Bittersweet

Under the Sea

2006-05-27T15:46:00.000-07:00

Let me preface this by saying that I have friends who are truly good photographers- see my links for details. I'm just a girl with a digital camera, an iBook, and a dream. Actually, I wouldn't even say I have a dream. I'm just sort of a pack rat when it comes to memories and I take a ridiculous amount of pictures. I have a theory that the more pictures you take, the more likely it is that one of them will be actually worthwhile.

Last weekend, I went to the Great Big Shiny Atlanta Aquarium. Mostly I was annoyed by the company picnic attendees that continuously shoved and yammered and smacked gum. Seriously, when you're in an aquarium, you're supposed to be quiet because that's what it's like underwater. There are no singing crabs or chattery clown fish- it is just deep and blue and zen-like and I wanted to kill all of those people in the annoying blue shirts!!!

Obviously, the Aquarium was not a zen experience this time around.

That said, check it out:

Formation Gliding! And...

Tripped-out Jellyfish!

Marissa Cooper: A Two Part Series

2006-05-19T23:41:00.000-07:00

Part 1: Marissa Cooper: A Cautionary Tale

Perhaps you remember the OC update of year’s past. I stopped writing it for two reasons.
1) The PeaceCorps friend that I wrote it for sheepishly admitted that St. Lucia television broadcasted The OC and she didn’t actually need an update.
2) I just kind of got bored with The OC

I never stopped watching it. Sure, I skipped an episode here and there, but I stuck with it. I was there for the Fab Four doppelgangers, Marissa’s lesbian experience, Seth’s descent into narcissism, the wasted chemistry between Anna and Seth, the continual downfall of Jimmy Cooper, and I even stuck it out through the travesty that was Oliver. At some point during this last season, it started to feel like a chore to catch up with The OC on my DVR. But I kept slugging along out of some misguided loyalty. Call it cognitive dissonance because of early devotion. It was like that friend from childhood that you can’t ever really desert even though you no longer have anything in common.

And last night, they killed Marissa Cooper.

On the one hand, hell yes! I never really appreciated Marissa. She seemed to attract broody handsome types that have some fatal flaw, and they all seemed to be hopelessly devoted to her beauty and nothing else. She had no personality, no sense of humor, no obvious stellar qualities… but they were all obsessively committed to her flawless bone structure and waifish figure. She doesn’t even have boobs. Of course, this male harem didn’t include any actual prime specimens. Marissa consistently chose boys who eventually ended up wanting to shoot her, rake her lawn, beat up her ex-boyfriend (one of these was actually a girl), get drunk and fall off a cliff, or run her car off the road. Granted, I didn’t date much in high school, but mostly boys just stopped calling and that was the worst thing that happened. So, let that be a lesson: be careful, little girls. You may think you want drama and passionate romance, but all it’s going to get you is dead on the side of the road.

On the other hand, did they really have to kill Marissa Cooper? Sure, she had the personality of a spatula (and she looked like one too), but she was basically harmless. She just flitted around wearing the latest styles and occasionally made Ryan’s life more complicated. Why couldn’t they just ship her off to Greece with her dad and have her make guest spots about once a year only re-cast with one of the girls from High School Musical? Or maybe they could get Lindsey Lohan to do it and that would be at least really funny and ironic.

Now that’s she’s dead, everyone is going to be all maudlin. Ryan’s going to go into some broody haze and sit around staring at the ocean having Marissa flashbacks from dark hallways while yet another cover of “Hallelujah” plays. Summer’s going to have no female best friend until they make Taylor a regular and then we will all want to gag ourselves. Seth will try to be comforting to everyone and end up leaving them to sail to Australia when everyone pushes him away. Kiki will relapse because they need a reason to do that storyline again now that Sandy is on the straight and narrow again. Our only hope is Julie Cooper. Perhaps the tragic demise of Stick Girl will push her over the edge back into supreme bitchdom and sluttacular gold digging. I don’t want a maudlin OC; I want a deliciously scandalous and self mocking one!

I read an interview with Josh Schwartz, series creator, and he admitted that The OC basically sucked for a while there and he’s coming aboard full time next year to bring back the glory days of that golden first season. He said they killed Marissa to generate interest in the show and get the fan base buzzing, and I guess it worked because here I am. In the meantime, Mischa Barton is graciously telling the media that she just wanted to do what was interesting and best for the show.

Whatev. We all know that she’s boozing it up on the set of some independent film where she plays a coked out groupie with suicidal issues while wearing too much eyeliner and what amounts to a ratty pillowcase in lieu of a dress. She probably thinks this is a step up in her career and she’s breaking free of her typecast as a teenybopper actress. She is wrong about this. It makes her just like every other teen star out there.

Stay tuned for Part II of my special on the tragic demise of Marissa Cooper: Marissa Cooper is Dead and I Don’t feel So Good Myself, in which I psychoanalyze the cultural impact of Marissa’s death and it’s symbolism in the quarter life crisis. Basically, I’m going to bitch about my job.

Roomba my Heart

2006-04-08T18:36:00.000-07:00

As promised, happier topic this time.

Last Wednesday, something glorious happened: I got a Roomba. And it is everything I dreamed it would be.

For the unenlightened, a Roomba is a robotic vacuum cleaner that zooms around your apartment or house and cleans the floors with little to no involvement from you. You just set the timer and watch it go.

And wonder of wonder, it works. It really does clean every inch of the floor and it really does pick up dirt and lint. When it’s done, it miraculously goes home to its base to re-charge for the next mission. (No lie- the owner’s manual calls each cleaning a mission.)

Thursday morning, I sent my new Favorite Thing on its trial mission. Then I sat for at least twenty minutes agog at the wonders of the Roomba. It was like watching TV but more productive. And since I’m me, I immediately gave it a name and a personality.

Her name is Ruby. I like to think of her as a wizened old woman who chain smokes on my porch on her breaks. There’s turquoise shadow smeared well over the boundaries of her eyelids and she teases her crackling hair into stiff curls along her forehead. She’s the type that was probably a groupie for a heavy metal group in the 80s and therefore has sagging rose tattoos on her shoulders. She listens to me chatter incessantly about the trials of my job and the flirtations from last weekend with a smirk and an expression that clearly speaks of the insignificance of my life. As she sucks up dog hair and bread crumbs, she drifts into fantasies of hugging the leather clad back of a Hell’s Angel. She speaks with the rasp of someone whose vocal cords have been pickled by jager bombs and whiskey and unfiltered cigarettes.

Actually, the Roomba looks more like a well manicured and efficient German maid named Olga, but I think the crusty and worldly Ruby is much more interesting.

I think I may be anthropomorphizing a little more than is healthy.

Anyway, despite my love for Ruby and my awe at her thoroughness and appreciation for her talents, Shelby basically hates Ruby. This isn’t surprising considering that Shelby despises anything that distracts me from her.

When Ruby first played her opening musical sequence (all the while mumbling to herself, “I used to sleep with Axl Rose. This is bullshit”), Shelby’s bat like ears sprang to full attention. Her eyes tracked Ruby’s progress across my floor with bewilderment that quickly faded to suspicion. An interloper! Another creature under a foot tall moving steadily across the floor- uninvited! And it makes noise!

It didn’t take long for Shelby to work up her courage to approach the newcomer. Unfortunately for Shelby, Ruby has an automatic dirt sensor, so she quickly changed course to follow Shelby around. Shelby scampered away with an indignant bark and darted under my legs to regroup.

Once Ruby returned to her path around the sofa, Shelby re-emerged with a new game plan: surprise attack. She lunged for the hard plastic cover with a battle cry, darting forward and backward at Ruby with agility shocking for an octogenarian schnauzer. Finally, fearing for the safety of both of them, I scooped Shelby’s writhing body up and moved her across the room. She struggled for a bit and then quieted down to size up her enemy. Ruby continued her steady progression around the room as if nothing unusual had happened (I suppose if you woke up to find yourself in bed with The Edge and Slash, you would be nonchalant about a yapping dog).

From this point on, Shelby determined Ruby to be a mightier opponent that she originally suspected and decided to give her a wide berth. Now, when Ruby is trolling around and I call Shelby to me, she will take the longest path around Ruby possible and stay close to my ankles for the duration of the mission.

I figure it’s a good thing that Shelby has decided I’m the alpha dog in this scenario rather than Ruby. Frankly, I’m not sure Ruby isn’t planning to kill me in my sleep by sucking my face off with her infrared sensors.

I live in awe and fear of my Roomba and I can’t believe I waited so long to get one.

The Truth Is...

2006-03-26T20:13:00.000-08:00

The Friend That Is No Longer

I haven’t posted in a while because I was trying to get the words right. I’m still not satisfied but I decided tonight that’s it’s time to move on. Excuse the odd pronoun use; I wanted to keep things as general as possible. Next time I’ll try to choose a more cheerful topic like “Why It’s Awesome that Josh and Donna are Gonna Do It on The West Wing.”

The topic for this piece has been rolling around in my head for a while, but I’ve been hesitant to put the words together because of all the possible ramifications. Talking about Friends That Are No Longer Friends is like playing hopscotch in a minefield (or mindfield, really). Chances are there are plenty of ways to set off silent alarms, and it seems easier to just let the bombs sit quietly and undisturbed. So I ask myself why I’m doing this. Why don’t I just continue to store those memories in labeled boxes in my closet? Why don’t I ignore the muse and write some trifling piece on modern courtship?

Because I saw something that reminded me of someone I once knew, and I hated myself for having the snap reaction to IM that person to tell them what I saw. And I shouldn’t hate myself for that. It’s not fair that sad endings lead us to color entire relationships. There was a thing that was good in my life, and it isn’t anymore. But it feels like if I acknowledge the good part, then I’m some kind of pathetic push over still blindly trying to hold on to a sour friendship.

I’ve decided to do the brave thing and admit something we all know to be true: Bad endings don’t erase good middles; they just make them more painful to remember. I’m going to go ahead and that I’m glad to have known all of my Friends That Are No Longer.

We all have these shadows—we all have the Friend That is No Longer. This is different from the childhood friend whom we remember fondly and would be glad to see. These endings are harder to swallow than romantic relationships gone awry because we don’t have to end one friendship to begin another. We always have something to lose if we stay with a girlfriend or boyfriend that isn’t exactly what we want, but a friend can fall short of perfection and still be worthy of keeping in our social circle.

The Friend That Is No Longer is the one left us with the clear assertion that the friendship is over; we are no longer welcome to share inside jokes and call at all hours of the night. Perhaps we initiated the ending. Perhaps it was an unhealthy friendship. Maybe there was a betrayal. Maybe it involved a member of the opposite sex. Possibly the person who knew our deepest vulnerabilities used them against us in a moment of frustration. Maybe you were 10 or maybe you were much older. There might have been barbed words exchanged; there might have been damaging silences. There could be a chance that you’ll reconcile, or maybe you know that it was ultimately a good ending. There are a thousand variables and we all have our own sad stories of the Friend That Is No Longer.

You have a good life now. You have a solid group of friends. You’ve gotten really into bowling or writing or sailing or whatever. You have a job that you love or a job that you love to hate. You have a new crush and it makes life interesting. You go along day to day and hardly consider the Friend That is No Longer. You’re on your merry way when you see a commercial, you hear a song, a note falls out of a book and you are sucker punched. All at once, you are flooded with moments.

A dazzling display of movie reel flashes spin through your vision as you re-play memories. There is the Friend That is No Longer and the Friend That Once Was. They are two separate people. As much as you may loathe or fear the current version, there will always be a version of that person that lives on inside you that is attached to thousands of positive moments. Sometimes, when you feel particularly bitter about the current state of affairs, you wish you could summon the old version of your friend so you can bitch about the new one. You wish you could jump in Marty McFly’s Time Machine and just spend an afternoon watching movies with the old version. You wish you could erase the ugly ending so that you could treasure the good moments without that bittersweet taste in your mouth. As you feel yourself weakening and considering the possibility of hunting down this old friend to beg for reconciliation, you summon all the negative energy and rage and disdain for the new version. But you can hear Coldplay in your ears and can’t help murmuring:

‘When the truth is, I miss you.”

You miss playing in the imaginary world you created together and the fake names you gave each other. You miss the way they laughed when you admitted to writing bad poetry about your high school crush. You miss the flurries of one line e-mails that started out to impart some news about some actress and turned into an excuse to exchange witty banter. You miss people watching and mocking individuals in ill-advised clothing. You miss riding in the car next to them in comfortable silence. You miss watching that one special tv show together and dissecting the finer points of the characters.

In your mind, you can see this person now. You wonder if by some confluence of the cosmos, this person is also tilting his or her head in remembrance of you and what once was.

But there is no movie moment. There is no swelling music and montage of friends sprinting through torrential downpours to find one another. There is no tearful phone conversation or comedic meeting in an airport years later. The friend that is no longer is gone from your life. You will never have closure. There will be no fond reminiscing over drinks or shy smiles across a crowded room. There is no ending other than the one you have. After all, there are movies that end that way too.

So the commercial for the show you used to watch together ends. Itunes skips to the next song on your list. You place the note back in the book and reshelf it. And the Friend That is No Longer goes away with them. The rest of the day you feel melancholia drifting on the edge of your mind, but you’re okay.

You’ve moved on, but the truth is, I miss you

Eight Reasons Not To Give Up

2006-01-30T11:27:00.000-08:00

Lately, there's been a general problem in the male gender. And I'm not saying that as a bitter single girl; it's a pattern observed by several others. More than one of my friends has thrown her (or his) hands in the air lately with the declaration, "That's it! I'm done! No more boys!" I swear that some sort of memo went out for the month of January that basically instructed the lot of them to generally suck. And with Valentine's Day fast approaching... um, yeah.

But let's face it- contrary to what Maureen Dowd might postulate, we really can't do without the male gender. In the end, we like them too much. We like that they surprise us with sweet gestures and logic us out of silly situations. We like tasteful cologne and well-fitting sweaters. We like boyish grins, and so help me, we even like that they can fix things. Not that I couldn't fix things, but it's a real time saver.

So, to help balance the scales against the rampant jackassery (anyone up for creating registerasasshole.com?), I present to you 8 guys that are safe, good people. They may mis-step from time to time, but they're solid and they should restore your faith in inter-gender relations. Some are famous, some are fictional, and some are regular joes. Go on, have a crush on one.

In no particular order:

1)

Name: Jon Stewart
How You Know Him: The Daily Show, America:The Book
Crushable Features: Razor sharp wit, endearing smirk, and he's like fifty times smarter than you.
Squee-Inducing Quote: "Yes, reason has been a part of organized religion, ever since two nudists took dietary advice from a talking snake."

Oh, sure. He's an obvious choice, but he's a classic for a reason. Clare and I used to watch him and gush that we would vote for him for president. Hell, we'd vote for him for head of the PTA. We'd sit quietly and listen to him read aloud the ingredients for a Fiesta Salad as long as he added in the occasional, "Waaaaah?"

2.
Name: Jim Halpert
How You Know Him: The Office, An American Workplace
Crushable Features: Mop-top hair, dry sense of humor, creator of the Office Olympics, and puppy dog devotion to engaged receptionist Pam
Quote: "Because right now, this is a job. If I advance any higher, this would be my career. And if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train."

Poor, sweet Jim. You probably knew him in high school and didn't pay much attention then either. Give him a second chance. Gush over his raised eyebrows to the camera every time Dwight says something ridiculous. Coo over his subtle attempts to woo Pam. He's just so darn cute with that lost puppy expression.

3.

Name: Chrisseneric. (Chris and Eric)
How You Know Him (Them): my college dorm
Crushable Features: Killer blue eyes (both of them!), fantastic bear hugs (Eric), talented gift-giving (Chris), looking good in uniform (Eric), and pop culture saavy (Chris)
Quotes: "I really am just a big dog." -Eric
"Hey, 3 out 4 voters can't be wrong." -Chris, on his sense of humor.

It's a twofer! True, I could have included these boys seperately, but this way we get 9 total. The important thing about these two is that they are lifers- these are the guys that stick. They've seen some serious female craziness and they keep sitting there with those amused smiles. This dynamic duo lived in the room underneath mine during our first year in college and some of my best memories inclue the two of them (No! Not like that!). If you want to go to an All You Can Eat Chinese Buffet, play Trivial Pursuit until you pass out, hike through Europe, or fire big guns from boats- these are the men you've searching for.

4.

Name: Zach Braff
How You Know Him: Scrubs, Garden State, Chicken Little
Crushable Features: That whole I laugh-at-the-world-but-i'm-really angsty-and-thoughtful-as-evidenced-by my directorial-debut-in-Garden-State
Quote: "It's the kid inside of us that keeps us all from going crazy." (as JD on Scrubs)

You can have a crush on the character he plays with his quirky obsessions (The Jeffersons) and amusing flights of fancy. You can have a crush on the artist he is with his quarter-life-crisis turn on Garden State. Or you can have a crush on the shyly smirking actor who once said he couldn't even date a girl that has never seen Casablnca. Pick one and go.

5.
Name: Fitzwilliam Darcy
How You Know Him: Pride and Prejudice, both book and movie
versions
Crushable Features: Brooding stares, excellant equestrian skill, verbal prowess, tight riding pants, and Pemberley.
Quote: "If I loved you any less, I could speak of it more."

There's a reason that Pride and Prejudice has been made into a movie in about 50 different incarnations. There's a reason that Colin Firth even has a career. There's a reason that Jane Austen is so respected and revered by modern day women. That reason is Mr. Darcy. Sure, he starts out surly and snobby. But he changes for the woman he loves and there's no more powerful aphrodisiac than that.

6.
Name: Sam Seaborn
How You Know Him: The West Wing
Crush-worthy Features: liberal idealism, dazzling smile, gentlemanly manners, and mad writing skillz,
Quote: "You're a cheap hack. You go after Leo, I'll bust you like a pinata. "

The West Wing has a whole bevy of worthy contenders, and ordinarily I would go for Josh with his bantery wit and dimples. Sadly, Josh is just a little too bipolar, and he's always overlooked and misused Donna. So, we move on to Sam because he's impassioned, he's all sweet to Ainsley Hayes, and, um, he's also Rob Lowe. Plus, you know he's a good kisser because he dated a call girl.

7.
Name: Thomas Jefferson, aka TJ
How You Know Him: American Revolution, American Presidency, and the Univeristy of Virginia
Crush-worthy Features: incredibly vast intelligence, secure enough in his manhood to wear heels, Monticello, and historical relevance
Quote: "I'm a great beliviever in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it."

Ok, so should you choose to heap adoration upon TJ, you also have to contend with the fact that he's dead. But come on! He's a Renaissance Man! He wrote famous government documents! He designed two buildings in the Historical Registry! He founded the best freakin' University ever! He spoke French fluently! And hey, Sally Hemmings! History wins!

8.
Name: Justin Cox
How You Know Him: University of Texas, Photographer Extraordinaire
Crush-worthy Features: the eye of the artist, internet saavy, that whole modern elegant look, and cutesy drunk IMs
Quote: "if/when you come visit we will run amuck and have a crazy-go-nuts fun time."

You can probably guess this is not a picture of Justin. This is actually my dog. But he's as cute as her, and I don't have a picture of him. This is the guy that created my pretty blog design and he has a real eye for beauty in the unique (see his portfolio). He's sweet, he's witty, and he can hold his own in Pop Culture Trivial Pursuit. Snap 'em up!

All right, girls (and some guys)- go forth and flirt! I mean, as long as you're not really stalking. You know who you are.

Since U Been Riddled

2006-01-23T23:26:00.000-08:00

I adore Kelly Clarkson.

Seriously, I do. From her days on American Idol as "The One with Personality and a Voice" to her current days on the cover of Blender. I love that she eats cheeseburgers, that she was "just good friends" with Justin Guarini, that she tore apart some guy's apartment in her video, that she currently seems to be in a leather bustier kick, and that she says 'cool beans' as often as some people say 'like.' Christine and I have her on our "People who would hang out with us if they only really knew us" list. I don't care that she's a cheesy pop singer or that she got her start in reality. She's spunky, she's got a voice like buttah, and she could destroy Lindsay Lohan in a barfight. I love Kelly Clarkson and I don't care who knows it.

So, imagine my delight that someone would create the Kelly Clarkson riddle. Not only does it highlight Blender's Woman of the Year, it also creates an excellant opportunity for procrastination and mind teasing.

Even if you don't like Kelly, go check it out. It's based on an old Internet riddle game, and it really does challenge you to think. I'm not even sure I can explain how it works. Just go to the website and read the FAQ and then prepare to spend all your free time for an indefinite period of time puzzling over Kelly. Also, I'm on Level 5. Has anyone unscrambled the picture yet?

Shelby and Goat

2006-01-13T23:26:00.000-08:00

Goat staring down at her as if he might eat her is what makes it art.

Resolved

2006-01-02T22:16:00.000-08:00

In every twenty-something's life, there comes a time when one realizes that one is really on the road to the rest of one's life.

This is a fancy of saying that today I realized that I am essentially doing a job that I could die doing. I don't mean that my job is so dangerous I could be killed (though that is a distinct possibility at the psych ward). I mean that if I become complacent, I could trudge through this job until my body fails. This probably won't happen. I'll proabably change jobs with a year or two. But there's a chance that this. is. it.

I think about eight year old me. I don't have to wonder what she would think of me and my current job- I know. She would say, "What's a social worker? Do you go to parties?" She would be slightly let down I think-- "That sounds okay I guess, but wasn't I going to be an artist? Or a writer? Isn't that cooler sounding?"

Yeah, it's nice work if you can get it, kid.

But then I was struck by another thought tonight-- At what point did I stop thinking I could do those kinds of things? That's really what separates published writers and famed artists from the rest of us: they didn't stop thinking they could do it.

So I'm throwing my hat back in the ring. I'm resolved in this new year to write more often. I'm going to practice doing the thing that I love in the hopes that I can turn to my eight year old self one day and say, "We got exactly what we wanted. Sweet, huh?"

And you will reap the benefits! I know I've been posting roughly once a month or less, but that's all changing now. And if it doesn't- harass me.

An Image Worthy of the Manifesto.

2005-12-29T22:31:00.000-08:00

The Manifesto

2005-12-27T22:43:00.000-08:00

Some time last year, I wrote The Manifesto and sent it as an e-mail to friends. Since that time, I've had a few requests to post it here so it can be shared and re-read. It's mostly the same with some minor editing because times change and people change. For those of you reading it for the first time, it's sort of long. I think it's worth it though. After all, who can cover the whole marriage thing in a few quippy lines?
Enjoy.

For Jenny. Because she asked for someone to write a memo about the whole damn thing.

So, in the e-mail round robin sent around by my friends from undergrad, my friend Ann recently announced that an acquaintance known as PPP (Penis Piercing Paul) is not only married—he’s expecting his first child with his young wife. I am of the opinion that anyone with this nickname should wait at least 10 years after college before procreating. But I digress. This e-mail elicited a response from my friend Jenny, currently in the Peace Corps, who requested a memo to stop the insanity of marriage that seems to be taking over like some kind of plague. Never one to shrink from a challenge, and never one to pass up an opportunity to procrastinate, I said, “Game on.”

Yesterday afternoon, I got an e-mail from my mother—my cousin, born four days after me, is getting married. Last May, my older sister married her boyfriend from college. In August, I stood next to one of my best friends as she married her tall, dark, and handsome lawyer. Over the past year, I have received numerous e-mails from friends reporting the engagements and marriages of people I knew as acquaintances in college and high school. To top it all off, my mother has developed the unsettling habit of mailing me wedding announcements from our local paper detailing the romances of childhood friends. Love is the air, my friends. And it’s catching. It seems like every week I hear of one more impending marriage, and I can’t help but think, “Another one bites the dust.”

You weren’t expecting that were you? If you’re like me, you’ve been in recent exchanges with your friends puzzling over the marriage epidemic. It’s gone something more like this: “Who are these people that are getting married? That’s crazy!” This is followed by the sentiment, “When does it happen for me? What’s wrong with me?” My bet is that you expected me to say something to that effect- some variation along the “what’s wrong with me” thread. After all, I am a girl who has never dated anyone seriously, and I’m watching as the people around me pair off like love bugs.

For those of you who have known me since high school, you knew me in the days of the “Boys are Stupid Club.” (Let the record show that I was recording secretary.) For those of you who knew me in college, you must remember my infamous profile quote, “I think; therefore, I’m single.” As for my current days in graduate school, let’s just suffice it to say that I’m still the boyfriendless wonder I proclaimed myself to be years ago. Some have called me bitter. I prefer to think of myself as picky. I’m simply unwilling to settle for anything less than what I deserve. I’m not so much bitter that no one seems to notice me as I am bitter that I’m expected to lower my standards so that someone will.

Sure, I have that same primal urge that our culture breeds. I readily admit that while helping my sister pick her wedding dress last December, I pawed through the racks at the designer dress store imagining myself in one of those confectionary delights. And yeah, I’ve critically announced at various weddings, “I would never do that at my wedding!” Hell, I’ve even thought of names for my children. So, yes, end goal: marriage. Currently: not so much. My reasoning should become clear in the near future. Keep reading.

I have amazing friends. (This is relevant, I promise). There’s a couple of Peace Corps volunteers, a handful of grad students, a Navy man, an investment banker, a pre-school teacher, and a journalist. Among us, there are enough scholarships, awards, honor societies, and service hours to send an Ivy League admissions board into spasms of delight. I have a friend who used her creative genius to put together an expose on the chicken industry. Another friend put together an award-winning ad campaign for use by Toyota. One ran a marathon. A couple of them hold down demanding internships for while in the midst of hammering out papers and projects for master’s level work. One is known to put together fundraising events for the Make-A-Wish foundation, and another has put together an art opening. And that’s just what goes on paper. Chris can quote any line from The Simpsons. Christine convinces people to hand out breadsticks to drunk people at 3 in the morning. Stuart has exquisite taste in wine. Teeny gives fabulous back rubs. Lauren is an expert on all things Civil War.

The list goes on and on and on.. My point, and I do have one, is that only one person included above is married. Can you tell who it is? Unless you know this individual personally, it’s unlikely that you can figure out who it is. The fact of the matter is that I am surrounded by gifted individuals. If you don’t already know everyone listed, you might be thinking to yourself, “Where do I sign up for one of them?!” And I would give you my full support in any of those endeavors. They’re all great catches- I can vouch. However, almost everyone on that list is single. A whole pack of intelligent, motivated people that are also attractive—and only one of them is married.

So is it all the ugly, unmotivated, dumb people that are getting married? Well, that would be a nice theory and an excellent ego booster, but this is just not the case. Yeah, I know the remaining singletons whisper that amongst ourselves, but we don’t really believe it. True that we’ve noticed some pairings that make us flinch (I’m looking at you Britney Federline), but it’s not a universal law. Take Lauren (yes, she’s the married one). She’s married, and she’s neither ugly nor unmotivated, nor is she dumb. Furthermore, her husband is a great guy, and they don’t make me want to vomit, as some other couples I could name might do. So, no. There’s something else afoot.

I have several theories that cover the current state of affairs.

First, let’s take the feminist approach and say that we simply don’t want to get married yet. Some people do, and it’s totally within their rights to do that. The point of feminism is choice—as long as you have the choice to get married and are not being forced into it to garner financial support, all systems are go. But let’s acknowledge the fact that some of us get a little queasy at weddings. It’s not the bride and groom—it’s the ceremony. It’s the pomp and circumstance. It’s the commitment to one person, to one bed for all time. It’s the kids and the house in the suburbs and the job that you might hate. It’s huge. We come from the generation that saw the rise in parental divorces and the explosion of sex in the media. We’re torn between the brand spanking new-and-improved disposability of commitment and the inevitable pain we know results from that. So we’re gun shy! So what? Can you blame us?

Let’s take that a step further. We’re growing up in a new world. This much is obvious. People are living longer and our country’s evolution is speeding along faster every year. Consider that at the turn of the 20th century telephones were invented and stayed more or less the same for most of the century. Now consider the explosion that has taken place since the time of our childhood. First there were cordless phones, then there were car phones, then cell phones, and now cell phones can take pictures. Those changes occurred in the past twenty years. Fast progression. I would argue that love in the 21st century is something like that. Think of all the options open to us that were rare or forbidden just fifty years ago. Shacking up. Gay partnerships. Open Relationships. Divorces. Remarriages. Step-families. Life-long singletons. Long-term relationships that never make it down the aisle- see Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins. Frankly, we have enough choices to overwhelm anyone. Not to mention we can always fall back on the old stand-by: classic marriage. Add our super long lifespans to the equation, and you can see why some of us aren’t rushing to settle down. We have some time to figure this one out, and it’s infinitely more loaded than it used to be.

But, Maryann, you say, I want to get married! I’m lonely! In the words of John Mayer, “I’m tired of being alone, so hurry up and get here!” Ah yes. I too have felt the dull ache of watching The Daily Show alone. I’ve sat there, curled under my throw blankets, and I’ve thought to myself, “This would be so much cooler if there was someone here to snuggle with me while we make snarky comments about the current president and revel in our intellectual superiority.” So, let’s follow that path, just for fun. Say it’s not that you’re scared or a commitment-phobe. Say you do want the steady companionship of a significant other, the house in the suburbs, and the matching china. Let’s talk about why things still aren’t working out for you.

My guess is that you’re a girl. Or Chris. Here’s what I’ve noticed in my amateur observations of love. Guys that want to be coupled off are coupled off. These are the boys that are getting married. As a result, they are currently off the market. It’s a complete mystery to me as to where their wives met them in the first place because I’ve noticed that every guy my age in either married or single. At what point do people date these days? (I’m only half kidding.) Okay, so I know that’s an over-generalization. I know there are some nice young men looking for lovely ladies with whom to spend all eternity. But, sorry, fellas- you’re not really giving off that vibe when you grab my ass in a bar. Furthermore, you think you know what you’re looking for, but you don’t. I’m sorry, but it needed to be said.

Case in point: There was a guy I used to know and I often watched trashy television with him. Some time ago, we had the fortune to watch E!’s special on young Hollywood princesses and how they choose to spend their dough. The guy changed the channel to watch a football game, and I reminded him that Lindsay Lohan was to be profiled soon. He switched back. Let’s review Ms. Lohan’s file, shall we? She’s 18, has an enormous rack, is known for drunkenly dancing on bars, is also known for saying bitchy things, and has publicly insulted Hilary Duff. Hilary Duff, by the way, is heavily involved in charity work and prefers renting movies with her friends on the weekend to slobbering on the latest MTV heartthrobs in the latest LA trend spot. But which one is a sex symbol? Which one are guys mooning over? I can already hear the chorus of male voices saying, “Sex symbol! Not marriage material! Sex symbol!”

To that, I say, “pfffft!” It’s not just Lindsay Lohan. Right now, many of you seem to be operating on the assumption that a girl that is frosty and aloof is a great catch. You think that if you can melt her cold exterior, if you can get her to warm up to you and your charming ways, then you’ve really got something special. Basically, it’s the principal, that if you fight for it and it’s hard, then it’s worth it. That’s how frats operate, by the way. Sound familiar, ladies? Yeah, it’s because we’re doing the same thing. The boys aren’t the only ones that want all the wrong things right now. Think about your current crush. I mean, really think about him. My guess is that you have a hot and cold relationship. Sometimes he does or says nice things, but I bet you spend a lot of time pouting over what he didn’t do and what he didn’t say. So, sure. Both sides claim to be looking, but we’re not really looking in the right directions yet. Let’s give ourselves some credit for being young and just not knowing what we want yet. If you asked me to list off what I’m looking for in a guy, I would tell you the following: witty, intelligent, motivated, well-read, understanding, lover of all things pop culture, tall, dark hair, blue eyes, and a healthy appreciation for my quirks. Let’s compare that to what I actually pursue: My last two sort-of dates have been with blond characters, the individual I obsessed over for most of college was short, none of them seem to be at all interested in discussing books with me, and one even moved to the Caribbean to just hang out- not so much motivated. I might know what I want and I might know what looks good on paper, but I’m not actually making that connection in my real life.

I’m going to be deathly serious for a moment and tell you what I’m really looking for, if I was prepared to admit it. He has to love my family. He has to think I have really nice hair. He’ll be a formidable opponent in Trivial Pursuit, and he’ll tease me when I yelp after dropping things on the floor. He’ll have good manners and a smile just for me. He’ll like keeping my hands warm because I have bad circulation and I’m not very good at that. He would rather watch movies on a Friday night, but he likes going to bars too. He won’t smoke. He’ll listen to me with rapt attention when I spout off statistics and facts from psychology, and he’ll be filled with interesting things to tell me about in return. He won’t be friendly to everyone- polite, but not necessarily friendly. After all, I’ll need a challenge. He’ll make me laugh out loud, and he’ll take my teasing with a good heart. He won’t be all that sensitive- more logical than sensitive because we’ll fit together like that. I can’t explain it, but we will. He’ll like snow and appetizers at restaurants and he’ll want kids. He’ll have his own life, his own friends, his own interests, but he’ll want me to know about them, even if I’m not involved in every aspect. He’ll love the UVA kids; he’ll think that meeting them is like getting a real explanation about whom I am. We’ll have lots of inside jokes. He won’t be into PDA or red roses. He won’t be constantly telling me sweet things or making romantic gestures. It means more when it happens spontaneously and infrequently. Just so long as it happens sometimes. He’ll be snarky. He’ll be liberal. He won’t mind that I have this weird Catholic culture that I won’t ever really let go. He’ll be able to talk about religion with me, and he’ll like it when I wax enthusiastic about the treatment of women in religion. He won’t like coconut very much, or he’ll like it very much and tease me incessantly for my phobia. He’ll like dogs. He’ll be genuine. Above all else, he will be that. He will say what he means, he’ll be honest with me and himself, and he will treat people as they deserve to be treated. He will have integrity.

Of course, a few of those points are negotiable, and I might find someone that’s not all those things that still fits the bill… but I think you get the idea. If you made it all the way through that list or not, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that we’re all looking for the little things. Someone can be great on paper, but it’s all the little connections that really light the fire. So why are we pursuing the Lindsay Lohans and Colin Ferrels of the world?

There are a thousand reasons for that. We’re scared. We don’t know what the hell we want. The media programmed us to want that. She’s hot. He’s beautiful. Fill in your own answer here. The bottom line is this: we are young, and it’s a pretty big commitment. All those things I just listed—they aren’t common in every person I meet. Making those distinctions, really drawing some lines—it really limits your choices. When we start pursuing what we really want, we start to admit that we’re looking for a needle in a haystack. It starts to be lonely. Not the lonely of watching John Stewart alone, but the lonely of missing a person you don’t know. I’m not saying I believe in soul mates or one person for everyone, but I am saying that each of us sort of knows what we really want in our partner and we know it’s going to be hard to find.

So hats off to those young couples that have already found it. To Lauren and Dave, I say mozel tov! And try to understand that the rest of us aren’t bitter. We don’t think you’ve all made terrible mistakes (just some of you). We’re scared for ourselves, and we don’t want to feel lonely just yet. We’ll keep going to bars, talking to strangers, smiling for people we don’t have any future with…we’re still looking. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

So, how do I close off this little rambling manifesto? How do I, the boyfriendless wonder of the West, offer advice and encouragement to the young singletons cringing in the face of marriage? I humbly offer the following:

1) If you’re looking, stop. It happens when you least expect it. I know, it’s easy to say stop; it’s the follow through that’s hard. Instead of looking, do your own thing. Cultivate your own interests. Feed your soul on funny books, artistic movies, and cooking experiments. Or if you’re not me, take one of those classes you’ve always wanted to take in palm reading or salsa dancing or whatever. Go to the game with your friends. Stop dressing to impress when you go out and start wearing comfortable shoes. Do those things you’ve been meaning to do. Sure, this is good for your own well-being, but there’s an ulterior motive. You become more marketable. As you do more and know more, you becomes much more interesting. And you’re more likely to meet those people that like the same things you do. By the time you meet that special someone that makes your toes curl in the good way, meeting them will just be a nice bonus. Someone once said, if you meet your soul mate it’s because you’ve found your soul.
2) Smile. This is my personal beef with the world. Not enough people smile. There’s a direct correlation between smiling and the release of happy-mood chemicals in the body. So, you’ll feel better, and you might brighten someone’s day. And, you never know who’s watching.
3) Stop letting pop culture poison you. Oh, yes, I’m a junkie and I know it. I check E!Online compulsively throughout the day, and I refer to celebrities as if I know them personally. What I mean is this: we’ve been poisoned by the views of love shown on TV. We see love happen in dramatic sweeps and gestures, we see people swear undying love, we see men that instantly know all the heart’s desires of the women they love, and we’ve seen enough attractive naked people to know we aren’t working out enough. Stop it. It’s not real. Love is not that way- in fact, the less drama the better. So just stop it. I’m all for romance, and I’m soft at my gooey center, but I’m for the real thing, not what we see on TV.
4) Read that article, “He just not that into you.” Laugh at it. Take to heart the parts that matter. If you’re a guy, try not to look too smug.
5) Take back Valentine’s Day. Oh, I’m deathly serious about this one. I am completely sick and tired of everyone bitching and moaning. I’m sick of the implications. I have a whole other manifesto on that. Remember when it was fun? When everyone in the class got valentines from everyone else? That’s what we should get back. It’s a holiday about love. So, share love with everyone. Call your parents, send e-mails to your friends, go out with friends and buy each other drinks, toast to all the reasons you’re all the coolest people ever, wear red and pink, and stop listening to depressing songs.
6) Send this around to anyone else you think might need to hear it. If we get the word out, the insanity might slow down at least.

To the rest of the world, to those that are prodding us saying, “And when will you be getting married?”:
Suck it.

I’m saying this one last time: we are incredibly young. Most of us have been driving for less than 10 years, we’ve been in our parent’s homes longer than we have been out of them, we just stopped being teenagers a couple of years ago, and most of us haven’t bought adult furniture yet (we’re still excited about futons). So, yeah, some of us are getting married. But the vast majority is not. Forgive us if we’re not ready to contribute to the frightening divorce rate just yet. It will all happen in good time, and I think you should be asking yourselves, why do you need us to get married so soon? What purpose is that serving you? Go develop your own neuroses and call us in the morning. Better try the cell though because we might not be waking up at home. You never know who I might meet tonight.

Exam Time Cheer v. 7.0

2005-12-02T22:59:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, in a land far away in Virginia, there was a very bored girl studying for exams. Since she was very thoughtful and creative, she decided to spend her time amusing her stressed and over-caffienated friends rather than cram for final exams that were pure malarky anyway. (She doesn't actually remember what classes she took as a first year anyway. Something about religion, personalities, and back flips.) And this is the story of how Exam Time Cheer came to be- a daily digest of ways to procrastinate during final exams. It was a glorious reign-- a time of witty quotes, inane trivia, insightful survey questions, thought-provoking thoughts of the day, and witty tributes to her loyal and true friends. And everyone was happy.

Then one day, the Commonwealth of Virginia cruelly ousted the benevolent purveyer of Exam Time Cheer. She wandered far away to the wilds of Texas where she lost the will to write Exam Time Cheer under the laborous demands of the dreaded Academy of Social Work and the sneering disdain of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named (um, from Harry Potter).

It seemed all was lost. But then the peach-colored lights of Atlanta emerged and the once bored girl recovered her inspiration. She sat before her whirring laptop with mirth in her heart and a killer soundtrack playing on her itunes. As she listened to Mariah Carey sing about the only thing she really wants for Christmas, the benevolent purveyor of Exam Time Cheer began to write. And her stressed grad school friends lived happily ever after. (It's possible that the stressed job-having, Navy-serving, and Peace Corps-volunteering friends also lived happily ever after, but it's hard to say because they don't have exams.)

(See? They look mostly happy)

The End.

(Basically, I used to write this e-mail to my friends every day of finals while we were in college. I didn't write it for a while. But now I am again. And I'm posting it here because I don't want to harass people over e-mail. So, to those who know it- enjoy. To those who don't- try not to be scared.)

I now present Exam Time Cheer v. 7.0. (For seven years of procrastination.)

Quote of the Day:
"Friends don't let friends drink and dial."
-Lily, How I Met Your Mother

Trivia Question of the Day:
First correct answer in the comments gets a surprise dedicated to him/her in the next installment.
Which West Wing character did Aaron Sorkin base on Maureen Dowd?

Ramble/Thought of the Day:
At my internship last year I developed this really irrational fear of the elevator. I worked with depressed senior adults (read: slow moving), but the elevator went to floors in the psych hospital with perfectly healthy certified psychos. I would live in fear of the doors opening to an escapee who would take me hostage in the elevator.

Now days, I rountinely shut myself into rooms with mostly certifiable individuals. I sit with them, prior to the moment they are prescribed meds to deal with their mental illnesses, and I ask them questions. The only thing standing between me and the voices in their heads is a panic button of dubious quality.

So with mostly my wits to protect me, I valiently sit in conference and try to do my job without getting attacked. I find the best way to protect myself is to respond with polite interest. For example:
(This is an entirely fictional account, but not un-realistic.)
Me: So, do you ever hear things other people can't hear?
Patient: Mmm-hmm.
Me: Yeah? What kind of stuff do you hear?
Patient: I hear Quakers.
Me: Huh, that's interesting. Do they tell you to do things?
Patient: Yeah.
Me: Really? What kind of things?
Patient: Keeping my fish in the toaster, go bowling with a bag of flour. You know, that kind of thing.
Me: Mmm.... yeah. That can happen.
Patient: Micheal Keaton battles toadstools over the kitchen sink.
Me: Okay. I'll make a note of that.

My job is never boring. And they pay me.

Old College Picture of the Day:

Survey Question of the Day:
Only fun if you respond. Leave 'em in the comments below.
What is your favorite Christmas song recording? My current favorite is a bootleg Barenaked Ladies cover of "We Three Kings" where they stop to comment that myrhh is a depressing gift. "Stone cold tombs? Uh, Merry Christmas everyone."

The Awesome, The Awful, and the Awesomely Awful

2005-10-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

I have a horrible new habit.

While I’m waiting for my new job to start, I’ve found myself with an excess of free time. Even worse, this free time is within the confines of my hometown—a place my mother has suggested is, “not very exciting for a young person.” Furthermore, even if there was somewhere to go, the traffic here has doubled since the hurricanes. So what am I to do? I could volunteer at a shelter for evacuees, but they turn away young women because of the danger. Nope, it turns out my time is best spent evaluating what’s worth watching on TV these days. Now you don’t have to waste your time slogging through the channels. I have it all figured out for you. Consider this a three part series on what you should consider watching and not watching.

Today’s Installment: The Awesome
You may as well start off watching the right things.

Show:

(Wednesday, 9/8, ABC)

I think Hurley sums it up best when he says, “Dude.” This show is good on so many levels- from the heart-wrenching and heart-warming relationships to the mind-boggling mysteries of the island. On more than one occasion, I have leaned forward to exclaim, “WTF?!” And I even teared up once. (I know- it turns out I have tear ducts.) Even better, the producers aren’t afraid to kill characters. There is no sense of safety for anyone, so your adrenaline is really pumping the whole time. True that it may be difficult to start watching it now. (You might be confused about why that shark appeared to have a stamp on its belly. Hell, I’m confused about that.) This is why we have DVDs. Rent it, watch it, and root for Charlie and Claire to hook up. (Hey, the hobbit deserves some love.)
Quote to Love: “It’s the French! The French are coming! I’ve never been so bloody happy to hear the French!” (Charlie, after they think they hear a radio signal from a French boat)

Show:

(Mondays, 8/7, FOX)

Do you really need a reason to watch Jason Bateman do anything? This is the best show you aren’t watching. The humor is incredibly intelligent and the show is self-aware in a way that isn’t annoying. (I’m looking at you, OC.) It’s about, “a wealthy family that lost everything.” I actually feel cooler than other people when I watch this- like, “I’m in on the joke- and you’re not! Ha!” An example of what you can expect, the family vehicle is one of those rolling staircases they use at airports. Bonus points: Charlize Theron is guest-starring.
Quote to Love: [Complaining about a gay boat protest upstaging her husband's retirement party] Lucille: Everything they do is so dramatic and flamboyant. It just makes me want to set myself on fire.

Show:

(Tuesday, 8/7, WB, re-runs on ABC Family)

Oh I know what you’re thinking- “Weekly chick flick!” I would argue that’s not quite true. This is no touchy-feely Seventh Heaven nor is it a melodramatic Dawson’s Creek. And Lorelai Gilmore (Lauren Graham) can deliver pop culture references in a way that makes me swoon. (Chris, she would totally destroy us in Pop Culture Trivial Pursuit.) It also features one of the best characters on TV: Paris Geller, a type A psycho with a biting wit.
Quote to Love: A classmate observes Paris run inside, soaked from a downpour. Classmate asks, “Is it raining?” Paris shoots back, “No, it’s National Baptism Day. Get your tubes tied, idiot!”

Show:

(Sunday, 8/7, NBC; re-runs all the freakin’ time on Bravo)

When I watch the re-runs for this show and then watch the current episodes, I cringe a little. There is no equal to Aaron Sorkin’s original characters and stories, but once you know these characters, you would watch them grocery shop. Even though it’s no where near the greatness of the early seasons, it’s still shoulders above most other dramas. They banter. They speak the way we all wish we did. They have the best president. And if you don’t get a little moony over Josh and Donna, you don’t have a heart. I would actually recommend starting with the Sorkin years on Bravo before diving into the new seasons, especially if you can catch the episodes that feature Ainsley Hayes (known as the blond Republican sex kitten).
Quote to Love:
"How are you doing, Ainsley?"
"I'm concerned about peeing on your carpet."
"Now, so am I." -- Leo & Ainsley, before she met the President.

Show:

(NBC)

Technically, NBC hasn’t put it on the schedule yet for this year, but it will be back. I can’t figure out why this show hasn’t reached as much popularity as Friends. There are just too many classic moments in this show about novice doctors. My favorite: When Turk finally proposed to Carla, JD appears out of nowhere to run in circles around them with sparklers. This show has a way of being genuinely hilarious and then turning on a dime into thoughtful.
Quote to Love:
JD.: I just Marcia Brady'd your ass.
Chris Turk : What the hell are you talking about?
JD: Like in the episode of the Brady Bunch where Marcia gets fired after Jan tells her boss...
Chris Turk: -DUDE, I know. Don't you ever question me on 'the Bunch'

Show:

(Monday, 8:30/7:30, CBS)

This is the first laugh track comedy since Friends that actually amuses me. No more obscure, ugly, and overweight comedians in sitcoms about a family man with a much-too-hot wife. This show is about twenty-somethings dating and getting married or bemoaning the lack of marriage. The kicker- the one bemoaning singularity is a guy. If nothing else, you’ve got to see Doogie Howser’s turn as Barney, the irresponsible ladies man and over-sized frat boy. When a girl he had a one night stand with continues to show up where he is, he tells her he’s in love with her to scare her off-- it works. A recent episode referred to “casual stalking.” If you’re in your twenties, you’re probably going to relate to this show.
Quote to Love:
Ted: I could end up marrying this woman; I want our first kiss to be special.
Lily: Aw, that's sweet. So you chickened out like a little bitch?

Show:

(check HBO for times)

It’s violent. It’s ultra-sexually graphic (My innocent sensibilities often goggle at what appears to be people actually having sex.) And they curse a blue streak that would make The Sopranos blush. So why do I profess my love for this show in the same breath as my love for Gilmore Girls? It portrays Roman history in a way that makes you want to become a historian on ancient Rome. Often, I find myself smirking in recognition that the political problems of the show are similar to those you see today. Even better, women are shown as being subversive political players. There’s something addictive about watching a show when you know that the main character is doomed to die at the hands of other likable characters. The show standout is really the reluctant friendship between Titus Pullo and Lucius Vorenus, common soldiers that are opposite in nearly every way. I can already hear the homoerotic undertones ringing loud and clear.
Quote to Love:
Lucius Vorenus: Unless the gods have abandoned Rome... If Mars were watching, he would not allow such a disgrace.
Titus Pullo: Maybe he was havin' a crap and missed it.

Now you should go out and immediately lose all semblance of a social life so you can immerse yourself in well done television. For those of you clamoring for The OC, stay tuned. I have thoughts of that elsewhere. Feel free to post your own nominees and opinions in the comments.

The Birthday Recap

2005-08-23T00:42:00.000-07:00

I know... I said I wasn't going to write particularly in-depth comments about my personal life here. If you were really excited about that, it's just tough toffee (which is really tough by the way- my teeth were lodged together for 2 whole minutes). It's my birthday and I can be self-indulgent.

First: The Year in Review
Drum roll please....the year starts with Lauren's wedding band singing happy birthday while I twirl around with pink roses in my hair as all of my college friends surround me with smiles.
And then..... start school; try the Best Wurst while wearing Princess Dress; lose my mind briefly and then re-collect it; get a new futon because somebody's "dog" broke the old one; mourn Old Faithful, the dead futon; discover Lost- get new obsession; see Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and love the hell out of it; scoff at possibility that Marissa of The OC is a lesbian; find Shelby the Schnauzer and fall in love; eat Thanksgiving dinner with sister's in-laws and thank God they are more conerned with grandchildren than my wedding; get long coveted Burberry earmuffs; wear long-conveted muffs around DC despite 50 degree weather; make fun of Lennie; start internship with oldsters; develop over-powering fear of elevator located at internship because of mental patients that could possibly be escaping; land in hospital on Valentine's Day and continue to receive bills 7 months later in cruel conspriracy of the universe; give Lennie tour of Texas capital (capitol?); give Chris tour of Texas capitol (capital?); give Allyn and Bricker tour of Texas capitoal; re-discover Justin and wish we had been friends all along; re-discover Matt and laugh quite a bit; graduate from the School of Social Work in anti-climactic ceremony; stand in my empty apartment and cry; go to beach and predictably burn; live through the London bombings; read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince on trains in Europe; eat gelato in Rome; blow snot rockets in Nice; go to New York and flirt shamelessly with boy whose name is also on his belt buckle; come home; stare into space; start watching Gilmore Girls; woke up.

Did I miss anything? Anyone?

And Now: The Birthday Recap, by the Numbers
Presents bought by parents before today in celebration of my birth: 0
Presents bought by parents by 5: 24 PM today after I went shopping: 5
Lacoste shirts I tried on during shopping spree: 2
Lacoste shirts I wanted to try on: 6
Minutes on extra-scary workout equipment in anticipation of cake: 50
Calories burned: 400
Calories in cake: 4000
Times mother told me I'm in my golden years: 2
Moments spent brooding over my introduction to mid-twenties: 1oo
Moments spent feeling ludicrous for being angsty: 200
Birthday greetings on e-mail: 6
Birthday greetings on e-mail featuring dancing elephants: 1
Birthday wishes on cell phone: 3
Text messages sent to determine source of wishes when cell phone inexplicably gives sender number rather than name (what a mouthful!): 2
Times I tell myself I need to get a new phone: 3
Unexpected birthday greetings: 1
Very drunk, very sweet birthday greetings: 1
Sausage rolls consumed before dinner: 4
Times 11 year old cousin told me I was short and then asked how I tall I am: 3
Times I told cousin I was smarter than him in lame attempt to defend height: 1
Fancy colored-flame candles on cake: 5
Candles on cake that actually had colored flames: 1
Dishes I washed after dinner: 0
Years old: 24

British Birds

2005-07-13T06:09:00.000-07:00

First off- in case anyone realized I was in London during the bombings, I'm fine. We weren't in the area when it happened. Scary, but we're a-okay.

Second- anyone else feel really uncool around British girls that always appear well dressed and trendy? As I schlupped around London in my favorite jeans, slinky green shirt, and stylish gold flip flops-- I began to feel like a bag lady or a two year old. They were just all so much cooler. Then one afternoon I was sitting at an outdoor table and people watching when I realized British girls don't match. Seriously. I'm talking gold sequined jackets over hot pink tanktops with cut off jean shorts, fishnets, and espadrilles. Add on at at least three necklaces (wood, gold, and silver) and you have a typical outfit. And I feel uncool?

I've figured out. Clothes here are expensive. So everyone swarms the summer sales which means you and 10,000 of your closest friends are battling it out for a twenty pound pair of capris. The dressing room lines are murder and the sheer amount of people and things at the sales are overwhleming. So you buy what you think might be your size and bolt. Then you wear everything you managed to buy all at once and look confident.

Again, confidence is the key to a great mystery. British girls are not all that trendy, they're just confident.

What I'm Going to Do With My Life, or The Only Thing Anyone Can Think of to Ask Me

2005-07-01T21:20:00.000-07:00

For one week every year, my father's family gathers in a little known island off the coast of Sarasota for a week of family togetherness and harassment of marine life. It's a rather large family (see above). Three generations descend on the same tiny resort every 25th week of the year and we basically dominate their resources for week. I'm the youngest member of the middle generation, and for many years this meant that I was spoiled. Everyone wanted to help me build sand castles, lead me on shell hunts, feed me ice cream, buy me cheap beach jewelry. It would have been nice if I wasn't more interested in sneaking up to our family unit to watch the forbidden MTV. The years went by and my cousins had children and I became invisible in the face of chipmunk cheeked two year olds. That was fine though- I was pretty happy to slouch around spying on my sister and her friends.

Then I got to high school and college and The Question Phenomenon began. You know what this is, but I'll elaborate anyway. When you hit high school, your relatives start to realize it is no longer appropriate to tickle your tummy to get you to like them. They must start to treat you like an adult. They have no idea how to do this, so they resort to questioning you. The Phenomenon is that everybody seems to ask you the same question even though the questions change every summer. For example, prior to my junior year in high school, the following exchange occurred twenty times.
Well-Meaning Relative: So, junior year, huh?
Me: Yup. (I was sullen.)
WMR: I guess you're starting to think about college.
Me: uh-huh (I was sulky)
WMR: You have any ideas where you want to go?
Me: Uh, I guess maybe William and Mary or Wake Forest. Maybe Vanderbilt. I guess UVA. (I listed schools with pretenscious sounding names so they would realize I was smart)
WMR: Those are really great schools.
Me: Yeah, I guess so. (Look at me! I'm modest!)
WMR: Well, good luck. Let me know what you decide.
Me: Oh yes, definitely. (I'll tell you next summer)
WMR: Well, um, okay. See you later.

It's like they all get a newsletter with the year's Question. This year was no different.

One afternoon, I joined my cousin and his children on the sailboat for an afternoon of dolphin chasing. This was a rebellious move on my part because my skin basically melts off in the sun. However, having just finished grad school and going through some life transitions, I was feeling sentimental. I wanted to have a carpe diem moment, so I seized a life jacket and jumped aboard. I was fully prepared to lose myself in the wind whipping over the Gulf of Mexico and let my mind reach out to the mysteries of the cosmos.. I should have known this was a pipe dream because very little existential thinking takes place in the presence of ten year olds.

"Maryann!" Justin yelled, "Look, I saw one! I saw one! It might have been shark! But I think it was a dolphin!"

I didn't love those odds. There have been many times in my life when I thought a shark was really a dolphin and that never ends well. I did get caught up in the dolphin hunting though. I was so preoccupied, I barely heard it.

"So, Maryann," says my adult cousin, "What are you going to do now?"

I'm only half paying attention as I answer, "Um, try not to fall in. It might be a shark."

"No, " he laughs, "I mean, what are you going to do with your life?"

I maintain that my first answer would still suffice, but I tried again.

"Oh I don't know. As little as possible I guess. Bum around, leach off my father for a while. You know- just sort of loaf about."

He laughs again because he thinks I'm kidding.

This was the year of, 'What are you going to do with your life?" Or, "Well, you've finished going to school and you're not employed and that's What People Do. So, when I ask what you're going to do, I want you to tell me your life plan, complete with what city you plan to raise your children in, you projected career path, and if you intend to be a stay at home mom." I don't think I'm the only one getting this question either.

People seem to panic in the face of ambiguity. We need a purpose, we need a plan. We need to see where our foot will land before we take a step. It's scary to look someone else in the face and admit, "I don't know what happens now. I don't know what to do with my life." I thought I would be safe this year because I have a Masters in Social Work. Obviously, that is what I should be doing with my life. But like me, my relatives didn't seem to think that was a sufficient answer.
WMR: So what are you going to do with your life?
Me: Well, I got my masters in social work. Soooo...
WMR: Soooo... what are you going to do with you life?

I actually sort of miss the, "Do you have a boyfriend?" days.

Obviously, my earlier answer to my cousin was glib (much like Matt Lauer). I don't really intend to loaf about. But I don't have a real answer either. I just started saying, "Get a job. Hope I find Mr. Right. You know, the usual." That seemed to put everyone other than me at ease.

What's the real answer? Let's try again.
So, Maryann, what are you going to do with you life?

I don't really know yet. Hopefully, I'll help people in some way. And I think I'll probably get to love some good people. And I'm going to make sure I always have a dog.

That sounds a lot better to me than getting a job and hoping for Mr. Right. I mean, wouldn't it be terribly boring to face your life from this side of 23 and already have plans for it all? Wouldn't it be awful if your plans fell short? I think I'll keep my options open for now.

In the words of Gilda Radner, "Delicious Ambiguity."

Why my dog is a better therapist than me

2005-06-04T20:30:00.000-07:00

heavy petting
Originally uploaded by MDabkowski.

Dogs are fantastic creatures aren't they?

Shelby and I stumbled over each other last November- I was attempting to adopt a different dog and she was snappish with her foster family.

"She just doesn't click with us," they said.

That felt about right to my general mood at the time, so I took a chance on her. I can't fathom how she didn't "click" with them- she's a remarkably sweet and affable little creature. In fact, I think everyone should get a Shelby. Many times as I sit across from my clients, I wonder if we should prescribe dogs instead of prozac.

It's simply uplifting to be greeted at the end of the day by a being that dances and squeals and comes alive for you. That sounded really selfish. But truly, Shelby does lift my mood. And not just because she makes me feel like the Queen of our Rather Small Palace.

Shelby is resiliant.

I won't go into her whole sordid back story, but she was a rescued dog, so use your imagination. Still, she's so ready to trust everyone and so quick to believe that I can do her no harm. Most humans who experience what she did end up in therapy. All Shelby needs is love, and she dives after it headfirst--again and again and again. How on earth does she do it?

She's an enternal optomist. When I come home each day, she bounds around my feet with the enthusiasm of a sorority girl on bid day. It doesn't matter how many times I come home and flop on the sofa, she's always sure that *today* is the day that we go for a six mile walk.

Maybe it's just because their brains are the size of walnuts, but wouldn't it be great if we could bottle that x-factor that makes dogs so fantastic?

Registeranasshole.com

2005-05-06T22:07:00.000-07:00

Some time last year, I had an experience. I won't go into details, but let's just say that I discovered a particular young man to be less than a gentleman. I later learned I was not the first of his prey. It occured to me that my encounter with him was avoidable. If only one of his previous conquests had pulled me into the lady's room and whispered his track record, I would have immediately backed away.

This is the problem with jackass boys. They are charming. This is why they are jackasses- we see them as better than they are. if we knew from the start they were jerks, that's all they would ever amount to. It's the decption that promoted them to jackass.

So, I'm thinking, why can't we pull each other into the lady's room? (or men's room as the case may be) Why can't we give each other the head's up? With the internet- anything is possible. So, I present for your consideration: Registeranasshole.com (I consulted with an internet saavy friend and he assured me that sounded better than registerajackass.com...you tell me.)

The basic prinicple would be a Better Business Bureau for dating. You meet a jackass. You come to the website. You register him or her. If he or she already has a file, you add to it. Simple. Then, when you meet a charming young siren or prince at the bar, you scurry home to the registry and check on them. You take what you see for face value- admittedly, the bitter amongst us will tend to exaggerate acts of treachery. But you have fair warning. And better yet- if we hold them accountable, they must just think twice.

Think about it- we could wipe out jackassery for good. Who's with me? And better yet, who can actually build this website?

Return of the OC Update. Kinda.

2005-02-24T20:43:00.000-08:00

Life...Relationships..Love... Mysteries of the Universe. Those kinds of thoughts take time and consideration. Commentary on pop culture I can spit out at a momen't notice. So that's what you're getting this week.

I used to write a fairly detailed and comprehensive update on The OC every week at the request of a friend in the Peace Corps. Then said friend sheepishly revealed that she gets cable on the alleged impoverished island where she currently lives. No more OC updates. Yet I find myself watching the exceptionally self aware pop culture delight and wishing I could still preach to the choir. So instead of the update, perhaps a rundown on those plot points that made me smile or cringe. We’ll call it M’s OC Obs (short for observations).

In bullet points because it makes me feel official:

- First off, both Seth and Ryan approach windows and look shocked to find rain. Can they no longer hear?
- Nothing like Blind Melon to really get things going. I love a show that’s not afraid to use early 90’s hits. See Boyz II Men reference later.
- Okay, so I know lesbians making out is supposed to be hot. But the two second kiss behind JuJu back by StickGirl and PunkChick? Gratuitous!
- Sometimes self aware shows can feel forced. Those moments when the actors smirk through the lines that nudge the audience, “We know we’re not real, we’re in on the joke,” can really take the magic away. But it works on The OC. Take for instance, Summer’s request to Seth, “Advance the plot already!” And we all agree- stop mooning after each other and get back together. And so they do.
- Spiderman! I don’t claim to be a comic geek. But I do love the Spiderman story played out between Summer and Seth. He left her to go on his personal quest when all along she was his home. Spiderman comes to the same conclusion about Mary Jame. Both get happy endings and upside down kisses.
- Someone with legal expertise: Why would Caleb need to adopt his own daughter? Wouldn’t that whole sperm thing sort of give him a lock?
- Boyz II Men. End of the Road. The Speaking Part. Some parts of junior high are just too good to let go. However, I have to wonder, if the people on this show are supposed to be juniors in high school, would they even remember Boyz II Men? Is that the equivalent of 80’s music to them?
- Quotes to Remember: “Eu-freakin-reeka!” “You haven’t seen hostile until you’ve seen me in one (a hostel).” “I’ll see you your fugitive flame and raise you a lesbian daughter.” “Marissa and Alex, no longer welcome in the red states.” Bonus points if you know who said what.
- I’m disgruntled to see this Pink Hotel. I was under the impression that all shady doings and illicit affairs take place at the Mermaid Lagoon Inn. Ah the days of Luke and Theresa…
- What the hell with Marissa moving out? How is she going to pay for herself? This is not the sort of girl that picks up the check. She must have a sponsor at all times, and I don’t think Alex is going to foot the bill. I predict she’ll be back at home in no time.
- Sherman Oaks: The Valley:: Laguna Beach: The OC. It’s one thing to have a show within a show that mocks the original production. It’s even better to have a another show within a show that mocks the first show within a show. Awesome!
- Interesting references to fate tonight. First, Sandy’s ex tries to seduce him with the old. “We’re alone in a sleazy hotel on a freak rainy night with cheap wine—it’s fate, let’s do it” come on. Sandy quickly debunks this. But then later. Zach the perfect tells Summer she can’t fight fate when it comes to Seth. What kind of message am I supposed to get as an impressionable female whose desire to be coupled off will always shatter the shred of self-worth I manage to coax into existence? (Quick, where did I steal that from?)
- Another Oasis cover to cap off the big couples moments in February Sweeps. Niiiice. Think we’ll get “Don’t Look Back in Anger” as interpreted by Moody Guitarist of the Moment next year?
- And finally, looks like all the news kids are ceremoniously being dumped. Yeah, technically Alex is still around, but now that Ryan is single, how long before Mariassa realizes that Alex can’t pay for her Jimmy Choos? Ah well, they’ll go off into harmonious existence with Luke, Anna, and Tate Donovan. Not a bad life.

There are few things I enjoy as much as really well done trashy television. Sigh.

The Valentine's Day Manifesto

2005-02-13T22:15:00.000-08:00

February 14, 1988

I’m sitting cross-legged on the couch in my parent’s living room with the pink foil covered box. I’m still nursing my bruised ego from when Tricia Quinn won the decorating contest, and I’m hoping there’s a card in here that will make up for it. I lift the lid in one quick motion and dump out the contents. A couple of renegade lifesaver rolls and a Tootsie Pop tumble down the mound of envelopes. All for me.

Some where in the house, my older sister is already gabbing loudly on the phone, “Oh me gaw, Ally, he got me a bear with a heart on it. I can’t believe I broke up with him!” Poor Jay Grace. Slammed by his girlfriend two days before Valentine’s Day. I briefly wonder who will get the bear now. Briefly. After all, I have my own Valentines to worry about.

I reach for card after card, scanning the names and messages with interest. I know the painstaking politics that go into selecting the perfect card for each class member, and I’m using this to determine my popularity. It seems so far that I am, ‘neat.” Okay, I can live with that. I almost throw a card into the “done” pile when I realize it bears the name of the person whose opinion I look forward to most. But that’s all there is. His name. Brian M. No “from:” no, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” and worst of all, no, “I like you.” All I see is a giant muscular turtle with the word, “Radical!” written over his head. It’s not even one of the double sized cards. He didn’t even write my name on the outside! He didn’t even care what card found its way to my eager eyes.

It is at this moment that I begin to have my doubts about Valentine’s Day.

What follows is fourteen years of bitter comments and pursed lips. I won’t bother to recount any of these experiences because I’m quite certain they’re universal. Chances are that if you are reading this, you too have felt the gag reflex each February as you pass another Pepto pink and raunchy red display. You’ve read the vitriolic magazine articles; you’re already well-versed in Valentine’s Day bashing. You’ve called it masochistic. You’ve gotten drunk and yelled at couples as they pass you on the street. You’ve watched sappy movies and snuffled inelegantly over Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. Or if you have more testosterone, you’ve watched some sporting event with stoic resolve. You’ve hated this day with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. And who can blame you?

I have news for you, my friend. You’ve been brainwashed.

I’ll start off with the obvious. Valentine’s Day is not what you think it is. It is a day commemorating the martyrdom of St. Valentine. Did he die for love as his holiday might suggest? No. Dude was stoned to death because he worked to prevent the marriages of young men and women who wished to join religious orders. Basically, this day is one big middle finger to old Valentine. “You want people to remain single and pursue their life’s callings? Fuck that! We’re going to have a day when we force people to couple off and we’re going to name it after you! Take that, rat bastard!” So, right away, this holiday started off to screw with someone.
Poor Valentine.

So here we have this day set aside just for the couples of the world. And I know all you singletons have had this thought no matter how comfortable you may be with your status: You really don’t need to set aside a day for couples—every day is couples day. It’s like the couples only skate from the roller rinks of our childhoods. Everyone would be merrily racing around and chattering when suddenly the lights dim and the song slows down. “Couples only! Everyone else off the rink!” Everyone sort of stops and looks are exchanged. Those couples keep gliding, noses held in the air with satisfied smirks underneath. The rest of us drift to the edges of the rink and sit in nervous silence as the song drags on for eternity. We’re forced to watch the parade of roller pairs. There is no good reason for a couples skate. They can hold hands as they glide around at any point in the evening and nobody is going to stop them, and yet this happened at every roller rink I have ever been to in my young life. I’ve come up with the easy solution though. No one says, “Only Couples that are in love may skate.” They just say, “Couples only.” A couple of what? You see where I’m going? All of us wallflowers staring at our laces should have paired off with each other. Should have just grabbed the hand of the closest loner or friend and taken the rink back. No reason we can’t all enjoy it.

And that’s sort of my new view on Valentine’s Day. But I’ll get back to that. For now, let me further explain why you are brainwashed.

Somewhere along the line, someone decided that Valentine’s Day would be about couples. The rest of the world fell in line saying, “Sure, we like couples. Why shouldn’t we? The whole point of everything we do is procreation. If you aren’t a couple, you aren’t worth while.”

And so the world became polarized: you are either a couple or you are a priest. If you are a single woman, well, that was going to suck anyway, so that’s just too bad. I’m not blaming Valentine’s Day on this particular cognitive distortion, but I am saying that this particular holiday encapsulates that notion that you might remember from the Manifesto of last fall: pair off now or die trying. If you want to read my thoughts on that matter, go elsewhere.

The sad fact is that when we bitch and moan about being alone on Valentine’s Day or when we when we call it Singles Awareness Day, we buy into the polarization. We drink the Kool-Aid so to speak. We are agreeing that the day is about couples in love and that we are some how lacking. If you want to be uspet about being single and if you’re scared of being alone, there are many days in the year for that. We don’t need the annual couples skate to ponder then the importance of love and belonging.

I’m reclaiming Valentine’s Day for what Valentine intended. I’m a big fan of love- I don’t think there’s anything more important and more vital to our existence. What are we without the connection to each other? But I think the current Valentine’s celebration leaves out too many examples of love. Let’s take this day to really bask in the love that’s everywhere, not just the love of one person. Why limit the love fest to a single person? I say we get a metaphorical orgy started.

Take this day to really appreciate love. And don’t forget yourself. St. Valentine gave his life because he believed so strongly that people should be free to pursue life passions. Ask yourself today- what do you do for yourself.

Ug. That sounded like a really bad self help book. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it though. Sometimes the cheesy things are the true things.

Love Valentine’s Day. Buy a pack of cards with Technicolor cartoon characters and pass them out. Sing bad love songs while you shower. Eat those chalky hearts, or better yet, throw them at people. Call your grandma. Call your best friend from high school. Smile at your waiter. Give your dog a treat without making it do tricks. Put ketchup on your burger in the shape of a heart. Wear pink and red- at the same time. Remind yourself that love comes in many shapes and sizes and there’s nothing greater in the world.

Take back Valentine’s Day.

Why bittersweet?

2005-02-09T17:12:00.000-08:00

Naming a blog is a highly personal activity. I've seen the range of names from clever to lame, and both kinds are telling. It should say something about what you can expect to read while still proclaiming, "Hey world, this person is creative and worth your time." Thus, "Maryann's Thoughts" was tossed away early in the process.

Most of what you will find here does cover my thoughts and thought process however. I'm not much for rolling around in my feelings for the rest of the world to see, so I think "thoughts" does my purpose more justice. If you see my thoughts and I am my thoughts, which is a philosophical leap but stay with me anyway, then the blog should be named after me because it is me. Sort of.

So why bittersweet? As you might guess, my worldview is not all sunshine and roses. But here's the real story:
As a child, I ran across one of those baby name books. Imagine my horror when I found that my name was not to be found within the prophetic depths. How was I to carry on with no knowledge of the destiny laid out for me through the etimology of my name? Of course, at the time it was more like, "No fair! My name isn't in here!" Luckily, I have a double name and each of the subnames was defined. First, Mary: "the bitter one." That was sort of disappointing, but also noble. Some how I knew my sad existence would raise me to a higher plane than my happy go lucky compatriots. I was all prepared for martyrdom when.... Ann: "the sweet one." Talk about an identity crisis- "the bittersweet one." Do I scoff at the world or revel in the small joys in life? Do I cast the barbs of cynicism at my fellow man or embrace all those I meet? Whips and chains or whipped cream and cherries? My life is one of delicate balance.

What can you expect from this bittersweet girl? Don't expect to find my online diary here or a daily recap of my life. I once read a quote that roughly said, "Do not think your life would make a good book. It wouldn't." This is not to say there is no personal element; it's just not my focus. My intention is to record my thoughts and observations on the world I see around me because I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one having these thoughts and it's nice to normalize. Another quote I have read said, 'Writers write because it isn't there." That's my real purpose.

And the bittersweet one was born.

Special thanks to Justin for setting this all up and finding just the right shade of blue. You should have a crush on him, but I'll elaborate on that another time.

This is fake post

2005-02-08T20:44:00.000-08:00

Maryann is on the futon looking up quotes. Shelby is pissed.