Julie, Julia, and Lilly.

Well I saw the movie I've been waiting for. There was a summer of absolutely nothing interesting in theaters and then suddenly they're coming at me all at once- Julie & Julia, Time Traveler's Wife, 500 Days of Summer, The Cove. So much to see that it makes a girl consider getting a part-time job at a movie theater.

Before I go any further I have to confess that I'm listening to The [London] Royal Symphony Orchestra play the best of George Michael. I don't confess so much to get this off my chest as I do to let people know that such a masterpiece exists. Ha.

So something about seeing this movie tonight inspired creativity in me that just hasn't been there in too long. I rushed first to the grocery store (where, granted, I bought a box of mac and cheese that I've just polished off) and then home to my computer. OH, wait, duh. She's a blogger. So it's not just creativity but also a reminder that I have a barely-watered blog that is withering away out here. So for all four readers, howdy!


What is it about this movie that is so freaking feel-good? I honestly could have done without the Julie half of it. She was irritating and self-centered and the redeeming side wasn't really there for me. If it had been played by anyone but Amy Adams, I think my annoyance would hae peaked, but they picked someone likeable, which was key. But Meryl Streep, man, she's something else. It goes beyond good acting. Susie leaned over and asked me if she ever makes bad, unwatchable movies. And before I could bring up Mamma Mia (which I personally liked but thought Susie would find unwatchable) she said "I even watched her sing Abba and I liked her". So the reasonable conclusion is that she's an acting goddess.


I was trying to think of what makes for a good movie today. Certainly good acting counts, but in general I think the rule is much like a good book- if you can make someone care about something they never normally would, you have been successful in making a good film. I had never thought twice about Julia Child or the art of French cooking in particular, but now I'm fascinated (as is the rest of the country).


I wondered if there was a similar task I could undertake- to do such-and-such within a year and write about it, but I really don't know what that would be. I mean, I basically already do what interests me and avoid what doesn't. Right now I'm on a 60 day nonstop workout challenge, but who wants to hear about that? (not me) I need some new endeavor unlike anything else I've ever done in my life. Maybe I should just aim to try 100 recipes in the next year. That would be something, but I'd just wanna eat it, not write about it. BOOORING. (also, i have no problem with cooking, it's the grocery portion that bugs, or specifically, the lugging it upstairs). Anyhow, it's cool that she had a great idea and did well with it. It all wraps up nicely in the film for both ladies, and life so rarely does. The perfect matinee fare.


In other news, during my grocery trip today I officially avoided someone. When did San Diego become so small that I have to duck for cover? The only other time I've done that was when a guy I'd been emailing with on Match was at the grocery store (apparently grocery stores are not for me). I was pretty sure it was him and GO FIGURE (this stuff only happens to me) that I had just gotten out of my sweatiest-ever Bikram session. I went to the grocery store straight after (which I never do), one in a part of town I rarely shop in, and to the most ghetto one possible. And there I look up and have this moment of recognition with someone I absolutely do NOT want to be recognized by. I mean, seriously, what freakin dating gods have I so pissed off that only after 90 minutes in a room of 105 degrees will they let me run into a cute boy? And especially one I almost have a chance with! (the guy and i went on our date as scheduled, said nothing about it, and were mutual disinterested. I live with the fiction that I look so good when I'm dressed up that I can have zero resemblance to post-gymus-lillyus)


As for tonight's game of Hide and Seek, I have no particular reason to avoid this person but he's given off a bit of an Ahole vibe and I didn't feel like being super friendly when I was in happy Julia Child land. He just moved to town and I haven't technically seen him in some 14 years but I've heard. I was so frozen with indecision about whether to walk forward and say hi/reintroduce myself or to turn that if he is at ALL observant I was probably peeped out. I was perched like a greeter at the entrance. But who knows. I figure that your parents can make you be nice to people when you're a kid, but when you're 31 and there's a whole world out there, you don't have to.


Well, the mac n cheese coma (ok, and 5 of those freaking delicious Paul Newman healthy oreos. someone please take them OUT of my house) is fading. Time to put in my workout for the day... until I think of a better road to fame and fortune.

And in a final note of complete humiliation, I just posted this to my company's website. OOOOPS.

21 Questions but not really.

Today I was going through my inbox and I found a questionnaire a friend had sent me, well, many years ago. Apparently it was a while ago because the email said something about being for new years resolutions 2007. I think the original source was Yahoo Finance, but the point is the article talked about getting a clear vision of where you are and where you want to go. So since I have a million things to do, of course I thought "wow, i better hurry up and take this before i accidentally start being productive!"


What makes you happy at work?
freedom, creativity, flexibility. writing or seeing a written, physical, finished product. working with cool people. being inspired, feeding off other people's energy. an entrepreneurial, growing environment.


What makes you happy at home?
this one is simple. it might be complicated if i had a big family, then i'd get all into dynamics, but for me it's this formula: good music and order. if the house is clean, i'm pretty happy. it's a weird, but very true correlation. if stuff is piled all over the place it means life has been a bit too hectic for me. i meditate while i put things away. so sue me. the reason i know this answer is true is i have a Dave Brubeck album on the stereo and i'm happy as a clam.


What makes you happy with your friends and family?
laughter. feeling trusted. being someone they can lean on, especially if i can help them resolve something (as opposed to being just a listening ear). hugs.

What makes you happy when you're by yourself?
music (bonus points if it's out of the tape trunk in my room), dancing with myself, reading a book i don't want to put down, taking a bubble bath, thinking about books i want to read in the future. daydreaming about traveling.


What do you love to do?
i love to drink hot drinks. yes, i'm putting that first. i can become a different person when a cup of tea is put in front of me, and i don't know why. i love to sing. i love love LOVE to sing actually. i don't do it in front of a lot of people, but there you have it. i love to dance. i love to read books and underline them. i love to sit in the sun but only for short spurts of time. i love to do yoga, i love to do things that make me feel strong. i love to listen to people and give them advice. i have no idea why this is. people always say "thanks" after you listen to them, but i feel like i learn something new every time, and it's more than a little flattering to think someone wants your advice. i love to take bubble baths. didn't we cover this?

What would you do with your life today if you weren't afraid of failure?
i'd sing. or i'd have a kid. or i'd take off for a year and just go see what the world had in store for me.

What's not working in your life?
my math skillz. my overloadedness. i feel like i'm supposed to say "my love life" but actually i don't feel like it's malfunctioning, it's just not shining right now. no big deal. oh - you know what's not working in my life? my favorite sweatpants. the string got lost in the waistband. does that count?

What are you currently doing that prevents you from experiencing joy?
WORRYING!!!

What's working in your life?
so many things. my friends, my family, my work ethic, my optimism, my health. ok, i get it, i have it good!


Who's not working in your life?
i'm not gonna name names but people who don't get me. people who don't hear what i'm saying. i hate repeating myself -- it brings out the worst in me, i'm not a patient person i guess. there are some people in my life (incidentally, and not through invitation!) who don't really have my best interests or happiness at heart but i keep them on the fringe. i don't have anyone really toxic, thankfully.


Who in your life is subtracting value from and adding misery to it?
no one! phew!!! i do a purge every few years, so i'm clear on this one.

Can you fix any of these relationships, or should you let them go from your life?
not applicable. but i'm a fan of letting go lately.

What relationships are working in your life?
all of them. i worked really hard to get here, come to think of it.

If we were getting together one year from today, what would have to happen for you to be able to tell me that you now have more joy in your life?
i'd have to be in a more secure place, so i felt like i was fully reaping everything i try to sow, i guess. honestly, i think i'd be pretty joyful if things stayed status quo.


What's the single most important thing you've learned about yourself as a result of answering these questions?
i'm one lucky son of a gun.

I Just Called To Say I Blog You.

I owed the world a blog said one of my three readers (Hi Az!) Life hasn't been very interesting of late. I mean, when I thought about what to blog, the first thing that came to mind was to talk about the complete lack of manners around me. Yesterday I went to Bikram (hot) yoga and the woman next to me was hacking. Which is bad enough, but she didn't cover her mouth. Then, while I"m lying there in my shavasana, relaxing, I see her bottle of benadryl in front of me! I mean seriously, if you're that sick, um... STAY HOME!

Today I woke up feeling like crud so i didn't work out (which was disappointing because I have been a workout superstar. So imagine this being written by a toned, highly worked-out self. Thanks.) Anyhow, i came to the cafe to write a paper and catch up on work and who do I sit next to? A woman apparently raised in the same barn as yesterday's woman. She was hacking, hacking and grading papers or something. She always comes here and grades papers, but I overheard her telling someone "everyone thinks I"m a teacher, but i'm not". I can't imagine what she's doing with a red pen and all those papers. From her etiquette, she might be crossing out Emily Post quotes with glee?

Here's a snapshot of me right now:

Book I'm reading: The Joy Luck Club. I have been reading an insane amount this year. I've already read 20 books in 2009, which isn't bad if you consider that I"m working full time and getting edumacated as well? It's a very obvious escapist tactic, the same one I used as a child. Today I'm not sure if I felt sick or if I just felt like staying in bed and reading more, to be honest. But I figure when people have crack habits and are kleptos or whatnot, my little vice ain't so bad.

As for the book itself -how I got through the past 20 years without reading this book is a mystery to everyone. I feel like it just came out. My mom always recommends great books to me and she had, but I'm very much a "judge a book by its cover" person, and this one looked very sad to me. I know, I'm a weirdo, but as it turns out, I was right. It's a heavy book. Anyhow, I think I understand it as an adult way more than I would have when it first came out. As much of an advanced reader as I may have been at age 12, I think I have a different appreciation for the themes of bridging cultures and being the bicultural child of immigrants. I have spent more than one page being grateful that my mom doesn't have a super heavy accent and that she didn't push me to compete as a kid. So that's good, you know, when a book makes you appreciate something in your life. Yay for takeaways.

Music: I have been listening to all new stuff. There has been the occasional digression from the highbrow- I'm not going to lie to you and say the new Britney "Circus" album isn't fantastic from start to end. I'm not going to tell you I don't sing along to it at the top of my lungs. I'm not going to tell you I don't hear the title track in my head during yoga or that I don't wish I'd written half of those songs. I've also been giving the new Prince and Pet Shop Boys a good listen, and some new stuff. A friend gave me the Calvin Harris album "I Created Disco" and I'm loving that. I always wish there was more music from the 80s- sometimes I feel like I know it all- and then something like this comes along and satisfies my drought.

Life: Everyone is getting married and having babies (second, third, or fourth-round issues). See previous 100 posts. Feeling the need to do something BIG so that when people ask me what I'm up to I have something interesting to contribute. "Oh, me? Nothing much. Just, you know, learning Swahili and adopting blind orphans from Mexico. (shrug) The usual."

The other night I saw a horrible reflection of myself. I was watching The Millionaire Matchmaker and this sweet girl went on a date with a millionaire and when he asked her what she does for fun, she said she reads. I was stunned. I mean, could you BE less dynamic? Then I had an "oh shit" moment. In one second of reality television I was able to size up my entire existence into that phrase: "oh shit".

A guy I went to high school with is on a reality show now. It just makes me realize how I could be doing bigger/better/more, making more of a splash. just not sure what it should be. well, i guess if i get swine flu from the yoga chick then i'll make my splash, won't i?

Books, music, life. I think I covered it for now :)

Matchmaker Matchmaker, Make Me a Match

Ok, so my latest obsession is the Millionaire Matchmaker. When I first turned it on, I have to confess, I did so for the obnoxious title. But now all I can talk about is Patti. As in, if you heard me talking, you'd think she was a personal friend. While I can tell you all about this third-generation matchmaker with a 99% success rate, I actually don't know her. But I feel like I do, in a creepy fan way.

Every week Susie and I swap commentary on the episodes "Oh. My. God. you have to see what the Chicago guy does to his date!" and so on. When we're together we imitate the client's accents and generally ridicule everyone on the show. Except Patti. NO one ridicules Patti, not on my watch!

The entertainment includes but is not limited to:

1) being mesmerized by her bangs. I almost cut myself some (I wish I was kidding) but my sister and Michael cautioned me.

2) being mesmerized by the fact that everyone on the show has a spray tan. To the point that one guy tried to come to an event without one, and she CALLED HER PERSONAL SPRAY TAN girl to come with her little wheelie case and make it happen.

3) watching some guy make his butler feed him grapes. of course this guy was the *one* Persian on the show. of course.

4) watching a guy refer to himself in the third person in the most obnoxious Chicago accent ever. "it's JIMMY D time!!!" "Jimmy loves Polish girls" etc.

5) watching her assistant quietly take suggestions and apply them to her own life. Chelsea has gotten way better looking over the season.

6) watching a woman who looked like she had been microwaved (she was an import from Minnesota) tell Patti she needed a makeover. YIKES!

7) watching a guy pick twins as his date as if they counted, together, as ONE date. and having the girls say they're half Indian and half Persian. knowing it was NOT their Persian side that allowed them to go on a tv dating show. Laughing thinking of how their parents will kick their asses when they find out.

and that's just a sampling, folks. It's an hour a week of Patti calling people out on poor manners, bad behavior, and gross appearances.

The good news for the bookworms out there was that Patti wrote a book. My sister emailed me immediately about it, OBVIOUSLY. So I ordered it and 2 nights later it was here. The same night I was 150 pages into her wisdom. She is just as freakin funny in the book as she is on tv. I didn't learn much more than I would have thought before, although there were new tips like "men like long, straight hair" and "text him only 1 for every 4 times he texts you" to ponder. She constantly reiterates that "women are jewels to be adored", which I can appreciate when I'm not rolling my eyes about it.

For like a half-second I was tempted to go to one of her "casting calls", but then my bank account called and said "Um, you aren't hiring a photographer to do Glamour Shots.... Besides, Patti won't accept the mall variety of Glamour Shots. Everyone knows that."

Then my Pride clicked in on the other line and said "Um, I don't think so."

This same self also reminded me that I don't do cattle call meatmarketing (see also: my accidental Bachelor audition).

So now I have a reason to become a Millionairess! I'm very excited about my new plan. I'm going to write Patti stat and let her know to save some room.

Finally, someone to do the dirty work for me.

Book Review: 33 1/3 Use Your Illusion I & II

Dear Eric Weisbard,

If you hate a band, why write about them? This wasn't some forced album review that you *had* to do. Rather than discuss, as the series suggests, the importance of a record, or how it was made, etc., you took apart the UYI albums.

I didn't expect it to be the dribbly fan prose my personal reflections on the book would have been, but I also didn't expect you to be so self-righteous. Why do I know more about your married life (you have a kid, you're married to a girl you used to listen to one track of GNR with repeatedly) than the album or what it meant? Apparently this album (for the author) heralded the end of rock. I get it, you're bitter. Clearly you wanted to write the review of Pearl Jam's "Ten" and didn't get the gig. Suck it up.

-LG

--

So we have to listen to him rag on the band's persona (rather than their songwriting). He blathers on, and I found myself checking how many pages were left (the book only rings in at a hefty 125, but it feels like War and Peace the way he writes).

He even gets as arrogant as to talk about if *he* had ordered the tracks, what order he would have done, and what he would have kept. You know what *I* would have done, Eric Weisbard? I would have hired an editor for you. :)

But that's not the worst of it. At one point early on he refers to an art critique and decides to bite the style and review the albums WITHOUT LISTENING TO THEM. then, in the final chapter, we're supposed to be grateful that he did so and pour over his pontifications. EXAMPLE GIVEN - this is one gem I dog-eared in my book to share with you all:

"Also, if you hit the same note at the end as you had in the beginning, just more torn and frayed, then nothing has moved forward. Gothic imperatives that have long counterposed Puritan skepticism to the smiley faced motto of American revivalism: "all may be saved"".

If any of you understand what the hell he's on about (this was in reference to the song "Don't Cry", which the author has particular disdain for, lemme know. Great use of your SAT words, Eric my boy.

This book McSucked. Goodreads, can you add zero stars to the options? Thanks.

In closing, I'd like to quote the great William Bailey and tell Eric Weisbard to GET IN THE RING M***********!

I spent the next 2 hours watching a G'nR dvd to wash the taste of this book out of my mouth. Ptooey.

Hey you - plan my life.

So yesterday a friend who I think (hope?) was joking asked me what my big plan is. He was studying for his board exams while I was doing homework. I'm always doing homework, working for a bunch of different clients and projects, keeping busy- I'm busier than anyone I know- but what is my "BIG PLAN"?

I have no clue. I really don't. I've just never had a big plan. When I was younger I just relied on my parents to tell me. Sadly for them, they got an F on that paper! We planned that I'd get married early on, have 3 kids before 30, and so on. I was going to be a judge! No one thought (least of all myself) that I'd go to a top-20 law school but then graduate hating law and everything I'd studied for 3 years (to my defense, as soon as I'd mastered Constitutional Law, the government saw fit to detonate it with the Patriot Act).

And it's not just my professional life- it's my personal life too. I don't know where I want to live or what sort of person I want to be with. I know what I don't want, but I don't know what I necessarily *want*. Which will horrify THE SECRET fans out there. That's like rule #1- not to focus on what you don't want. But what can I say? I know I don't want a guy in ugly sandals. I don't want a guy who has never left the country or read a book. I don't want a guy who isn't physically active. But whether he's x or y ethnicity, I don't know!! Apparently I'm flexible on the big things and inflexible about the small things. Man-dals really are a deal breaker!

So I have no big plan, and I don't know how to get one. My friends have always daydreamed their weddings. Last week I went to my best friend's wedding and watched her fairytale unfold- she married the *exact* type of guy she's wanted since we were 18 years old. She had the storybook wedding and dress she's always wanted. She never debated an elopement or a destination wedding or a flowy white dress on a beach. She knew, and she got.

I think things get tougher when I realize that people are watching and wondering what the hell I'm doing. If I was a rebel with a cause, that might be one thing, but instead I've gone off the beaten path and I find myself looking around and going "hey guys? where is everyone?!"

I know pieces of what I want- I want to travel abroad, I want to raise a brood of worldly kids with long tangled hair and dirt on their clothes from playing outside, I want to read libraries full of books, I want to dance until I'm 90. I want to have good conversations and close friendships. But the bigger stuff? The structure? I'm really lost on all of that. I've never once in my life been able to answer the question "where do you see yourself 5 years from now?". Not once. When I was in elementary school and they asked us to write about it, I went to my parents about it, and now I don't even trust myself. I'm 31 and I still can't answer a grade school question?? Holy smokes.

Maybe I should make a Suggestions box and wear it around my neck.

When Hallmark won't cut it...

Jon and I have officially launched my dream project, The Tact Papers.

The goal is to come up with templates for people who have to write notes to get out of socially awkward, or just annoying situations. Clearly I am faced with them regularly (for what else do I blog about?) I've posted a few already.

Please visit tactpapers.blogspot.com

And let me know if there's a situation we can help you with. Let us be Dear and Abby to your "Annoyed in Texas".

This is, sadly, my dream job. To write people out of situations they don't want to be with. I think it's part of what drew me to law. Of course, that whole skirt suit and nuuuude nyyyylons requirement drove me away. Blech.

Anyhow, my first few (the most recent 4) aren't full of finesse, but they're something!

Sadly, they are each and every one inspired by true or recent events in my life. Act surprised.

Vice Squad

I have big news people!! My readership DOUBLED overnight. Apparently my pleas caught someone's attention. I now have *two* official followers, and my family members aren't even among them. Thank you readers! Address labels you'll never use are on their way :)

So today I was hit by one of the great mysteries of life. I know little kids want to know where babies come from. What I want to know is -- why are there always random paint splashes in the middle of the highway? You know what I"m talking about- sometimes you'll think it's blood but it's just red paint. Or, as in tonight's case, blue paint and white paint. It's a weird little mystery that plagues me. It's fine (sigh) if you want to solve global warming or cure diseases or whatever, but if someone could put a few minutes into sorting this one out, my inner Nancy Drew would appreciate it, because she is stumped.

On another note, I know tonight President Obama addressed the financial crisis, and it's not like I haven't been feeling the pinch. In fact, I've been trying to think of things I can do to lower my daily living costs, and the ones I keep coming up with are "stop buying coffee" and "cook at home". But, like an addict, I look both ways and sneak into line at the coffee cart. It's compulsive at this point. I almost choked when my mid-class latte cost me $4 at the indie spot. And to add salt to my wound, it tasted like butt (butt with sugarfree hazelnut syrup) and i had to throw half of it out. The problem gets worse because, if I'm going to be honest, I have to admit that it wasn't my first cup of coffee of the day. I had already had a cup of tea and a sandwich at *another* cafe.

Economic times are tough. I realize this. I read the Wall Street Journal every day (for a few seconds before I recycle it so I won't be late to Starbucks before class). I know could easily pad my bank account if I'd just stop, but I don't know how to. I mean, when they shut off my electricity, I'll need *something* to keep me warm, don't you think?

Part of it is that drinking coffee or going out to dinner is social for me. It's my chance to go out and watch people I don't normally see. I get to go out and then I don't sit at home like a depressing cliche 30something woman who can't even be a proper cat lady because i'm freaking allergic to them. I go out and get coffee or get dinner and I feel like I'm a part of things. Plus when I buy groceries I never use them all, and I probably, as a single person, spend just as much feeding myself out of the coffers of Ralph's.

Here's the thing: I *can* cook dinner at home, but is that really going to help me meet my new friends? (please refer to previous post regarding vacancies left by previously single associates) As any fellow coffee drinker can attest, a good book actually reads better with a perfectly brewed cup of tea or coffee... ok, and a cute indie boy across the cafe. I can't help it!! I realize that the key is moderation, but that's just never been something I've been good at. This is my vice, now I'm sure of it.

I googled "how do know if i'm addicted". I found this on abovetheinfluence.com:

"Addiction is when you crave drugs and get to a point when you often find yourself using, thinking about or seeking out drugs." um, check.

Chemical dependency, or addiction, as defined by the American Psychological Association, is seen as a pattern of drug use, where the user experiences three (or more) of the following:

(1) tolerance, which means needing to use more of the same substance to get the same high hm. given that at some points i'm up to triple lattes and yet sleep like a baby, we're a go here.

(2) withdrawal symptoms from detoxing from alcohol or drugs (such as nausea, insomnia, anxiety, sweating, trembling) a caffeine headache... nothing a few advil won't fix. but lately i've been good and doing more decaf, in which case my withdrawal symptoms are merely wimpering, rocking myself to sleep, etc.

(3) using more than what you intended ok, so *sometimes* i order regular instead of decaf. honest mistake!

(4) persistent desire to use, or unsuccessful attempts to quit check. i find myself using it as a lure to do things i'm not really up for. "If i go to boot camp at 6am, i can get coffee after!" or "C'mon Lilly, if you go to this incredibly boring lecture, you can have a coooooffee (read that in a singsong voice)"

(5) increasing time spent using or getting drugs "drug" is such a strong word!

(6) giving up important life activities due to using (like not going to school or quitting a job) there is no way that ditching something to have a peaceful cup of coffee could be a bad thing... could it?

and

(7) continuing to use despite knowledge of the problem’s impact. Define "problem"...

Is there a support group for this?

Repondez S'il Vous Plait

Wedding bells are a-ringing all around me. One of my partners in crime just up and married this weekend, so the singletons lose another key player! All these wedding bells chiming around me cause me to take note.

1: (unrelated) I have one (1) follower on this blog. I try to sing and dance and keep you people entertained, but alas, just that one person remains. I wanted to send out a heartfelt thanks to all one of you... but I fear that the system may count me as my own follower, which would just be depressing.

2: I realized tonight that I have never taken a date to a wedding. I have been taken to a wedding, but I have never taken someone with me. And that time I went was with my mom's best friend's son, as a favor. It was a play on the cliche "going with your cousin to the prom" sort of thing. Blech.

My single appearances used to be because so many people were single that you had tons of people to sit with, and why cost someone another $150? (Yes, I think this way). But now it's just because I can't figure out the right date to take. The guys I would take either have girlfriends or wives or they MOVE on me (HI JON!) Today a friend asked why I hadn't taken him this weekend and I wanted to hit him- where were you 6 weeks ago, BUCKO? I didn't want to drag guys I wasn't in a very serious relationship with (or, in most cases, *any* relationship) to Pittsburgh or, you know, Jacksonville. I don't even know the protocol, so fearing the headache, I go "+0" over and again. I should just get a freakin stamp at this point.

I notice that I rsvp "+0" without even thinking or pausing. I don't lie on the couch and meditate, flip through my phone, debate who I can take. I just kinda assume. I might be bolder with friends I don't talk to frequently, but with my girlfriends, it feels pathetic to say "I'm responding +1 out of sheer hope, friend. It's a forced gesture to say I haven't given up on myself". Is it self-fulfilling prophecy? Example: My own sister (Pronounced "seeeester") asked me if I was bringing a date to her wedding, and again I did the calculation for all of a half-second and said "nope!" I mean, you think I'd take the chance with my own sister's wedding!

And here's the rub: the older we get, the fewer singles who travel to weddings. The Single Table buffer is no longer really a guarantee. I've already been seated at a wedding with a 9 year old at the singles table, so those lines are bluuuurry.

And worse yet, I find myself completely unsure of what to do when I'll be the only person I know at a particular wedding. That's when you *really* need a date. Do you even go? It's a modern girl's dilemma.

3: I believe there should be a governmental subsidy for people who get married later. To my calculations, my wedding will need to host 2x the number of people my other friends' weddings have because they are -- or will be -- all married by the time I am. (at this rate, the wedding hall will also need to be redesigned to accommodate my friends' wheelchairs and walkers) These days I can literally count my single friends -- men and women -- on two hands. So I think there should be some sort of government compensation so we can host everyone we need to without being financially penalized for being late bloomers.

Come to think of it, I should have suggested the "Late Bloomer Wedding" proposal to the government's Stimulus Package. I could have put it in line right after the "Middle Eastern Hair Removal Subsidy", which I've been suggesting for years. Lilly for Congress!

Get Well Soon

I've decided the world is broken into people who are "good" at being sick, and people who stink at it. The people who are good at it revel in the attention, the soup pilgrims, the curling up and sniffing and looking with puppy dog eyes at whoever is caring for them. The people who stink at it, author included, either live in denial of being sick, or act like complete and utter babies while feeling less than par. Nasty, whiny babies. Babies who forget that their stomach flu has nothing on people who have- you know, CANCER. Who think the universe is out to get them, and who make sure everyone knows their every moment of suffering (I can text and email at length from my phone while lying curled up on my side in dim half-light I have learned).

I've spent the last two days with a stomach flu that rendered me incapable of doing anything except, and only at times, watching television. This is my idea of hell. To be laid up in bed with a stack of "to-reads" and yet not have the energy to read- this is literally my idea of a bad place that bad people go to after doing very bad things. Somehow, in my head, I had believed that if I ever got sick I'd finally get around to reading War and Peace or to watching all those random foreign films in my Netflix queue. I'd clean out my inbox. I'd lose 5 pounds inadvertently. I'd get all my reading done for school and work, just from my bed!

But it didn't work out like that. I lay prostrate on the couch, surrounded by an army of Gatorade and Ginger Ale bottles. The sole people to pierce my veil of solitude were my brother and sister, who each broke my quarantine of the last 48 hours to bring the prisoner something to survive on (Susie, perhaps offering the best house call of all time, tucked an US Weekly between the Pepto and the soup. (*Applause*)

By the way, I think being sick in the internet age is a curse. I grew up with parents who didn't take you to the hospital unless you were missing an appendage- everything could be cured with tylenol and a nap -- they'd seen it all. Well, the other night I got a backache and of course I immediately assumed that I was departing this cruel world with meningitis. And then this morning I woke up with incredibly sore arms - and just knew that a blood clot was working its way to my heart to finish me off. I wish I could tell you I didn't entertain these thoughts -- rather seriously-- for 2-3 minutes each. Then I remembered I had worked out my arms the other morning before this flu sucked my body under, so it made sense that my arms would be, you know, sore.

I shake a fist at you, WebMD!

Anyhow, seeing as I guess I'm gonna LIVE and all, I've been working on my speech for Jessica's wedding. For the first time I'm stumped with what to say. Not in a cheesy way, just can't seem to find a story that's appropriate to tell in front of parents. Not a one! Go figure.

"We're not cynical, we're just experienced."

Jon beat me to it and has revealed to the world (ie. his reading public) my new proclamation: an immediate cease on the acquisition of new guy friends. Lilly Code 44.2201 states that "A single woman over the age of 31 will proceed forth with romantic dating, and continue to pay great attention to current friendships. However, under no circumstances will she seek out or allocate more than a modicum of time to new platonic male associates unless an exception applies, such as professional necessity."

The fact is, I am blessed. I have more guy friends than I can count. I have guy friends who are handsome, funny, caring, thoughtful, brilliant, artsy, sporty, you name it. I have a rainbow of wonderful friends. And because of this, for a long time I didn't notice that I, well, wasn't dating. It began back in high school and has followed me until now. A friend pointed out a few months ago that it's really not typical for a girl to have so many guy friends (unless she's one of those "I don't have girlfriends" girls, who we don't trust farther than we can throw her).

As it turned out, I got so caught up in always having a guy around for company that I didn't realize I didn't have exclusive rights to any of them. In the time I was accumulating charming guy friends, everyone else on the planet my age was pairing off (Source: Facebook.com). I can't be the first one this is happening to in history. I wonder if at the end of the ark's line there was a lone animal (perhaps a Lillymonster) galloping forward as they lifted the bridge and saying "Wait, Noah, I didn't get the memo! Wait for meeeeeee!"

Then more recently my girlfriends, in an impromptu session of self-analysis (perfectly timed with the looming of V-day), constructively pointed out that I have a habit of immediately boxing men into the "friend" category. I plead guilty as charged on this one. It just seems to easy to do- nice guy, not sure how I feel or if it has longer-term potential --> friend! And then we can have fun without any of the strings or drama or whatever. It's very rare actually that I *don't* put a guy in this category. My friends have also pointed out that these completely platonic guy friends can sometimes hover protectively, thereby affecting the potential advances of other guys when we're out.

The inspiration: I have lived much of my life (say, oh, 30 years) thinking that you could make the jump (I accidentally typed "hump". yikes) from friendship to relationship later on down the line. You know, get to know him while everyone's defenses were down, and then he'd wake up and realize he loved me and I wouldn't have to go through the awkward "what to wear on the date" thing that I detest.

Perhaps Miranda says it best for us (she's not a tv character, in my sad little mind, she's a friend), "I'm not sexy. Smart, yes, cute, sometimes. But sexy is what i try to get them to see me as after i win them over with my personality!"

But the clock is a-ticking. Not even the biological clock, just the "if I respond "Lilly+0" to another wedding invitation, I will scream" clock. I had to do something.

Please understand, I've had to take preventative measures in part because the species guyus friendus has evolved. Back in the day (example: high school), you had guy friends who you bummed around with after school. You had some beers on the weekend, you went to see a show, you hung out at home and listened to music. A guy was a guy was a guy. You knew what to expect.

Now the lines are blurrier. Just like a cracker jack box, when I open a friendship file with a new guy friend, I don't know what to expect. In multiple cases I'm finding that my guy friends have mutated from the kind where you knew what to expect. Certainly they offer more in some ways, but they also require more TLC than the most sensitive of ferns. They bruise when their calls go unreturned (as in, within the hour), they want to hang out all the time, they text obsessively while they know you're doing something important, and want an explanation when you can't hang out. I have actually had to have a "status of the friendship" talk with a guy friend. I don't initiate those talks when I'm dating; why are we having one now???

Fortunately for me, these guys are not blog readers, so don't think me callous, dear reader. Just reflective.

So because sometimes Guy Friend 2.0 has the potential to require 3x as much attention as a female friend, and because many of my female friends are pairing off and I need to replenish said girlfriend roster (guy friends can be game for most anything, but you always need a battalion of ladies for chocolate runs, mani/pedi afternoons, and the recession-proof shopping spree, no?) -- because of these factors, I have to build a wall at the border, and I don't know how we're handling visas just yet.

Fortunately for lazy me, Jon really summed it up, this new dictum of mine. Basically, if a guy was my friend before January 1, 2009, he will continue to be such, happily for me. If I meet a new guy, he either has to enter the dating line, or we're just friendly acquaintances. Thanks to that wonderful gene of obliviousness that so many of them carry (not you, Jon, not you), they'll never be any the wiser to the new system. Let's just keep this between us, shall we?

Thanks for the Memories

This morning I woke up with a raging hangover. I wish I could tell you it was because I'd done my age's worth of shots, danced on the bar last night, etc., but I actually had a nice and mellow night out with friends. Apparently my body just rejects light to moderate amounts of alcohol. Or maybe it was rejecting my bad attitude about V-Day, who knows.

Anyhow, the morning began (after what amounted to maybe 3 hours of actual/comforting sleep) with some texting with my friends. One of them suggested that I drink Pedialyte in order to feel better. She said "it's the one thing I learned from my ex. ha" Which got me to thinking- what takeaways have *I* gotten?

I'm ever the fan of education. I need to constantly read or be watching something insightful or I get bored. I often end relationships because I'm bored... I wonder if there's a correlation? I've never sat and tried to compile the lessons I've learned from the boys I've been romantically linked with, adored, or otherwise dined with. (I'll exclude "fun facts" or trivia; for example, I won't include facts such as "Miller Lite is a 4x ribbon winner") Without naming names, I will go ahead and try to list them here:

1. how to grind coffee. first "boyfriend". he loved coffee and made fun of my coffee maker, thereby replacing it and getting me a coffee grinder to go with it. i wish i could say this was a huge gesture, but given the track of our relationship, it was more about accommodating his need for caffeine than insight into my own.

2. how to put someone in a headlock

3. how to break someone's arm (in the interest of fairness, #2/3 came from a Mixed Martial Arts fighter. a beefy guy, to be sure, but extremely smart and i've always been a sucker for the brains. i wish he'd taught me more about his legal specialty or something classy, but these days on the dating battlefield you take what you can get. that said, upon reflection, i do admit that this is slightly creepy. And perhaps foreshadows that I'd end up inadvertently go on a date with a self-professed reformed "ear collector".)

4. how to tie a tie. I love how women do this for men in the movies, and I felt inadequate not knowing myself, so a guy taught me and I got to do it maybe once or twice, thereby checking off one of my "must have" lady skills.

5. how to swing a golf club

Oh my God this is so depressing. Do men really have nothing to teach me? Wait, don't answer that.

Some Things Just Go Unsaid

Fact: People borrow things from other people. Cool. As it should be.

Fact: Many people read in the bathroom. (I have a theory that Blender and Maxim get 75% of their circulation based in this fact, but I digress...)

Unspoken rule: You can't borrow someone's book and then read it in the bathroom! That's just unconscionable. I don't care if it's the length of War and Peace and seems like its sole purpose is to be read in a bathroom.

Furthermore...

how about you don't leave it in your bathroom where the person might see it when they come over?

...Especially if the book is one of their favorite books and they told you this.

...And if that person had to buy the book overseas because it's not published in the States, a fact which they made known to you.

And for God's sake, can you not leave it propped next to the matches?!

Thanks,
Concerned Book-Loaner

I'M JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU EITHER, SO THERE!

The movie finally came out. Now, folks, I had banked on going in, gorging myself on moviecorn, and watching the Holy Grail of dating knowledge. I thought I'd leave a changed woman. Instead, I left an entertained woman with m&m-related food coma (if men aren't into me, at least I can eat what I want!). Oh well, ya win some, you lose some.

Reasons to love this movie:

1) Ben Affleck suddenly got hot! Did anyone else notice this? Was anyone else as surprised as I was to find him attractive after all these years? I thought he'd gone off and bloated himself on Violet's leftover cookies, but he was looking pretty good. A little skinny, but if you're in a scene with Jennifer Aniston I suppose you have to do that or you'll look like a piglet, and no one wants that for their big on-screen comeback. Ok, not the #1 thing to love about the movie, but the first one that comes to mind.

2) Fun cast of characters. A lot of people are in this movie, yet none of the big names carry the movie. I spent much of the movie wondering if Jennifer A/Ben Affleck had ever co-starred; it felt like they must have, but they probably hadn't. There's probably a fun 6-degrees of something game to get out of this movie? Everyone plays their typecasting, so don't get your panties in a bunch. Ben is "your typical guy". The hot sleazy guy from Wedding Crashers is a hot sleazy guy (whose name apparently escapes me). Scarlett as nymphette. Drew as quirky. And so on. I like knowing what to expect I guess! At least on a Sunday, and especially when my mouth is too full of candy to really, you know, think.

3) Insight. In case any of you missed a page of the book, even just a page, then you should see this. It's a really nice, subtle way to help your friend who just doesn't get it get it. But nicely. (more on the insight in a bit)

4) Hope for single people. Worth the price of admission, naturally.

5) Delicate balance of cute and insightful. It's cute and sweet, but not enough to make you cry. I HATE when movies prey upon my emotions. Keep your little heartwarming moments, your five-hanky drawn-out deaths scenes, and incredible reunions to yourself Hollywood. Stuff it! If I cry, it's gonna be on my terms!

6) Jennifer Connelly's eyebrows' cameo. I think they deserve separate billing, don't you? I DARE you to try watching this movie without thinking about how you'd shape them, given the opportunity.

So SOMEHOW people missed this whole phenomenon. Is it warm under your rock? The other night a friend asked me "Wait, so this was a BOOK before a movie? How interesting!" I excuse her on grounds of her being married. While the rest of us read this book and discussed it in depth to the point that Oprah's book club would be proud, she was at home with her husband. Go figure.

The beginning of the movie brings up something I don't recall being in the book, but it's insightful and worth repeating. It says when you're little and a boy is mean to you or calls you names or whatever, that we're told "it's because he LIKES YOU!" Cute, and probably true at age, oh, 6. But then we process using this "fact" for the rest of our lives. Problematically, we forget to untangle ourselves from the idiocy of childhood, and we continue with that assumption straight though adulthood. We never reboot. We just keep going because no one pulled us aside around 13 or 14 years of age to tell us that "so um, P.S, right around now, you can start banking on it that if he's mean he's just an asshole. Have a nice life!"

Instead, we eternally read into everything guys do optimistically. When he doesn't call or he blows us off or he "forgets" something, we smile, feeling the warmth inside of unrequited love (aka heartburn). And because *no one* got the memo in those teenage years, our girlfriends bolster each other with equally misinformed interpretations. It's a serious blind leading the blind situation we have here.

If a guy doesn't call me, I have 10 girls on speed dial who will tell me that he's hesitating because he is intimidated by some aspect of me, or that the timing is off, or that he's just feeling it out, or that he's restrained by some social custom that somehow overrides his "undoubted" attraction to me. Now, friends, this movie and book has made its bizillions by popping the aforementioned balloon. Greg Behrendt unabashedly overshadows his co-author Amy Tucillo and offers himself up as the brutally honest guy friend you never asked for: You want to know why he didn't call? Because He's just not that into you. You want to know why he makes out with you but never takes you on proper dates? Because he's just not that into you. You want to know why he doesn't introduce you to his friends? Why he flakes? Why he doesn't call you his girlfriend... SAY IT WITH ME NOW!

The movie gives you the brutal lessons and weaves it into a sometimes-awkward narrative. It does an interesting thing, though, diverging from the book in a distinct way. As background: the protagonist is a somehow charmingly annoying girl who is a composite of every overly-optimistic-clingy-trait you and your 4 closest girlfriends have. You each have one such trait, she carries them ALL. You spend the movie alternatively rooting for her and cringing at her.

So, back to the schism between book and film - the book teaches you to give these "not into you"-having guys the big single-finger salute and move on, an empowered woman; it tells you to move on to greener pastures and halfheartedly assures you someone else more "deserving" will be out there. But then, in typical guy fashion, the movie SENDS MIXED MESSAGES! I actually looked this up, and according to Imdb, the movie is written by Abby Kohn and Mark Silverstein. Now, my guess is that Abby wanted to give it a clear ending: the girl learns her lesson and is empowered as a single. Stay the course, stay true to the book, mission accomplished.

But then Mark comes in and effs it up. He thinks about how he has put his masculine cred on the line by writing a chick flick and says "Abby, our movie will NEVER make it big if we don't give it a Hollywood ending. People are suffering a recession; now is not the time to promote a feminist agenda. Let the guy get the girl, would you? For AMERICA!"

And so [SPOILER ALERT!!!] he decides that in the end of the script the main girl -- who has spent two cringe-inducing hours over-reading the subtle signs of the guy we are SURE isn't interested in and who has been humiliated into finally believing that guys aren't into her and she's basically psycho (slash clingy slash pathetic)-- ends up being right about him all along!

Now what's the takeaway in that?!

Well, I can't tell you. What I can tell you is that the movie has some funny lines and some insightful observations about dating in the modern age. Coupled-off people should go see it so they can feel self-congratulatory for getting off this freakin battlefield. And singles should see it because, at least on screen, there's someone more pathetic than even your most pathetic, Facebook-stalking-drive-by-go-where-he-is-coincidentally day.

Personally, I came home from the movie purged of the last remnants of "does he or doesn't he" I've been carrying around about a few different people. It lightens your mental load quite a bit. I asked in an earlier post if guys give "hints"; the movie (mostly) suggests that they do not. That they communicate in broad strokes, that they will make their interest known, so don't sit around waiting for it. That you won't miss their signs if there *are* signs.

But I've gotta say, it's not that we girls don't *know* this. I think we just suffer choosy amnesia. You can have all the factual knowledge in the world and still want to follow your optimism. If you tell me I have a terminal disease (analogy made in honor of pending Valentine's day?), do I stop living? Nope! I keep moving on, doing my best, hoping for a miracle cure. We all do it, all day long.

What's lovely about this movie is that dating sucks on all levels, and someone pointed fun at it in a compassionate, non-barfy way, and without needing to resort to disgusting sexual humor. This one is for the girls. Relentless romantic optimism is personified, and -- for ONCE -- it wins.

In such a disillusioned and sarcastic world as the one we seem to be living in these days, it's just what the love doctor ordered.

"Who, me? Yes, you. Couldn't be! Then who?"

Ding! School is back in session. It's funny how a month away can make you forget how incredibly annoying people are. And by "people" I mean my fellow students.

You see, when you're in college you're so hungover that you don't realize how irritating people are. You're sleeping in the back of a lecture hall, or you're passing notes (remember, I went to college before the Millenium. The people who invented facebook IM'ing probably weren't even born yet.), or you're thinking about where to go for $1 Pitcher Night.

However, I have attended business school free of said haze. As a result I feel the annoyeur (my word) of my classmates intensely. It may be like the "if a tree falls" question, but do irritating people KNOW how irritating they are? I have a friend who likes to ask if people who are a 2 (ie. on a looks scale of 1-2) KNOW that they're a 2. The same friend wonders (aloud) if the 2s view other 2s as a 10. How true are people's assessments of their own attractiveness?

But back to the issue at hand, I've categorized these Annoyeurs into a few:

1) Secretary General.
This is the girl (in our class, anyhow) who constantly emails the professor and cc's the entire class (again, annoying habits that didn't exist when I went to college in '95. They were just teaching us how to use "electronic mail" and we were overwhelmed).

Anyhow, this girl not only repeatedly will email the professor, but she will then nudge them when they don't respond.

"Dear Professor X,

Our exam is tomorrow and we haven't yet heard from you whether you would like us to arrive with our #2 pencils sharpened or still in the box. Please advise.

Sincerely and with great respect for your infinite wisdom,
Miss X."

So basically this person is the grad-school version of a hall monitor. Sadly for me, her email address at school is misleading and I kept thinking they were official school emails. I was debating sending an "Unsubscribe" email when finals rolled around.

2) The Stupid Echo.

We've already spotted this guy. You know him too. He's the one who listens intently to the professor, probably nodding, and then waits a little lag time before repeating exactly what they said, albeit less eloquently.

Example-
Prof: "When we talk about money, it's important to distinguish present value of a dollar from its future value."

*two minutes later*

TSE: "So, Professor, it seems like it's probably useful for us to consider that money has a different value right now than it does later on. We should probably calculate that, right?"

Sadly this, guy will go on to get perfect class participation (you find me a professor who doesn't like to hear his own ideas and I'll find you a woman who doesn't like Sawyer).

This personality spawned a new business idea for me: an anonymous email address a la "shutthehellup@yahoo.com". It would send "courtesy notices" to people.


From: Shutthehellup@yahoo.com
To: So-and-so@sdsu.edu

Subject: Courtesy reminder

Dear So-and-so,

This note is an automatically-generated request for you to shut the hell up in class. Someone thinks you should know :)

Have a nice day!

-The Shutthehellup Team

I'd pay a pretty penny for the use of that service, lemme tell you.

3) The Undercover Genius. aka "that guy"

I can't stand this one, and yet I befriend them in every class. While I'm wearing my fingers to the bone (or my eyes, reading), they breeze through. We come back on Monday and I'll hear about their wild partying weekend, the crazy story that is absolutely incomprehensible and only apparently happens to Barney on How I Met Your Mother... and this guy. During class discussion, he'll be fiddling with his iPhone or text messaging, and then look up and say something brilliant so the professor is short of kissing his hand. And it's not even the filler comment (see below), but a solid one.

The exam will creep up and This Guy has yet to buy the books. (In one case he borrowed mine and left me a yellow-highlightered rendering of a penis, thanks man.) And then grades come out. This Guy KILLS it, leaves all of us in the dust. It's just a magical thing. You have it or you don't.

4) Bingo Guy.

Some people earn a bingo card. What I mean is, every class has a guy/girl who needs to get their two cents in. Daily. This person can't seem to breathe through a day without contributing something to the class. Maybe it's a question, maybe it's a stupid comment (The Echo is often a Bingo Guy hybrid), but they'll get their moment to talk talk talk.

There's a girl in my new class like this. She knew she *needed* to make her daily comment, so she stuck her hand up. Prof called on her. "um, I, hm. What I was thinking was... um. Wait, lost my train of thought..."

At that point, a normal, merciful human being would just shut the hell up and let us move on with our lives. But she didn't! She didn't say "come back to me." She was terrified by the thought of conversation rolling past her inane observation. So it went on and on. "Um, wait, just a second... ugh!"

We have one guy like this in our class, but he's a triple threat. He almost deserves his own subcategory. If I had to name the subcategory I might call it "I DIDN'T THINK PEOPLE LIKE THIS EXISTED IN REAL LIFE." I mean, by looks he's a Monchichi. By design (read: the stickers on his laptop) he's a Dungeons and Dragons fan. By fashion --- well, fashion doesn't play into it. Let's just say that no one deserves to see plumber crack AND a santa hat with goofy ears in the same day.

Not ONLY does he comment every single class, not ONLY does he get up to pee every single class (it's only an hour and half long lecture), but one day he fell asleep... sucking his thumb. Yowzers. The next day a friend showed up with a betting board, so at least we could bet on what he'd do that day. You'd place a wager on a certain time slot of the day (3 minute increments) as to whether he'd "potty", "question" or "sleep" (thumbsucking optional). It was a great way to make money on the side. I had his bladder capacity timer DOWN!



I'm sure I'll have additional species of graduate student to contribute to this soon, but I wanted to notate my thoughts from the field. Jane Goodall's got nothing on me. I've got these people pegged. That said, it's gonna be a looooong semester.

And if you wanted to know which girl I am, I'm the one who is in the back looking up thoughtfully at the professor and then down... under her desk, to the cell phone in her hand. Where her email and Twitter are active. Sometimes I'm texting with someone sitting right next to me (Hi Tina!), sometimes I'm making notes of what I need to get done that day. Once in a while I break to do a crossword puzzle (i'm getting really good, thank you Daily Aztec!) or a sudoku. Then it's back to my phone. Worth every penny of its price.

Thank God for the digital age. Seriously, how did I get two degrees without it?!

Sexless in the City.

Perhaps there is no female bonding ritual greater than watching Sex and the City with one's girlfriends and bonding through ongoing commentary and categorization. By commentary I mean (as anyone who has watched this show knows) the points at which laughter occur, at which people exclaim "What a JERK!", or mumble an "Oh my God...". You can tell a lot about a friend from these gasps and murmurs.

And categorization is of course the art of figuring out which of your friends is most like which character. This sport became formalized in a Facebook quiz, which I took, only to be told I"m a Miranda. My friends say I'm a Carrie, and hopefully after I finish my obsessive watching of the show, I will know my true identity.

For someone who loves pop culture as much as I do, it's surprising that it took me until 2007 to begin watching the show at all, and TBS edits at that! I had seen a handful of episodes before seeing the movie, so it was a mystery to me why Carrie would marry Big after all. I've borrowed the series from a friend and am now dutifully watching from the beginning so I can understand it all, working backwards, as it were. After Season One, my question is more of "why does Big put up with her needy crap?", but I know the next five will show me the light.

What I love most about the show is its slice-of-life analysis of male-female relationships. I've realized this is something every woman does, with her friends, in her journal, on her blog, but it's another story to put it into a column as beautifully and as succinctly as Carrie does. (another New Years' Resolution: write as well as Carrie Bradshaw)

Today the topic of conversation amongst my email buddies regarded the issue of "hints". Someone omitted to bring up a topic I was waiting to hear about, and he knew I was waiting for said topic to come up. So I immediately sent a missive out to my Charlotte and my Miranda to ask their opinions. Was his lack of mentioning aforementioned topic a BIG HINT to me? Should I take it personally? How could he mention subject b without mentioning subject a?

The email replies came quickly (one wonders what the effect to the American economy's productivity would be if personal email servers were shut down for a day...) And they both said the same thing: men don't make hints, women do. Men don't do subtlety. And they aren't as obsessive about the nuances of conversation and interaction as we are.

The question is, how did this happen? How did women learn the art of the hint and guys avoid it? It's not a clear line between subtle people and unsubtle people; I have very forward female friends who can drop a great hint if they want to. Do we have different communication weapons in our artillery? If so, what are guys'?

I try to think of cases in which men I know have "dropped hints", but I can't think of a one. The more I think about it, the less grey area there seems to be in men's behavior. My guy friends have often told me that a guy either likes you or he doesn't. When I ask if it can be that simple, they affirm: "If he likes you, he will make it obvious and he will go for it. If he's not going for it, he doesn't want it." (author's note: see also, "He's Just Not That Into You").

I need the guys to weigh in on this. If a guy doesn't mention something, does it mean he's just not thinking about it at all? Or do men have the same avoidance tactics we do, and just do them differently? For example, when I've tried to set up a guy with a female friend, if he doesn't mention her again, is he just not focused on the issue or is he silently rejecting her? Do they hint at all? Is it a case-by-case thing?

The good news is that today I learned that maybe everything I read as a silent dis is not so. This is good for my ego. But the bad news is that it reaffirmed the existence of my personal "window of interest". But he can blog about that one :)

Resolving

I usually don't wait till New Year's to make resolutions, I'm making them constantly, but this year I did make them to coincide with Jan 1st. Here's my list, subject to change:


1. Do that health thing. You know the one -- the one where you cut sugar (my resolutions also include to not resolve to do things that are impossible such as giving up sugar completely. As long as there is peanut butter frozen yogurt, I will eat sugar. With age comes wisdom). I'm gonna eat more fruits and veggies, drink more water, try to eat at home more, etc. Right now I'm drinking cucumber-infused water that I made. It's the spa experience minus the fun.

2. Perfect my handstand. When I went to the Madonna concert a few years ago and she did those insane handstands and moved her legs around I got super jealous. This year, rather than admire that ability from a distance, I want to learn how to do it. I have no idea how I'm going to accomplish this. Personally I'm still using a wall, but yay for goals!

3. Spend more time with my girlfriends. And not in the bar-prowling way. Just time with the girls, watching silly movies or cooking or going on walks or whatever. Last year I got slammed with school and my quality time doing cheesy shit like getting sushi and watching Sex and the City reruns was minimized. I needed to take measures.

4. Read more. I know, it sounds insane. But what people don't understand is that for my job I read a ton of unpublished work, not the books on my Goodreads list. So this year I'm going to work on that. Last year I read 28 books (with some additional abandoned halfway). This year I'm going for 40. In general, just want to take time out, make a coffee (at home!) and sit and read a good book, escape to another world. Preferably one that doesn't involve a recession and mean boys.

5. Listen to music more. I realized that last year I spent most of my time that I was at home working or studying in silence. Those who have every lived near me can attest to the fact that I don't "do" silence. I like to think of it (last year) as my Black Period. I think quiet homes are creepy, and I don't want mine to be one. Unfortunately my neighbor downstairs just made it known to building management that they can hear "a pin drop" in my apartment. Sucks for you! It's the dawn of a new era. Hope ya like Madonna...

6. Take better care of my skin. There's a scene in one of my favorite movies (The Truth About Cats & Dogs) where Janeane G. has a horrible run-in with the lady at a mall makeup counter. The woman points out zillions of skin defects that our fearless heroine had not previously noticed. Last night my mirror and I reenacted that scene. SPF 75, anyone?

7. Figure out what I want to be when I grow up (self-explanatory)

Always the...

Well, I've been a bridesmaid before, but never a Maid of Honor. This is the latest honor bestowed upon me, by a Miss Jessica. The good news is I get to stand in her wedding. The bad news is I will be memorialized in her wedding photo album with kimono arms if I don't get moving!

Tonight we went to look at bridesmaid dresses. Now, I fully understand the attention is on the bride, as it should be. But just sifting through the dress collection -- engorged rhinestones, sashes, taffeta, oh my! -- was enough to make a girl jump out of a street-level window. Because, you know, being the same age as the bride and unmarried isn't bad enough? Because walking down the aisle with someone else's husband isn't enough? Because sweating whether you'll be a plus one or your usual "plus a few shots of tequila and mild single depression" isn't enough? Apparently not, because some of these dresses were horrific. Apparently there's a killer market for chartreuse and turquoise, but you have to wrestle for the ONE grey or black dress.

Don't worry, I distracted myself by looking at the fake bouquet of roses they had for brides to ostensibly walk through the mirrored dressing room with. Or the collection of tiaras. Which were in a plexiglass case, you know, just in case someone really "street" tried to bust into Angelo's of Claremont and make off with their bedazzled headgear.

I spent much of the time being VERY grateful that the bride in question has great taste and wasn't trying to make herself look even better by making a spectacle of us. I said a silent thank-you to the women who had put her through that, thus assuring she would never do the same to others (an emerald green velvet cap-sleeved gown with sausage-curled hair sealed her fate as a gentle bride, one who would care for her bridesmaids and their egos!!!)

I was so swept up in the moment, in trying to understand what brown sauce could have possibly found its way down the front of a particular pink number, when I realized that I was about to put on the misshapen (and DEFINITELY not my size) boustier that the woman had suggested I wear under the dress. A boustier that hundreds of women before me had worn, trying on this same parade of Single Friend Who Will Taste Weddingness For Just A Night dresses. I was so absentminded that I ALMOST put it on.

But then I came to my senses. Fortunately, so did Jessica. She decided on the second dress I wore (unfortunately the brown-juice-ed number had already been tried on, and the mystery continues...). As is required on any female bonding event, we then adjourned to dinner. And don't think I didn't stop by McDonald's to get a fudge sundae (it's on the 99c VALUE menu!!) on the way home. The diet starts tomorrow?

Me, as cliche.

I almost rented 27 Dresses this weekend. Despite that I'd wanted to see it and that I'm already racking up wedding invites for 2009, it seemed apropos. I did not, however, rent said film because:

1) I can't stand Katherine Heigl. I've never seen one of her movies, and her interviews and glossy mag persona don't really make me want to.
2) Dan had told me it was bad
3) Even I can't overcome the incredible cliche-ness of a single girl renting 27 Dresses alone on a weekend.

So I didn't. Instead, this afternoon I watched The Lady Eve, an old film with Henry Fonda and Barbara Stanwyck. The cool thing about old films is that you get sucked into the era. For a little while you (here: me) can forget the recession, forget the new products innovation paper you need to write, forget the bills that need to be paid, and forget that you blew off working out yet again. I watch old films and I get nostalgic for eras I was about 30 years off even having a chance to experience! I think the old film star I most identify with is Katharine Hepburn, who happens to share my Nov 8 birthday. The more I watch her, the more smartass and not-typical-feminine, but sassy she is. I have never been a proper girly girl (although my attempts with makeup would suggest otherwise). She just offers an alternative approach to being a woman while not being manly, and she always gets the guy :)

In other news, I had a debate with myself today. I'm trying to figure out at what point do you let the burden shift on being in touch with people? I always keep up with everyone- I still email and call with elementary school friends, high school friends, college friends, you name it. When do you stop carrying the baton? I realize that, while people love to hear from you after years, they suck at initiating or keeping it going. So do you just let it go? Should I send out a "notice of potential termination"? (Jon: Tact papers?!?!)

Dear XXXXX,

It's been great being friends with you. We really had some great times doing ___________________________. However, the older I get, the harder I find it to keep in touch with people I don't see regularly. I'm sure you feel the same way! Basically I just wanted to gauge where you were on things. How about, unless you initiate regular communications via ( ) fax ( ) phone ( ) email ( ) smoke signal ____________ times per year , then I'll stop nudging you with my Facebook one-liners and holiday cards. Sound fair?

Thanks! Hope all's well! ___________ forever!

____________________
(signee)

The Right Stuff

There's something to be said for consistency. The other night I went to see New Kids on the Block perform for the first time in 17 years or something like that. The last time I went to see them I was in an oversized knit sweater and braces, let's put it that way. When you go to something after so long, you run a risk. Will it be ridiculous? Will it finally justify everyone making fun of you for ever having been a fan, even when it was borderline socially acceptable?

As we pulled up to the concert I got my first text message from a friend asking whether the fans were 16 or 33. I ignored the direct slight to my own thirtysomethingness, but naturally had to confirm that the only children or youth of any sort in the confines of the Cox Arena had been brought there by their mothers. We all hurriedly peed, because by the time you're 30 you know that all the coffee you drank to get through your day has a price to pay. And you barely glance at the memorabilia because it's a recession and while you are not old enough to keep yourself from Jordan Donnie Joey Jon and Danny, you are old enough to keep yourself from bright pink tee shirts you can't wear even on casual Friday.

You sit down and see that, all techy-like, they've set it up so you can text message to a screen above the stage. These texts are increasingly profane, but funny, because most of the people sending them are married and write things like "I'm married now... but he's not here!" You might send a text that says something to the effect of "Jordan, I'm legal now!" Your mom wouldn't be proud but she's also not your chaperone this time around. Unlike the concert back in 1990 or whatever it was, she doesn't need to take her pack of cigarettes and go lock herself into the elevator and pull the emergency stop just to give herself a break from the screaming (yours included).

The concert begins, but for your friends who aren't really interested, you'll fast forward through performances by Lady Gaga (whose song you can't get out of your head) and Natasha Bedingfield, who ends up being an incredibly talented performer and frankly blows your mind with how overproduced her albums are compared to her ability to carry a mic and make it happen. But this post isn't about her, so you move on.

When a band decides to go on a reunion tour, there are a few different ways they can play it. They can try to pretend that they never left the spotlight. Maybe it's even true- maybe they played the wedding and country fair circuit. Or they can pretend that they wanted or needed the time off. But what New Kids did was something I didn't expect- they were incredibly humble about it and they absolutely reveled in the attention. I mean, they acted like they were 18 years old again, hamming it up for the audience and soaking up every blood-curdling scream that flowed forth from the sea of estrogen.

I've never been to a concert where there were no men. When I say there were no men, I mean I spotted 4 husbands/boyfriends and a couple of security guys. That was IT. And you would have to be a very secure man to go to a New Kids concert, because women were ready to chuck their husbands for a go at the boys from Beantown. I've never seen anything like it. At one point they performed out in the audience and someone threw huge granny panties and I'm still not sure to this day if they were a joke.

Another question when a band hits the road again is- do you pretend that you never had your old hits? Do you try to pimp your new album which is good enough, or do you do a crowd-pleaser? Always knowing their audience, they threw in only a few songs from their (actually quite fantastic) album The Block and instead performed every song I could think of from their Greatest Hits album. Now, if it wasn't enough to HEAR Hanging Tough, let me assure you that they performed the exact same (yes, I know them by heart) dance moves as they did in the tour of yesteryear. So here we have these guys, now in their 30s, doing their 1990s cutting-edge dance moves. Can I get a running man? They were absolutely comedic in the way they performed, stopping the show to make fun of each other and just not take themselves seriously. Their moves weren't quite as smooth as back in the day, but try lining up some thirtysomething guys and making them dance in unison. It's an ugly process and they made it as pretty as they could. For those of you wondering, they did the leg-swingy-Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh Right Stuff move. Worth the price of admission, naturally.

This, my friends, is something that is missing from the younger generation of performers. The folks like Justin who are on their first go-around, they still take themselves so seriously, it's their art. I'm not saying they're not talented, but sometimes I go see these shows and you can see the ego oozing from their pores. These guys were freeze-dancing and making fun of sticking a shoe up each other's asses. We didn't have to take them too seriously because, well, they didn't.

Lest you be concerned, there were ample costume changes, giving it a Vegas spectacle feel (oooh, idea!) They each had a chance to perform alone for the audience, so all the girls could have their Joey time, or their Jordan time. Jordan performed one of my favorite (because it's frankly ridiculous) quasi-Michael-Jackson thingies. (see photos, above) He stands all windblown and does MJ moves while singing a ballad called "Baby I Believe In You". Oh, you laugh, but his belief in me got me through junior high, people! They didn't try to jazz it up. Maybe he learned because Jordan had tried to re-record NKOTB songs as a solo album and it flopped. So he knows his place, and he knows his place was before 1992. They just rewinded and, for a night, we could all be 13 again.

There's a lot I wouldn't want to have back about being 13, but that rush of being completely starstruck is something I haven't felt in years. Dancing to good music, belting out the lyrics, swooning with your girlfriends, that's stuff money can't buy (ok, it can, I have the $100 ticket stub to prove it). Sure, this time there were differences; the girl behind me did her banshee cry again and again, and I was going to hit her. Back in the day, *I* was the banshee (and probably the reason mom ended up in the elevator). So yeah, maybe I"m a bit older, but it's fun to grow up with your music. I've been to so many shows and yet I don't think I've enjoyed one that transported me like this.

After a few of the aforementioned costume changes, I noticed that Donnie was always wearing a baseball cap. As those of you who have seen his film appearances know, he is balding. So the guy throws a cap on no matter what. He tried to play it like it was just his hoodlum street style, but thirty year old women know better. You know, because none of the guys we know are thinning up top, right? ;) He kept referring to his sexy speaking voice in a noble effort to distract us.

For all the fun and games there were some sobering moments in the show too. They did a slide show of people who have passed away, including some of their parents. It's something we couldn't have dreamt of at that age. And as we watched the show I analyzed them as an older woman. I used to think Jordan was the hottest. Susie thought Jon was (and these days I might agree with her, despite the fact that he isn't of the liking-girls persuasion from what I understand). Every girl had a New Kid she associated with- just ask them. And who we liked tells you a bit about us. Donnie was for the edgy girls. Jordan was for the girls who like a hyper guy. Joey was for the girls who like a cutie. Jon was for the girls who like the strong silent type. And everyone knows that no one liked Danny. He was the fifth round draft pick, and since in junior high it's absolutely impossible to maintain a group of more than four friends, it just wasn't an issue.

I have to be honest here and confess that I spent much of the ride to the arena making fun of Danny and how no one knows what his part in the band really is, etc. So of course then I lost it when the first song started and they forgot to turn his spotlight on-- punchline for all my jokes! But then early into the show he started breakdancing and he was *really* good, headstands and all. Hm! This guy can dance and is a breast cancer fundraiser? Cute! And there you have it- my evolving maturity as illustrated through NKOTB attractions. Who wants the guy who everyone wants? Not me! For Susie's benefit I'll add that Jon was super hot but is also (says the rumor mill) gay.

The most telling part of the show was when they did 1010249024 encores. We were the end of their American tour, and, as much as *we* didn't want to go home, you could tell they didn't want us to leave. I've seen some great shows lately, but the common theme has been that the performers make you feel grateful that they bothered to perform for you. It's like they're doing you a favor. But these guys knew they had been touched by the magic comeback dust, and they weren't fronting about it. It was refreshing to see stars realize there's an element of luck. I can only hope they're reinventing stardom.

I don't have to tell you that I"m already excited about their next tour. For two hours I got the gift of being 13 again, minus the sea green stirup pants and the perm. Perfection.