Small Dogs and Big Dreams

Hi friends

Well I've made it back to sunny California, but went straight from the airport to the office. And then I had to deal with many emails. And anyway, the point is I haven't had time to do much else.

But if you are looking for something to read because you actually have time to putz around at work today, then check out my latest recap at TvGasm.

Hold Please

Oh hi. Just checking in to let you all know that I'm home this week visiting my parents. So don't be alarmed, worried or heartbroken when you don't see any posts from me for a little while.

It's just that I'm busy shoving as much free food in my face as I possibly can for the next few days and if I take typing breaks I might lose focus on chewing and end up choking to death.

And you wouldn't want that, would you?

Then on Saturday I'm going to the wedding of my fabulous friends Miriam and Andy. Where I will be consuming --you guessed it --more free food! Not to mention, free booze!

I'm such a good guest.

Miss you all and will be back in a bit.

xo
b

If I Knew It Was Going To Be Like This, I Would've Gone To A $1000 A Plate Fundraiser. (At least then I'd get some food.)

Whenever I'm having a bad morning, I can always count on a Starbucks mocha to make me feel better. Or, to make me feel a little queasy and mad at myself for being a fatass.

So, what's wrong? I just had a lame weekend. On Saturday, I woke up not feeling well. I was ready to spend the day watching TV, feeling soothed by the air conditioner blowing on me. But then at 3pm, the air conditioner stopped. The TV stopped. Indeed, we'd lost power. No doubt because many many other lazy bums on my block were also watching TV in their own air conditioned apartments.

Awesome.

This meant that now there was nothing to do but lay around, in the 104 degree heat, staring at the ceiling and feeling bad for myself for feeling ill.

At one point I opened up my laptop and went to sign online. When my browser window showed an error, I wondered what the trouble could be. It didn't occur to me that it was because the power was out. I guess I always thought the internet occupied it's own magical dimension somewhere. When I realized it had befallen the same fate as my microwave, I stared at my laptop, wondering what else it was good for.

Nope. Nothing.

The power did not come on again until Sunday morning. Devin and I were laying in bed, having suffered a fitful night, when suddenly the ceiling fan began to move. The air conditioner began to wurr. Ahhh.

But by then, I felt like I'd been robbed of my weekend. I cheered myself up with a giant breakfast, and by having friends over to hang out by the pool. By the end of yesterday, after I'd stayed up til 1am watching episodes of Bridezillas, things were looking up.

And then, this morning, I opened some mail that was sitting on the kitchen table.

I had a big envelope from Train To End Stroke, my team for training for a half (and ultimately a full) marathon. Perhaps it's going to be a fabulous prize for being such a great runner! They just love me!

No, it is paperwork to recommit to the team. And recommitting to the team does not mean just saying, "Yeah, I'm still with you! Go team go!" It means signing your life away. And by life, I mean your money, because as we all know money is the most important thing in the world.

Seriously, if I don't meet my $2100 goal, I have to pay the difference. This is a goal that they made me pick to take part. If it were up to me, I would've picked $500. Which seems like an awful lot to me. And it's probably at least what I'm going to have to pay these people out of my own pocket in a few weeks.

To be fair, when I signed on, I knew that it was like this. But I figured I'd reach that goal. They said it was easy to do (if you are a grown up with rich friends). And then I figured that their "We ask you to pay the remaining balance" was like an empty threat intended to make team members take their fundraising efforts seriously.

But now I have their forms, and I have to give them my credit card information so that when August 8th roles around, and I inevitably haven't achieved my goal, they will just go right ahead and charge me.

What the fuck?!

I feel like I'm a chump in some kind of pyramid scheme, not a good-hearted young woman who is trying to make a difference while also doing something worthwhile for herself. Why did they have to go and suck all of the fun out of this thing? Now I'm resentful and scared.

And why can't they just be like "Wow! Great job! You raised over $1100! Thank you so much!"

No, instead it's "You failed. Pay us."

I could just scream. And in fact this morning was talking to myself, saying things like the above statements out loud while I was at the gas station, and then turned around to notice a man standing there. He gave me a look like, "Hey it's cool. I didn't hear nothing."

It's not as if I don't intend to work hard to reach that goal, I just seriously can't afford to fall short by more than $100. Right now I'm short by like $1000.

But I'm not stuck in this mess just yet. If I don't send in the forms, I lose my place on the team, but I would still run this damn race (and maybe spitefully knock over all of the cups on the table at the team's water stops...). I wanted to do this for myself and I wanted to raise money for this cause. And I did. Look at my fundraising page. I did great!

However, I don't think I know any more people who can, or want to, donate. And I don't want to beg people, with tears and in my eyes, thinking of how much money I'm about to lose.

Because so many people have been generous and thoughtful, I've been able to raise a lot of money! And I feel like I will let them down if I quit the team, even though I'll still run the race.

So I ask you, dear friends, what should I do?

In the News: Why Cabbage Patch Kids May Have Ruined You

Have you heard this news story that 17 girls in a Massachusetts high school --all of them under 16 years old-- made a pact to all get pregnant? They wanted to all go through it together. They thought it would be fun.

One of them, in an effort to do this, got pregnant by a 24 year old homeless man.

What a loser.

I don't know what is wrong with these girls' lives that they have decided that having babies with homeless men is a better life plan than going to college or, at the very least, spending their late teens and early 20s partying a lot. It's sad. But it's also sort of like, "Hey, you thought this was a ba-rilliant plan. Now look. Sucks, huh?"

I'm not being very understanding, I know. Ok, but how about this? If you are going to go be a moron and get yourself knocked up, at least pick a guy who's loaded so you can live off his money. Don't pick a bum.

I should probably be concerned that most of the fathers are in their 20s. But I'm not that surprised. Guys are creeps. So.

This whole disaster makes me think of the time one of my 6th grade classmates thought she was pregnant. After a few days, it was established that she'd "lost the baby" or something. In hindsight, I'm sure she was making the whole thing up, but at the time I did not even consider that she was probably lying.

She was 11. The father was allegedly one of our 11 year old classmates. And she knew she was pregnant because she took one of her mom's pregnancy tests. Apparently the woman kept dozens in her closet at all times.

What a mess!

But what disturbs me most about the whole scenario was the fact that I was not disturbed at the time. I recall sitting in the library and hearing this news from her during "reading time." (And this little lady could've used a lot more reading time, and a lot less free time, if you ask me.)

We all gathered round the table, as she discussed, in a whisper-yell that she was with child. I was seriously not part of the cool crowd, which she was (because 11 year olds who have sex are cool!), so I was surprised they were even letting me listen in on this important piece of gossip.

And as she sat there looking distraught, everyone comforted her. "It will be fine." "We can help you." "You'll make a great mom." "Maybe he could punch you in the stomach."

I said nothing, but not because I was scared or upset. I just didn't know the protocol for something like this.

Nowadays, when a friend says she might be undesirably pregnant, I know the protocol is to say, "Oh fuck!" followed by, "I'm sure you're not. Have you been eating less? Are you stressed?"

So as I read this story about these sad sad girls, I can't help but relate to being young and having no freaking clue that pregnancy is a big deal. And that having babies is not fun, not even if 16 of your closest friends are all going to be preggers at the same time.

It's only as you get older and you start feeling like you have a life of your own, that sacrificing that new life you just made for yourself is a terrifying prospect.

But before we reach that stage of maturity, the only understanding we have of raising children is from playing house. And when you play house, you can feed your baby doll imaginary food, and you can accidentally drop her on the floor a few hundred times, and you can forget about her for a few hours if you want a take a nap or go on a play date.

So in response to this news story, I don't blame the schools, and I don't blame the disgusting men who slept with these girls, and I don't blame the parents, necessarily.

No, I blame the dolls. And the social construct that girls are supposed to play with dolls. So that we end up with girls wanting to have babies when they themselves are still babies.

And while we're at it, I should add that I don't think it's the best idea for boys to play with guns and little army men. That's not producing fantastic results either.

A Wolf In Pink Clothing

Turns out Cassie is one tricky little lady.

And Bailey is a jerk.

What am I talking about?

The Legally Blonde recap of course. Check me out on TvGasm.

But I Might Need Some Kind Of Girdle

I know. I haven't written much lately. It's not because I've failed to do or say anything stupid for the past few days. Believe me. It's just that I've been stuck inside my head lately.

"Oh wow. I've always wondered what it's like in there," you say.

'Tis a silly place.

My brain is a simple machine that's impossible to use because of the addition of complex features, like a can opener that's voice activated and solar powered. And worse, someone's gone and sprinkled glitter all over the whole thing and there seems to be chunky peanut butter clogging up the gears and cranks.

It's like that.

But anyway the reason for being stuck in my head is because I'm in the early stages of planning our wedding. Believe me, I didn't think that a mere 3 weeks into the engagement I'd be pulling my hair out and feeling overwhelmed.

I just can't help myself I guess.

Frankly, I'm a little annoyed with myself. I'd always thought I was the running-off-to-Vegas-to-elope kinda gal. But the second I had a ring on my finger and getting married was an actual thing, not only did I want a wedding, but instantaneously my head was filled with a hundred different, conflicting, and impossible to carry out ideas of what this wedding would be.

And it all begins with Setting The Date. I guess. I gathered that this was a very important thing for us to do immediately because everyone started asking.

It is, "Congratulations. When?"

I had the urge to arbitrarily just pick a date in the future, but then worried that some industrious person would take it upon themselves to write this date in a planner and make it all official.

So there still is no date. And no location. We don't even know which coast yet. I've changed my mind again and again about everything. And apparently you are supposed to pick out a color palette. Oh, and one other thing I hadn't anticipated- evidently, everything costs money. Did you know this?

Still, with all of this planning and decision-making to do, I can proudly say that I do have at least one thing checked off my list.

For some stupid reason, I already have a dress.

I didn't mean to do this all out of order. I blame downtime at work. Previously, I spent it always reading (and writing) blogs. Now a woman inconceivably possessed, I spend this time perusing wedding websites looking for centerpiece ideas (I'm thinking candles, not flowers) and bridesmaids dresses that didn't make me want to vomit (there are none).

It was during one such wedding quest that I started looking at pictures of wedding gowns. And that's when I found my dress. It was simple and beautiful. It was precisely what I always wanted. And it was on sale this month only.

I bookmarked the webpage and put it out of my mind. Then I went back and looked again. And again. Then I sent the picture to Anne, and my sister and to a poor coworker who was simply trying to get a drink from the water cooler next to my desk.

But no! I mustn't buy a dress already. I don't even have the date yet!

Then I found the justification.

Because Anne is moving to Brooklyn at the end of the summer (abandoning me! unimaginable horror), I thought that perhaps I better do at least one planning activity with her before it's too late.

And so I made an appointment to meet the dress. Anne and Kesila joined me. Well, they were both stuck in traffic and 15 minutes late, and by that point I'd already tried on the dress. It was perfect. Slim, flattering. I didn't feel like taking it off and putting it back on again, so the dress and I waited for my friends. I wandered around looking like quite the sad, directionless bride until they finally arrived.

They agreed the dress was perfect. They also agreed that while we were at it, I may as well try on some others. And this meant that, if only for their amusement, I would try on at least one poofy dress.

Oh, the poofy dress. I looked around and all of the other brides-to-be were standing in dresses that belled out from the waste. They all looked adorable, really. But I just couldn't bring myself put something on that was so...so big.

While I was changing out of one of the less sizeable options, my friends rummaged through the aisles and produced a strapless (strike one), sequin embroidered (strike two) gown with an enormous skirt with big poofy layers (strike three).

Rolling my eyes, I dragged this masterpiece into the dressing room and navigated my way through the material. When I stepped out, and stood before the mirror, I was shocked to find that I sort of, kind of, liked it. But why?! It's just ridiculous. When I confessed that I felt very pretty, Kesila assured me that my wedding day was the day to be extravagant. I looked to Anne for a second opinion. She was laughing to herself and floofing some of the lower layers of the gown.

Well that settled it. Back to the original dress. Poofy was officially out of the question.

Knowing that I was already over the dress-shopping stage, and realizing that my boobs looked good in the lovely dress I'd wanted from the start, I decided practicality be damned! I was going to get that dress.

And so I did. And so it sits in my closet just waiting for it's big debut. Whenever I set a date.

Acting Like Actors

That's what the girls are doing this week on Legally Blonde.

Check out my recap at TvGasm.

Intermission

I'm hard at work (sort of) writing my latest recap for TVGasm.com.

So in the meantime, here's something.


more funny fail pictures at FAIL Blog

A Good Wiikend

Every weekend I face a struggle not uncommon to most young adults: Do I spend my time cleaning the apartment, sorting through the heaps of mail on the kitchen table, and doing the laundry? Or do I find a way to waste all 3000 minutes of the weekend?

I always end up picking the latter option, which explains why our kitchen smells like garbage and why a quick walk across the living room turns the bottoms of my feet black with dirt, and decorated with bits of dog hair.

Often I will use the state of things with my pretty new clothes hamper to measure just how well I'm being a grown up. Today, I was too embarrassed to even take a picture to show you. It's lid is propped open with dirty clothes, towels cascade down the side, making their own pile almost as tall as the hamper itself. There's a trail of socks leading away from it, as Seamus will select one sock at a time to put in his mouth, hold it for a while, and then drop it someplace else.

Oh, and here's a little tip for anyone facing the same "to clean or not to clean" dilemma:

Don't get a Wii.

I spent all of Saturday promising myself that I would clean the apartment, and then yesterday morning Devin comes home from Best Buy with a Wii and the Wii Fit. He'd been desperately wanting to buy a Wii since they came out, I think partly because he watched a friend of his lose 50 pounds from playing Wii boxing.

I can see now how that would be possible. The Wii is exhausting. We played from 11:30 am to 7:30 pm. My arms and back are sore from Wii tennis.

And Wii Fit is the coolest thing ever. It gives you a fitness assessment and tells you your BMI and how good your natural balance is and runs all of these tests. Then it tells you your real age, based on how healthy you are. I'm 32. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Also, you get to make this little avatar of yourself to play games and to do the workouts on Wii. It's called a Mii. And Miis are just adorable. And after you weigh yourself on Wii Fit, it automatically makes your Mii fatter. So that's neat...

By 9 o'clock last night, we were bored of TV, but too tired to play any more Wii games. This is when I remembered that you can connect to the internet through the Wii, and download old nintendo games.

Cut to me at 9:05, playing Super Mario 3. Did you know that the second you get back into a game that you haven't played since you were a kid, you remember EVERYTHING? Where the hidden 1-UPs are, all of the places where bad guys are about to sneak up on you, every note to every song on every level?

You know, I assumed that after Devin and I got engaged, it would mean a lot of new things for our relationship.

And apparently it meant we'd enter the video game obsessed stage of our lives.

I couldn't be happier.

What A Mess

Just a quickie here. I've gone and said something dumb again.

It happened yesterday. When I got home from work Seamus the dog was all jumpy and playful and wouldn't leave me alone for two seconds. "Where's your dad?" I asked, meaning "I don't feel like playing and I want to make Devin do it."

Well, Devin was showing one of the open apartments in our building to perspective tenants. I think I forgot to mention this, but we are the new property managers.

So I take a tennis ball and bring Seamus into the courtyard for a few rounds of fetch. To him, fetch means chasing after the ball, picking it up in his mouth, and then running toward me so that I think he's finally gotten the hang of it, but then passing by me, making a u-turn behind me, then running back in the opposite direction, stopping half way to drop the tennis ball in some bushes, make a half assed attempt to sniff out the lost ball, and then wander off, causing me to dig around for said tennis ball, and then chase after him. It's really fun.

We play this game of his for a few minutes, and then he decides to just take a dump. Eeep! I run inside to get a plastic bag to clean up after him before any of the neighbors see what our bad dog has done.

After cleaning it up, while holding the bag of poo, I let him back into the apartment, and then walk to the dumpsters behind the building. At this point, I notice Devin with the two girls he's showing the apartment to. So I throw out the poo bag, and then as I make my way back inside, I run into him and the girls as he's showing off our wonderful laundry room.

He introduces me to the two of them. They seemed nice, smiling faces and all. The first girl extends her hand to offer the customary introductory handshake, but I put my hands in the air, with my fingers spread wide apart like toddlers do when they show you how much paint they've gotten all over themselves.

"I just picked up dog poop," I blurt out in a panicky voice.

Just like that. Not, "Oh nice to meet you, I'd shake your hand but I was just picking up after the dog."

Or I could've just shaken her hand and said nothing and she wouldn't have known what I'd been up to. And after all, there'd been a layer of 7-11 plastic bag between my hands and the poo so it's not THAT gross.

But no. "I just picked up dog poop!" Nice to meet you.

The Guy With The Shirt

I've mentioned before that I suck at being a human being in public situations. I make a fool of myself constantly. I'm not kidding.

On Tuesday evening, I went for a long run after work. (Yes, I'm still training for that half-marathon. Yes, I'm surprised I haven't quit.) After about 3.5 miles, I decided to call it quits (as I was gasping for air and possibly dying).

When I got back to my block, I slowed down to a walk. I was listening to Madonna's "4 Minutes" on my iPod and sort of strutting along. As I got within feet of the entrance to my building --meaning I had nearly survived an episode of public exposure without embarrassing myself -- I noticed a guy who looked about my age, walking in my direction on the sidewalk. He was wearing the exact same shirt as I was. 3/4 length sleeved baseball shirt. Light blue middle, dark blue sleeves. This is not THAT common of a shirt for two people on the same street to be wearing.

As he got closer, I thought I should say something about our matching shirts. Then I noticed he was also wearing headphones and so wouldn't hear me well.

Ah! I will make some kind of gesture to indicate that we are wearing matching shirts! Certainly he will feel an immediate sense of camaraderie with me and be glad that I took the time to point out our similarities.

Then I told myself, "No! Stop! Don't do this!" But that little voice was drowned out by Madonna and washed away by the endorphins all bopping around in my system post-run.

In the seconds it took me to think about all of that, he had gotten within a few feet of me.

So, to the rhythm of the music that only I could hear, I pointed to my shirt, then to his, then to mine, then to his. I smiled and, feeling a little panicked, looked for some sense of recognition in his eyes. Nothing. He smiled warily, and that's when I realized that it looked like I was suggesting some kind of romantic interaction between us.

"Me, you, you me...eh? Eh? Come on think about it."

Fuck!

So just as he was about to pass me, in a last ditch attempt to save myself, I tugged on my shirt to show him what I meant.

Now of course it looked like I was saying, "Seriously! You and me! I'll take off my shirt right now. Let's make this happen."

Then he passed by me.

I felt like chasing after him, going, "Hey! Hey mister! Our shirts are the same!"

But I had the sense to realize that would only scare him more, as he was probably already terrified by this strange, sweaty, panting woman with hair flying loose from her ponytail and sticking out in all directions, dancing and leering at him. "It's just you and me, baby!"

And so I just did some stretches, trying to act casual. Then I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the disaster. But the streets were, thankfully, empty. So I went inside.

Legally Blonde The Musical: The Search For Elle Woods

I'm back in action over at TVGasm. Now I'm covering MTV's new show, Legally Blonde The Musical: The Search For Elle Woods.

Watch girls battle it out to be Broadway stars.

And see me make fun of them. Here.

I'm Just Not That Into You

Last night, the girls and I went to see Sex And The City. Like most women, I simply adored the TV series. And I have so many positive memories associated with it. I can remember watching the series finale with all of my roommates during my senior year of college. And I can recall this really relaxing day I had during my first year in LA when my friends and I spent the whole day eating chinese food and watching episode after episode of SATC.

I can't offer you much of a review of the movie, but I will say that I got the sense that it was mocking itself. However, since I am so enamored with the whole Sex and the City franchise, I still really enjoyed myself.

I do, however, have a very bad review of the audience at last night's 8:15 show. At The Grove. I hope some of you are reading this because I'm really disappointed in you.

Now I knew going into this that the audience was going to be groups of girlfriends who would squeal with delight as they entered the theatre and while the opening credits rolled. But I guess I underestimated just how aggressive such a crowd would be. As we waited in line to be let into our theatre, there was a terrifying electricity in the air. And then as soon as the velvet rope was moved out of the way, it was like a stampede. It reminds me of news footage I've seen of wedding dress clearance sales where women line up outside the doors of Filene's Basement, standing there for three days, drooling with the anticipation of big discounts. And then when the doors are released by some poor, wide-eyed store employee, the women run in screaming and pushing one another aside and the clothing racks are emptied in a matter of seconds except for one hideous, poofy sleeved gown swinging back and forth on a hanger.

It was like that.

Fortunately, we were in the front of the line and able to grab seats right away because the theatre filled up almost instantly, sending everyone into a panic.

I went back into the lobby to grab snacks, but didn't time this well because now I was fighting the tidal wave of women pouring into the theatre. I bumped into no fewer than 4 women, none of whom said "excuse me" or "I'm sorry." I literally threw myself against the wall and slid along it through the rest of the corridor, like how cops do on TV, only I unfortunately lacked the loaded weapon.

I started to feel really embarrassed for the whole group. What if there was a straight guy here? We are confirming his beliefs that we're all a bunch of caddy psychos. Ladies, please!

And as if these nasty women weren't bad enough, nearly every pack of them came with the requisite bitchy gay man who was really protective of his friends' personal space. Look, I love gay dudes, but their shouting "You need to move" and "She needs to sit her ass down" was only worsening the already stressful situation.

Shortly after the movie started and the chaos died down, a woman in her 50s appeared at the end of our row and asked if we were saving the free seat next to Kristen. We were, of course, for our friend who was running terribly late. If I'd been the one sitting next to the empty I'd be tempted to jut give it to this lady out of sympathy.

When we told her that she couldn't take the seat, she made a frustrated, desperate "hrrmph," and then she sat down on the steps of the aisle. I was at the end of the row, so this meant that our new friend was just sitting on the floor next to me. I looked over at Anne, seated to my left, with a "what the hell" face. I figured that after a few minutes, this woman would feel stupid and stand up again, or that an usher would come along and shoo her away.

But she stayed there. For the whole movie. And I don't know why it made me so uncomfortable -- it wasn't like she smelled of onions or tried to touch my knee or anything-- but I didn't like her being there. Why did she pick my step, of all the steps in the theatre? Where oh where was my bitchy gay man to look after my personal space? So I spent the whole movie leaning so far away from her that I was practically resting my head on Anne's shoulder.

Oh, and then the woman on the stairs got all friendly. She'd look over at me every time she laughed (she was fond of dick jokes), hoping I'd laugh with her. I felt bad that I wasn't warming up to her. After all, she was harmless. She just needed a place to sit. I debated offering her some of my m&ms, but that would mean fewer for me, so...

And anyway, she was the least of my worries because there was some kind of blonde three-headed monster sitting behind us. All three heads laughed, sighed and cooed simultaneously. And the sobbing. Oh the sobbing! The slightest hint of sadness from one of the characters on screen would send this beast into hysterics. I could hardly concentrate with all the sniffling and snotting and staccato breathing behind me.

So in conclusion, if anyone asks me if I liked the movie, I guess my answer is, "Yeah sure. But I'm beginning to hate women."

And also, "My popcorn was stale."