then mission accomplished! (Also, Selena Gomez blamed nutella for some health issues recently, and I just want to say: Selena, if you lied and are really on drugs, you're going down! Why would you give nutella a bad name? Moms have ENOUGH trouble getting their kids to eat a healthy breakfast of chocolate flavored toast! Wasn't sullying the Bieb's good name enough for you?)
In other news, I freaking love Fox's New Girl. I couldn't love it more. I could try, but it might take some kind of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind procedure where I was forced to forget all of the other awesome shows I've loved before. I'm hugging it in my mind.
And since I work in TV and have strong opinions about shows, I thought I'd give you my synopsis of the 2nd episode of Playboy Club:
Bunny 1: Hey, remember what happened last week?
Bunny 2: Yeah.
Bunny 1: Darn, I was hoping you forgot so I could remind you for an hour.
Bunny 2: Go ahead and act like I said I didn't remember. We don't have any better ideas after all.
Bunny 1: OK!
Wow, guys. That was painful.
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