Miss Peach

Match Me

2007-02-17T12:29:00.000-05:00

I finally did what I kept saying I needed to do. I joined Match again.** I have done this before, and I hated it. Sweet mother of GOD, did I hate it. But I didn’t really try to meet people through it; I really sat back to see what came my way. Obviously, that wasn’t the best approach.

After watching it work well for friends, I decided to try again, with the intention of signing on more often and really giving the whole system a fair shake. I signed up on Sunday, and once I was finally up and running, I had to leave for dinner so didn’t have time to check out profiles. So on Monday, around lunch, I decided to sign in and just see if anyone had reached out to me.

I’ll just post the meat of the email I got, because I really can’t paraphrase:

"I really enjoyed reading your profile and love your photos. I know this is over the edge, but I am a nice guy who enjoys going out as a tranny girl. Oddly, as a male I am not effeminate at all and enjoy being one of the guys with my friends... When dolled up, I am very cute and fun and relatively normal!! I am 100% straight, so I only am interested in dating women. Hope to hear from you!"

You do have to hand it to him for being so upfront and honest. But let’s just say this isn’t exactly making me like match any more.

This morning, I decided to go through and send out some emails to people. And there are some interesting guys on there, but this is the overarching theme: I like to be fit. (See photo of me running/playing tennis/hiking/white water rafting, etc.) I travel a lot. (See exotic photo of me petting baby cheetahs, riding camel, with foreign cityscape in the background.) I like fine wine and good food. (See photo of me opening bottle of wine.) I am reading either Freakonomics or From Beirut to Jerusalem. I want to be with some one who is pretty, fit, smart, attractive, passionate, open-minded, outgoing, hot, nice, adventurous, and has a nice rack and/or ass. Interested? Send me an email and be sure to include a picture of yourself!

Which—totally understandable. We all want to be attracted to a potential date. But if you’re trolling for a hot piece of ass, maybe an online venue isn’t your best bet. I suggest you hit up one of the many fratty bars on the Upper East Side where the hot, just-graduated sorority girls from Rutgers hang out.

The whole thing just smacks of uber-alpha males to me. I am man, I am in control of my destiny! I will have a hot girlfriend and trek through the wilds of Thailand! Me run long distance very fast! Me like to ski down steep hills with many rocks! Me like to take risk! Don’t let that fool you though. I’m also totally sensitive—I have nephews and we watch SpongeBob together, and I really enjoy going out to a good dinner/good museum/good play. Blech.

I’m still not convinced this is the way for me to meet someone. But I have spent cold, hard cash on this endeavor, so I will swallow my snarky reactions and borderline bad attitude and persevere. Just, erm, not with the tranny.

**Thank you, GG, for the awesome profile, and sorry I can't link from my post for some reason, but if you don't know GG, click on Red Red Whine on my blogroll. You won't be disappointed!

Coordination is Not My Strong Suit

2007-02-01T10:39:00.000-05:00

Ohmygod.
Work is really busy.
Also, life is busy. I went on a vacation! A real, true vacation! As in, not to visit my parents or attend a wedding!

I went to Colorado and I skied for the first time in 12 years. Which, though I couldn’t wait to get there, had me in a full-on freak-out state for the week leading up to the trip.

I am not the most coordinated person. I fall over standing up. My college housemates would sometimes just watch me and laugh, because I would constantly knock into things and fall over for no real reason. So the whole going-to-stay-with-a-former-coworker-and-her-new-husband-to-ski-for-the-first-time-in-over-a-decade was a little daunting.

I was envisioning a variety of scenarios, but I’ll just share with you the following ones, which received the most detailed, sick imaginings on my flight west:
1) I panic at the top of a hill and spend hours talking myself down (this happened once—I was 10, and my friend Nelson led me to the top of Golden Eagle, which was not just a black diamond but a DOUBLE BLACK DIAMOND. I still hold this against him. That time, I located a ski patrol member and she kindly brought me down, and Nelson got an earful from both our mothers afterwards. Holy Mother of God, that was terrifying.) Anyhoo, given the lapse in time since I last hit the slopes, I was waiting for this to happen atop either a beginner or intermediate slope, so that not only would it be supremely annoying to my companions but also utterly mortifying.
2) I no longer remember how to ski at all, and I wind up in ski school for two days. This more for the embarassment factor than anything else.
3) I fall and break something.
4) I careen out of control, smack into a tree, and break something (a la Arnold Schwarzenegger).
5) I careen out of control, smack into a tree, and die (a la Sonny Bono).
6) Another skier or snowboarder smacks into me and either maims or kills me.
7) Worst case: I smack into another skier or boarder and either maim or kill them.

Verdict: Skiing really is like riding a bike. I am happy to report that none of the preceding scenarios occurred. I graduated from beginner to intermediate slopes after my first run on my first day. And, to make things even better, I only had one fall the whole time!

It was in the café, while I was getting hot chocolate the afternoon of our first day on the mountain.

I went down so hard that the sound quite literally stopped all movement in the room for a good 30 seconds. I was fine, just mortified. (I trust that anyone that has ever worn ski boots will understand how easily this can happen and not make fun of me.)

I’ve got the ski bug again. This is an expensive habit. I’m therefore looking for friend with either a home in the mountains or access to a home in the mountains. I will provide the entertainment. As in you can watch me fall on my ass regularly. Oh! And, like my friend’s husband, when I pull on my old-school ski pants (it’s been 12 years, my gear is retro, okay?), you too can point at me, start laughing, and inform me between gasps that I kind of look like Napoleon Dynamite. (I know that sounds mean, but it wasn’t. It was just hysterically funny and had me crying with laughter pre-skiing.) And I’m a good cook, so I’ll make dinner every night. In fact, made a killer pork tenderloin last night that would be just fabulous for an apres-ski dinner.

Any takers? Hellooooooooooo? Anyone?

Clearly, I Need an Older Brother or Sister

2007-01-06T11:06:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, my assistant (who is really less an assistant and more like a little sister--she's awesome, firstly, and really funny, and she's only five years younger than me, so our relationship is really coworker-y and whatnot) and I went out drinking. She had had a really rough run of things at work--overloaded, stressed, and dealing with a lot of not-so-nice people, some in the office, some out. After she hit her breaking point one evening in my office, I decided that what she (and I) really needed were some drinks. So we tromped down a few blocks to engage in some pre-holiday merriment, which turned into several glasses of wine. Because, as you all know, drinking copiously is the only way to solve a problem effectively.

When we finally got up to go, I headed outside and she stopped into the restroom, so I found myself waiting for her in front of the bar. There was a guy standing there, kind of a portly finance type, in a suit with slicked hair, Jersey accent (he was on the phone), and visible wedding ring. When he hung up the phone, he turned to me and started asking questions: what I did (he guessed fashion, which, no and why that? Weird.), where I was from, who I had come to the bar with, etc. I was giving polite but vague answers, as he struck me as slightly smarmy. My assistant came out, and we started to walk to the corner when he offered us a ride, which we politely declined. Then he looked at me and said, "My god, you just... you really remind me of a girl I knew in school who I couldn't get up from my desk for!"

And this is where my innocence shined through, where I became the youngest 27-year-old on earth, where my young assistant became the older, wiser, world-weary party in the group, where, once again, being an only child with no older siblings to pass along knowledge or music or advice bacame evident. My response? "What does that even mean?" My assistant turned to me and replied, "Oh, MIss Peach. I'll tell you when you're older."

And then in dawned on me. And then all the wine and appetizers we'd had started churning in my stomach, and I felt a little woozy. Because EW. Ew ew ew ew ew ew. Ew ew.

And then he laughed and offered us a ride on his way home to HIS WIFE AND CHILDREN IN NYACK.

At least I can call 'em early on in the conversation, right? Smarmy, indeed!

New Year, New You

2007-01-05T14:20:00.000-05:00

It's a New Year, so here's to a New Friday Five. I know I said I don't really go for resolutions, but goals are important, and maybe if I say them out loud (or commit them to the internet), I'll feel more inspired to follow through. And it's not like I'm declaring anything unsurmountable here. I'm hoping I can look back in a year and know I did what I set out to do. So here goes:

1) Learn more about my computer and how to use it properly. I switched to a mac too long ago to be as clueless on certain aspects of it as I am. (I have yet to master the art of opening a PDF on it. That’s great, as about two-thirds of the documents flying around in my work inbox are PDFs, and if I’m out or on the road, I have to be all “Hey, brililant, wonderful, way to smart for this crap assistant! Want to read that to me over the phone? Because I am a MORON. You don’t hate me, right? Sorry! It'll be fast, promise!” Sigh. So there’s that. Also (I’m just going to lump all technology-related items together here), I want to use my camera more and take better pictures so that I don’t have paralyzing moments of self-doubt before uploading to Flickr, thinking everyone will see me for the very pedestrian and lame photographer I am. Wait, maybe I should work on not worrying what people think of my Flickr photos, huh? Hm. That too. Cool. Oh! And upgrade to photoshop, preferably without having to pay the ten bajillion dollars it takes to get it. I love my iBook, don’t get me wrong, but if I hadn’t switched from a PC, I could have both Photoshop AND Picasa for free. Motherfucker. So if anyone has Photoshop for Mac that they can share with me, I promise to reward you with many, erm, books? I can hook you up with books. And lots of good will, effusive thank yous, and undying gratitude. And I’ll make you a mix if you want. I’d almost consider putting out for photoshop, actually. Is that bad or something? Stop looking at me like that!

2) Write more. Think more about what I write. Plan what I’m going to write before I write it. Write down my ideas for posts when they hit me, or shortly thereafter, rather than finally sitting down to execute and going, “wait, what was the really inspired, semi-brilliant idea I had on the subway today?” Stop writing only when the inspiration strikes, or when I feel the need to get something up and so wind up with this. Write more like this. And try to make things half as entertaining as the five bloggers who first inspired me to start blogging: her, her, him, her, and her. (And I also aspire to write like the rest of my sidebar, and others I read regularly but haven’t blogrolled because you know what? Dooce has got all the loving she needs from the internets.)

3) Read more. This is almost a ridiculous resolution because my job is largely reading, but I absolutely don’t do enough of it. I want to stop going straight for the TV when I get home. I want to read more for fun, rather than only for work. I hope to remind myself what it’s like to devour a book, to love what I’m reading so much that I turn off the phone and seriously contemplate cancelling plans so that I can keep reading. Added bonus: this will help me with work. And make me better at cocktail conversation. And keep me from feeling like such a fraud at said cocktail parties.

4) Travel. I haven’t left the country in FIVE YEARS. That’s just stupid. I can’t believe I haven’t done any far-flung travel in that long. I’ve been really good about getting around our fine, fine nation, and that’s great. There’s plenty to see here, and I’ve enjoyed learning more about the US and seeing places I’d never been before. But travelling to other countries and experiencing other cultures is so eye-opening and enriching, and I love doing it so much, that I’m really angry with myself for not doing more of it. I’m single, I have few responsibilities, and I have an unbelievable amount of vacation time. I have little money, of course, but I’ll happily search for deals, and I’m a fan of hostels. I’m thinking Costa Rica, I’m thinking Argentina, I’m thinking Europe or Asia or even India, which I have been dying to visit for three years now. Realistically, it’ll be Europe or Central/South America this year, but I have got to make it happen. Any willing partners out there? My travel buddies have informed me they want to a) go to the southwest, which I’ve done ten times so am not really interested, b) are saving for law school, and c) wonder if they can bring their boyfriend, would that be okay?

5) Get outside more. Not just here in NYC, by walking in Central Park or along the Hudson, or taking the Staten Island Ferry just to be on the water. But also by engaging in outdoor activities. I haven’t played tennis in probably 6 years—but I played for my entire life (well, from like 4 years on), including on our high school team and while attending several tennis camps. Point is: I’ve got a skillset I’m not using, one that I worked hard to attain, and one that I really enjoy using. Or did at one time. So I’m thinking that a permit for the courts in Central Park is a must this spring/summer/fall. And this will provide an excellent excuse to purchase a cute tennis skirt or two. Score! Also, I want to ski again. That’s another sport I did for just about my entire life until ten years ago. It’s an expensive sport, so it’s tricky to swing. And I’m also a bit of a snob about it, as I grew up skiing in California and Colorado, so the midwest and east coast resorts are incredibly unappealing to me (The ice! The severe cold! The ice! The limited size of the mountains! DID I MENTION THE ICE? Because it paralyzes me. I just stand there on my skis, looking at it, going, “I am going to kill myself. I am going to slip, fall, and tumble headlong into a tree, and die tragically.” And then I freak out and take six hours to get down while my ski buddy takes a nap at the base of the run.) Anyway, the good news is I booked a flight to Denver two days ago (crazy deals, my friends!) to visit a friend and go skiing for two days. Joy! So this is pretty much guaranteed to happen. If the snow would just fall in the mountains and stop landing squarely on the plains and in Denver, huh?

The Year That Was

2007-01-02T18:03:00.000-05:00

I’m not big on resolutions. I find I break them. It’s not that I can’t affect change in my life—I definitely can and I have. It’s just that I don’t see why I should put all into play on January 1. Sure, it’s a fresh year and therefore a symbolic time for a fresh start. But it just seems super gimmicky to me—I’ll make it happen when I’m good and ready to, okay? Not because we’re making a new trip around the sun. Also, I find it’s a crap day to begin given that roughly nine out of the ten of us are hungover on New Year’s Day. That’s not exactly the day to begin hitting the gym and eating right and volunteering, now, is it?

Anyway, before I start looking forward, I thought I’d look back. Some highlights of 2006 included:

Good domestic travel—I went to Newport, RI with my mom, where we discovered it’s super touristy, that customer service and friendliness of the waitstaff isn’t something they’re known for, and that all tour guides there suck, but we had much fun regardless. I also went to Cape Cod for the first time, for a friend’s wedding. It rained the whole time, but I realized that it’s a beautiful place that I’d love to go back too, and reaffirmed my pretty deep hatred of the Hamptons and a commitment to always, always have a rain plan for a wedding (unless it’s in southern California, as it never rains there. Unless I one day actually get married there. Trust me, if so, it’ll rain, and I won’t have a rain plan).

Speaking of Cali, I made several trips there—kicking off the year with my two best friends in San Francisco and then spending three days in Napa to cap it off, which was great. I went to Disneyland with Dan and Darren, where I accidentally rammed a 6-year old and snapped at a waitress. Apparently, I’m not so good in big crowds. Lesson learned. I spent one sun-soaked, beautiful week in Michigan playing with my family and old friends there, wound up dancing on a stage with a tambourine, sailed a lot, played golf moderately well, and was once again centered by my favorite place on earth. My best friend took me to Delaware twice, where I learned that though she may be coupled-up, she will always be my rock and soulmate, despite how incredibly different we are from each other. I visited Austin (and Texas, for that matter) for the first time, and vowed to go back as often as possible after tasting the margaritas there. YUM. I spent a weekend in DC with Meggie, Darren, Nabbs, and Malia which was great, and that city has great margaritas too, guys. For reals.

Hm. It seems I also took to judging cities by their margaritas. Fitting for a girl known to some as the Tequila Queen!

Good progress in my “career”—I realized that I do like my job after a few really shaking experiences here at the end of 2005 that made me question what I do and who I do it with. I came back from some really awful times to book some amazing media (including two visits to see Jon Stewart, wahoo!) and pull off some very solid campaigns, if I do say so myself. I worked on a few projects that meant a whole lot to me, and I did them well, I think. I established some great professional relationships, and came to the conclusion that this isn’t just a job, but an education as well. (Let’s just say I’ve learned more about art history, psychology, history, and literature here than I did in college.) I think I have, more or less, hit my stride here, and the promotion I got in July cemented that for me. The new year is filled with even bigger challenges for me at work, but I have incredibly supportive, smart, great supervisors and coworkers should help me get through it all. In short, I realized that, for now, I’m in the right place doing the right thing. Check back with me in a month though. February is crazy-month for me, and I’ll likely freak out and decide this is all wrong and I need to do something about it RIGHT THIS SECOND OH MY GOD HELP! Fun times!

Some knocks in the personal life department—it was a fairly up-and-down year on this front. Friends moved away. I miss them. Others coupled up which caused a lot of navel-gazing and woe-is-me-ing on my part. August was pretty brutal—no one was around, ever, and I was alone for what felt like every second I wasn’t at the office, which wasn’t much but felt like all the motherfucking time. I felt like I was falling way short in the life department, which isn’t a conclusion I’ve ever come to before, and I had a really hard time grappling with it all. I went on some super crappy dates. I did Match with the level of enthusiasm I usually reserve for a trip to the dentist. I went from the “eternally-single-and-just-fine-with-it” girl to the “holy-fuck-I-need-to-find-someone-to-date-or-I’m-going-to-wind-up-alone-with-twelve-cats” girl. This phase sucked. I think I’m largely through it, though it’d be just super to finally meet someone I’m interested in. I want to want to go on a third date. I think I’m going to make that a resolution. I don’t know how the hell I can resolve to do that if I keep meeting the people I’ve been meeting, but I can try!

The up side of this, though, is the blog, and meeting all of you. I keep forgetting I just started this in February because it feels like it’s such a part of my life at this point. I haven’t been super consistent, and I’m terrible at responding to email in a timely manner, but I’ve loved getting to know you all through the blog and emails. You all are a big part of my life now, more than you know. Since none of my non-bloggy friends (save Darren, Dan, Renee, Megan, and FWOL) know I blog, and since I don’t really want any of them to find out, it’s tricky to talk about you all, but I do it all the time. Some of my older friends wonder how I’ve suddenly acquired new friends in places like Baltimore, Philadelphia, Minneapolis, Richmond, Boston, the suburbs of NYC, and others that I’m neglecting to note, but they know about you all. So thanks, guys, for listening to me whine and opine, for being there for me to lean on, for encouraging me when I’ve been down, for cheering me on when I’ve struggled, and for laughing with or at me as is appropriate. Overall, it’s been a good year, and despite my neverending ambivalence about blogging and inability to continue doing it regularly, the blog has a lot to do with it.

I think whatever resolutions I'm making can wait. At least until tomorrow!

Happy New Year!

2007-01-01T13:58:00.000-05:00

I wish you all nothing but love, laughter, happiness, and all good things in 2007!

I'm not speaking to Costco

2006-12-18T15:00:00.000-05:00

I'm home in California, taking two lovely and blissful weeks off of work, hanging with my parents and catching up with old friends. It's funny coming home--I didn't grow up in this house, or in Orange County, where my parents now live--we lived 45 minutes north of here in Los Angeles, and it's always a little strange to come "home" to this area. I have mixed feelings about it here, which I will undoubtedly post about--along with the fact that I literally swooned in Gelson's (grocery store) about a half hour ago when I saw my first carton of Knudsen's milk (I grew up drinking that, and for some reason, seeing the cartons now make me all nostalgic. How a carton of milk can inspire such deep-seated emotional responses is a little baffling though.)

But there are more important things to address, and by things I mean thing, and by that I mean how Costco totally pissed me off yesterday.

I love warehouse stores. They are awesome. I find the concept of a three-gallon tub of mayonnaise to be disgusting, but, yes, please, hook me up with a flat of bottled water! The toilet paper! The paper towels! Ahhh. It kills me. It's actually almost masochistic for me to go there, because I literally torture myself thinking, "if I didn't live in New York, I could get 85 rolls of toilet paper for around what a 10-pack would run in the city!" And then I get all annoyed I can't take advantage.

My parents frequent the local Costco, and over the years, I have purchased a full set of Henckel knives (yes, a FULL SET) for $120. Seriously. How insane is that? I now have fabulous knives--and all for less than what two would have cost at Williams-Sonoma. Score! That is probably my best buy there, ever, so it's not worth getting into the others. But I've also bought coffeemakers, DVDs, books, printers, and lots of medicine. Advil, Airborne, Delsym... ahh.

So yesterday, my mom needed to run over there for a few things, and never one to miss a chance to score some deals, I accompanied her. Also, I have wanted the DVDs of all three seasons of "Arrested Development" for months now, and I decided that it was time to purchase them. They'd still be pricey, but less so there, and frankly, having access to the Bluths whenever the fancy strikes is kind of priceless, don't you think?

Except COSTCO DOESN'T CARRY THEM. They have the boxed set of the entirety of "The West Wing" (which I loved and, if I had any storage and money to burn, would totally buy). They have the boxed set of "Six Feet Under" too. There were about six thousand copies of "You, Me, and Dupree" and "The DaVinci Code". There were the Bogey boxed sets, and the three-pack romantic comedy sets, and many more beyond that. But no "Arrested Development".

Let me explain why I am so pissed off about this. I understand they can't carry everything. I actually know all about how their merchandising is structured, and how to remain on sale, x units have to move nationally per week, and how the distributions aren't always national. And I can understand that maybe, that's why it wasn't available in ours. Granted, the show is set in Orange County, not far from this particular Costco, but whatever. Fine. I'll accept it.

But that was until I noticed the complete first season of Fox's smash hit show, "Prison Break". And boxed collections of "Northern Exposure". And sets of "One Tree Hill" and "Veronica Mars"--but not "Gilmore Girls". Seriously? What sent me over the edge, though, was the first season of Jennifer Love Hewitt's show "Ghost Whisperer". What the hell? Who is choosing what goes into those stores? Is that show even still on? Does merchandising ever, I don't know, consider what might sell? Also, what is wrong with Fox? Why are they issuing these shows? And why aren't things like "Grey's Anatomy" and "Lost" at Costco?

I'm baffled. Also, their wrapping paper selection blew and they didn't have any socks for women. I did get a set of W.C. Fields DVDs for my dad, as he is a huge fan, so I guess that was nice. But Costco is on notice. If you see him around, can you tell him I'm totally not talking to him? If he's lucky, he'll see me in March, but I can't make any guarantees.

In Which I Share More About My Digestion Than You Ever Wanted to Know

2006-12-12T14:37:00.000-05:00

On Friday night, I went to a friend’s apartment for wine and to hangout. It was fun—she just ended a long-term relationship so there was lots of life talk, lots of philosophizing and analyzing, and lots of wine. LOTS. I’m talking two bottles, and then we finished off what was left of a third (like a half-glass each). I’m aware that’s a bottle and smidge each. I was slightly horrified when we totaled it up.

I was also pretty hungover on Saturday. I had to go out that night to a birthday party, and come 5:30, my attempts at not eating too badly were keeping me from any semblance of a happy recovery from the festivities of the night before. So I gave in and ordered a turkey burger and fries from our local spot, and ate half the burger (I don’t know what seasonings they used, but they were not good) and about half the fries.

I haven’t had fries in, oh, about two months. I’ve had the odd fry here and there, but I haven’t actually had more than 5 at any given time. Well, word to the wise, because apparently your body loses the ability to digest them. People, I have never had such stomach issues in my LIFE. I was dying. My stomach felt like it had tied itself into a double-knot. I couldn’t sit or lay comfortably. I finally found that tossing my left leg over the left arm of the armchair was the only solution. (I couldn’t stand up straight either.) I kept drinking more and more water in an attempt to dilute the offending fries into oblivion, but that just gave me the look of a starving Somalian child, as my stomach was legitimately distended. Meanwhile, I had a birthday party to attend, and needed to leave in about 20 minutes. So I’m sit/laying there, in horrible pain, all dressed up and ready to roll, but completely unsure as to how I would actually get up, get into the elevator, and get downstairs.

Somehow, someway, with the help of some tums and more water and a lot of me just willing it to go away, it finally passed. This entire experience has, however, caused me to rethink having children. Maybe I’ll just adopt. SWEET MOTHER OF GOD, I thought I was going to die. I imagine this is what it’s like having a baby in your stomach. Gaaah.

Flash forward to last night: I bolted from work relatively early because I was sure I was coming down with a cold. When I get sick, soup is about all I want. Chicken broth with anything works—I was so broke in college I once nursed myself through a cold on generic broth alone. I didn’t have any on hand at home last night, though, so I decided to order wonton soup from a spot near my apartment—it’s fresh and chock-full of spinach and veggies and the wontons are fabulous. In order to get them to deliver it, however, I had to order something else, so I went with the steamed veggie dumplings. They are deeeeee-lish.

Well, I haven’t had Chinese food in about as long as I hadn’t had fries, and good god, it’s SALTY. I couldn’t taste the salt, but I know it was in there, because my fingers were sausages when I went to bed. My solution was, again, to drink as much water as I could to flush the sodium out of my system. So I’m sitting on the couch, pounding water, watching a Lifetime movie called “The Christmas Wedding” starring Sarah Paulsen that was crappy, even by that station’s standards, and my hands and feet are swelling. I finally just went to bed. Which was great—I needed the sleep. I just didn’t get it, because I kid you not, I had to pee ever hour on the hour all night long. It should have stopped around, oh, 2 or 3, but I was so thirsty still, I had to drink more water, which perpetuated the cycle until I had to get up for work.

Tonight, I plan on eating dry toast and a banana. No more fun food for me. It’s blandsville from here on out.

Profile Me, Please

2006-12-05T18:22:00.000-05:00

Stefanie recently posted about the profile Guiness Girl wrote for her. It was a great profile. I jokingly asked Guinness Girl if we could talk and... well, apparently the old adage "Ask and you shall receive" DOES work, becuase today she sent me a fabulous profile. Check it out:

I am the kind of girl who adores champagne but isn't above drinking a cold can of beer. I've been described as "the perfect mix of kind and funny", "easygoing", "friendly", "if you were a band, I'd wear your t-shirt", and "as full of shit as [my] father". Although people often comment on how friendly I can be, I'm no shrinking violet, either - I love the F-word. I never forget who I am, which keeps me grounded even when things get crazy in my life. You can throw me in nearly any social situation and I can handle it (no, that's not an invitation to challenge me!). I'm definitely a glass half-full kind of girl - I love the infinite possibilities that life offers with all its choices. I think everyone has an interesting story to tell. I have a great group of friends and a fantastic family, and I value them above all else. I'm a hard worker and get satisfaction out of doing a good job, but I'm no workaholic.

I have a deep and abiding love for made-for-Lifetime-Television-for-Women movies, but I also love college football (Go Michigan!) and I get sucked into March Madness every year, even though my teams are often chosen as favorites simply because their rival is the alma mater of a girl I hated in elementary school. I cannot keep plants alive. I'm a big fan of fun and crazy music on road trips, but for my daily commute, NPR's the way to go. I make a mean guacamole that goes perfectly with margaritas and lime-kissed Tostitos, if I say so myself.

As for who I'm looking for, I'd love to meet someone to have fun with; someone who is laid-back and open-minded and interested in a variety of things. Kindness is key, and a sense of humor is a must as well. There's nothing better than being with someone who makes you laugh until it hurts. Modesty is always appreciated - as is confidence, and conviction/passion is very sexy. Guys who are rude to the waitstaff at restaurants need not apply.

Thank you, GG! Also, who thinks she should start a little side business? I do!

A Literary Friday Five

2006-12-01T16:22:00.000-05:00

I recently picked up The Sportswriter by Richard Ford. He’s won a Pulitzer for his fiction, and several people I know (who, I should say, have literary taste I trust without question) have said I should to read him, and that The Sportswriter is the place to start. So for Thanksgiving, I took a copy with me to the midwest, along with a book about the Anglo-American tradizzzzzzzzzzzz and a novel called Love and Other Impossible Pursuits, which appealed to me because I liked the title.

I didn’t actually start The Sportswriter until last night, on the subway downtown to meet someone for dinner. I wanted to start with Love and Other Impossible Pursuits, because I just needed something accessible and fast, and Ford’s Pulitzer made me think he might be a struggle to get into. Love… was fine, and quick, and achingly sad at times. And unexpectedly informative about Central Park. But by the time I finished it, I only had another day of break, and I spent it doing other things. Like watching football. NFL football. I hate the NFL. But I was in Ohio with a slew of alpha males, and that is what Americans do over Thanksgiving. They watch ESPN and theorize on the merits of the BCS system, and who am I to question such a fine national tradition?

I’ve now read a mere 30 pages of The Sportswriter, and I don’t understand how I haven’t read this before. I’m blown away by this book. It’s straightforward. It’s true to life. Things are stated in a way that make you stop and think, “this man is a phenomenal writer.” But it isn’t show-offy. I can’t stand authors who insist on two metaphors instead of one, or whose sentences seem to need diagramming before they can be processed and understood. And you won’t (well, from what I’ve read) find that here.

I haven’t read a book in a long time that has made me ask myself why it is, exactly, that I don’t carry highlighters around in my purse. This is a question I’ve now asked three times in 20 hours.

So here is my Friday Five. Five great lines/passages from the first thirty pages of The Sportswriter by Richard Ford.

1: “I do my work and do it well and remain expectant of the best without knowing in the least what it will be.”*

2: “A woman I met at the college where I briefly taught, once told me I had too many choices, that I was not driven enough by dire necessity. But that is just an illusion and her mistake. Choices are what we all need. And when I walk out into the bricky warp of these American cities, that is exactly what I feel. Choices aplenty. Things I don’t know about but might like are here, possibly waiting for me. Even if they aren’t. The exhilaration of a new arrival. Good light in a restaurant that especially pleases you. A cab driver with an interesting life history to tell. The casual, lilting voice of a woman you don’t know, but that you are allowed to listen to in a bar you’ve never been in, at a time when you would otherwise have been alone. These things are waiting for you. And what could be better? More mysterious? More worth anticipating? Nothing. Not a thing.”

3: “Sometimes we do not become adults until we suffer a good whacking loss, and our lives in a sense catch up with us and wash over us like a wave and everything goes.”

4: “I suppose our life was the generic one, as the poet said… We paid bills, shopped, went to movies, bought cars and cameras and insurance, cooked out, went to cocktail parties, visited schools, and romanced each other in the sweet, cagey way of adults. I looked out my window, stood in my yard sunsets with a sense of solace and achievement, cleaned my rain gutters, eyed my shingles, put up storms, fertilized regularly, computed my equity, spoke to my neighbors in an interested voice—the normal applauseless life of us all**.”

5: “I know that you can dream your way through an otherwise fine life, and never wake up, which is what I almost did. I believe I have survived that now and put dreaminess behind me, though there is a resolute sadness between X and me that our marriage is over, a sadness that does not feel sad. It is the way you feel at a high school reunion when you hear an old song you used to like played late at night, only you are all alone.”

Thank god it's Friday. More time to read. Especially since we're getting 60 mile an hour winds here tonight. Wheeeeee!

* Possible tagline?
** Definitely a tagline coming to this site soon.

Three Cheers for Haloscan

2006-12-01T13:55:00.000-05:00

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

Yep. They have. And it seems to have worked. PHEW!

Yay! I'm Not a Pariah!

2006-11-28T21:23:00.000-05:00

It's been called to my attention that my comments aren't working. Thank God, because let me tell you, I was starting to wonder if I had done something to offend everyone. I was afraid you all had gotten together and decided to boycott posting comments. Or that I had just said things that were so boring, no one could even muster up a, "hey, um, what a post!" It was lonely over here!

I'm planning to ad Haloscan back in to remedy, and hopefully soon. So, uh, if you've got anything you HAVE to tell me, email me. Because I'm sure you're just burning up with a need to contact me. Especially since I declared Meredith Baxter Birney to be royalty and all.

Better to Be Safe Than Sorry

2006-11-22T11:26:00.000-05:00

An admission: I love Lifetime television. My roomate and I knew living together would work out when we sheepishly admitted this to the other. (One of the joys of sharing an apartment with her is the lack of judgment when I suggest seeing what's on Lifetime.) We actually gave blogging a try as a team a few years ago and called the blog “Apartment 3A: Where everyday is just another Lifetime movie”. The idea was to recap Lifetime movies and also just generally blog, and let me tell you—recapping is an art best left to the professionals. Also, she wasn't so much into the blogging thing, and we just never got it going. But it was a fun concept. We titled every post after a Lifetime movie, and wondering, “Do I want to call this post ‘Armed and Innocent’ or ‘Victim of the Night’?” is much more fun than you think it’s going to be.

I have no idea why I like Lifetime movies. I know they’re awful, have bad film quality, make little sense, and are mind-numbingly stupid most of the time. But there’s nothing better than, say, a Tiffani Amber Thiessen marathon on Sunday after a late night out on Saturday. Truly. I defy you to show me something I like better.

Also, I love the ridiculousness of them. I mean, come on—as if Gerald McRaney could ever in real life bag a young, pre-Melrose Place Josie Bissett! And the titles kill me. I still laugh out loud when I remember the night Darren, making fun of me and my love of the station, imitated what a meeting to determing the titles might sound like:

Supervisor: “OK, so what’s this one about?”
Assistant: “Well, there’s a girl, and she’s fifteen, and she gets pregnant.”
S: “OK, call it ‘Fifteen and Pregnant’*. Next?”
A: “Jean Smart’s younger lookalike plays a single mom, who gets involved with a man** and her daughter catches them having sex, and…”
S: “Let’s go with ‘Sex and the Single Mom.’ Next?”

Now that I'm admitting to my ultimate guilty pleasure (and I hope you don't lose too my respect for me here), I thought I'd share the wealth of knowledge I've accrued through years of regularly tuning into Lifetime and Lifetime Movie Network. Since I'll be on hiatus until next week when I'm back from stuffing myself with turkey, I thought, well, what about an early Friday Five?

Top Five Lessons I’ve Learned from Lifetime Television (which can totally happen because these are based on TRUE STORIES, people. True. Stories.)

1: If your boyfriend wants to marry you, but he’s already married, that's a bad sign. If he then decides you should secretly marry while he finds a way to drive his wife to divorce him, and then uses a fake name to put on the marriage license because, you know, polygamy is illegal? Probably not a keeper.

2: Don’t let your neighbor fix up your house before you move in. He will install hidden cameras in the bathroom and bedroom and then watch you get out of the shower naked and do things with your husband that should really be kept between man and wife. Incidentally, there STILL isn’t a law against this, do you even believe it??? After all her crusading too.

3: If you have a very mysterious ailment, that leaves you ill, weak, and with some freaky rash that kind of resembles what I imagine one’s skin would look like just before the thing in The Grudge and The Grudge Two promos pops out, and the entire medical community in your city is unable to diagnose it, something peculiar is up. If you then divorce your husband and he remarries and then his new wife gets it? It’s probably a tip off that he’s sociopath and is poisoning you both. With Selenium. And he’s been buying old radios and scraping the old selenium off the batteries or whatever. So, I’m extrapolating here, but I’d just steer clear of any guys with a penchant for old radios. Just in case. Can’t ever be too careful. (In this particular movie, the first wife was played by Marg Helgenberger, and all I could think of was how her characters get totally screwed by outside parties in movies! Erin Brokovich, anyone? Also, her ex was played by John Ritter which, well, bad casting. He is Jack, and he can never be evil. Only a little too goofy for his own good.)

4: It’s totally possible for an older, widowed, bookshop-owning woman*** to fall in love with a semi-retarded gardener who ends every sentence with “that’s for sure,” and for them to get married. In order for them to fall in love, she needs to teach him to read of course, and everyone will just overlook the fact that she is OLD ENOUGH TO BE HIS MOTHER and also? That her developmentally delayed lover's dad totally had the hots for her for a while and hit on her at least once, which, ew.

5: If a child in the neighborhood goes missing and winds up dead, it’s always the cute, boyish, overly helpful soccer coach next door, and not the ex-con down the block. How many times do you people need to see this played out on the Lifetime Movie Network before you figure it out? It is always who you least suspect. Always.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

*Incidentally, the 15-year old was played by a young Kirsten Dunst.
**Played by Jake from Melrose Place! Lifetime is where all the formerly hot, now C-list stars of defunct Aaron Spelling series go to die.
***Played by Meredith Baxter-Birney, who is and always will be like royalty to me.

Swallowing My Pride

2006-11-20T12:17:00.000-05:00

NOTE: This post will conclude all football talk on this blog for this calendar year, and unless a rematch takes place on 1/1/2007, until next year this time.

What happens when I trash-talk?

I get my comeuppance.

Michigan lost by a mere three points, and it was slightly crushing to watch it unfold. Again, I’m not a huge football fan, but I learned enough about the game in high school and college to be able to slip back into talking about it like I actually know what is happening on the field. (Dig a little about things like, oh, what team is ranked #3 in the country, and you’ll find I’m useless). So with my limited knowledge of the game, my feeling is that the officials called a 1st down for TOSU that was not legit—with the naked eye it was pretty clear to me that they didn’t make the yardage. And then they took away a Michigan touchdown for holding, which was wholly legitimate. But I think we got a little, teensy-weensy bit robbed on that 1st down, which led to TOSU scoring, and set us further back.

Regardless, we needed to win, and we didn’t. TOSU outplayed us. Here’s to a rematch on New Year’s Day, when we will (hopefully) crush TOSU once and for all. In a Bowl Game. For the title of BCS Champions. May it shake out to be a rematch!

Since I keep noting that I’m not an actual football fan, it probably seems strange that I get all hyped up about one specific game. Sure, it’s a huge, storied rivalry, but we have huge rivalries with Notre Dame, Michigan State, and Penn State, too, and I don’t really care about those. Why do I care so much about the TOSU game?

Because my pride rides on it.

Years ago, my uncle struck a bet with me, since he (and most of my family) are big TOSU fans. (They can’t help it—they’re from Ohio. And you know what they say about not being able to pick your family.) The terms are this: if Michigan wins, they have to wear a Michigan jersey/hat/etc to Thanksgiving dinner. If Michigan loses, yours truly is bedecked in TOSU paraphenalia.

It’s been a long few years since Michigan last won.

In 2004, I was forced to wear a shirt with Calvin peeing that said in big block letters ANN ARBOR WAS A WHORE and a necklace made of Buckeyes. Luckily, my cousin had just learned to read and started sounding out the shirt (“Annnn Arrrboooor was a wh…”) when I whipped that sucker off, as I had no desire to explain to a six-year-old what a whore was.

Last year, my uncle somehow found a Brutus the Buckeye coon hat. I spent dinner sweating in a furry Buckeye hat that Daniel Boone might have worn, were he a TOSU fan in the age of synthetic materials. That was coupled with a t-shirt that read WOLVERINE TASTES LIKE CHICKEN. For Christmas, I received a lovely frame with a photo of my uncle and me, wearing the hat and shirt.

This year, it’s been suggested that a full-on Brutus the Buckeye ensemble will surface. And by full-on, I mean something akin to what the Brutus mascot wears at the games. If it were any other member of my family threatening this, I’d laugh and consider it a mere joke. But my uncle—well, he’s a little nuts, in a hilarious and extremely loveable way, and I really wouldn’t put it past him. As a friend who has met him a few times said when I told her this year’s proposed ensemble: “The thing is that with Uncle Miss Peach, he could very well have a full Brutus the Buckeye costume ready for you, and tell you to suit up come dinnertime. In fact, I think you’re screwed.”

So this Thursday, I will once again be at the mercy of TOSU fans. The good news is, a cousin on their side of the family bet them that Texas would beat TOSU, and they didn’t, so for once I won’t be the only one at the table. Misery does love company. And wine. Lots of wine.

We’ll Miss You (and a Friday Five)

2006-11-17T18:02:00.000-05:00

Late-breaking news, on the eve of the rivalry that rules my year (if it can even be said that a college football rivalry can rule anything in my world, given I’m really not THAT big a sports fan):

Bo Schembechler, Football Great of Michigan, Dies

Rest in peace, Bo. You were a true legend, and garnered deep-seated respect even from a student like me, who made it to most games at some point during the game most seasons during her tenure at the school. (In other words, I’m a bit of a Michigan football fan, but in that I love the school, not the game itself.)

May we, ahem, kick some ass tomorrow—and do it in a sportsmanly, classy way, to pay proper tribute to your legacy.

Which brings me to my Friday Five:

Five Reason Michigan is Better Than The Ohio State University:

1: We are the University of Michigan, a name which befits the inclusion of the ‘the’ at the beginning. There is no earthly reason for OSU to insist upon being called THE Ohio State University. It makes them sound douchey. Which, come to think of it, they are.

2: We’re smarter, when you look at admission standards, school rankings, success of graduates and whatnot. TOSU is a good school, don’t get me wrong. But Michigan is better. (I asked my roommate, who went to Ohio University, whether she applied to TOSU, and she snorted with what I’d describe as a note of disdain. I asked why, and she said, “I went to OU. If you can go to OU, you don’t apply/go to TOSU.”)

3: Not only are we smarter, but we’re just as good at sports. And our stadium is better than theirs. It’s called the big house and is the largest sports facility in the United States. So, um, there. (If I was saying this right now, I’d probably stick out my tongue and make a blowing noise.)

4: We’re pretty civil. I have never heard that a memo like this has had to be sent to TOSU students heading to Ann Arbor for a game. I could be mistaken, but I somehow doubt that.

5: Further to number 4: We don’t feel the need to make up t-shirts that say things like “Ann Arbor was a whore” and “Muck Fichigan” and “Michigan Sucks”. (And check this out.) Do you know what people say about fans who wear those kind of shirts? Inferiority Complex. (The most slanderous t-shirt I saw in a U of M store? “Harvard: The Michigan of the East”. Note that I’m not saying we’re cooler.)

So, in conclusion: Hail to the Victors, the Ohio State University, and Go Blue.

Doing My Part

2006-11-06T18:17:00.000-05:00

Have you heard? Election day is tomorrow. Control of the Senate and Congress may be up for grabs. Will Harold Ford prevail in Tennessee? Has Angelides truly run a piss-poor campaign that will lose him the gubernatorial election in California, as my mother claims? (Actually, yes, we really don’t need to wait to find out on that score I don’t think.) Will it be Kean or Menedez in New Jersey? Will Allen’s racist slip-up cost him, or will it be Webb’s salacious literary turns that decide the future senator of Virginia? And, please, someone, tell me! What will all of this spell for 2008?

I’m dead positive we won’t have to wait for long for all the annoying pundits (I’m looking at you, Mary Matalin and James Carville) to weigh in on all of this and more.

Anyway, yes, election day, and time for me to vote, even if the New York elections are pretty much a foregone conclusion. It’s my duty as a citizen, and I like to follow politics here and there. Also, it’s really fun to pull the lever thingies on the positively ancient machines here in New York. I like to think of it as just a little extra weight training for my morning, really, given they're practically rusted shut.

When looking up my polling place today, it occurred to me that I didn’t even know who was running against Spitzer for Governor. I decided it was time to study up. (The Republican candidate is someone named John Faso, and I legitimately have no idea who he is. Though the Green Party candidate is Malachy McCourt which, come to think of it, I did hear about, and hey! He’s an author and he's Irish! Rock on! And, erm yes, I know I said I follow politics, but I meant on a more national level. Or something.)

Anyway, as I scrolled through everyone running, I decided I needed to brush up on what the party abbreviations meant since I had no earthly idea what NCR or RVC or FDM stood for. There was a handy index of 2006 Party Abbreviations, so I took a look. And, wow. I never knew there were so many choices. They don’t call this the land of the free for nothing, let me tell you. I read on.

So, you’ve got your Republicans, Democrats, Independents, blah blah blah. Then it got interesting. Working Families? Huh. Didn’t know about them. I suppose it’s a worthy cause, to be for working families, but I don’t know—maybe it’s a euphamism for something else. Which could also easily go for the North Country Reform party or the Rising Voices Coalitions. What does that even mean, Rising Voices Coalition? Then there’s the Right to Life, Socialist Workers, and both the School Tax Relief and Taxpayer Relief parties. I get the first two and, eh, not really my thing; I’d need to research what exactly the “relief” would be comprised of in the third and fourth.

On to the totally ambiguous titles: Unity, Freedom, Growth, and Integrity parties. Well, doggone! I’m for all of those things. But I suspect that there’s more to these than meets the eye. So, I don’t know. I’m wasn’t ready to change my alliances just yet.

But then—then it got specific. And I have to tell you—I started to think about things in a new way. The name, well, the name was so clear; the mission, stated! There was no confusion whatsoever, and that clarity—well, it spoke to me, in a way no other party’s name ever has or could. It seized me, people, and I thought, yes! You are right! I agree! Frankly, I couldn’t agree more! Why, I complain about this at LEAST once a week! So, yes, count me in!

Bottom line: I’ve been successfully recruited. To the RENT IS TOO HIGH party.

God, I love this city sometimes.

Re-Do

2006-10-27T18:27:00.000-04:00

When I was in school, fall was the season of re-invention. New clothes, new school supplies, new resolutions to do all my reading and actually pay attention in math class. New Year's only took on significance for me after I graduated from college.

I still see fall as the time to make some changes, though, and this year I've decided to re-do the blog. I'm still planning more renovations, and I've already managed to lose my comments, but hopefully all will be rectified soon. You can't have it all, or so they say.

In the meantime, I'm off for a little happy hour action. Have a great weekend, everyone!

Dame Judi Dench

2006-10-23T16:41:00.000-04:00

Say hi to my new roommate:

I’m not exactly a cat-lover, and given Judi Dench doesn’t pay rent or help with the cleaning or the bills, I still haven’t quite figured out how Gen talked me into agreeing to her. (Incidentally, Gen also managed to get me to agree to keeping the litterbox in the living room. She should really become a negotiator or something because if you knew me with cats, you’d know what a feat this is.)

I have always hated cats. I think they’re dirty, sneaky, and not very nice. I hate their claws and the fact that they scratch poles to sharpen them. I am completely disgusted by the fact that you don’t ever bathe them—they lick themselves clean. I’m going to let that sink in. They LICK THEMSELVES CLEAN. To add to that, every allergy test I’ve had has indicated I’m off-the-charts allergic to them. (I was barred from sleepovers at cat-friendly homes for most of elementary-school.) I’m a dog lover through and through. I know the two aren’t mutually exclusive, but I love love love dogs. And I hate hate hate cats.

But—and here, surely, is where Gen got me—cats catch mice. And if you’ll recall, we had a mice problem last year, a problem which continues to traumatize me to this day. I literally live in fear of more mice, and if a shadow so much as crosses the room, I am standing on the couch, whimpering, making noise to scare the hypothetical little fucker out of the corner so that I know if we’ve got one or not. (Yes, it’s as borderline psychotic as it sounds.) We haven’t had any for months, thankfully, but they can always come back. They reproduce really fast and they’re small and can fit through a space the size of a dime. (Ew. Ew. Ew.)

So little Judi is sort of the lesser of two evils, as far as I’m concerned. Do I like cats? No. Do I like mice? I’m making myself physically ill just thinking about them. I think it’s safe to say that I hate mice a whole hell of a lot more than I hate cats. And that, apparently, was enough to get me to agree.

Judi’s cute, for a cat. During the first few days we had her, I thought maybe this would turn me around and I’d become a cat lover. But it’s been a week, and I think it might be safe to say that while I do like Judi and she is cute, I don’t think I’ll start buying cat calendars and posters, or begin affixing pins sporting cats sleeping on books to my sweaters. Every two days or so, Judi seems to not be able to get enough of me, and purrs and snuggles and loves me, and it’s sweet. Also, Gen got a laser pointer and watching her try to get the red dot is hysterically funny. I feel a little bad, because the poor thing will never be able to catch the dot, but it’s GREAT mouse-catching training, and since that’s the only contribution Judi can make to the household she had better be ready if it happens.

I’m sure you’re wondering how she got her name. Well, when she was born (to Gen’s mom’s cat), she looked like this:

And for some reason, she reminded Gen of Judi Dench, so that became her name, and it stuck. Gen wanted to change her name, but her sister and I successfully talked her out of it, which is good, because if she had a name like Fluffy or Socks, I don’t think I’d like her nearly as much. And this way, when she’s all grown up, I can call her “Dame”.

Don't Ask Me That

2006-10-20T16:19:00.000-04:00

For my first foray back into things here on the blog, I thought I’d address something that keeps happening to me, and has on more than one occasion had me eyeing the room for a window I could unceremoniously chuck myself out of.

Let’s start with the current trend of the empire waist. (Don’t forget that it’s pronounced ahm-peer by those in the know, such as magazine editors and the like, lest you spend a few minutes wondering what the hell your lunch companion is talking about. This will lead you to completely muddle the pronunciation henceforth into some weird hybrid of ahm-pi-eer but no one will really bat an eye.)

I’ve always thought of the empire waist as my friend. I’m one of those weird females who gains all weight in her stomach and has almost no ass and no real thigh- or leg-related issues. It’s all in the belly. (I know that to some who hate their butts and thighs they might think it’s not so bad, but try shopping for dresses with this particular physical makeup sometime, seriously. It’s a bitch. And don’t get me starting on going-out shirts.) For that reason, the recent trend leaning towards the empire waist has, until recently, made me so happy I’ve run right out and spent far too much on dresses with this waistline. Seize it while it’s here, you know? Because it’ll be all about the ass-tight mini-dress in a few months and then I will once again be fucked.

Suddenly, it’s dresses for Miss Peach! Two black ones, one with cool stripes at the bottom. Another in an eggplant color with details of funky, Pucci-esque fabric. They’re seasonless too—with sandals they work in warmer weather, boots in colder. Also, wearing them is about as comfortable as wearing a soft nightshirt. I thought I had won the dress lottery.

Flash forward to a particularly horrific work lunch with two crazy women, one of whom is legitimately insane. As soon as my colleague and I met them, Legitimately Insane Lady says, “Oh, you aren’t expecting, are you?” I, with a composed exterior, said, “Nope, it’s just an empire-waist dress,” and she apologized and we moved on to hearing about her ties to Indian aristocracy, who she lost her virginity to, and the plight of a few socialites I had to go back and Google. Seriously. So I could laugh that one off. The woman was a certifiable nutcase. She had no filter. Everyone at work told me how great I looked in the dress, so why listen to her?

Then, that evening on the subway, a woman made a big production of getting up and offering me her seat. I had my earphones on so just gave her a cursory shake of my head and did not take the seat. But, ouch. Maybe she was crazy too, but twice in one day?

Then, about a week or so later, I was at an event, wearing the dress with stripes at the bottom. It’s not as flowy as the all-black dress, so I didn’t have as many concerns about the looking pregnant thing. I was standing there stacking books on a table when the event coordinator gestured down towards the books (and my midsection) and said, “well, congratulations!” Now, the book in question had done extremely well, having just crested to the peak of it’s success, so I just looked down at the book and said, “I know, it’s so exciting to see it do so well!” and then asked a question about some inane thing as a little bit of me died. Afterwards, two friends there came over, told me they LOVED the dress, especially the bottom, as it’s so “unexpected.” They’re sweet. But a complete stranger had just congratulated me on the impending birth of my (nonexistent) child, so it didn’t really help.

OK, fine. So the empire waist makes chunky girls look preggers. Whatever. I can deal with that. I’ll just put the dresses that I overspent on and that I loved wearing into the back of my closet forever or until I lose a bajillion pounds. Problem solved. No more cute dresses, but no more being mistaken for a soon-to-be-mother. It’s a trade-off, but one I’m willing to make for my own sanity.

What I cannot deal with is what happened last night, at a cocktail reception for one of the two high schools I attended. I left after my freshman year (I’d been there since 7th grade) but have an extreme fondness for the place. I was a little apprehensive about the reception, though. I left the school so long ago, and though I’m still extremely close with a few classmates from there, they live in LA, not New York. So I was going into this without a wingman and with no idea if I would even know anyone. Normally I’m Susie Social, but this kind of freaked me out. I forced myself to go though, thinking it would be good to reconnect and hey, it’s a free glass of wine, right?

I got there, and it was okay. One classmate I remember came, aside from that I just glommed on to some girls who graduated a few years ahead of me who were kind enough to include me in conversation. About halfway through, I saw my old geometry teacher, now the head of the upper school, out of the corner of my eye. We walked towards each other, hugged, and said hi. She then gestured to my midsection and said, “now, is this your first or your second?” I was holding a glass of wine and legitimately thought she was asking how much I’d had to drink, until I realized she meant my first or second BABY. I just smiled and said, “oh, I’m not!” She then muttered something about how embarassing that was (for her or for me, I’d like to know?) and then we went on chatting.

I have to say, I held it together. But I wasn’t wearing one of the dresses. I was wearing a black skirt with a black sweater. Nothing empire-waisted or overly flowy about it. I wanted to die. I think I’ll be able to officially let go in another 12 hours, but it was awful. There was nothing to chalk it up to. Apparently I look pregnant 24/7, a fact that my lovely roommate violently disputed last night, and that the select friends I’ve told have reacted to with unequivocal denials. But still. They kind of have to say that as they know if they don’t, they’ll be on the receiving end of an unpleasant tongue-lashing.

Are these women just complete and total morons who had terrible mothers who never instructed them on social graces and did lots of drugs that have completely destroyed their filters? Regardless of if I have a belly, isn’t the going rule that you don’t ask, EVER, unless you’re SURE that person is expecting?

Going forth, I will wear no skirts or dresses, only pants. And as I blew all clothing funds on the dresses, this means I have to wear a lot of old khakis that will make me look really butch, but at least they won’t make me look pregnant. On the plus side, maybe this is why I never get asked on dates. Perhaps I’m ravishing, but men are afraid my baby daddy is going to kick the shit out of them if they approach. Or they’re just not ready to get involved with a single mother. They must take me for white trash, though, drinking lots while pregnant and all.

Hello, friends!

2006-09-12T22:57:00.000-04:00

How are you? I've missed you!

My unscheduled hiatus here will extend for another couple of weeks, I think, due to a complete lack of time and ability to think. I hope to at least catch up by reading some blogs in the interim. Right now I can't seem to focus and so I just watched the pilot of "Men in Trees" which is Anne Heche's new show and man, even in my spaced-out state, it's terrible. I'm guessing it's over in about three episodes, but only because they already filmed them. I can't wait to see "Jericho" which NPR termed something like the "worst new show, by far". Skeet, how far you have fallen since Scream.

Reason #6 why I like fall? New television programming. The drama! The formerly A-list stars attempting to resurrect some semblance of a career! Tina Fey vs. Aaron Sorkin! Who will get picked up? Which brilliant show will be critically acclaimed yet vastly underappreciated? And why is "My Name is Earl" still on the air? Really. Why? I keep trying to like it and I'd love for Jason Lee to make it, but I just can't see whatever it is that people love about that show. Any fans? Can you enlighten me?

Five Reasons I Love Fall

2006-09-01T09:51:00.000-04:00

Firstly, an update on the living situation. We worked it out. Scary Carmen called and we had a very civil conversation in which I told her 9% wasn't okay, we couldn't afford it, and would be willing to meet them at a 5% hike. She said "she'd see what she could do" and we hung up, and I swear to god she sat in her office, examined her manicure, maybe moved a few papers around, and then called me back and said it was just fine like 2 minutes later. I'm grateful they worked with us, but come on--that's just so ridiculous. Couldn't we have just done this, like, a WEEK ago and not cut a few years off of my life due to stress?

Whatever, they say all's well that ends well, right?

So! Back to Friday Five, since I took a little hiatus there.

Five Reasons Why I Love Fall:

1) The weather. It's cool but not freezing. It can be warm, but never too hot. I love walking around with a shirt, light jacket, and scarf on. And I like how you can really feel the season in the air, even now, when it's cool at night you can sense the season to come.

2) It's SO pretty. All those leaves! In such an array of colors! Growing up in California, I experienced fall through scenes on the calendar, and the only tree in my neighborhood that turned colors did so around Christmas and signaled Santa Claus to me. Every year that I experience fall I feel like I'm getting a taste of America or something. In college, I loved to drive up to northern Michigan for peak color, and last year Genoa and I went to Connecticut for a day, which was really fun. Also, a sidenote: fall leaves can be very useful for Halloween. I once had to dress up as a biblical character for a costume contest at my youth group (I think I was maybe 8?) and my mom and I had nothing except branches of fall leaves that she had bought to decorate the house with (yep, bought. Again, we lived in California.) So we taped them to my clothes and I went at the burning bush. Brilliant! AND I won the costume contest. Excellent. Not that it was about winning, it was about praising God.

3) Cider mills. Are any of you familiar with the cider mill phenomenon? I think it might be a southern Michigan thing. Anyway, they open up all over and they sell apples, cider, and donuts. My roommates and I would all pile into cars on a Saturday (before the football game, sometimes) and head to the nearest cider mill. Fun!

4) College football. It's about the only sport I can get really into, having gone to UofM, and sometimes I wind up following the season pretty closely. It's just fun to watch the games and know all the songs and remember college and indulge in a little school spirit. Also, I have a running bet with my family in Ohio on the UM-OSU game every year, which adds to it all, even though I keep losing which means I am forced to wear a hideous Buckeye thing of some sort. Last year it was a Buckeye coon hat. God help me.

5) The holidays are just around the corner. There's so much anticipation in fall--Halloween! I'm not a huge fan of that particular one anymore, but it's fun. Then Thanksgiving! One of my favorite holidays--maybe my absolute favorite. Everyone gathers in Ohio and catches up and it's just a good time. I love it. And then, when it's over, just when you think you might be sad because it's getting even colder and all, comes Christmas and New Years! And then, by the time it's all over, you're happy for a few months free from gluttonous holiday celebration.

Happy September 1st everyone--enjoy the last weekend of summer!

Squeeze Me Dry, Why Don't You?

2006-08-30T21:38:00.000-04:00

My fucking landlord has fucking gone and raised the fucking rent by 9%.

Yes, 9%. One measly percentage point under 10.

I hope you understand why I fell the need to say fuck somewhat excessively.

That... well, that's a LOT. Also, my lease? Expires tomorrow. And my "property manager"? Won't return my calls. And I'm getting threatening calls from a woman named Carmen who says we have to make up our minds about the lease by tomorrow. She sounds scaaaarrrrrryyyy, too. Oh! And she called my mom so THAT made for a lovely afternoon surprise. (In Manhattan, you have to have a guarantor on your lease until you're, like, 40 and make eighteen times the annual rent or something obscene that I will never, ever acheive.)

Me: This is Miss Peach.
My Mom: DID YOU NOT SEND BACK YOUR LEASE?
Me: Whaaa? Mom? What are you talking about?
My Mom: Well, I just got a call from a Carmen... a Carmen... oh I don't know, but she said you didn't sign a lease and if you don't by tomorrow they're going to do something and WHY DIDN'T YOU SIGN THE LEASE?????????

Me, in mind to self: I cannot believe those motherfuckers called my mother but WILL NOT CALL ME BACK.

I'll save you the whole blow-by-blow, but basically we never got our renewal agreement, and then they called at 6PM on Friday August 18th about it, and we were all "you never sent it!" and they were all "we're faxing it now!" and then I got REALLY busy at work last week and totally forgot about it until Monday. Oops. So I finally picked it up and nearly fell over. And proceeded to call our property manager every three hours all week until today I lost it on the receptionist and in the end, we have no rights b/c it's not rent stabilized. Now, it takes 45-60 days to evict a tenant so we're cool until then, and in the meantime are scrambling to look at other places.

The bitch of it is: I like my apartment. It's fairly nice. We spent time fixing it up. It's got a good layout. Our stuff fits in well. It's quiet; it's not too far from everyone and everything, and is pretty much exactly the same distance from each of our places of work. I like the neighborhood. I like that my local bar (that I rarely walk into, I should note) is "Tap A Keg: A Hell of a Joint". No, no, it really IS named that.

And now I am going to have to move because my motherfucking landlord is a greedy motherfucker.

It's enough to make a girl want to leave the city.

It Can Always Get Worse

2006-08-16T22:16:00.000-04:00

I've been working until 10PM each night this week which, while semi-painful, is fine. I'm so incredibly busy that instead of looking at my clock and going "wow, it's already 2PM" I now look out the window and think "wow, the sun has set!" And then turn back and put in another hour at least. It's all for good and I'm not complaining, just highlighting the fact that I'm highly preoccupied.

Add to this the fact that I woke up this weekend with whatever freaky disease is currently circulating on the east coast, though, and the trouble starts. I've had a really sore throat since Sunday. So sore that my tongue feels swollen and it's almost hard to swallow, but not quite. A few advil seem to keep it at a tolerable level, so I've been tossing that back regularly. I know this is not a good thing. I know sore throats are supposed to go away after about 48 hours, after which you really should go to the doctor and have it checked out. I'm aware that this might be something worse than a little old virus and, as my mother just very passionately informed me, could spread and settle in my kidneys and THEN I'd be in REAL trouble. But have I mentioned I basically work and sleep right now? And aside from the sore throat, I feel fine. And others have said they've had long-term sore throats so maybe this is just what's going around? Is this a case of seriously wishful thinking?

Anyway, this isn't my point. So to get to it: this week I had to go to the studio of an awesome show of which I am an enormous fan that airs on a comedy network and claims to be a news show. Not the one that deals in truthiness, the other one. Totally for work, but still, a serious perk of the job, I'd say. Meanwhile, there's been a camera crew shadowing my charge and I (they're filming a documentary on him, and there's a good chance I'm now going to be in the background of it. On a sidenote, I'm not happy about that, but I really don't have a choice. Why is it that I wasn't given one though? I'd like to know!) So I get to the studio for the show, it's great (is it ever not, really?), and then I head back to the office and work for another three hours. As I'm getting ready to leave, I go to the bathroom, where I discover that my fly is down. Now, I hadn't gone to the bathroom since before leaving to go to the show. Which means my FLY WAS DOWN while at the show, which is embarassing enough, but I was also ON CAMERA while my fly was down.

Sweet Jesus. The preoccupation and sickness have taken things to a whole new level.

Also, I have a date tomorrow night. A date that has been postponed and moved twice before, which has taken ages to set, and which I basically HAVE to go on despite the work and sickness and the looking like crap because if I cancel, I will never wind up going on this date. I will seem the flakiest and craziest girl, and no one buys it when you say you're sick anyway, so there's no point in cancelling. And to make this worse, the skirt I wanted to wear tomorrow is at the cleaners--I haven't been home before 10 PM, so I haven't exactly been able to pick it up. So now I need to get up early to get it. Or devise another outfit. But I really want to wear THAT one. It doesn't have a fly, so that would save me the pain of reliving my earlier experience. But then again, if it's windy, the skirt might blow up, and then what?

I really might lose my mind.

Maybe it'll be good blog material though. I'm looking really hard for the silver lining here. Wish me luck!

Tasty

2006-08-13T21:27:00.000-04:00

Five Books I Feel Guilty That I Haven’t Read

2006-08-11T14:59:00.000-04:00

Gilead: I have heard nothing but astounding reviews of this book. Also, I work in publishing, and it seems I should have read (by now), the winner of both the NBCC and Pulitzer for fiction in 2005. But I haven’t. Something holds me back. I’m thinking it’s the fact that another novelist once said to me: “That fucking book. It won the Pulitzer, right? So I should read it, right? But that kind of writing? Puts me to sleep.”

The Tipping Point: Is it just me, or is this referenced in conversations all the time? Maybe it’s just that I have friends that read and loved the book, but I feel uneducated or something because I haven’t. To be honest, it just never quite appeals to me. I can’t say I’ve ever had a moment where I’ve thought, “Yes! A 280-page book on why and how ideas/trends/behaviors become massively popular!” So it just sits there, mocking me, telling me I’m not as up on things as everyone else, reminding me of how I’ll just have to smile, nod, and say, “Oh, absolutely!” when people reference it in conversation, and feel like a fraud. (And do NOT get me started on Blink.)

A Prayer for Owen Meany: I’m about to make a controversial statement, one that has caused people to literally stop speaking to me for hours at a time (well, that’s only happened once, and it was while I was traveling in Europe and my friend and I had been together for about two weeks straight, so I’m thinking it wasn’t just about this issue). I don’t like John Irving. I do not like his books, I do not like his plot lines, and I cannot stand the fact that there is a dancing bear in a tutu in the background of every third scene. I read The World According to Garp and nearly threw the book out after Garp’s wife bites off the guy’s penis. Come ON! Then I was strong-armed into trying A Widow for One Year, which a friend claimed had changed her life. I’m still trying to figure out how that was possible. A few years ago, yet another friend was shocked that I disliked Irving, and made me tell her what I’d read. She made me promise to read Owen Meany before deciding against Irving for good, and I agreed. Actually, I don’t know if I feel guilty about not reading it, or pissed off that I promised to do so.

All these classics (I’m putting them together b/c I think the reasons why are self-explanatory): 1984, Things Fall Apart, Of Mice and Men, The Grapes of Wrath, Crime and Punishment, War and Peace, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Lolita, and One Hundred Years of Solitude. And I call myself an English major!