White Noise

I have nothing cohesive to say, but a few thoughts have come in and out of my mind this week:

1) There is no good way to ask people to take you off their annoying spam list. (I'm working with Jon on a solution. Stay tuned.) So far all I've ever done (it was a former client) was to send an email that was addressed to "Dear Clients" but was only sent to her.

2) No one really knows what happened to Taylor Hicks, do they? Tonight at dinner some friends and I were trying to remember the past American Idol winners. When his name came up, it was like we relived America's surprise of the night he won, all over. "Did he win?" "Who?" "The Middle Aged rock star" "I think he did!" "Who?" "The old guy with the grey hair?" "He's not old, he's just, um, grey" "Did he win?" "Oh yeah, he DID!" "WHAT?! He won?!" I don't even remember who the runner-up was, but he/she must be pissed.

3) The World Poker Tour is the only place on tv where Middle Easterners are portrayed in a positive light. Stop laughing.

4) Liberty Taxes has the greatest marketing of all time. You agree with me, right? As soon as I say it, you knew exactly what I meant! People probably recognize them more than they recognize the IRS. Tonight I had the opportunity to get up close and personal with a Statue of Liberty dude as I was walking into a pizza place. I used to think that being stoned would be a requirement for that job, but I"m guessing a sea green velour toga is just super comfy work attire. Ain't nothing wrong with that.

I sleep to dream.

Lately I have been feeling earthquakes no one else feels. I'm batting maybe .0001 on this, only sometimes are there actual earthquakes. Tonight it happened again while I was watching tv. Usually it's at 2 am, I feel like the bed is rocking (get your mind out of the gutter. I spoon with my pillow, people) I think maybe because I live in a high rise this is actually possible (the building is on springs and shakes and I am sensitive like a cat), but who knows, I may just still have sea legs from my cruise last year. (You weren't there. It was ROCKY!)

At dinner tonight, I realized my recurring dreams fall into three themes:

1) I am balding in a big bad way (in the dream it's not funny, trust me), completely suddenly/overnight
2) I am peeing and have an audience that won't leave
3) I am shot (it doesn't hurt by the way. It's a warm fuzzy feeling, except when I realize that, well, I've been shot)

The only ways I can think to deal with these potentialities are:

1) Don't wear baseball caps excessively (which I don't), don't overuse gel (which I ceased under duress around 1996)
2) Don't use urinals anymore!!! Silly me.
3) Don't drive through Watts in a convertible.

Any other suggestions?

The PolyLillybic Spree

I love the book THE POLYSYLLABIC SPREE by Nick Hornby. In it, he lists the books he acquires and the books he reads in a given month. If you are not a reader, this would strike you as an incredibly dull activity. However, if you are among us, the book-buying masses, the collectors of volumes there aren't enough hours to read you will understand why this is interesting. Because sometimes what you buy has just as much to say about you as what you put the time into reading. It's a cool way to log your life.

I will now steal a page from him (and Jon) and try my hand at it. March (so far). My Life in Books.

BOOKS BOUGHT:

Septembers of Shiraz by Dalia Sopher (sp?)
*I haven't read as many of the middle eastern novels/memoirs that have come out in recent years as I'd like to have read. I read READING LOLITA IN TEHRAN and the 4 volumes of PERSEPOLIS and THE KITE RUNNER and then I was kinda worn out of the movement. An old friend of Mom's (am American who lived in Shiraz) recommended this. She's coming to visit and I bought it in honor of her good literary taste, even though I'm sure I won't have time to crack it before she arrives.

What is the What by Dave Eggers
*I put off reading this book for a long while because I didn't like the way I was introduced to it. (I'll leave my explanation at that) I finally received it as a gift for my birthday and I began to read it-- and couldn't stop. I bought it because my copy is currently circulating among my socially-conscious friends and I'm part of a chain letter that involves sending a book you loved to someone else. I went and bought this specifically for that purpose.

Accounting Text and Cases
*Behold! The joys of accrual-based accounting! How did I live for SO LONG without this one?!


BOOKS READ:

Silk by someone Italian
*I was looking for a slim book to read while I"m so slammed with work and life. I picked this novella up off my parents' shelf and zipped right through it. It's the story of a French man's escapades in the silk industry, which take him through Japan and into the sights of a mystery woman. This is a fantastic example of the power of carefully-chosen words. It was very poetic in a way that didn't make me feel like I was cheating by reading something short.


CURRENTLY READING:

The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
*After I read Special Topics in Calamity Physics I promised myself I would go on a book-lover-binge and read books about book lovers (a strange but fun subcategory). Then I kinda just started reading other things. This had been on the top of my "read next" list during that inspired phase. It was also the citywide book selection when I was living in SF. It was a Christmas present a year ago (ie. Xmas 2006). So lots of reasons to pick it up. I love it so far, in a "I can't focus on what I"m doing because I'd rather be reading my mystery" way.


I have been trying to use the library more. I miss that joy of piling books so high I can't see over them (as in childhood, so it continues!) I've reserved some new ones, so maybe I'll add a "BORROWED FROM THE LIBRARY LIKE A GOOD CITIZEN" sub-category.

Books books books. I love them so much I would eat them if I could.

Two For the Price of One.

So I'm reading a book about twins. Lost twins, dead twins, you name it. Lately twins have been a theme in my life. A guy in my class is apparently a twin, and I restrained myself from the traditional barrage of questions that twins are subjected to. I never knew they were so subjected until Alpha Twin Jon Yang pointed out to me the stupidity of questions people ask, and their incessant fascination with aliens, I mean, twins. So it began. Then I started reading this book. Then today at lunch I met a guy who has a twin brother and who largely planned his living and educational experiences in college around his brother's compatibility. Twins twins twins. They're everywhere I go.

Twins came up yet again during a screening Degrassi Junior High chez Susie and Miguel. They were watching their show, and I found myself enraptured with the twins Erica and something or other (I was distracted by her skort, truth be told) as they pulled the old switcheroo on a guy who didn't want to go out with one of them. Do twins really do this stuff or is this only in the movies and in Sweet Valley High?

I'm sure there was a week or two when I was younger that I would have wanted a twin. Susie remembers my childhood in more detail than I do, so perhaps she can pipe in. I do recall that it was de rigeur at Highland Park high school- we had many sets of them. But I never wanted them as badly as other people did. Why would I want someone to compete with THAT directly? I think not. Who wants to be the sister of "the cuter one"? I think our parents putting us in matching clothes, even just a few times a year and in choice Units ensembles, was enough to beat any interest in twin-dom out of us.

I wonder if twins feel overshadowed in the age of the fertility drug. I mean, when we have tv shows like John and Kate Plus Eight, two feels like a measly number. Who ISN'T having twins these days?

But on a more serious note (if only briefly), the book I'm reading (THE THIRTEENTH TALE, by Diane Setterfield) mentions that perhaps twins are just complete. The rest of us go around looking for our soulmates, our counterparts, our partners, but twins have that completion from day one. I wonder if that feels true. I wonder if twins feel less pressure to settle down or find a partner because they have a partner in crime from their grand entrance into the world. More than that, though, I was struck by the author's self-assuredness that everyone does wander earth looking for their perfect match. I feel like there's an easter hunt and I wasn't invited. Sure, as you have heard me whine about, I'd love a great relationship as well as the next girl, but not to the extent of feeling "incomplete". (there will be no Jerry McGuire'ing in this house!)

I'm all about 'signs'. I feel like there's a reason all this twin stuff is happening in my life. Now to channel my inner Jessica Fletcher and figure out why.

Public Frenemy #1

This just in: Public Frenemy #1 just got engaged.

This is the part when I'm supposed to be a big person, but I'm not interested in playing that role today. Today I get to be bitchy, ahem, I mean OBJECTIVE.

Public Frenemy is neither attractive nor nice. Nor charming. Nor funny. I'm assuming you already know what a Frenemy is, but lest you be unawares, it's someone who you pretend to be friends with but basically you can't stand each other. There are various reasons that people are frenemies. Allow me to list them (from my own sociological research):

SPECIES OF FRENEMUS GIRLICUS:

1) The Lazy Frenemy: Old friends, habit, inability to cut tie without awkwardness (this specie closely resembles #2). You have probably caught yourself saying "With friends like these....!"
2) The Pack Frenemy: Shared group membership, such as sorority sisters, high school buddies, etc. This group also includes members of your own family and family friends for certain cultures (such as mine). Most likely you know this person less than the Type 1, but they are equally annoying, I assure you.
3) The Oxygen Frenemy: Frequency of contact with said person mandates falsely social behavior. See also: coworkers, classmates, the girl who checks you in to the gym.

Suffice it to say that this chick and I, we're frenemies. She knows it and I know it. Once when I was on vacation she went out of her way to creatively fabricate and spread a rumor that I was seriously dating someone "old and ugly" behind my parents' back with direct plotting for it to get back to my mom. Haha, I don't date! Who's laughing now! (Secondly, if you knew my parents you'd know they'd take anything at this point!)

I just want you to know where I'm coming from, i.e. she has been correctly classified as Frenemy, subgenus Unprovoked Backstabbing Bitchicus. Once or twice a year when we have to be at friends' togethers I am forced to break a smile and act among our friends as if I am as adoring of her as, well, she is. But in general I practice avoidance. Social abstinence as it were.

So here's the rub: I spend all this time telling people that I believe in karma, and that I believe good things happen to good people, then some data like this comes along and fucks it all up. I can't divulge too many details lest PF1 figure out who I'm talking about, but let's just say she's had more than her share of good luck in this lifetime. And I KNOW you're supposed to keep your eye on your own path, but you can't help it, can you? If you're human? Maybe she had a really shitty past life. I'm going to go with that thought for now. But honestly, I joke, but this is really throwing me off. These are not just the rantings of a self-pitying single girl (I said "just"!, I'm honest!) -- they are the observations of the Truly Baffled.

Let's be clear- what this is about, ladies and gentlemen (for her), is bragging rights. Someone afflicted with Personality Diarrhea (see previous blog posts for examples of the behavior of afflicted individuals) now has even MORE to talk about about herself. Blech. I am bracing myself and trying to find ways to overcome this adversity given that OF COURSE as fate would have it I am going to see her before the weekend is out. (a weekend which has just been upgraded to a bender, I assure you)

Fans of my academic work might be pleased to know that she is further evidence in support of my Thesis: "A Little Bitchiness Never Killed a Relationship: A Sociological Perspective" (tentative title). Someone who "launched a thousand nerves" (Helen had ships, she gets nerves), who has such an edge, such a sharp tongue, all of it, is ADORED? Does anyone know another synonym for "baffled"? "Astounded"? I need some new ones.

Now - Fact: This past weekend a man was proposing to his girlfriend and he had put the engagement ring in a helium balloon and...

(guess what happened next)

Yup. That. The balloon, carrying the $12,000 ring, blew away.

But it gets better: now she is MAD at him. And yes, he still wants to marry her.

WHO ARE THESE MEN?

I want one.

Tired is the new cool.

I should probably feel guilty for blogging, particularly as I probably owe whoever is reading this an email!

I am so tired. Someone pointed out the other day that I've been sick most of 2008, which felt like, well, not a lucky start to the year. I started to wonder if it was allergies, and now that my neighbors across the house (yes, those of previous post fame) have mold and have to tear down their walls, I am getting all whatever-the-equivalent-of-hypochondria-is-for-your-house. I have been snooping around for signs of dampness, dark marks on the walls, and peeling wallpaper. If anyone has any household mold questions, I'm your go-to girl.

Failing that (my investigations are as yet inconclusive), after an excessive nap on Friday (after sleeping in in the morning, so there was really no excuse), Jessica brought up the possibility that perhaps we have carbon monoxide leaking somewhere. So I jumped on Amazon and ordered a detector. Sidenote: I'm quickly becoming like that guy who years ago locked himself inside and decided he'd .com order anything he needed to live on (did he prove it possible? I know I could, thank you Amazon Prime shipping!)

So anyhow, in CASE I am getting Carbon Monoxide poisoning, I want you all to know that at least I thought of you, all four of you, and blogged in your honor.

I've been trying to figure out the perfect theme to riff on for my next blog post (which was going to be this post, but as you understand, I am indisposed at the moment). If you have any requests, let me know.

In the meantime, I will leave you with this bit of Lilly wisdom: "Bust a Move" never fails to get the dance floor going.

I'm not invisible.

Well, apparently I am. Lately I have noticed that my guy friends talk about women like I'm not there. This is surely the result of the "best girl friend" aura that I seem to have, where boys feel they can just be boys around me. For the most part it's fun and I'm sure it would provide great insight into men if I were able to learn something substantive from their openness. But lately the conversations sound like this:

Guy A: Yeah, so I was at my gym and...
Guy B: Did you see that hottie?
Guy A: Yup, hottie was present and accounted for. Smokin'!
Guy B: I'd tap that.
Guy A: I'd bang that in a second!
Guy B: So are you gonna talk to her?
Guy A: Fo sho. She's got a sick body.
Guy B: She's a cutie.
Guy A: She's kinda a slut... but that's cool.

(names of the participants have been changed to protect their feeble attempts to woo women countywide)

So today I had had enough. I took my case to a wise (female) friend. I told her I was losing my faith in men based on a few factors, not least of all being privy to this sort of guy talk. She was quick to point out two things. The first is that men act macho when they're with each other. I had honestly never thought of this. Was Guy A bandying these terms about in an effort to impress upon Guy B his superior masculinity? Maybe. Girl-getting and girlwatching is a time-honored male sport of bonding; I was forgetting that.

And secondly, she pointed out, they would think WE were crazy if they heard what we say in their absence! Before I could debate her on this, I had a thought. It went like this:

Girl A: Yeah, so he didn't email me back!
Girl B: That's crazy. I mean, when you constantly are emailing, you are creating a LEVEL OF EXPECTATION.
Girl A: And he didn't honor that!
Girl B: That just shows he lacks character.
Girl A: Or maybe just email access?
Girl B: Well, think back to his last email. What did he say? Were there any clues in there that he was going to cut communication?
Girl A: He said he'd talk to me later.
Girl B: Did he say "talk" or did he say "email?"
Girl A: Not sure...
Girl B: Because it makes a difference... Did you say anything unusual to him in your email?
Girl A: I told him I had a lot of work to do tonight.
Girl B: OH NO! That's like basically TELLING him you have no time for a relationship!
Girl A: Shit.
Girl B: It's ok, I mean, you didn't know. But we have to figure out how to fix this.
Girl A: I think I still have his last email, should I forward it to you?
Girl B: Yeah, and cc Girl C on it. I bet she'd have some insight too. We'll analyze his email for you.
Girl A: So I shouldn't call him?
Girl B: You have to play the game!
Girl A: I don't like the game though.
Girl B: But you have to be in it to win it.

I want to disassociate myself from such scenarios, but then I'd be discrediting the *amazing* email analysis service I have offered various girlfriends. So my friend isn't that far off in pointing out that girls act crazy and weird when they don't think the other sex is listening. And that, if examined in a vacuum, our behavior would scare men too.

I feel better now.

So next I"m going to try to understand the disconnect between what men *say* they want and what they go for in reality. My paper, tentatively entitled: "A little bitchy never killed a relationship: A scientific examination" will be forthcoming.

Firsts: A Compendium

Got this survey from someone on MySpace. Allow me to catch you up on who I am- a story of me, in firsts.

1. Who was your FIRST prom date?
Jason Marczak, one of my close friends from high school. We wore matching clothes. I had the red dress and he had the red vest to go with it. We just reconnected on Facebook. Gotta love Facebook.

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love?
Never had a love like dat. Does Kirk Cameron count?

3. What was your FIRST alcoholic drink?
Sadly, it was probably Bud Light or Zima. I probably had sips of stuff earlier, but one of my earliest memories of getting trashed involves shotgunning Bud Lights in South Haven, Michigan.

4. What was your FIRST job?
Working for my mom as an office manager/helper, as a trade for my first pair of army boots :)

5. What was your FIRST car?
My mom's old silver Mitsubishi Montero. Such an awesome car. I still miss it.

6. Who was the FIRST person to text you today?
Texting was quiet today! I think Anita was, but that was late afternoon. It was beautiful out and people were outside I guess!

7. Who is the FIRST person you thought of this morning?
Myself? :)

8. Who was your FIRST grade teacher?
Mrs. Lovi. She hated me, despite my stellar contributions to the Lovi Local.

9. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane?
Not sure, I think London? My mom took me. I was teensy, like in a "basinette, stowed in front of her feet" way.

10. Who was your FIRST best friend and are you still friends with them?
Lindsey I think? Not in touch with her.

11. What was your FIRST sport played?
I think swimming? But team-wise, that would be my glory week in junior high volleyball.

12. Where was your FIRST sleep over?
Probably Mama Kay's house (our babysitter). Friend-wise, it was probably Lindsey's house.

13. Who was the FIRST person you talked to today?
Anita. She was at yoga class with me.

14. Whose wedding were you in the FIRST time?
My cousin Haleh's - I was a flowergirl, about 4/5 years old?

15. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning?
Checked email on my phone. Isn't that sick?! Then got up and went to Bikram (hot yoga).

16. What was the FIRST concert you ever went to?
New Kids on the Block... do we really need to go into this again? ;)

17. FIRST tattoo or piercing?
Ears yo when I was 8. But beyond the traditional, probably the piercing at the top of my left ear in the cartilage?

18. FIRST foreign country you went to?
Probably England.

19. What was your FIRST run in with the law?
Probably my speeding ticket in HP. Otherwise - border control on the way back from Canada with my suspiciously dark-skinned friends :)

20. When was your FIRST detention?
um, NEVER. I'm a lil G. We're perfectly behaved ;)

21. What was the FIRST state you lived in?
Illinois.

22. Who was the FIRST person to break your heart?
Matt Evans, when he told me he hated my haircut in 3rd grade. (my hair had been brutally chopped, so in retrospect 20 years later, I can probably forgive him)

23. Who was your FIRST roommate?
Probably the girl from my summer program at Wellesley (sp?), but I forget her name. The important first roomies were Seema and crazy Princess Carrie at Michigan. The Seemster just moved to SD which has been loads of fun. It's like freshman year minus the crazy naked ostrich roommate.

24. Where did you go on your FIRST limo ride?
O'Hare airport. That's just how we rolled in Chi-town, yo!

Condimental Philosophy

So, tonight I was thinking- good things are supposed to come to those who wait, right? But why do we all *know* that you have to bang the hell out of the side of the bottle to make the ketchup flow?

In other thoughts, today I decided to diagnose a personality disorder. Not my own (I don't believe in self-diagnosis...) but someone else's. This someone else BUGS. It's one of those things where I don't know the person enough to pinpoint why she annoys me, but I already know that, should I take the time to get to know her, she would annoy me, thus I allow myself to be lightly annoyed from a very pleasant distance.

Anyway, I was talking with Jessica tonight about this girl's personality problem. (You see, I'm only one of many people who seem to have this reaction to said person. Here, let me give you something to go off: she's one of those people who, even though she's met you and been personally introduced to you repeatedly, she ignores you until someone introduces you again, at which point she offers you her limp handshake. Blech.

I have diagnosed her with Personality Diarrhea. An absolute inability to control the obnoxiousness of her personality, her mannerisms, even (apparently, as was discovered after 2 hours of having to sit behind her at an event) her laugh. She can't contain it. Whatever is in her childhood, the resulting effects just run (pun intended) out of her, to the disturbance of those around. I use her as an example, but it absolutely applies to many other people, I'm sure. I'm just using her as an example because she snubbed me today (at first) and I like to use my literary revenge whenever I can. I do NOT take snubbing well.

In case you're wondering how that turned out, I then started playing a game called "I'm Deaf". I mean, I had never really cared for her, but I'd always thought "well, she's just getting used to figuring out who I am". But by now she should know my face as well as her mama's, I've seen her enough. So I let the initial snubbage ride. Then, a half hour into our outing (I don't know what happened, the guys we were with had started watching the game and weren't responding to her throwing popcorn at them or something) she began turning around and randomly commenting to me. Baiting me for conversation. And trust me, people, there was a LOT to talk about at this tournament. Apparently rugby fans dress up like it's Halloween, and our section was the guys dressed like Hooters Girls. There was no shortage of conversational material.

So, back to our story: we find our Heroine (me) being volleyed with light conversational tidbits from her Subject. Apparently she was THAT desperate for attention (attention desperation = the "personality" part of her particular PD disorder) and waiting for me to take the bait and be the bend-over-backwards friendly person I usually am... but PMS restrained me from being that good woman today.

Her: (Wrenching around in her seat) "Wow, what's he doing on the team?!" (let me point out here that the guy was Asian and was on some team just not from Asia-- you know, like, I dunno, France. Apparently she doesn't think Asians should emigrate. You're starting to see my point about her.)
Me: Eyes at the scoreboard, intently soaking in Samoa's first goal. Like SUPER intently.
Her: (turns back around, to replot her strategy)

Her: (turns back around, at some nondescript point in the game and says something inane like) "Wow, I mean, what's even happening?!"
Me: Eyes on the field, a laser directly pointing over her head, avoiding eye contact, but with my mouth slightly ajar as if amazed by play, completely fascinated to the point of being physically UNABLE to respond to her.

This method proved highly effective, much to my joy. If only I was genuinely deaf, I might have had better luck actually tuning out the voice, but we can do that on the Beta trial.

It was fun. All those years I've spent trying to win over the most unwinnable-overable personalities were wasted folks. Today I have seen the light. Some people just have a complete inability to control themselves or their obnoxiousness and you, too, America, you can tune them out. Just turn off your ears. It sounds cruel, but when you think of it, it's what our parents did to us all day long!

(This public service announcement has been sponsored by Personality Pepto.)

Can You Play That Track Back for Me Again?

Tonight reaffirmed that you're only as old as your mental age. And mine is 6.

I was sitting in Managerial Economics. Not a funny class *per se*. My prof was using an interesting example of Major League Baseball salaries to explain marginal analysis. I'll spare you the specifics, but suffice it to say that the first player was Albert Pujols. ("Poo-holes") I know. I could barely contain myself. It seems unjust that you could get named both Albert and Poo-holes. I'm surprised he didn't end up being a cage fighter instead.

And yes, I totally blogged about this back in Nov 2004 when I was depressed about the election and needed something to make me smile. Apparently this piece of trivia has a 3.25 year shelf life!

Late Registration

Me and Kanye, we have one thing in common. Late registration.

Yup, I'm back in school. I'm working on my MBA, because apparently it is my quest to become overeducated in this lifetime of mine. I'm trying to wash the taste of law school out of my mouth and to do something that will work my mind in new ways. I know, dumb dumb dumb.

It blows my mind that in between drinking binges (I was a sorority girl, after all) I managed to apply to graduate school the first time around. Doing this *one* application here drove me up the wall. How did we do it back then? Was it just because everyone else was doing it? Was I (am I?) *so* desperate to avoid the real world? (Don't answer that)

Being back in school is, for lack of a more descriptive term, weird. Nothing like walking campus and checking people out to make you feel like a total perv when you realize they are going to be class of 09 or '10 or '11. Ew. I shudder to think.

How did we get through college? As a grown adult I find myself overwhelmed with the registration process. Get your parking pass here, get your books there, return your books, buy other books at another store, find your class, find people to socialize with so you don't feel like a loser, stay on top of your "homework", try to find a synonym for homework and fail, keep saying "homework" hoping it will sound less awful (it never does). Don't even get me started on my Statistics class. I had to switch out of my economics class because it was entirely calculus-based. The last time I did calculus, there was no Puff Daddy yet. The last time I did calculus, you could still peg your jeans. The last time I did calculus you could still buy tapes. At Sam Goody.

Oh, and apparently in the last eight years since I graduated college, everything went online. You have to go online to get your assignments, to get lecture notes (everything is in freaking powerpoint, etc.) I mean, back in my day they were still using CHALKBOARDS! I feel like freakin Lilly Van Winkle (And yes, writers of the world, I am still working. Full time. My latent overachiever gene is going to be the death of me.)

I'm trying to keep my cool by doing excessive amounts of yoga. Which would be fine except my teacher took issue with my wearing longer loose pants today. Because when I'm doing bow pulling pose I really need Joan Rivers up on the block telling me off. Um, buddy, TRUST ME on this, you do NOT want to see me in the spandex short shorts that your studio sells. I mean, maybe eventually, but let's just revisit the issue in, I dunno, 2018, when it might be more appropriate. I don't wear shorts on the regular, so WHY would I wear them in a class where I'm reflected on 3 sides by mirrors? If I want that sort of torture I'll just bring a space heater with me and hang out in a Loehmann's dressing room, thank you very much.

What else is going on in my life? Well, I'll give you the short list of what school has made me realize about myself so far:

1) I like to sit in the back of the room. Part of this is because I'm an observer. There's a certain irony to it, generally speaking, given that I'm short and should probably be front and center. But it allows for maximum doodleage. Due to my seating position, during law school I was able to read books like "The Ground Beneath Her Feet" by Salman Rushdie (it's huge. a doorstop!), Anna Karenina (well, half, but that's like 2 normal books!), The Portrait of Dorian Gray, etc. Basically I take multitasking with me into the classroom.

2) I can't sit still for 4 hours straight (and yes, we're asked to). Nor am I mature enough to sit on a swinging/turning chair and not, well, swing, the entire lecture long.

3) I have a drinking problem. Of the caffeine variety. I just like to have something in my hand and a beverage while I listen. I do not know the root of this. What I do know is that I will be actually spending 2x the stated tuition due to aformentioned Starbucks intake.

4) I get shy on campus! What's THAT about? I keep telling people I have a shy side and no one believes me, but you would if you saw me on campus. Head down, quiet, go about my business, go home.

5) I still have the tic of writing a loooong to-do list during lecture. Today's list was only about 12 items, but a law school friend remarked (unprovoked) that she once saw my list go into the 40s. We have time.

6) I am apparently the same hormonal girl I was at 18. I look around and try to figure out who is cute. And, just like in college, as the days pass, people you wouldn't normally think are attractive become so. It's the LOST effect. Otherwise, who would have hooked up with Saeed or Hurley? Exactly. Personality comes into play. Sometimes I think they should just put single guys and girls in a biodome (yes, that is totally written with direct props to Pauly Shore) and we'd probably all end up liking each other and you could just be rid of us.

What else do you need to know about me right now? I guess just that I can't believe how quickly January is going by. I haven't written out my New Year's Resolutions yet, like not the official "final cut". I keep putting it off, and I can't decide if *that* is the new facet of my personality (chilling out?)

I have noticed that I'm amassing more and more guy friends. While I used to be friends with men just because they're fun, simple friends to have, tonight I realized that this is increasingly due to my wedding duties. The girls are dwindling in numbers (singles-wise), so I need boys to accompany me through their rites of passage (their walk down the aisle, my walk to the open bar). I don't think I ever thought I'd be where I am at 30, but I love it. It's weird, uncharted territory. A while back I found an old report I had written for school where I guessed I'd be married by 24, have kids by 26 and be a judge. I know, keep reading when you're done laughing. All it needed to say was that I was a Republican and I'd have proof positive that my dad wrote it!

In other news, I am reading BRIDGET JONES'S DIARY. It is thrilling me for two reasons. One is that I've always wondered whether you put apostrophe-s after a name that ends with S. I have my answer now and can move on with my life. Secondly, this book was written for me (see "uncharted/unexpected lifestyle", above). I didn't realize my comeraderie with Bridget back when I read it x years ago, because I wasn't yet a fully-grown neurotic woman. I mean, I love me some heavy literary fiction as much as the next underpaid literary agent, but talk about a book that resonates. Hurrah!

Now that I have ripened into the reader demographic I needed to be, I can settle down with the book in oversized sweats, nod my towel-wrapped head, chocolate marks on my lips, and a big martini glass of optimism in hand. As she would say, "V good."

This Rocket is Dedicated to You

Happy New Year!

Background Noise: The sound of the documentary "Why We Fight". At the moment, an angry dad is trying to get his (slain) son's name put on military equipment being used in Iraq, ideally a rocket.

Despite the gravity of the documentary, I decided I can't put off blogging a moment more. 2008 is already escaping me!

First, let's recap 2007. Think of it this way: this year I didn't send out holiday cards (the artist formerly known as Christmas cards). And since I'm single, none of you received a color-xeroxed letter from me about the highs and lows of my child's year and my husband's stellar career. So let me put them here (at least the things I can remember).

THE YEAR IN REVIEW.
a newsletter.
by me.

*Low Points*
Pele. I still miss him. Deeply. It's a big low point, and perhaps so distracting that I can't even think of more.

Stressing out about turning 30. Feeling like I had to have it all in order- the career, the love life, the future goals and aspirations.


*High Points*
Making friends with Toby, my parents' new dog. Now he cries when my special ring comes on at my parents' house. If he had a special ring, or if he could make phone calls, I would feel the same.

Not sending out a holiday newsletter or strange holiday photo of my family sitting in a pose you'd never find us in, namely matching outfits.

Following through on all of my resolutions (ok, most of them- there were a lot!) Everything from making a triumphant and devoted return to my yoga practice to learning to drinking less pop, etc.

Learning to cook (another resolution!) and loving my new hobby.

Going to Turkey, somewhere I've always wanted to see.

Going to one of the most beautiful weddings I've ever been to in my life (atop the highest point on Santorini island in Greece).
Going to a few different weddings where I could just genuinely be happy for the love other people have in their lives.

Getting caught up on film history (another resolution). Finally seeing Citizen Kane! (and yes, I loved it. And is it me or was Orson Wells kinda hot?) Other favorites: PARIS, JE T'AIME, the 7up series, Bad Education (by Almodovar), Fidel (by Estela Bravo).

Reacquainting myself with television. LOST brings the masses together!

Reading as many books as I could. Less than previous years, but books that stayed with me for a long time and are on my favorite books ever list, namely ON BEAUTY by Zadie Smith, EAT PRAY LOVE by Elizabeth Gilbert, SPECIAL TOPICS IN CALAMITY PHYSICS by Marisha Pessl, ENCYCLOPEDIA OF AN ORDINARY LIFE, and WHAT IS THE WHAT by Dave Eggers. This year I got to share my love of reading much more with people, especially Susie (who has reclaimed her position as the only person who deserves frequent flier miles from the library).

Getting the surprise of my life in the form of a 30th birthday party. I did a kegstand held up by the other 4 members of my family and I got pushed in the pool. I loved it so much that I didn't even mind the bronchitis that trailed for a month thereafter.

Applying to business school for an MBA completely last minute and impulsively (read: 2 weeks before the deadline), being sure it as too late to have a good application, getting in.

Met some awesome new people who have become close friends or just people who restored my faith in humanity. They don't read my blog (that I know of), so no need to flatter them here ;)

Getting that butterfly tattoo I wanted!

Impromptu trip to Vegas. As in "can we go tomorrow?" One of the most fun weekends I've had in Las Vegas.

All in all, it was a good year. Crazy optimist that I am, I'm looking forward to 2008. I would put my resolutions here, but then you'll make fun of me! Anyway, there's nothing juicy. Stuff like trying to walk errands if I can avoid driving, becoming a better listener (don't try and use that against me; it won't work), giving back to the community much more, etc.

So, back to my movie: why DO we fight? Maybe in 2008 it will stop. (Like I said, always an optimist.)

And for the record, the butterfly tattoo was a joke. I can't believe you bought that! Go directly to Pacific Beach, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

Yo Yo Yo: A Christmas List

Christmas gets rave reviews this year. Except for this migraine headache that I can't seem to kick. Well, technically it probably isn't a migraine, but a migraine gets sympathy whereas "haven't had enough caffeine today" doesn't. And lest you think Christmas is just about sympathy to a religious figure, I'd like a little bit of attention in there too. So sue me.

MY LIST.
by Lilly

Number of times I realized I am becoming my parents: Two (once when I took over the kitchen and cooked most of Christmas dinner - a la mom, and once when I picked something up and said "does this thing have a PURPOSE?" aloud to myself- a la dad)

Number of Tofurkey slices consumed: One.

Number of slices of mom's wicked apple tart consumed in the past 24 hours: Three.

Number of movies I walked out (of the tv room) on: One. It was a Woody Allen film with two strikes against it. One, I had seen it already. Two, it starred Jason Biggs ("American Pie"), which may not be something against it per se, but wasn't working for it. The fact that Christina Ricci sits around in underwear bitching about being too fat (typecast!) sealed the deal. I was in bed by 9:30.

Number of cookies I ate: Too many to count. Arguably upward of 10, if you count my consumption of cookie dough, which I did not so much for the taste but for consistency with my youth.

Number of text messages sent with photos of my cookie masterpieces attached: Five.

Cookies decorated: A zillion. We made pretty hearts and sunshines, but made it an all-inclusive "HOLIDAY" cookie set. I didn't have the skill set to do them all myself, so Susie handled the 'big jobs' (like the woman with a hejab in honor of our Muslim Peeps). I grew up in Highland Park, a Jewish suburb of Chicago. I do a mean menorah with sprinkle flames, so recognize. Next holiday I may take orders.

Lessons learned about Christmas: One. Big one though. My family has always feasted on Christmas Eve. We pride ourselves on our ability to put kabob and Persian rice aside for a night of genuine American dining. Then Christmas morning we open presents, pig out a little bit more, and kinda eventually go our own ways. Imagine our surprise when, as we were cooking, my brother breezed through the kitchen pointing out that most people actually do Christmas dinner on Christmas Day. There was a round of light debate, some shoulder shrugging, and a phonecall to a certifiable "American Christian" source to verify. We were a day early and have been for 30 years.

Presents received: Too many to count (thanks family!). From books to jewelry to a dayglo yoga mat to enough tea to last me, well, about a month. No favorites this year, I really loved them all.

Books received as Christmas Gifts: Eight.

Books read/reading: Three.
1) I FINALLY finished Special Topics in Calamity Physics last night. I have been wrestling with this book all week. I read hundreds of pages and yet there was more and more and more (the result of a huge page count and tiny print). I actually started to wonder if the last few pages were breeding because as close as I was, I never seemed to finish it. It's gorgeous writing and it was well-paced, so it wasn't like I was suffering, but it was an item on my damn ToDo list that I couldn't seem to finish.
2) I'm working my way through Nora Ephron's "Wallflower at the Orgy" essays.
3) I dove into Winner of the National Book Award (the title, not an actual award winner) this morning and haven't put it down yet.

Number of additional rsvps that came in over the last 24 hours for the PROM 1989 Party that Jessica and I are throwing: 14

Number of tee shirts I received with a hilarious photo of my brother, age 9, looking incredibly confused, screened onto it: One.

Teas had: Two.

Long walks down a hill I wondered if I'd get back up: One. (I made it)

Number of Starbucks open downtown La Jolla (the whole reason for my hike): ZERO!

Number of times I spiraled into internal debate about "If you can't count on STARBUCKS to be open on Christmas when you NEED a Latte, what can you count on?": Two. Maybe three.

Number of showers: NONE! (yet. Off I go...)

Merry Christmas!

"You know who you look like?..."

It has started again. It's open season on me. The other day I was walking through the lobby and our security guy said "um, Lilly, you know who you..." He didn't even have to finish his sentence. Thing is, I do know! Apparently it's that time of year again. I know winter has hit when I get pale again and the comments pop out. I get them everywhere, at the gas station (from a little old lady leaning out the window of her car), from people in stores, from friends of friends who I've just been introduced to.

When I was first told that I looked like Janeane Garofalo, I didn't know who she was. I hadn't really paid attention to the snarky best friend in Reality Bites (Jon has forgiven me) and there wasn't really anything else of note. I was first 'sighted' in college by a guy named Ethan who would not let the subject go. When I wouldn't sign an autograph he called me a bitch (ever caving to my fans, I signed, naturally misspelled). I saw him the next day on the street and he started yelling "Janeane! Look! I never washed it off!!!", pointing to the signature on his arm. Poor (dirty) boy.

Soon after, the movie The Truth About Cats and Dogs was released. My lookalike Janeane was cast opposite Uma Thurman as the 'ugly one'. Not even kidding. For those of you who I haven't forced to watch it (it has since become one of my favorite movies), it's about a girl who has a blind date with a hot British guy and ends up goofing things up by impulsively describing his looks (so he could identify her when they met) as her model (tall, skinny, blonde) neighbor. So begins the game of the pretty face (Uma) and the brain (Janeane), a chick flick Cyrano, basically. In the end (warning: spoilers!), the guy somehow decides that she is beautiful inside and out, blah blah blah. She was the whole package.

It's a fun movie and a brilliant exploration of the beauty standard in the US (and pretty much worldwide these days). But come on, as if gaining the freshman 15 isn't bad enough, to be told day in and day out that you looked like the not pretty one from the movie was a little ouchy.

When I graduated and moved to LA, it started to happen more (again, it was fall, again my tan was fading. There is a distinct correlation). If nothing else, at least people in LA know who's a celeb. But here was the kicker- I looked so much like her *yet* she wasn't cool enough to get me to the front of the line at Garden of Eden or the Standard (the year was 1999 ye club-going LA snobs!). Useless. I mean, if I was going to look like someone, couldn't it be Pamela Anderson or Cindy Crawford? Couldn't I at least get some freebies?

I started to resent it. She was a bitter cynical comedian-- I wasn't those things!!! Oh wait- I was in law school. I was totally those things.

But for the past few years I just haven't gotten it as much. Something is bringing out my Janeane-ness and people are noticing it once again. As time passed, I started to identify with her more. For one thing, I could spell her name right. I admired her willingness to be political in a violently apolitical society. I didn't admire her brief loss of 20 lbs and hair dying (to, you guessed it - blonde). I felt betrayed... Like she didn't want to look like me!

So for a while there was the fadeout. I was told I looked like Whoopi Goldberg (interesting but inaccurate, not only given my ethnicity, but my eyebrow - as in "I have them" - situation) and the Nanny. But apparently my Janeaneness is blossoming again. It's nice to have her back.

We Take These Truths to Be Self-Evident

Theorem #1: You will check the time/speed of the person on the machine next to you at the gym.

Proof: I do.

Theorem #2: We don't count calories of food eaten while standing.

Proof: The lifestyle of most people I know, especially those of us who have an ongoing buffet courtesy of a wide-open refrigerator door.

Theorem #3: Everyone loves to hi-5, no matter how hard you try to stop them. (And how I've tried)

Proof: Most of you.

Theorem #4: No one really read Beowolf.

Proof: The box office.

Theorem #5: You check yourself out in the mirror.

Proof: That's why you look so damn fine yo.

Theorem #6: Cyberstalking is just "social research".

Proof: It has become socially acceptable. I mean, when was the last time you sincerely called someone a 'stalker'? Exactly. Oh, the number of times my friends have made use of their firms' Lexis subscriptions. Watch out ye boys who want to date them, we know your divorce is not yet final!

Theorem #7: The whole western world except me has seen "The (damn) Notebook".

Proof: People keep pitching me things as "it's the blah blah blah version of the Notebook". Not knowing much about said film, I then picture a spiral-bound notebook, which is unhelpful to all involved. The guys I know who made Braveheart and Gladiator a hit with repeat viewings mention it in conversation. Blech. File it under 'Tuesdays with Morrie'

Theorem #8: Whoever smelt it dealt it.

Proof: It's always guys who smell it. And everyone knows girls don't poot.

The Right Stuff

Sometimes you look back on your childhood obsessions and you cringe. This past weekend, as families nationwide gathered to give thanks, I decided to give thanks for boy bands. I ordered up New Kids on the Block's Greatest Hits video collection (thank you Netflix, the gift that keeps giving).

Jessica and I sat down to watch. Immediately my mind jumped back to 1990. I was in junior high. I was wearing ridiculously ugly big puffy reversible sweaters. I had a NKOTB button roughly the size of my head (so big that it had a stand at the back, so you could set it out as a picture frame. I chose to wear it.) I was loving Jordan Knight forever (bonus points if you caught the reference). I didn't care that he had extensively long canines and a falsetto to make plastic cups shatter. That rat tail was all I needed to get by in life. (his, not mine)

The videos began, and let me tell you, they did not disappoint. These guys could actually dance. Clearly Justin Timberlake was just an NKOTB fan back in the day, because he is rocking those same moves. Perhaps their lyrics weren't the best ("we ain't gonna give anybody any slack/ if you put us down we're gonna come right back"), but hey, they were from the cushy burbs of Boston. The music was really good, easily taken from the same pile that New Edition picked from (and in fact, was), and they had great voices. Their excessive use of cavarricis and smiley-face-wearing-do-rag tee shirts was a misdemeanor really. And Donnie Wahlberg made it ok for white kids to wear Public Enemy shirts...

I could write about das New Kids for a long long time. I could tell you how I've looked them up to find out where they are now, I could tell you that i just ordered Jordan Knight's last 2 albums from Amazon, I could tell you that I've rewatched the video THRICE.

I mean, I always loved Jordan. For those of you not in the know, every girl had a favorite New Kid. Jordan had a great smile and a pompador to die for (and only the 30 year old me now realizes, the great abs). I love love loved him. Susie loved Jonathan, Jordan's socially awkward brother (who we've since decided was the hot one. But before she gloats too much let me point out that he dated Tiffany). My friend Kathy loved Donnie, the dirty one with the mullet. I may have written fan mail to Jordan (in fact, I'm relatively sure I did). The difference between this and, say, going back to your high school reunion is that they WERE as great as I remember them.

While there is so much to regret about my younger years (including but not limited to my dalliance with brightly colored flannels, pegged jeans, and army boots -- simultaneously), it was reassuring to see that, hey, I was right about New Kids. They WERE good.

But what was even more interesting as I was watching was getting some perspective on what my childhood was like relative to others'. NKOTB was my first concert, it was a BIG deal. If I concentrate I can remember exactly what I wore to school that day and how it felt counting down to go to Rosemont Horizon. Going to that show was perhaps the turning point where I was allowed to be one with music, and I was allowed to be one with my age group. (Yes, I had the one puffy reversable sweaters but more commonly my mom dressed me -- yes, dressed me -- in earthy tones, and sometimes cashmere sweaters directly from her closet. No one is as comfortable with burgundy, mustard yellow, army green, and silk blouses as I was at that age.) When mom stepped into the elevator with her pack of cigarettes and pulled the emergency stop to hide from the shrieking adolescents (true story), it was me and the Kids. Just us. I was allowed to be a shrieking teenager (sorry Susie!- she was sitting next to me). I felt a shade of normal.

At one point in the BEST OF videos, Donnie comes out in barely-there jeans. I mean, they were so shredded that it looked as if he had fastened them on his legs (before donning aformentioned Public Enemy shirt). Jessica, who was watching with me, started reminiscing about how she got bleach everywhere when she and her friend were making their own ripped, acid-washed jeans.

"I wasn't allowed to wear ripped jeans."

Silence. It was like my comment went unheard, and perhaps it did (or perhaps she was enthralled with Jordan's body rolls, which rivaled Ricky Martin's). In that one second I realized that, no matter how close I am with some people, it's hard to explain how differently I grew up. Once my friend came over with ripped jeans and went into my room and my dad heard an earful from my grandmother about how he should be ashamed of himself for not giving her the money to buy a new pair, poor thing!

Music was the one place where I escaped from a confusingly bicultural world. I couldn't wear the same stuff those girls were wearing, but I could know the lyrics just as well and I definitely had those moves down (giving me a slight edge, I might add). When I listened to NKOTB or any of the other music phases I went through, I was the same as everyone else.

Perhaps this made me a bit nostalgic for the 80s. Granted, I was too young to fully enjoy the eighties (i wasn't a teenager yet), but no on really gets nostalgic for the 90s. So the 80s it was -- I was nostalgic for what I might have missed out on. There was no way I was allowed to crimp my hair or wear tons of makeup or talk like a valley girl on the regular. My 8th birthday was a punk rock theme, so I got to dress like Cyndi Lauper for a day, but I wanted to be like that ALL the time!

So, never one to rest on my bubble skirt, Jessica and I began planning. I guess just another step in reclaiming my youth (kegstands on my 30th birthday already happened, and a return to school is underway). The circle of life really. Eighties Prom (our New Year's Eve party theme, you're invited) is underway.

And if you guessed that NKOTB videos will be playing in the background for your visual enjoyment, you were totally right.

The Parsnip Opera: A Four-Part Meditation

BIRTHDAY
The birthday came and went with a bang thanks to a surprise party thrown by my family and my roommate, all of whom (who?) knew about my last-minute depression and jitters about turning that corner into my 30s. Highlights included but are not limited to:

* doing a keg stand while held up by the other four members of my family (photographic evidence may or may not become our Christmas card...)
* being pushed into my parents' unheated pool roundabout 11pm
* switching into random sweats and tee shirt and proceeding to...
* dance to Madonna megamixes (praise the DJ who will sacrifice his artistic integrity to please his birthday girl)
* chicken fighting. not in the pool, but rather on my parents' nice persian carpet in the living room

I think it was a fun night, and just acting so crazy reminded me how much youth I have in me. The walking pneumonia that I've had since is further reminder of my youthful ignorance.

BRITNEY: MY GIFT TO ME
The girl we love to hate. On my birthday the weather was crappy and I wasn't feeling well and had no idea how I wanted to spend the day. So Jessica and I headed off to my favorite store, Best Buy. I won't even try and save myself by telling you what else I bought in that same shopping trip. I don't need to redeem myself! The truth is, after reading a few reviews, I marched right in there and bought "Blackout", the aptly-titled new LP from said songstress.

And dare I admit how GOOD this album is? It is. I know, just flip a few entries back and you'll read me making fun of her. But that's how she LOOKS. I love her crappy VMA dance performance, and have performed it religiously myself every SINGLE time it has come on within earshot.

People, her album is seriously more-than-decent. It takes appropriate digs on FedEx, backed by Pharell, no less. It also rips off Timbaland's sound, but it's done so well by Danja (whoever that is) that I don't even care - I give him props for doing it so well. And she even has a Britney-trying-to-be-Gwen-trying-to-be-Madonna-ish song "Heaven on Earth". Just like you, when I read it I dared hope it would be a cover of said Belinda tune, but it does a good job on its own. She doesn't sound like a dirty, angry goat in any of these tracks. She sings in a higher register and it is oh so danceable. It's true. I bought my first Britney album. Maybe my midlife crisis is coming early, but so is hers. And it sounds oh so good.

WHAM!: MY GIFT TO YOU
A while ago, I put a few things on my netflix queue that remained distant gems for a rainy day. Alas, what showed up in the mail this sick week of mine? The Wham! video collection. I know, take a moment with that. See what you can remember. And now let me tell you- not ONLY does George have the most amazing feathered hair, short white shorts, and one-foot spins (punctuated by a timely snap), but he has Andrew Ridgely. Sometimes they are half naked in the pool, sometimes they are half naked in a broken-down car on the side of the road. Sometimes they are in feathery snowsuits, enjoying a Last Christmas together. What I know is this: One - Wham! is an underrated talent of the 80s and, Two- we were all seriously distracted by Cyndi Lauper and Culture Club at the time to not notice that this guy was gay. At one point they don't even dress up as pilots but as air stewards. Did we need a painted neon sign folks?

WHY MEN LOVE BITCHES. AND HOW.
This book was given to me as a gag gift for my birthday, and I did you all the favor of reading it immediately. It's actually quite entertaining, and nope, 'bitches' doesn't mean what you think it does here. Suffice it to say there's some entertaining and incredibly true advice in here. I gave a friend the cliffnotes version and she's going on two dates this week (granted, this begs the question of why I can't take my own advice, as I sit here blogging, which, let's be honest, is basically emailing with yourself)

Apparently it's news to some people somewhere that men like women who have their own thing going on. Hey, if this woman makes millions selling that "secret", more power to her. It's a fun book with a little attitude. It tells you that it's great to cook for guys- and then gives you a recipe for microwave popcorn. My type of book.

PARSNIPS - MY GIFT TO EATERS
I am trying to turn the corner to become a vegetarian (I've cut out everything but seafood) and a healthier eater, and this involves me finally getting to know the extended family of the produce aisle. I wish I could tell you that this week's groceries didn't involve parsnips, rutabagas and beets, but then I'd be lying. Tonight I made "parsnip chips" and they were actually really good! They're like the healthy version of french fries. (work with me here)

And you and I, we depend upon our honest relationship, so out with it. I wish I could tell you that this is the worst my grocery has gotten -- parsnips and other bizarre root vegetables-- but recently in making a (delicious, I might add) lentil soup, I needed a can of prunes to garnish. I am a prune buyer!

I figure this is appropriate now that I am "in my 30s"... but the prune thing was last month.

FINALE:
Well, if you'll forgive me, my metabolism apparently went on strike right before I turned 30, so I'm off to workout. I'm sure you can count on more bitching about that very soon, dear reader.

Confessions of a Halloween Grinch

Uh oh, it's officially Halloweezy.

I never thought I'd be, well, the person I apparently am. I heard loud knocking on the door and realized there are actually kids in my building (Which was very unexpected. My building is overwhelmingly populated by old gay men, just another humorous turn in Lilly's Life as an Urban Single.) I ran to the cabinet and all we had were 3 lollipops of varying age. One is a Chupa Chup, possibly leftover from Jessica's stint in Europe... in June. I debated shutting off the lights, but then ran to the peephole and counted 3 people - a kid and 2 adults. Did I have enough candy for San Diego's children? Would it be weird to offer them a bag of sour cherries? Apples? IS THIS why people end up giving kids apples on Halloween?

As I drew near the door I heard more Oompa Loompa voices, so I knew there were 3, possibly 4 kids. Potentially our kids, 3 lollipops... what was I to do? I opened my door...but their backs were all to me! They were Trick or Treating across the hall from me.

No one noticed me, so, well... I slid the door back shut. I know! I'm not proud of what I did! I'm SHARING with you. This is a safe space, no? I mean, what was I supposed to do? "Hey, um, I know you're not here for me, but here's some candy because you're so f***ing loud that I heard you across the house." I mean, the kid in me DOES want to reward them for being so loud, but my building also has this weirdo procedure whereby you 'sign up' to be a house kids trick or treat to. I had not signed up, so not only was I off the hook, but really, to get involved in their Halloweezy would have been improper.

So basically I kept the lollipops and they moved on to Twila's house.

I realize this makes me a grinch. I realize this makes me all the old people I hated growing up, who dimmed their lights and, in the case of the N's who lived next door, left us saran-wrapped stacks of ten pennies (did I mention that their house is bigger than God's?). And yes, I realize that even that -- saran-wrapped dirty coinage -- would have been better than our worn-out Chupa Chups. Or nothing. And yes, Michael Jackson, I'm taking a look at the man in the mirror. I'm asking her to change her ways.

Next year.

Halloweezy

It's about that time again. Holiday season has officially begun. It goes like this: Halloweezy (today), then a week of chocolate-induced coma, then it's my birthday, then we begin planning for Thanksgiving weekend. Then it's pretty much December and who works in December? (Certainly not publishers, I have learned), and then it's Christmas and New Year's. Happy Holidays!

The past few years I haven't been that into dressing up for Halloween. The story is that a couple of years ago Anj and I did it up and dressed as a white trash couple. I was in American flag Jamz (yes, Jamz), a black tee shirt with "mullet" written in studs, a blonde mullet to go with said shirt, blue eyeshadow, bright pink lipstick, and missing teeth (black dental wax). Anj was my male counterpart, dressed in sweatpants, a wifebeater, a beer belly, a slight boner (courtesy of a toilet paper roll), missing teeth, and a black eye. It was classic. On that night I got hit on more than any other night arguably in my life. I was later told that "no girl who was actually ugly would dress like this, so people just figure you must be really hot under there." Good strategy for future years! Take THAT, slutty nurses!

That Halloween was one of the most fun I've ever had and, fearing not being able to top that, I have backed off of the holiday. This year, if I dress up, I will do the Amy Winehouse. Granted, a more curvaceous version than the original, but sugar high will probably keep people from noticing. I've been practicing her hair for months now.

Halloween is fun times. I am trying to remember today various costumes I've had. During my childhood my mom got really into Halloween and would take her artistic skills to all-new levels, in costuming worthy of an Oscar award. When I was a witch I wasn't just wearing some dinky pointed hat. I was full-on stage makeup-ed. Other years included less imaginative fare: a Native American (which only later would I realize was probably offensive, but I made a really convincing one), Kris Kross (that was in college. I was just really in the mood to put my hair in braids and wear my pants down low), and a gypsy. Typical fare.

But in what must have been her costuming coup, one year mom dressed me up as Marie Antoinette (that year, mom put a mannequin bust over me and cut out an eyehole and then put an antique chiffon dress over the mannequin so I was a 5'6 headless woman walking down the street with blood dripping down my neck).

Halloween reminds me of years of trick or treating with friends. Hearing about the shaving cream fights on Stonegate. Getting drugged one year in our Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (my friends and I ended up having a seance to connect with George Washington before our Constitution test and all ended up crying and having to be picked up early by our parents). Ah, fun times all around.

Hm, although I'm totally not in the mood to care this year, something feels like there is just tradition to uphold. I'm not one to shun tradition, certainly not when it involves chocolate...

The Joys of Old Age

Ok, so I've been quiet on the blog posting front. This lil birthday of mine (pun intended) is looming over me a bit larger than previously expected. I kept saying I'd have fun with turning 30 and that it would be cool because i don't LOOK 30, something people are likely to point out every single time I tell them my age from now on (thus providing me with a constant source of compliments). For some reason, though, I'm low-energy (not to be confused with depressed) about it. What if old age is setting in? We've already discussed my 3 grey hairs. And my metabolism is slowing down. Lately I've been going to bed REALLY early. Suspicious, no? I already forget things (right Susie?!) that aren't Madonna lyrics. I'm on a sliding slope, only this time it's not Mount Trashmore and Susie and I aren't in our cute ugly little snowsuits.

And I'm such a freakin list maker, that now there is this pressure on me to figure out what I want to accomplish in my 30s. I make lists ALL the time. Before typing this I made a list of things I need to do tomorrow. Every day I write some of the same tasks: "Work out" "water plants". I might as well write "brush teeth" "check email", but it provides a certain "je ne sais quoi mais je pense que c'est comme OCD" to my days. The good news is that I can't think of much I wanted to do in my 20s that I didn't do, so there aren't any "carry overs" from my 20s, which, as any list-maker knows, makes list-making easier. I mean, I just saw The Nightmare Before Christmas in 3d, so I think I've really done everything that could be expected of my youth.

I think there's just this seriousness setting over me -- I keep trying to swat it away, but it's there! So I've just been quiet trying to figure out how to recover my irresponsible, constantly laughing youth. It's around here somewhere. I'm not done with it yet!

In the meantime I am going to read in bed. If anyone is wondering what to get me for my birthday, feel free to bolster my geriatric lifestyle with the purchase of the clapper.

(clap off)

(and yes, Susie, I promise to post more)