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.

YOU ARE WHAT YOU READ

So, if you are what you read, I'm not really sure what I am. Clearly I'm confused, clearly I'm making a life to-do list. And clearly I am procrastinating on what I should be getting done.

Current list of bedside books:

1) Meggin Cabot's SHE WENT ALL THE WAY.

People, I'm in a PBE (post breakup era). The girl wrote one of my favorite chick lit books ever (EVERY BOY'S GOT ONE) and continues to write scandalous titles and clean books with snarky heroines I identify with. So I curl up with her books, I identify the hell out of them, and then I find out that I get a happy ending! What's not to love? In the current read her snarky, under appreciated, recently dumped writer heroine is stranded with a hot actor and isn't giving him the time of day out of principle. They just had a brawl about whether to ditch her laptop in the snow. Finally, a REAL moral dilemma! This is writing I can get into.

2) Michael Berg's THE WAY.

I was super depressed this weekend and I was talking with a girlfriend about inspiring books that changed our lives, and this one popped right to the top of my list. Before you read any further, allow me to disclose that it's about Kabbalah. Yup, don't hate it til you try it! If I were to offer a gross oversimplification I'd say that it's about how being good to others can solve the world's problems. I told you it was a gross oversimplification! I bought it years ago and have found it to be one of the most enlightening and peaceful books I've ever read. I'm usually reading something spiritual at any given time, but this is one of the best.


3) IF THE BUDDHA DATED

My mom gave this to me for my birthday. Which was possibly ironic given that I had a serious boyfriend on that morning (but not, notably, on that evening). It applies Buddhist principles, Quakerism (yup!), and other stuff to the realm of relationships. It's good, but Buddhism sometimes bothers me because I"m not evolved. I'm not always down with 'what is'. I"M NOT THERE YET!!! I don't feel in the mood to date yet, so this book is technically mid-read, but more realistically tucked in my drawer.

4) HOW PROUST CAN CHANGE YOUR LIFE

I know you think I'm on a self-help bent, but this is actually a sarcastic and witty (sardonic? is that the word for it?) book using Proust's life story and excerpts from his work to give you tongue-in-cheek on topics such as "how to fail successfully" and so on. I was running out of Milan "Marry me!" Kundera books to read, so I looked up authors influenced by him and came upon this one.

I've never read Proust's famed books, which are 204902249 pages long, so getting the recap is nice too. One of my favorite quotes from his writing so far has been "one must never miss an opportunity of quoting things by others which are always more interesting than those one thinks up oneself". Other highlights of this book include discussions of his ongoing urinary issues and the codependent relationship he had with his mother.


5) SCREW IT, LET'S DO IT!

Wow, I guess I'm all up with the weird titles right now. This one is Richard Branson's business lessons books. If I had to list the top 3 people I'd like to meet, he'd be up there. (Madonna's not on my list, so har har Susie!) He's a fascinating, gut-driven businessman who tries anything and everything. I don't have his set of nerves, but it's fun to step into his shoes. Plus it's a happy book to read when business school is boring you out of your skull. It helps remind you (here: me) why you went in the first place. And it's always nice to see someone who has a jolly good time of their life. I don't know many people like that lately!


If you are what you watch, I am a Desperate Housewife.
If you are what you listen to, I just might be "No Way Out", the Puff Daddy and the Family album that I dug up this weekend and that is, if you ask me, not even as good as Ma$e's first album. But that's another thought for another post.
If you are what you drink, I'm green tea.
If you are what you eat, I'm a soy turkey wrap.
If you are what you wear, I'm a heavy grey wool vest with misaligned buttons.
If you are what you think, I'm the mental drafting of a very, very bad professor review for one of my instructors.
If you are what you do, I'm sudoko to the zillionth power and a serious, serious procrastinator.

Marco....Polo...

I've been watching a lot of How I Met Your Mother Lately. I've been trying to think of why this show resonates so much with me, beyond the great humor (and by obvious, I mean amazing. If you don't watch this show, my esteem for you lowers, that sort of thing). The show is about Ted, a guy who is basically a girl (emotionally) who is on a quest to find "the one". He's just like so many of us in that he has his dream list, he has his group of friends that keep him company and help him reflect on the path of dating (plus remind him of stupid relationship moves, like the butterfly tramp stamp). He keeps dating girls who are nice or interesting or weird, but who make for good episodes and develop his character as we go through the show.

In season one he dates Robin, a gorgeous, witty reporter. Basically the only thing she has going against her is being Canadian and a gun-nut. They date for a year, and have lots of fun, but the chemistry just doesn't seem completely on. They are a great couple on paper, and they are best friends with another couple, and all that stuff, but as wonderful as Robin is, she isn't the girl for him (I have my $ on her being the right girl for sleazy but beloved Barney, but that's another story).

As I watch the show, I see so much of what my friends and I go through with dating. Everyone becomes a story, we embellish the details in our minds and around the dinner table. We have little quirky things we hope against hope for (Ted wants a girl who can quote Ghostbusters). We keep trudging forward, not exactly sure where we're going but bumping against this or that and slowly moving forward.

The way I see it, dating is a lot like a game of Marco Polo, or one of those games we used to play in the pool on a hot summer night. You close your eyes, you stick your arms out in front of you, and you wait for the indications. "You're getting hotter!" "nope, colder" "warmer, warmer, colder!"

And eventually, or so the game goes, you get there.

W. by L.

It's a week later and I can't get this movie out of my head.

I thought I would and I thought I would spare myself (and you) having to blog about it, but the entire experience was unsettling... mostly because it was so unexpected.

You see, I thought going to see W would be like going to see a Michael Moore movie, the ole "preaching to the choir" experience. It's like when you go to see a romantic comedy. You know you're gonna laugh. You know you're going to get choked up when the couple that almost didn't happen gets reunited by fate. You know you're going to feel comforted by the omnipresence of Tom Hanks.

Well, the election was getting me down (I will hold my breath until midnight on November 4th; I've learned not to count my Obamas before they hatch!). I wanted some light comedy, so we decided to go see W. It would be a roundhouse kick to his wee wee, right?

Wrong.

The first thing you should know is that Josh Brolin is distractingly handsome. I didn't expect this. I never thought twice about him, have never seen him in anything, and kept getting him and Christian Bale confused (Lilly's Pop Vault will tell you the reason: both of their dads married famous women; Brolin's dad married Barbra Streisand, Bale's married famed feminist and former Lilly hero Gloria Steinem). But he's a hottie, and so the first problem I had with this movie is that I spent 2 hours being vaguely attracted to George Dubya. That I had never expected. I never anticipated the lethal mix of Brolin's good looks mixed with a compelling portrayal of George.

Stone knew what he was doing. He puts a disarmingly handsome and capable actor in the seat, and suddenly our defenses are down. That old thing about how you can't hate on beautiful people and all of that. He's pretty, so we listen closely and watch his actions.

And here's the second problem -- Oliver Stone had the gall to paint an evenhanded portrait of the President! Ever the sucker for psychology (me), Stone goes back into the Bush family dynasty and the father-son dynamics. You start to feel for W and to see the position he was in, the need to prove himself that so many people (author included) feel. While Stone puts Bush where he chronologically belongs, ie. in meetings with his team about WMDs and Saddam, he also makes sure the other players are there. You have heard about Cheney's machinations, but to see them play out (courtesy of an uberCreepy performance by Richard Dreyfuss) allows you to take new stock of Bush's behavior. Stone even throws him a smarty bone; Bush makes a comment about his father's campaign against Dukakis that is marketing genius. It would probably go unnoticed if I wasn't so darn b-school obsessed. Ultimately Brolin portrays a likeable, warm, and often charming man.*

I struggled with the call from God. Man, President of our country is not a job I would want, so you have to wonder who would, and why? W's "calling" is portrayed so sincerely that I couldn't even muster up the laugh I had been practicing all week. His religious conviction is so sincere and was so necessary in light of his drug/alcohol abuse that you can't even taunt him for it. It's a problem we see, not just in the American presidency, but worldwide: what do you do when someone believes so sincerely and with the best of intentions that they're doing the right thing, when you know what they're doing is wrong?

I don't know George Bush, so I'd spent a good 8 years painting himself as aggressive and evil in my mind. What if he's not evil but, to use Dan's phrase, just "has a tiny brain!"

When in Texas, do as the Texans do. I fold. Not without resentment and disbelief that we had this guy in office for 8 hours (I was touched by the film; I didn't get a LOBOTOMY!).

I am as ready as ever to usher him out of office but will do so with a little less hatred.



*to answer your question: Brolin is a staunch Democrat and apparently a very dedicated actor?

The Great Depression; My Solutions for the Modern Economy

So maybe I'm not the only one feeling this way. Lately I wake up every morning in a complete state of panic. I have weird dreams and then awaken to a beautiful California day and a sense of dread.

Some say it's the unreasonable number of things I'm up to at any one time, to which I say "well then I'm just not trying hard enough!"

In any case, as you all know, I'm in business school right now. While I was in law school I saw how that changed how I thought and operated, but now I find myself undergoing a different type of change. I'm an efficiency machine. Today I heard my friend get off the phone with someone at work about the schedule and I looked at her -- oh so knowingly -- and actually said "Operations management issues, huh?"

B school is taking over my life, and by my life I mean my mind. It's true. Basically I find the entire world operating inefficiently and have to control my desire to consult for everybody all the time. I see business school everywhere:

Recent examples:

*I wanted to tell the people at the dog pound last Saturday that they should have an automated call system to indicate the status of your wait for dogs (Queue Analytics); if their goal is to efficiently adopt pets out, they certainly need to operate better. And they need to train their front desk people not to be bitchy (Human Resources). I also felt that they could do much more with their internet presence and pet descriptions. IT, people!

*I wanted to scream at some publishers recently for not immediately issuing my clients' contracts and checks. (Business Law, Accounting, Information Systems)

*I finally understood the value of the bonds my parents had tucked in my baby book (Finance). (note to self: find them!)

*I was watching ESPN with friends, and the show was interrupted for a commercial by the sell-your-gold people. You know, where you send your gold and they respond with $ for the weight in gold. (Acceptance by performance is a unilateral contract, by the way, thank you Business Law). We discussed why they would possibly advertise something meant for old ladies on ESPN.

Then my friends pointed out that it was probably for old men to become inspired to go snatch their woman's jewelry and hock it. Thank you Marketing!

And so on. I find myself astounded that anyone would want to run a small store by the way. The pain of ordering inventory and managing it can not be underestimated (Operations Management). I find myself torn between supporting my local Cortez Mart and not wanting to give them the trouble of having to replace that one candybar!

The economy frankly scares me these days. I work for four different organizations and still think twice before ordering my latte. It's just not right.

Revenge of the ATM

"We're in a recession, people!" is a quote one of my dearest friends says often these days. She has found the self-restraint to buy only 4 dresses when she wants 6 "because we're in a recession people!" and so on. These days, no matter who you are, chances are you're clinging to your wallet and thinking twice about whether you want that as a "tall" or a "venti".

The other day I actually found myself saying "a penny saved, a penny earned!" in my head. Who have I become?

These are troubling times. But what may be even more troubling is how we react to it. This evening I was talking with a woman who is like a grandma to me. She was telling me (disapprovingly) how she knew someone who couldn't afford a house because their credit card debt was too high. The debtor whined "Well, we wanted to eat, what were we supposed to do?" To which Paula sagely replied "back in my day, if you didn't have enough money to eat, you certainly didn't go OUT to eat, you stayed home and cooked."

Hm.

Somehow, no matter how much I am given this responsible adult advice, it never sinks in. I have come up with a variety of theories to explain why I am unable to comply with basic financial laws such as this. My #1 favorite rebuttal is that it's cheaper to go out than it is to cook for one person. My mom's counter-rebuttal is that if I cooked more often, I'd have all the ingredients. But I don't, I have to buy one onion, one thing of fresh basil, one apple, etc etc each time. To which I retort: Ok, I'm lazy.

I'm curious how other people are feeling the recession, and if they feel as much bitter jealousy of the Hills girls as I do. There is just no apparent reason why Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt needed to buy a $400,000 Rolls Royce Phantom. What did she do right in a past life, I ask you?

In general I have a sick fascination with the Hills lately. Dan caught me watching it the other day. I hid it the way children hide cigarettes from their parents. I"m not proud of how much I love to watch them eat yogurt, gossip, and effectively continue doing nothing for $70,000 an episode. I daydream about it. That camera crews will fall over themselves to document my daily treks and my chatter with friends. And that they will pay me handsomely to simply be me, plus stylists.

I know we all roll our eyes about reality television, but I think it's because in most shows people trade something for the glory, and the money is never a given. You're going to be locked in a house with a gang of people with personality diarrhea (or the real thing, you never know). Or you're going to be on an island fending for food, minus Sawyer and Jack. Or you're going to get weighed on national television (THE HORROR!). And so on. But in The Hills, the rewards and incentives line up juuuust right.

But back to the recession and my current reality. Maybe someone wants to film a show about ME, "just a girl, making her way in the world today, takes everything you've got..." Oh, is that theme song taken? Producers, lean in. I promise you scenes money just can't buy.

Scene One: Drama ensues when lilly discovers that her Ralph's card has been crediting a Jane Artin the whole time instead of her.
Scene Two: Lilly makes a vow to take colder showers than her usual scalding twice-daily ritual as a nod to the environment.

Scene Three: Thoughtful montage while I consider my election ballot, resisting the urge to just vote for President. I flip through the voter information guide, make notes, and smile at democracy.
Scene Four: Lilly sneaks away from her desk to catch a glimpse of The Hills.

And CUT!

Come on, a girl can dream. The Lilly Show. It's gonna be a thing.

In the meantime, as reality continues to sink in, I have to admit that I'm more than a little nervous for my business law exam on Wednesday night. The class itself is fine, but ooh, the flashbacks...

Just One More Reason I Won't Vote for Him

The other night I was talking to my mom about McCain and told her about the famed 1992 story in which McCain flipped out on his wife in front of reporters and called her the c word. Ick. I can't even type the words "The C Word" without wanting to wash my hands with soap.

www.rawstory.com/news/2008/McCain_temper_boiled_over_in_92_0407.html

When I told my mom this, she looked at me blankly.

"What's the C word?"

I wouldn't tell her, so she asked my dad. And HE didn't know (bless my parents and their clean mouths). So they looked it up.

And there you have it folks. Innocence lost. Make no mistake, McCain is ruining our country. I'm so busy washing my hands that I can't even comment on how inappropriate it is for anyone to use that word, much less someone who wants to represent me and my country to the rest of the world. You call the mother of your children this, John? Yikes. Through his behavior he's causing good, responsible citizens to have to learn The C Word just to understand what he's about. He likes to say "I've never been Miss Congeniality..." No kidding mister.

Sadly, this episode may actually be more horrifying than his lower teeth, which are all kinda smooshed together and yellow. I didn't think he could top that.

Vote for whoever you want, but if you know what The C Word is, I know who you WON'T be voting for!

Resolution Schmezolution

So this year I tried to give up a few things, but they haven't quite worked. To wit:

1) Horoscopes.

I had an astrology reading by phone at the end of last year with someone who came highly recommended to me. Some of what she said was so dead-on that it made my hair (hairy arms) stand up. However, some of what she said just didn't make sense to me. She said that I would be starting graduate school but not finishing, and that it was a bad time in my life to start. And she said that I should avoid doing business or getting involved with Aquarius people at all costs.

So of course I get to school and who do I fall for? An Aquarius. I actually debated not dating him for this reason. I mean, is there a power higher than astrology? Oh wait, yes there is, and it's called common sense. I quickly learned that I have to take my decision-making out of the hands of Astrologyzone (which has promised me wads of money for years now) and random psychics.

Or maybe I just really wanted to date him. In any case, I know she was wrong on this, I've never been happier with a guy. (author omits extended and mushy musings about her boyfriend for sake of reader non-barfosity) I mean, can we really say that ALL Aquariuses are alike? People born within the same 4 week span differ, sorry. Bleh on astrology, you lost me there.

Plus she told me I wasn't REALLY a Scorpio, but a Libra. And to read Pisces' horoscope instead of mine. That's just too much work yo.


2) Meat.

I tried so hard. I gave it up. I barely even ate fish, which I loved. I cooked tofu this way and that. I even slowed the amount of milk I ate. I found new comeraderie with Susie G. and I discovered new cuisines and restaurants I adored. I even changed my screensaver to that Peta sticker that says "I AM NOT A NUGGET!" I read books about being vegetarian, I bought the supplements, I lectured other people, you name it.

But deep inside, something didn't quite click. I fell off the wagon in a big way and haven't quite climbed back. I love what vegetarianism stands for most of all, and I want to comply again, but I was left just feeling bloated and not devoted enough to the cause. It's easier to eat on par with your partner, so I guess there was a social element there too. Is there a support group out there for lapsed veggies?

3) Swearing.

I'm happy to report that I'm actually doing quite well on this. My mom pointed out that my language had gotten a bit, well, less than classy. I've really tried to curb this. I know it must have REALLY bothered her if she took the time to lightly remind her grown daughter of her language, so I don't want to think about how rampant it must be. Granted, it's a trying time to be sweet-tongued... what with the Palin Situation. But that's another post for another day. Mom, cover your ears!

ROCK THE VOTE, YO!

It's been too long, friend.

I keep trying to find the energy to blog, but I can't, namely for two reasons that I will state here:

1) School. I am so tired. Who knew that the acquisition of "just the right" school supplies could be so darn consuming?

School is crazy as ever. I'm taking a full load on top of all my different jobs in this world. It's cool, I'm reading up on how to function on less sleep. And my multitasking is really shaping up.

My current gripe is that I'm somehow required to take this "business law" class that is honestly more time-consuming than law school itself was. The fun part is I'm not mentioning to my professor that I"m a lawyer in the hopes that unlike professors before him, he won't hold it against me. I figure sheltering him from my accomplishments may lead to excessive praise. Which I wouldn't mind.

2) More importantly, I've been consumed by the stupid election. The election isn't stupid, but the entry of Sarah Palin into the race does render it rather silly, and much like an annoying student council election where people aren't elected based upon merit (true merit = "I will install pop vending machines in the cafeterias!") but upon ill-earned popularity. Sarah Palin has no experience. She tends to bulk up her talks with introductions of her admittedly cute family (although we all know where "cute" got her teenage daughter...) and her "Champion Snowmobiler Husband". With all due respect to Mr. Snowmobiler 2008, I have to say that I expect a bit more accomplishment from the people who work out of the White House I freakin pay to keep up! Just seeing her face makes me want to cry for people who have devoted their lives to female causes and to feminism in general.

She makes me want to barf my face off.

I'm sure you'll hear much about her from me in the weeks to come, but suffice it to say that I care more about this election than ever before. I've been astounded by how many lovely, smart people I know who are just, well, non-voters. This is my personal plea: please please please please sign up and vote. Look! I even posted a cute picture of Obama so you'll like him! Go to rockthevote.com and please make sure your friends are signed up too.

The funny thing is, I'm not some wild die-hard pro-Obama person. I mean, once he got the nomination, sure, I trotted to my local Urban Outfitters and bought a tee shirt with his profile. And sure, after a big meal the placement of the design means that Obama gets a puffy lip from me, but hey! Support is support!

But I am against the current administration and I am for a taste of something new and I am for wider liberties and acceptance of people and their choices. With one vote I can say that.

The other day one of my smartest friends told me she doesn't vote because "she doesn't really care and doesn't know that much about the issues". Who we elect ends up appointing judges you could one day end up in front of, so you best like em! Yeah, some people don't realize that. They think just because they didn't vote means that Bush gets a term, so what? What = Bush-appointed Federal judges are in house now and worse, Supreme Court Justices!!! These justices get terms FOR LIFE. So your vote (or non-vote) can echo for a long ass time. Plus the president is our face to the rest of the world (a world which, by the way, pretty much hates us).

I was so stunned by her admittance (although she wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed about it) that I actually went quiet (imagine!). That's what this entire election is going to depend upon- people *starting* to care. The way I see it, I can't complain about things if I don't avail myself of my lil liberties. As my friend used to say "people can complain to me about being fat while they're on a treadmill!"

And for the record, let me make a personal plea: a McCain election pretty much means more US aggression in the middle east. And by "Middle East" I mean "Iran".

No bombing my grandmama, yo!

ROCKTHEVOTE.COM