Poofleia

Crossroads

2011-11-29T18:14:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry to keep harping on the same thing, but its kind of what keeps floating to the surface of my consciousness.

I feel bad that I treat this blog like a personal (ahem) diary, which means I'm only moved to write when I'm feeling sorry for myself.

I promise: more cheerful posts on Twilight, The Muppets, my love for comedy, the hilarious cat, my great friends etc. etc. ad nauseam to come in the future.

But now, I don't know what to do.

I'm at a crossroads.

I've been doing this whole "I'm just fine" thing for a while now, and I'm worried I can't do it anymore.

I'm not.

I'm not *fine*.

and I'm upset about it.

And I wish it wasn't. I'm sorry I have this desire, this urge. I DO want a husband and a family and all of that. I wish I didn't, but its how it is. And I feel like I'm supposed to hide that or apologize for it to any guy today who I may stand a chance with; so as not to scare anyone away. When did this happen? Women are the gatekeepers to the perpetuation of LIFE for chrissake. Why do we have to mask this miracle in spanks and budlights, false smiles and forced laughs?

I wish I didn't give a shit. I assure you, it would be easier.

But I do care.

and I have a choice- I can go one of two ways.

Give in to my despair. Let myself get angry about my situation. Feel sorry for myself. Have more nights in of crying and white wine in the bubble bath. Rant and rave and fight against my circumstances. Cut out the self-deprecating "crazy cat lady" jokes because they're suddenly too close to home. Rage.

The one I'm even more afraid of. Accept. Consider the very real possibility that I will never find anyone. I have this niggling fear that this is the best path. Perhaps I'm built the way I am because I can survive on my own. I'm an only child, and I get a lot of satisfaction out of my friends and my cat and my comedy. My life is still a C+ without any romantic interest in it. Maybe I'm programmed this way because it is a survival skill I'll need.

My friends always tell me "you WILL find someone," and I can't help but doubt them. No one can say that with certainty. See, I believe that every last person deserves a someone, but it just doesn't always happen. I'm so scared of being that statistical anomaly of the 65 year old single lady.

Not even an Aunt because I don't have any siblings.

And this thought gives me the cold sweats. This isn't some sort of pressure concern that I won't have someone's hand to hold at midnight on New Year's Eve. Not a petty complaint about lack of physical fulfillment. This is a bone-crushing, heart-breaking, gut-wrenching terror that when I'm old, I won't have anyone to call if I'm sick. I'm scared that I'll have to travel the world, and never have someone else to stand in pictures with me. I'll have to buy all of my own Christmas ornaments. No one will ever let me promise to take care of them.

And I don't know which is more scary: having or not having the strength to withstand; get by.

And perhaps this complacent wondering while I wait to decide which way to go is the worst part of all.

Because it's not hard enough

2011-11-01T11:51:00.000-07:00

That's what she said.

SO.

I'm single.

I say that because it may not be as obvious to everyone out there in interwebs land as it is to me.
Because to me, its REALLY apparent. I believe the sage and gracious Dane Cook once said that not being in love is like walking along a street in the rain, and everyone is at a party, and you're not invited.

I'm there.
It's in my face. All. The. Time.
All 3 of my lovely roommates are in relationships with great guys.
I'm friends with lots of married people who have it great.
Other friends are one half of couples that seem to have a good thing going for them.

But not me.

I can't help but feel like its everywhere I look.

And my friends are so supportive. They try to bolster me up when it gets rough. The encourage me, give me advice, or just hug me when I get drunk and despondant.

None of it helps. There's just nothing any of them can say. And that's not their fault- they're all dears who just want the best for me.

The most helpful thing came from my dear friend who just said, "I'm mad about it for you. It just doesn't make any sense."

Now, everyone says "stop looking". Less than helpful.

"Focus on YOU!" gets old after a while.

And the "try losing a few pounds" people can choke on a McDouble- that is, if I leave any left for them.

ahem.

So you try. You try to focus on yourself. You try not to compare your life to those "taken" people around you. You try to have a good attitude because "Men don't like Women who need them." You fight off the cynicism. You resist despair.

But it gets hard.

Lately, I've been weak when resisting my "singlehood".

I've seen guys in my sphere who I thought were potential prospects act like utter morons. So it's not that you don't want to be shmoopy, its just not with ME. Gooooooooot it.

There are cracks in the veneer. There have been times that should have been perfect, but I can't help but notice that I still feel alone. My friends are amazing, and I fill my days with fun and exploration, but its not enough.

So I've been trying to be proactive. I firmly beleive in "stop bitching, start a revolution" so I've tried things to meet new people. I've taken up new hobbies that have exposed me to whole new universes of people. I've tried internet dating, just to see what it was all about.

And a few weeks ago, I signed up for speed dating.

It's really close to my house, and I figure "I can't whine about the problem if I'm not doing anything to fix it."

So I shelled out my $40. And shyly told a few friends. And picked out an outfit.

And the organization just emailed me to cancel it. No refunds. Oh- but I CAN reschedule for another speed dating event, and have a free voucher for a second one.

The reason: there weren't enough men.

Poetic.

I could have told you that.

Because its not hard enough as it is.

Gr8ful

2011-06-13T17:42:00.000-07:00

So I usually vent on this blog, and it turns out pretty negatively (shocker.)

So I thought I'd take the opportunity to show the flip side of that coin, and express the things that make me happy.

Things have really been going my way lately, and I need to put some gratitude out into the universe.

THINGS I AM GRATEFUL FOR:

1) My friends. I have the best people in the world around me. My best friends from High School understand me in a way I'm only recently coming to appreciate as rare. Improv friends who entertain me and let me be silly in all the best ways. Work friends who make me laugh all day long and let me park my ass in their cubes for gossip and joking any time.

2) My cat. (had to be said.) He's my first real pet, and he's just a little sunspot in my day that makes me smile. SQUINKERS.

3) My job. Is it my ideal job? No. Am I grateful to have one in our current economy? Especially one that pays fairly well? You bet. I work with great people who are passionate about their mission, even if its not my dream job. I have a sweet living situation, and all sorts of creature comforts. I try to take time to be grateful for the fireplace or ice maker or ford fiesta in my life, because I've been quite fortunate to live so comfortably.

4) My body. It's easy to overlook all of the work that our bag of bones can do for us, but its truly a gift. My body is a temple, and it lets me do anything I would want to. Except perhaps cirque du soleil contortions, but that's probably for the best. I can drink beer with it. It carries my brain around. It lets me make funny faces. It wears pretty dresses and balances on chunky heels. It's a good looking body, if a bit utilitarian, and I'm glad to have it. Toes and earlobes and small-ish nose and pretty cute toosh, if I may say so. I'm lucky to have it.

5) My brain. It's somewhere between a Tim Burton Nightmare Circus and a Lisa Frank technicolor trapper keeper. The soundtrack is always pitch perfect, and it only remembers the important bits. Works fairly quickly, and keeps me entertained when the outside world runs out of interesting stimulation.

Also, makes funnies. And houses my imagination. Even if no one else is laughing, I am endlessly amused. So there's that.

6) My perspective. An odd thing to define, but I'm glad I have a generally sunny disposition. I am more inclined to laugh at something than to get upset. I have my own set of memories and experiences that no one else will ever have, and I'm lucky that they're mine. I've done and seen some amazing things, and getting to play the footage reel again is pretty fun in my life.

7) Fun. I take having fun pretty seriously, and that is in abundance lately. People are always doing interesting things and I get to play along. I suppose this is connected to just being thankful for being alive. I feel like we were put on this earth to enjoy our lives, and not waste the short blip of time we're given. If I'm having fun, I feel like I'm taking advantage of the precious hours, minutes, and second we are given.

8) My voice. I can be a fairly decent writer when I actually put pen to paper. I'm going to try and appreciate this gift more and more. To squander anything in this life is really a pity.

So there you have it, I'm actually a fairly happy human being most of the time.

And you can tell me to stop whining for all of these reasons in the future :D

A nihilist's apology

2011-05-21T07:49:00.000-07:00

Soooo, I have this self-awareness streak a mile wide.

And its painful.

And something I fear is far less common in others than previously thought.

And sounds trite even to myself, dear reader.

And for that I apologize. I am a person capable of fierce happiness, shining moments of joy and celebration. The smallest things can bring me intense cheer and faith in humanity.

But this volatility has a backswing.

These moments of brief hopelessness. And I try to resist them. I thought about deleting my last post, embarrassed not only that the words are committed to paper, but moreso that I am even capable of forming them.

Maggie is supposed to be the happy one. The friend always good for a laugh. And I don't always mind being that person, but sometimes, it takes a toll on me.

Life is always what you make of it, but the flipside of that coin is that life is only what you make of it.

So I'll let the feelings stand. Written. Thought. Spoken. Felt.

But I'll strive to write more of the happy ones.

And indeed, to feel them.

Everybody takes

2011-05-20T21:42:00.001-07:00

This is a town full of takers.

We are an entitled generation full of the gimmies.

People who answer every call, important or no. We always want them to hold the elevator. We expect people to treat us with kid gloves, even though we would never do the same for them.

But maybe we're on to something.

See, the thing of it is, none of it matters. No one is ever going to care about us the way we care about ourselves. It is up to us to make ourselves happy, content, cherished.

So why not take, and make the best of it?

In 200 years, its not going to matter at all. Even the most memorable of us all will be forgotten like the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. The most charming and successful will be as roadkill on the 95 south in the middle of July.

We may as well make this brief time we have the most pleasant. Maybe life is supposed to just be this string of small comforts. Silly little ways to pass the time well enough.

Everyone has to schedule their own things just so, for maximum comfort.

Strategically inviting certain people to certain things for the most amusement.

Just to drown out the gaping, yawning hole before you that you can't bring yourself to name.

Best not to think like that, carry on.

Like giving a toddler your keys to play with. It doesn't really matter if they are reverse engineering the steering column or sticking the keys in their eyes, so long as they're quiet.

Perhaps that's why we have our silly little hobbies. The gossip and false romantic intrigue.

Something to pass the time. It doesn't ultimately matter if you were tall or skinny or chubby or funny. If you had a lasting, tempestuous love or more one night stands than an Ikea sale (zing). Teacher, musician, starlet, Costco parking attendant, cable guy, crazy cat lady, sea captain, monkey shit shoveler, or friggin astronaut.

It doesn't end up mattering.

We want to be comfortable, pampered, and CHERISHED, damn it! We want to be treated quite pleasantly without any fuss at all, and for free, thankyouverymuch. None of this "giving" shenanigans.

Don't you know what we're going through?

So plaster on that smile, and make another coffee date. One more day down.

Go to that new class at the gym- wasn't that fun? Almost made you forget for a while.

Let's check the fridge one more time. Still no snacks? Back to the couch then. Ooh! The commercials are over.

Did you hear what she said about him? I KNOW- the NERVE of it all! Juicy news, indeed.

And while you're at it, take one more minute for yourself to get across the street.

THEY can wait.

After all, what does it matter?

This is YOU we're talking about.

A glimpse behind the veil

2011-05-20T12:42:00.000-07:00

A conversation between @monkeyskunk *my bff* and I:

Monkeyskunk: The last one we saw was where the guy got stabbed in the heart with a joustinstick
whateverthefuck those are called

me: joustinstick = new angterm
fuck
new WANGterm
also: lance.

Monkeyskunk: I knew what you meant
oh yea
like scoopies

me: WANNNNNNNGJOKE
like scoopies
this would be utter jibberish to anyone but us
LIFIESH

Monkeyskunk: LIFIESH!

Also, (seemingly unrelated,) Game of Thrones is Awesome, Amirite?

Pirates of the Carribbean 4 thud

2011-05-16T12:57:00.000-07:00

ok, so I get to go to an early screening.
Tonight.

And I'm losing my shit. See, every Pirates movie has come out on my birthday weekend, Memorial Day weekend, (the ONLY positive of a memdayweekend birthday,) and we all go in a group and see it. Usually with dinner. And home made tshirts. And probably a hat or two.

But this year, it snuck up on me and I'm FREAKING OUT.

I need more time!

And don't get me wrong, I was jealous as a eunuch at a chippendale's show that a friend of mine has ALREADY seen the film, (bitch.)

And yet, I feel like I didn't get to geek out about it enough! Sure, I followed Jerry Bruckheimer and the promotional account on Twitter. Yes, I watched all of the materials I could get my hands on ahead of time. Of course I talked myself out of getting gold caps on my teeth so I could be more like The Johnny.

But its too soon. This is in all likelihood the LAST new pirates movie! And I've fallen for it before! After "At World's End" I grieved like I needed to. Sure, I've carried the pain with me since, but damn it, I was functional.

And now, this?

Another taste? This is giving Black Tar Heroine to a recovering alcoholic.

I know I'm going to spiral.

I'll be tempted to stop showering.
And wear boots, even when its hot out.
Don't get me STARTED on my casual vocabulary.

I think the worst part of all will be the new daydreams. My mind hasn't left this universe that's part historical, part beach-bar, and part myth and lore. And now, this fourth installment will only add more fuel to the fire.

You know what, that's fine Capt Jack Sparrow.
Take me.
Take all of me.
Your longing for adventure and hapless ability to pull anything off, especially when you don't deserve it has me charmed.
And you're hooks-down the sexiest character in fiction.

I'm enlisting.
Leftenant Dempsey, of the Black Pearl, reporting for duty.

Weigh Anchor, lads, we're off.

An Open Letter

2011-04-27T19:47:00.001-07:00

To "Him"*,

I've been looking for you for a while, so I thought I'd let you know what I'm thinking- a hint I'll put out into the universe. I'm too embarrassed to tell you, unless I'm shitfaced, then I tell too much.

I like you. I do. I'm attracted to you physically, but I also really want to spend time with you. We enjoy the time we do spend together, I just think adding some sex and some quality time would make it even better. We are already friends, so its not a stretch to see us lay on the next layer. A Parfait of awesome, if you will. We have the crunchy granola crap, and the sweetness of the fruity times, now we just need to fill in the space with something a little more, open affection ought to do the trick.

You're taller than me, so you'd pass the "I could feel small in your arms" test. Superficial, perhaps, but something I really like about you. And your energy, I relate to it. My only true requirement is that "he" can keep up, and baby, you've got it- no small feat. And I feel like we could have a rhythm, you know? A way to go out with a group of our friends and have an awesome time, or lay in my bed listening to standards for a whole Sunday, even if its nice out. Because we both love to do these things and the range in between them. And I think they would be even nicer to do together.

So I'm here. I know I'm in your friend zone right now. I'm safe, and a little bit crass, but I won't be here forever. Take courage. Ask me. I know what I've got going on over here, and I can tell you, I'm worth it.

Love,

~Maggie

*note- "Him" could be any one of several guys at this interval. 5 to be specific. I'm just putting a little nudge out into the world to encourage them. Fingers crossed it works for one of them.

Is it?

2011-01-19T21:20:00.001-08:00

Is it you?

Am I just supposed to look at you and know?

Or is it an obvious truth that will just slowly seep into my surroundings, so smoothly that I don't even see the change.

a ship drifting in from the horizon that's to the shore before you even notice it.

Is it you? Do I just have to bide my time? Or you over here, are you even interested? I wish I could ask.

Are you even aware I'm alive in the plaid shirt? No? I thought not.

Moving on.

Now... could it be you?

hmmmm....

Damn I hope I'm not too dense or mistrusting to see you when you're right in front of me.

*squinting*

Grating Expectations

2011-01-03T19:57:00.000-08:00

So which is it.

Is the universe designed for cynicism, or optimism?

Both messages are shoved down our throats; opposites.

We are, all of us, alone.

All you need is love.

No one else can make you happy.

Love is the answer.

Depend only on yourself for happiness.

Have faith in your dreams, and someday your rainbow will come shining through.

bullshit.

Which is it?

This talking out of both sides of your mouth shit is getting tiring.

If I’m supposed to stop hoping, that’s just fine.

Just tell me now so I can cut my expectations to a minimum.

Expectations management.

There’s a romantic concept.

Become self-reliant, self-contained, self-tanned.

Don’t need anyone else.

Become an island.

Everyman is an island.

Everywoman is bottle floating around in the ocean, hoping to wash up on some lucky island’s deserted beach.

a desperate bottle full of a message no one will read the way it was written.

Do it for YOU, girlfriend. Screw guys.

Just join that gym for yourself.

Take some time.

Get to know yourself.

Focus on you.

They’re all assholes anyways.

All you need is love.

Whatever you put out into the universe is what you’ll get back.

Show your smile every chance you get, you never know who could be falling in love with it.

You’ll only know what it means to be complete when you have a family.

It’ll happen when you’re not looking.

Just stop looking.

It’ll happen when you least expect it.

read: don’t expect it.

So we have to choose the path of pessimism.

We have to pretend we DON’T want it.

It’s really the most masochistic mutation of the virgin/madonna complex.

Just wait patiently.

Wait prettily.

Wait enticingly.

But not knowingly.

Be the unwilling chum next to your own sharkdiving cage.

Dress up for yourself and your girlfriends, but keep that bikini line waxed because you never know when your Prince Harming will stumble into your life, wanting a sandwich, and realize you always keep white bread and light mayo in stock.

Just like he always dreamed of.

No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.

The truth of the matter is that this is a lie. No one gets a fairytale. Not even everyone gets the decency of some fucking woodland creatures to braid her hair.

If you pick at the varnish, the fairy godmother starts to sound a bit like your mother who has a few ideas about what you’re doing wrong.

The mice get stuck on the trap-paper before they turn into steeds.

and the final bell in the clock-tower chimes, and all it means is that you’ve overslept your alarm.

Dream’s up.

heh

2010-08-18T12:34:00.001-07:00

http://www.barnorama.com/many-faces-of-johnny-depp/

My favorite?
Emo Wolverine.

*sigh*

I love the Depp.

Caving.

2010-08-12T10:50:00.000-07:00

Alright guys, I'm doing it.
I'm caving.

Well, again.

Tonight, Mo and I are going to drink champagne, and sign up for okcupid.com.

the dreaded dating scene.... via the interwebs.

This is kind of an extension of our singlehood, adventurous natures, and our unfortunate willingness to do anything for the sake of a good story.

I'll be cataloguing these adventures over at http://okstupidokcupid.blogspot.com/

Feel free to mock us. Or support us.

Or hell, ask us out.

We *probably* won't mock you mercilessly.

probably.

GLEEK

2010-04-20T19:33:00.000-07:00

OH HOLY CRAP.

I friggin love Glee.

I'm a total Gleek.

Glee is the best thing to happen to tv.

I have goose bumps.

Ok, first off- Emma, (who I friggin LOVE and totally want to dress like,) was wearing a sweater that I own. LIke my favorite sweater. Which I am definitely wearing to work tomorrow. (And that was awesome. Like, lots of screaming and running upstairs to procure said sweater.)

THE LIKE A VIRGIN NUMBER?!?!?

HOLY BALLS.

Like, I now hate my real life High School experience because none of these hawt guys sang to me (even though HS was really rad. And Adam Lambert did sing to me, but that was in the context of a play.) So. Hot. I mean, I know that it shouldn't be?! But so hot. It was fodder for my imagination like whoa. Because I would love to hook up with any one of those 3 guys, ( I know that the one guy is gay.) THE O FACES, come on. Or sing like any of those girls. And have choreographed foreplay. Actually, maybe that one the most. That, and I've been a bit randy as of late. weird. Should I not write that? Would it be awkward to have that out in the realm of public knowledge? Shmeh.

The last scene with the choir? Goosebumps.

So awesome.

I friggin love this show.

Sue? Brittany? Schuster's O-Face? Emma wearing my sweater? Kurt and Mercedes getting some love?

choreographed foreplay.

As soon as I finish squee-ing, Imma pass out from exhaustion.

GLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK

This is what the inside of my head looks like.

2010-03-18T15:57:00.000-07:00

Watch this.

I DARE you to not laugh.

and ye be warned- you will get this shit stuck in your head.

http://trololololololololololo.com/

enjoy.

skirts

2010-02-23T08:08:00.000-08:00

I squint past the muddied snow drift blocking my home's walkway, an ugly stepcousin to the fleecy blankets of weeks before.

I curse swiftly at the hidden puddle that drenches my shoes through, my socklessness suddenly revealed to be the folly it is.

One gust of wind comes up and whips the fridgid air into my eyes and ears, rudely ruffling my hair and lifting up the hem of my jacket, a brisk frisk.

Then comes the rain, and with it the final straw.
One drop at a time, smearing mascara and weakening my resolve.
My tears fall with the water from the sky, and they are tears for summer.

I close my eyes to shut out the darkness and travel to another sunnier time.

I can feel the warmth of the sun beaming down at me. That welcomed stifling feeling from warm air and blinding light. Feel the crinkle of my toasted nose from a day in the sand, my tank top and flipflop straps holding on my clothing for modesty alone, not warmth. The concept of a jacket and scarf foreign and forgotten- sunglasses and bathing suits are easier to wear, and don't hang as heavy on your heart.

I smell that intoxicating cocktail of sunscreen, bug spray, and light beer- the only liquid essentials for a summer excursion. Our Lady, the sun, stays out to play all day long. Only taking brief respite in the shade of thunderstorms, welcomed to break the heat. The fireflies come out to show off, and we admire their displays. Every night ends a bit later with the tinge of satisfaction from fun well-had.

There is an ephemeral excitement, as if anything is possible and will come to be. In summertime, you can go anywhere, do anything, and there is much more weight in the meaning of "Friday." Our weekends are each vacations in miniature.
Cameras come out, stories and anecdotes are all shared on Monday around the breakroom microwave, each of us pining for another glorious window of possibility that will come after a few days of "work."

Smiles and jokes pass easier. There is a sense of light and shine in the world. Enthusiasm and exhaustion take turns, making the days and weeks and moments fly by, the thrilling speed adding to the magic.

I just have to remember that these days of winter will somehow pass, although maybe never fly, and there will be that first day I don't have to wear a jacket. I will buy a new sundress and get that first tan line. I will see the beach with its seagulls and seashells again.

and I will see the sun again.

She just likes to make an entrance.

Being a Grown-Up BLOWS.

2010-01-04T11:13:00.000-08:00

I mean, come on.

I feel like all of my friends are just having an AWESOME time.

My bestie just called me from Disneyland, where it's HOT, (don't even get me started on the f$#%$ing weather. It's like 4 outside. Where are we, Wisconsin? No.) And she's going to go drink Boddington's and eat yummy desserts later with another friend. This is AFTER the weekend where she made magic and squishing noises with her MF unicorn- the high school crush all other guys will have to measure up to.

My other best friend just got to take MOTHER FRIGGING TRAPEZE lessons- that is, in between her Beatles' rockband sessions and hours of surfing.

Other friends are travelling, getting engaged, starting school, moving, going out, having babies, throwing parties, etc. etc. etc. ad nauseum.

Wanna know what's going on with me?

I made pork chops last night.

and it was kind of a big deal.

...
...
...

are you shitting me.

Now, the problem is- I'm TOTALLY excited for everyone participating in the proceedings of AWESOME.

however- past the happiness, there is a twinge of jealousy.
and it makes my cubicle feel even more prison-like than usual.

You guys had better watch out, because I may SERIOUSLY go base jumping or join the circus or drop out of life and move to New Zealand to tend bar to catch up on all of the excitement.

Then again, I got to have leftover pork chops- and they were downright tasty.

Brain Rot.

2009-11-11T10:14:00.000-08:00

And now, let's get into some of the head-shrinking BEHIND my jaded outlook on the dating scene.

It's actually pretty simple really- it's all a question of expectations management.
and I have failed SPECTACULARLY at this.

I have... the brainrot. In olden times it was thought women would get brainrot from reading too many novels. They would get ideas and hurt their poor little brains if they read romantic fiction.

I'm there.

The space between my ears is completely occupied with romantic and happy fluff.
(If you've met me- you know this. If you haven't- I'm slightly concerned that you would still be able to guess this about me from just seeing me from across the street.)

I could most likely recite every Disney princess movie- sing you every romantic ballad from a showtune in the 20th or 21st century, show you the poetry I wrote about my crushes from high school (mortifying.) I watch The Holiday and Enchanted on a seriously regular basis. I read romance novels for pete's sake. One of the final nails in the coffin? Twilight.

The countdown to New Moon's midnight release has begun.
I'm re-reading the books and drooling over the Vanity Fair pix of RPattz.
My tshirt is on order.

I gotta tell ya, even if it gives me the brainrot and therefore higher standards, I'm having too much fun to care.

The current dating scene is a sign of the apocalypse.

2009-11-06T13:06:00.000-08:00

But seriously, if I ever have a chance of dating you- don't read this.

How long until I just retitle the blog that?
Interesting.

But I'm serious. The way that the genders are currently interacting has lead me to believe that our race could SERIOUSLY be at risk for extinction within a few generations.

think about it.

I feel like couples are waiting until later and later to get together, if they ever do, meaning that there are fewer reproductive years available for the women, that is if they go within normal windows, but women who have children older can be at higher risks for the health of the babies.

It is more common than ever before to have couples that just prefer to not have babies.

It is more common to have people that choose to just never be in a life-long committed relationship, married or otherwise.

doomed.

So now, let's move on to the TYPE of guys who are getting into the few relationships left that are generatin offspring to continue the friggin' genome.

DARWINISM NO LONGER APPLIES! To continue the species, the females usually look for the strongest, most virile speciman available. Typically the biggest, most able to provide.

NOT US- SCREW YOU, NATURE, WE'RE MODERN SOCIETY!

Look at the heart-throbs of today. Most of them are these diminuitive intellectuals who would look more at home in front of an X-BOX 360 with the casing off and a phillips head screwdriver in their hand than changing the oil in a soft-top, red, rugged Jeep. There is something to be said to be attracted to men with brains, because that is more important to survive in our world today, but these men don't necessarily look like wiry einsteins. And they are meant to be the shining examples of modern desires. Don't get me wrong, I love brains, but that's not the guy we're talking about. And for the love of God don't get me started on hipsters, indie rockers, and the fact that the male "skinny jean" even exists. **shudder**

Let's look at the everyman. Look at 'im. Go to any bar during a sporting event. They are barely evolved, stringy versions of our knuckle-dragging ancestors. There is a pecking order amongst their ranks based on levels of hygiene. Coordinating team jerseys for ease of recognizing other member's of one's tribe. Dribble down the shirt from imbibing too much beer. Glazed over look as the eyes slip out of focus trying to decide which big screen to focus on during commercials. And when their fellow warriors are on the path to victory? I dare you to distinguish the sound from that of a storming horde of gorillas. Roaring. Yelling. Maybe some more swearing. Charming.

Now for what should seperate us from the animals: romance.

**snort.**

Let's start with the premise of any of these neanderthals actually PURSUING a mate. Can you even picture it? yeah, me neither.

In times past, men actually WANTED women. It was considered a desirable thing to have a lady in your life, on your arm, and **gasp** even in your bed. And they worked to impress them, woo them, win them. Men held doors, gave flattering compliments, hell, paid for a beer. And this wasn't that long ago!

Go even further back. Musicians sang serenades. Gentlemen composed sonnets. Men gave flowers, trinkets, candies. Some fought wars, killed lovers in a jealous rage, cut off their own ears, (although I realize that's a slightly unreasonable expectation.)

We're sliding back into the primordial soup. This level of chase just doesn't exist anymore.

Let's go back to our gameday bar scene. Enter the female. She is coy. Also wearing the tribe's colors to camoflage into the tribe and catch the appropriate type of mate off-guard. She wears her jersey, but also her mascara; her warpaint. She is on the hunt.

No longer is her strategy that of an exotic hothouse flower. Before, women were to be approached, marveled at, and entertained if a man was given the pleasure of her company. Now, she must dirty her hands. She sheds her skirts for workpants and wades into the trenches. She must be beautiful, but also cunning. Flirtatious and deadly. Aloof, and yet utterly attainable. A lady on the street, but a freak in the bed, as it were.

In days of yore, an elaborate mating ritual of heavy-lidded eyes exchanging hot glances and stolen handclasps with whispered sighs is cast aside for the modern exchange. The stunning female must place herself within direct proximity of her target, lest he be required to leave his pod of companions to approach her across the playing field. She utterly ignored him for a solid hour, staring at his back when he's not looking, glancing away as he turns.
There may be a few meager exchanges of laughs or cheers if the team is winning, commiseration or beer swigging if they are doing poorly.
And then it happens- at the end of the game, and only at the end- the moment of truth.
Finally, there is direct eye contact. Our lioness offers a smile she hopes is inviting, but not-too-eager, just as she had practiced it.

Good sir, most kind gentleman, our modern romeo, Casanova a la 2009, receives her message.
He gives the most minute head-flip and gestures with his not-holding-a-beer-arm towards the exit.

They leave, and the rest is history.

Until the next morning.
She scrabbles into her clothes, furious with herself, pretending not to be.
He calls her a cab, which he mysteriously has on speed-dial.
She gives him that perfectly rehearsed smile, but this time it has a tremulous air to it that displeases him.
He says a few minor pleasantries, there is an exchange of information he has no intention of using, and she is whisked away by a yellow car in the rain as he looks for his professional team's jersey because now it's Sunday and the bar is almost open.

and this is on a successful venture.

Friggin poetry.

It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

Baggage

2009-08-19T20:51:00.000-07:00

Baggage - Friday, Aug 14 2009

So I’m in Puerto Rico for my friend Luis’s wedding. And I’m so excited!

Right now, I’m lounging on the cushy bed with the balcony doors thrown open to let in the heavenly sunshine and the sound of the crashing shore, with the occasional squawk of some brightly colored bird.

In the same clothes I was in 27 hours ago.

Yes. They lost my luggage.

But somehow, that has made it more of an adventure. Sure, I can’t wear these white linen lounge pants and old navy tshirt to the wedding, so I may have to dash to PLAZAS AMERICANAS- the largest mall in the Caribbean to procure another dress to wear, but so be it.

I’m here. Not at work. And there are good people. And sand. And sunshine. and rum.

I feel like its much more piratical this way. When you were stranded on a deserted island after your crew mutinied against you, they didn’t toss you a suitcase to keep you well stocked. You had the clothes on your back and your guts to survive. And maybe a pistol with a single shot or a sword, (alas, I couldn’t carry these on. commies.)

Basically, I feel like a badass pirate because I’m surviving on the hotel’s free sample shampoos and the $7 resort deodorant I impulse bought.

wait.

that was just the bellman calling.

my suitcase is here.

THANK YOU DAVY JONES, FOR SENDING ME BACK MY THINGS FROM THE DEPTHS OF YOUR LOCKER.

xoxox,

Cap’n Mags

harebrained scemes

2009-08-07T08:28:00.000-07:00

HOW BADLY DO I WANT TO GO TO THIS?!?!
So I've been daydreaming about travel and halloween costumes for the last few days.
PyrateCon is a BEAUTIFUL combo of the two.

I mean, check out this website!!
http://www.pyratecon.com/

IT LOOKS SO FRIGGIN AWESOME! In New Orleans? I love that city!

I suppose I'll have to add it to the list of events I'm currently scheming:

2009-
Puerto Rico Next WEEK! (so stoked.)
2010-
SXSW Music Festival in Austin- (CRUCIAL)
PYRATE CON in New Orleans, April (costume? got it.)
Comic Con in San Diego, July (IN COSTUME, duh. Still debating about what that'll be- SOO many options!)
World Cup in South Africa, July/Aug timeframe (with a whirlwind tour of Africa for about 2 weeks.)
2011-
Oktoberfest done properly in Germany
2012-
London Olympics.

Now all I have to do is teach myself how to save money and recruit enough friends to go with me to make these all happen!

...

...

...

...anyone?

Also, all donations are being accepted.

...
...
...
also, any ideas anyone would have about a job that would pay me to be an uberdork/world traveler are being considered.

**sigh**
It's hard out here for a ~~pimp~~ nerd.

dancing

2009-07-29T10:06:00.001-07:00

So I'm a big fan of SYTYCD and ABDC and all of those, so I consider myself to be at least an appreciator of the dance world, if not an afficianado. (If you don't know what these are, do yourself a favor. look them up.)

That being said- you all know I have an unnatural fear of becoming a crazy cat lady. My single status, proclivity towards being crazy anyways, and recent aqcuisition of this dude:

Weasley and his "come hither" look.

all make me nervous.

That being said, I present to you the funniest thing I may have ever seen, and also my deepest fear in glassy full-photo published glory:

http://www.bikemag.com/news/massmedia/020306_cats/

My dear friend Leah and I saw this bookstore at the Kennedy Center. And its real. And there are albums that go with it. And I fully recommend that if you have a free afternoon at work to do internet surfing that you dig deeper- its nuts. There is an entire underground movement and community associated with cat dancing. And these people are certifiably batshit crazy.

google that.

You may run across such chestnuts as at-your-desk purring techniques: "Now as you purrr, you'll become conscious that it's making your head vibrate. This is completely normal." **snort**

Tips and techniques about joining cat dancing classes, "After all, dancing with our cats is something we really have to do alone and you can feel rather isolated at times. " **ARE YOU SERIOUS?!**

or this.

you're welcome.

Moral of the story:
I love finding shit on the internet that makes me feel like less of a weirdo.

I'M SO EXCITED

2009-07-14T09:33:00.000-07:00

So tonight is the harry potter 6 half blood prince release at midnight.
and i can't control myself.
i'm like 7-year-old-going-to-Disneyland stoked.
I am full-fledged fantasy nerd tunnelvision headache from excitement juiced.
and needless to say, sitting a cube farm with literally not a single task to do is NOT conducive to waiting.

the.
day.
is.
crawling.

And I'm on stimulus OVERLOAD. I've blown through all of my distraction factors in like 3 hours when I can usually make them last all day. I've read all my blogs. I've exhausted facebook. I've look at at least 3 complete albums of people I don't even know for a single picture of an acquiantance. The crossword puzzle is complete. The sudoku, kaput. I went somewhere else to get lunch and ate it. I've moved desks and set up everything. I had a mini meeting with a boss. I printed off stuff for a craft I'm doing at home. Twitter is a precious notion of time wasting as I've read every post from the 100+ people I follow three times already. And clicked every link.

AND IT'S NOT EVEN 1 PM.

HEEEEEEEEELLLLLP ME!!!

I'M JUST SO EXCITED.

Harry Potter is going to rule.
It's paaaaainful to sit here when I should be painting the back of my tshirt. Or napping so I'm ready for the extreeeeeeeeeme lack of sleep that is as a result of a midnight showing of a 2.5 hour movie.

pain.
ful.

Work: you are ALWAYS cramping my dorkstyle.

Playing Work

2009-07-07T06:54:00.000-07:00

On the metro, every morning, hundreds of people commute. They swim upstream and down, to and fro, walk on the left and stand on the right. People are in scrubs with Betty Boop on them, in business suits with running shoes, military uniforms with their gym bags. Packed lunches, hurried sudokus between stops, the 3's and 9's squiggled by the trains jolting brakes. What percentage of this throng is doing what they REALLY want to do?

I'd wager 3%. Tops.

I feel as though I am one of these trudging masses. I get up entirely too early every morning to the meowing of my latest alarm clock, 20 minutes before the one that beeps would go off. I take a shower, put on my grown-up costume, and make the trek in haste to sit at my desk for 8 hours before I rush home to wait a few hours so I can rinse and repeat.

It makes me miss the games we play when we're young. I can't for the life of me ever recall playing "work". Kids play all sorts of games that might turn into an occupation as adults. Playing house, doctor, teacher, explorer. They play games that may turn out to be gruesome as adults- when the surgeon needs to lop off all four limbs, when all of the GI Joe's are killed in an unforeseen microwave accident, or when Barbie jumps off the roof of her three story townhouse via the pink elevator (true story.) The games we played most are the ones that are impossible to come true. Every kid played mermaid or space alien invasion or bears. We dressed up in our mothers' dresses and ran around our fathers' garages

Not one kid played analyst or consultant.

And what about the skills we learned as children? Very few of them still come up. I would jump for joy if I got to make a diorama for a meeting. I was talking to a new friend over lunch, (we'll call her "Indignant Constitutional 11-year-old" or "IC-11" for short- it was a great lunch,) and we lamented over the lack of clay figures and construction paper usage in our everyday lives. No more finger paint or colorful blocks. The days of building cells out of styrofoam and making land masses out of papier mache are gone.

So I look around and see all of the astronauts and ballerinas, trumped up in their dressing to go to beige cubicles and concrete office buildings. The thing is though, there isn't the cloud of despair you would think there should be. People seem to be bustling intently. I wouldn't go so far to say "with great jollity", but it isn't as dismal and dreary as it certainly could be.

I can't help but feel as though this is all just another game. I think it points to my immaturity that I still feel as though I'm playing office. The steps are the same as our games of imagination when we were small. You need to build the fort, (the office,) change your costume, (for me, business casual that makes me look like a barn with hair tottering about on uncomfortable heels,) and establish the rules of the game (be there for 8 hours.)

Or maybe all of the bomber pilots and Egyptian goddesses who are running around my city incognito have something figured out that I don't yet. They hurry to and from their work so that they can rush home and play in their airplane hangars and hidden tombs.

Maybe that's the secret they all carry around. They have jungles and sunken pirate ships waiting for them. The sooner they get to work, the sooner they get to go home.

and the sooner they get to play.

storm

2009-06-03T18:36:00.000-07:00

I know it has been a while since I posted- things have been going crazy!

I have had about a month of constant activity and decision.

Now that I have the time to breathe and actually think about it all, I wish I had taken the time to write about it more as it was happening- maybe then I might have felt less befuddled by it all.

I vacationed in Hawaii with two very dear friends and a 15 month old little girl. I went on a week long beach-house vacation with my parents and grandfather. I have adopted a kitten who was previously nicknamed "killer". I have interviewed for and accepted a brand new job, with much strife at the current job and subsequently bought $700 worth of stuffy suits. So I've been busy.

Life is amazing- how it swirls, is it not?

I have felt like I've been in a sort of free-fall None of these major life acts have really been my decision.

And yet, in that there was a sort of comfort. Maybe it was part shock, part excitement. I had been wishing for change for months. I sure got that. gvvbbg (<--- Sorry, that was the new cat.)

Learning to trust yourself, no matter what happens, is quite enthralling.

And now, as I wind down with my current job, have the kitten now dubbed "Weasley" sitting around my throat like an ascot, and reminisce about my vacations, it is empowering to reflect on what has happened in one measly month.

All of those things happen and nothing drove me to write.

Tonight, there was a thunderstorm. A good, old-fashioned knock-out-the-satellite "gully washer" as my mother would say.

I lay here, book in hand, comforting the kitten- it's his first big storm- and counted the seconds between the flashes and the bursts, the light and the noise, the lightning and thunder.

and I was driven.

I hate to use the phrase "in life", but here I feel it only fitting.

In life, like tonight, I have waited, counting the seconds between the cataclysmic bolts and the rolling booms that are sure to follow.

This month has been the lightning. And now, we wait for the fallout.

positivity.

2009-05-02T15:35:00.000-07:00

Should I be nervous that so many of my blog postings contain the "if I ever have a chance of dating you, please don't read the following" disclaimer?

shmeh.

If I ever have a chance of dating you, please don't read the following:

re:

this jerk face

So. I went to the CAPS game today with a good friend. And it was a KILLER time. We're talking AWESOME. CAPS won, I rocked the red, (and managed to not get TOO much glitter on her husband's jersey,) and cheered my face off.

It was amazing.

So we were sharing a victory Chipotle burrito, in Chinatown DC, and we were doing EVERYONE'S favorite pastime- people watching. Now, we were doing what I'll call here "honest peoplewatching." We were noting the good as WELL as the bad. We were looking at couples that were well paired as well as some unfortunate girls in heels that were OBVIOUSLY killing them. Noting the happy and the miserable, the way-too-skinny and the perhaps-big-boneded. Just generally enjoying the mass of people swirling around the fishbowl world of our chipotle windowseats.

This cute guy who was apparently sitting next to me, listening INTENTLY- unbeknownst to me- all of a sudden crumpled his burrito wrapper, turned to me and said, "say five nice things about the people passing by us." So I started to. He cut me off and said "Well all I heard was a lot of negativity." Got up. Threw out his trash. Left. Walked in front of the window. I gave him a stunned finger-toodle wave, he did this "well, yeah. There you go. You know it," head-nod and kept walking.

And I have to tell you, it ruined my day. I embarrassed myself on the walk home from the metro because I was crying, walking in my neighborhood, in broad daylight.

HOW DARE HE. At least none of the things I said made anyone else feel like shit! I was talking to my friend, just having a perfectly NORMAL conversation.

He should have considered who he was talking to. Not to toot my own horn, but I am one of the most positive people I know. Did he ever consider that maybe half of the comments I was making were out of low self-esteem? Of all the clearly superficial perfect bitches in this world that have vacuous conversations, I'm the person he chooses to unload on. Everyone else on the planet gets to have those conversations, but not me. Not on this day. Nice positivity yourself there, asshat.

And it's SO weird to think that one would have any negativity from being a single girl in THIS city. Like this guy isn't one of the DC douchebags or DCDB's. Girls, you know who I mean- one of the light blue striped button-up shirt and khaki cargo shorts wearers with flip flops and some meaningless pseudo-tropical necklaces. They roll in packs. They ignore girls for the first 95% of the night, then proceed to give them hope. Then, when it's all said and done, they cut their losses and run, making the girl feel as though all of the signals were in her head. That they had nothing to do with it, using the poor girl's insecurity as a smoke screen to cover their exit. Each of them returning back to the pack so that they can all congratulate each other, put more gel in their hair, and head out to the bar again to rinse and repeat. And I'm the one putting negativity out into the planet. Whatever, bub.

It's hard because it comes on the tail of a little moment I had this morning. I was riding the metro to meet my friend, and I had all of this happy-go-lucky music coming on my ipod. I was just in the best of moods. I found myself realizing that I'm often in a good mood. I sent up a little prayer, in the middle of my metroride, thanking whoever is up there for my sunny disposition. I know not everyone comes by genuine excitement or happiness or contentment as easily, and I'm grateful that I'm wired that way.

I don't know if it was just too ironic an opportunity to get called out for sheer negativity or if I'm just delusional about what my supposedly "sunny outlook" really is.

Either way. If you meet that guy, have him respond to my ad. I'd like to explain myself.

And apologize.

The worst part of all was the kernel of truth at the base of it. I was uncharitable in my thoughts and in my words. I even thought to censor myself, but I thought "what the heck. They can't hear us. I'm just laughing with my friend. Everyone does it."

The worst part of all was that he was right.

And Lord knows you can't forgive a man for that.

Shoe Logic

2009-04-22T13:02:00.000-07:00

So, as some of you may know, I believe that you can learn a lot about a person according to their shoes. Judge me all you want, but you're going to start noticing from now on. And it doesn't have to be big, sweeping judgements- just little ones like how comfortable a person likes to be in their work shoes or how tightly strung their tennis-shoe laces are.

As I was scoping out all of the hot commute-home-from-work shoes on the metro yesterday evening, I noticed a pattern. I know that it has always been there, but it just kind of snapped into focus yesterday. And I can't tell if the pattern in our shoes is merely reflective of the differences between men and women, or if it even perpetuates our ingrained notions even further.

What I noticed is this: men's shoes, generally speaking, are designed to look sturdy. Go on, look around the office. The everyman's work shoe of today is probably one of those black shoes with the thicker soles that are squared off at the toes. Even if they're not this EXACT pair- although plenty of them are- they all have one thing in common: they actually look like feet.

I know it sounds nuts, but what woman's shoe is actually shaped like a woman's foot?

And mens shoes are actually largest at the bottom. When a man is standing in his shoes, he looks stable, sturdy, well planted. Do you think that this plays into what we're looking for in a man? We are usually looking for a man who, well I hate to borrow an overused phrase, but has his feet on the ground. Every pair of guy's shoes on the planet makes this easier. The can stand for hours in those Herman Munster's Tuxedo Shoes and look right at home.

Now, lets turn the lens on the ladies. Now I'll preface ALL of this with the fact that I love shoes. LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE them. Doesn't matter if they're uncomfortable or too expensive, I friggin love them. Usually, the more ridiculous the better. Hot pank shiny peeptoe stillettos with bows and lace on them? bring it.

But lets use an analytical eye to look at what we put on our feet..

They're ridiculous. And UNNATURAL. What woman has pointy toes? Heels? What a terrible and torturous idea! And it seems as though the prettiest ones are intentionally engineered to be as difficult to balance in as physically possible. Let's take all of our weight and balance it, in perfect, hip-swinging motion, on two little points that are barely bigger than pencil erasers. Awesome. EVERY woman on the planet has been crippled for a day of uncomfortable, but attractive shoes at least once in her life, (and most of us at least once a weekend.) They just seem like bad ideas all around, no matter which way you turn. And yet, we ALL do it.

And now I ask, WTF?!?!? Is this supposed to make us look like skittish does that could just as easily prance away as fall flat on our asses?

Now, I may be confused- but for the whole "thrill of the chase" mentality, shouldn't we at least be worthy opponents who won't topple over after every third step? Or are we supposed to look all wobbly so we need the support of a big stwong man to cawwy us back to the cave because we're weak wittle females??

Gweat.

But then, I sit here and consider the alternative. Comfortable shoes? You are, of course, referring to ugly shoes. Yeah, right.

And so each of us ladies perpetuate the status quo of the genders. Our shoe tastes are like a modern, living art homage to "Ode on a Grecian Urn." We may never get caught, but at least there will always be the chance we might.

And men sit there, looking pretty, in their practical, feet-shaped shoes. Devices that are ACTUALLY designed to be walked in.

Psh. Pansies.

A note to Brit-Brit's lyricist.

2009-04-20T09:58:00.000-07:00

So I was watching some Jump Start this morning on VH1, (yeah I know- its still on. Weird, right?) and the video for Brit-Brit's "If You Seek Amy" was on.

First off- trashy. 'Nuff said. Y'all knew that.

Then we get to the lyrics. I have to confess that in spite of myself, I think that the title is pretty witty. Probably not original to the writer, but still witty. When I finally figured it out, about 3 weeks after I heard it for the first time, I giggled quite a lot. (It's super gay that they changed the title to "If you see Amy" for the radio edit, because now it makes even LESS sense, but whatever.) I figured "Yeah Brit-Brit, you tell the public. You pulled the wool over all of our eyes! Now we know you're making a comeback and its going to be a quippy one."

But then I felt betrayed. The song itself is completely stupid. (I know I shouldn't be that shocked/upset over a "Spears Classic", but there you go.) I feel like the lyricist used up any creative juices on the title. Brit-Brit has always overused the "ooh bab-eh, bab-eh" and this song is no exception. At one point, however- this song ACTUALLY has the words "Ha ha hee hee ha ha ho."

Seriously?

**heavy sigh**

HOW MANY MILLIONS OF DOLLARS DO YOU HAVE TO MAKE AS A POP STAR BEFORE YOU CAN START PAYING SONG WRITERS WHO WILL WRITE SONGS WITHOUT GIBBERISH LYRICS?!!??

I know you're all thinking to other pop MEGASUCCESS stories that used gobbledeegook lyrics too, like "You make me wanna La La" and "The Scatman", but really- Brit-Brit, is this the company you want to keep?

You can do better than that.

BEST. TRAILER. EVER.

2009-04-17T06:20:00.000-07:00

HOLY SHIT.

I just watched this with my friend/coworker Erin. We both cried. I mean, tears- down the face- cried.

FROM JUST THE PREVIEW!

The movie is just going to be so friggin awesome. And this trailer shows all KINDS of new stuff that the teasers didn't. It looks like they are totally stepping up their game. It's going to explore every aspect of the plot from the book to tie it all together- the acting looks amazing, the effects are kickass, and I mean just fppszzzzzzt....

wow.

I mean, I got goosebumps like 5 times in the 2 and a half minutes or however long it is.

It made my day. Week. Hell, probably even weekend.

It's days like these that I thank GOD I'm a nerd.

Being the type of person who is too cool to cry in her cube over a 2 minute trailer of a "kids movie"? That just doesn't sound too great.

all of you muggles out there can just bite me- I'm off to dryclean my cloak. You guys are the ones missing out.

I AM IN LOVE.

2009-04-06T12:00:00.000-07:00

with twitter.

Spring Fever has arrived, They called it puppy love, and I have been bitten by the bug and every other euphamism for falling in love.

Twitter.
Is.
Awesome.

It is just fast-paced enough for my super-limited attention span! Talk about your INSTANT gratification. Little spurts of adrenaline as a result of instant world-wide publication, and it still satisfies your friend AND celebrity stalking hunger with little snacks throughout the day.

**SWOON**

Twitter, where have you been all my life.

In other news, I went to a real gay bar for the first time this weekend. And I have a question. And it DEMANDS asking. IS THAT SERIOUSLY WHERE ALL THE ATTRACTIVE MEN IN DC HAVE BEEN HIDING?!?!!?

I fear that the answer is a deafening and utterly depressing "yes."

so ladies, if you've been wondering- that's where they all are. At a gay bar called "town" on saturday nights for Madonnarama. Sometimes in a dress, sometimes with their shirts off, always not where you're looking.

unless you're me circa Sat night. Then you're just plain looking in all the wrong places.

CONCERNING

2009-03-26T13:15:00.000-07:00

Just a brief little wtf.

So yesterday, as I was halfway through my commute, (which is only like 14 minutes so I have nothing to complain about,) a bus drove by with the most ridiculous ad I've ever seen.

It had a picture of a baby on it and it said "Shaking a baby shattered lives."

um....

DUH.

Then, there was a website. http://sbsprevention.com/

Now, I don't want to sound like a dumbass, but I believe "sbs" stands for Shaken Baby Syndrome.

...
...
...
There is an entire website dedicated to the prevention of it.

I'll repeat that.

Apparently, there is a group of people who need explicit instructions on how to prevent shaking a baby.

They need to be told how NOT to shake a baby.

Now, I'm not saying that it's not sad. I mean, if I had a nanny shake my kid to death, I'd be at least a little annoyed. And by annoyed I mean devastated.

BUT SERIOUSLY?!?!?! THERE'S A FOUNDATION FOR THIS?!

The people who need to be told NOT to shake the crap out of their infant probably shouldn't be procreating in the first place.

My favorite part of the website:
Shaken Baby Syndrome is100% preventable. Prevention lies in your hands.

**snicker.**

Moist.

2009-03-25T07:29:00.000-07:00

I love the number of people who HATE that word.

I think its a good thing.

I am of COURSE talking about cake!

So I'm being commissioned to make a cake for a coworker's bachelorette party, and I was trying out a new yellow cake recipe. And its awesome.

I made cupcakes last night, and they are LOOKING good.

I'm quite pleased with them.

They are super... (say it with me,) moooooiiiiiisssstttt.

Sidenote: is it weird to feel like I've somewhat made it in the baking world now that I'm actually getting paid to make a penis cake?

ham.

2009-03-16T12:17:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make.

I, Maggie Dempsey, am a ham.

I know that this is a MAJJJJOOORR shocker, but its out there.

Last night was our improv showcase and it was a ton of fun. I made my friends and fam laugh and had a killer time doing it.

the bug has bitten again :)

Let the games begin.

2009-03-11T11:40:00.000-07:00

CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP.

So now, crush #2 is fading into the background. If that ever goes down, its going to be a much longer campaign than we originally thought. He's still tied up elsewhere I believe.

AND GOLLUM HAS REASSERTED HIMSELF AS THE MAIN CONTENDER.

Last night, after our last class, we had our little shindig. It went SWIMMINGLY. He said the words "romantic", "date", and "soulmates" and I didn't freak out. Not even once. And here was how all of those things were said. When our table's candle wasn't lit, I asked my friend to light it for us and made some comment about ambiance. Gollum goes, "that's much more romantic. for our date." And Maggie "The Breeze" Dempsey goes, "yeah, all 12 of us." I MEAN RIGHT?!?!

So proud. **wipes away tear of pride**

Then, later, after my friend noted that I may want to give him a nudge because boys are generally retarded about picking up vibes, I made some comment about Archie comics, and OF COURSE, he knew about them. I was like "Seriously?!?! Get out of my head. Everything dorky I love, you love. Pirates? Lord of the Rings? Star Wars? COME ON. you were reading BRISINGR?!?! SERIOUSLY?!!" and I made him name other dorky things about himself. He named some generic things at first and I was like "come on, that's not even remotely nerdy." He was like "I've got to hold SOME of it back..."

SIGNS OF SELF CONSCIOUSNESS/VULNERABILITY?!?! Hawt.

Also, he was in band. Now, I don't know if you know this, but I was like a MAJOR band geek. Major major major.

And he mentioned some other dorky things I was flabbergasted over.

Then he goes "so we're like soulmates" and I said, NOT freaking out, NOT knocking him out of his chair to make out with his face, but with TOTAL COMPOSURE, "more like NERDmates".

I KNOW. Check me out. I'm feeling PRETTY proud of myself.

And now, we have our little showcase performance on Sunday, and we're all going to go out dancing afterwards. And he mentioned that he LOVES to dance. I'm looking forward to it.

and the cutest part of all involves the whole class. There were quite a few people who were like "is anyone else taking the next level?" Shyly, we decided that we would try to all get into the same class.

We're basically precious.

I'm hoping he never gets a hold of this link because he could DEFINITELY figure out it was him, but that's what you get for gushing about crushing to the blogosphere.

Green with Envy.

2009-03-09T13:13:00.000-07:00

I am SOOO juiced for Paddy's day.
and its great, because I get to celebrate TWICE.

Sat for SHAMROCKFEST, (before which I'm having a little shindig- lemme know if you wanna come,) and Tue for ACTUAL Paddy's day.

and yes, I'm taking Tue and Wed off of work. What about it?

So juiced.

My green gear is purchased. My friend's travel arrangements are made.

Now, I just need one good beer-and-all-of-the-ingredients-for-Irish-car-bombs run and I'll be in business.

SLAINTE!

Many good pictures to follow!

Crushin'

2009-03-04T05:58:00.000-08:00

Gollum update:
He was reading Brisingr, (which I love. Google that $h!t if you don't know it,) and is self-proclaimed "unsentimental."

I think I'm truly over it. Like, I carried on a conversation with him, no big deal. Would love to be friends, so we can geek out together. It ain't no thang.

Because....

**blaring trumpets**

I HAVE A CRUSH.
I know, right?

I, Maggie Dempsey, actually have a crush again.

Now, I'm not going to get into rhapsodizing poetic about this guy, because it's not really necessary. I'll just say that he's ADORABLE and seems thoroughly datable. And charming. **sigh**.

CRAP. No. Not daydreaming about him in blog form. What. So. Ever.

I just wanted to talk about how GREAT it feels to have a crush again! Now, dear readers, I, Maggie, USED TO BE a serial crusher. I was. I loved everyone at some point or another. But lately, its been a bit of a dry spell. And now, I feel back in the swing of it.

I gotta tell you, it feels great.
Even though it is a roller coaster of bloated ego and crippling self-consciousness, the ride is a blast. What else in life can create the same contrast of sheer elation and absolute terror without anything illegal involved? Every little thing you do takes on a different meaning. HOURS more of your day are occupied. The debate about how to wear one's hair. The excitement of those moments of eye contact that seem to linger, even if only in your own head. The thrill and temporary panic of getting tongue-tied, no matter how eloquent you normally are. The ridiculous hair flips you remember doing hours later. Reading nuance into every possible word choice and vocal inflection.

And the daydreams. OOOOOH the daydreams. It's been so nice to have a face to picture in my woolgathering. And its interesting- I must be getting slightly more mature, (read "older",) because the nature of my daydreams has shifted. I now picture not only the EXTRAVAGANT things I always have, (riding sparklie ponies, being captured at sea by his pirate ship, frolicking in fields of posies, etc.,) but now, the actually possible has filtered into my waking dreams. Giggling as we eat the cold and burned breakfast we made together. Just going to see a movie and crashing. And even the classic getting caught in the rain and guffawing, but now set in a location I might actually be at one day.

**sigh**.

Crush, even if nothing every comes of it, thanks for giving me something new to daydream about.

And if something DOES happen, hang on to your hat baby, because I've had some AWESOME ideas. It's gonna be fun.

More Gollum Greats

2009-02-18T05:05:00.001-08:00

Hello there, dear readers.

For those of you who I haven't scared off yet, I have an update.

So I am still mad at the entire population of men, but I'm not as close to nuclear meltdown as I was during my last post.

and Gollum- the hot boy from improv- he loves live Irish music.

Come.
On.

"you're my exception" my ass.

2009-02-12T13:00:00.000-08:00

I'm going to warn you up front: The following is going to be a man-hating, frustrated, ineloquent whiney rant about how love, romance, men, and modern society all suck. If you're currently in a good mood, someone I could have a shot with romantically, or easily bored, I recommend just moving on. Here are some other fun links you can read instead of this one.

To set the stage, I'll give you an update on my last post. My nerdmate, remember Gollum? yeah. Turns out he's a major asshole. In the course of our improv class, we had to tell bad date stories. Very cute. (For those of you who know me, I told the "Greased Lightning" story and wished I hadn't.) It comes to Gollum's turn, and he begins to turn me off more efficiently than any man ever has. He doesn't really "do" dates; he prefers casual hang-outs, (read: hookups.) He then talked about how he is the worst boyfriend ever and doesn't believe in, and I quote, "romance, dates, love, all that mushy crap." I'm amazed that the other people in the room couldn't hear the deafening fsssssssssssssst of my bubble swiftly deflating. I've heard this from lots of guys before, but Gollum somehow said it with such naked honesty and conviction that it counted for extra super-duper turn-off.

None of this is REALLY a shock, but it was still upsetting.

Also, the other cute guy from my class, we'll call him "plan B", def has a girlfriend. Yeah. Sweet. awesome. Even the way-too-short-guy-you-had-already-made-allowances-for-in-your-head has a girlfriend. I mean, he's a great person and all, but I thought he was flirting with me, but he probably wasn't and even if he was he's got a girlfriend so whatever just deal. Yes, I know that was one of the worst run-on sentences of all time. So sue me, I warned you this post would suck.

This final blow came after a trifecta of perfectly placed pieces of media that created the perfect storm of my current funk and motivated this post.

1. The movie "He's just not that into you." I saw it with my cousins because there was nothing else playing at the right time. It was pretty cute, lots of celebs in it, blah blah blah. The movie set up this whole new paradigm of rules which seemed to make sense to me. Most romcoms take place in a version of New York City that I would love to visit, but certainly have my doubts that it even exists. I kind of dug it. The main girl needed to shut her mouth sometimes, but she was much more honest than a lot of heroines. Then, after the movie spent all this time setting up the new rules, it broke them even worse than the usual tale of boy-meets-girl. Justin Long's character, after he has coached her in the ways to interact with men, lead her on, rejected her, then mooned after her once she finally calls him out, says "You're my exception." And it just pissed me off. SRSLY?!?!? This was only the beginning.

2. A couple of days later, I made the mistake of watching "The science of sexual attraction" or some such show. It was pretty interesting, and we enjoyed lobbing a few poorly timed and superficial comments at the scientists and the participants. Then, as they were doing a study to watch how just peoples' faces and voices were more or less attractive. The narrator said one sentence that stuck in my craw, "We each start with the most attractive and work our way down until we find someone who will accept us." Man, do I wish I had NEVER heard that sentence. Yeah, I know that its probably true. It's still just entirely too clinical and cavalier about the struggle of people trying to find one another in the bar jungle of our generation. Sidenote: I think the scale is tipped in the favor of men. The theories behind THAT will have to be a whole other post.

3. This was the lit fuse finally disappearing into the ACME made bomb, and its always the dumbest little things that will set us off. It was an article in Cosmo, the world's most prolific periodical, and it was in the section "to give to your guy." (It's really not that bad, but this was just the grain of rice that tipped the scale.) It said "do you want to show your girl that you care about her? Do her a favor. She's much more likely to be in the mood if she's not worrying about getting the oil changed."
...
...
...
ARE YOU FRIGGIN KIDDING ME?!?!?! What kind of society do we live in where an article in biggest pile of dribble of ALL TIME has to explain to anyone, male or female, that if you care about someone, you should do nice shit for them. I feel like it is a sign of the romantic apocalypse. Romance is ENTIRELY dead. And not in the sense that I'm delusional and read romance novels and there are no princes on steeds or pirates at the helm, blah blah blah. I've known that was long dead. It's even worse than all that.

Think about it. Say that you're a male between 22 and 35. Why on EARTH would you want to have a girlfriend? I feel like none of them even want one anymore. You certainly don't NEED one. There is just as much pressure about a career as there always has been, so its a viable excuse to just say you're focusing on work. (Same goes for women, but its only the beginning.) Men, from what I can gather, are innately LAZY. Girlfriends take effort. It seems as though most would choose an entire weekend of playing 38 hours of a videogame with no sleep and 5 separate pizza deliveries than a relationship. They have YEARS more of reproductive viability, so that's not an issue. They have less pressure from family and friends to settle down. And if they wanted to actually have sex, **gasp**, not a problem. There are so many attention starved BEAUTIFUL and AMAZING women that if they feel randy, they can put on a stupid button-up shirt, head out to the local bar, hook up with some woman WAY out of their league with a shot of whiskey or a long island iced tea and a minor put-down, and there's really not any expectation of calling her again.

AND THIS IS JUST RANTING ABOUT THE LACK OF DATING SCENE.
Dating. Casual. Not committed. BIG SCARY THING, isn't it?

Don't even THINK the word "married", heavens to betsy, they all just get a runnin'.

Look. I know that this is hands-down the most psycho post of mine, but I'm really not that crazy. It was really not that long ago that it was reasonable for a girl to want to get married before she was 40. Or hell, to even want to kiss a guy without it being a deathwish for their friendship. And I'm not ready for anything major, it would just be nice to get to hold hands at the movies every once in a while.

The fact that its "trendy" to be an single, womanizing douchebag is unnerving though. We now expect this from our guys, and kind of hold it up with our barside banter and self-conscious hairflips. The standards we have all come to expect, and even perpetuate is the scariest part of all.

A wise woman once told me two words, and I hope they help me make it through this hurricane of romantic jackassery. She said "never settle."
And even though it may harder than ever, I don't intend to.

Nerdmates.

2009-02-04T07:23:00.001-08:00

OMG.
So hi all! It's been a while since I've posted.
Now, I have some juicy news. Well, not juicy yet, but it's kind of fun so I felt like writing about it.

So a few weeks ago, I signed up for an improv class. I did improv in high school and loved it, miss doing theatre, need more friends, yadda yadda yadda. So I signed up for a class with Washington Improv Theater, (WIT.) I've got to tell you, it's AWESOME. I'd like to end up on one of the troupes one day, but in the meantime, I get to laugh hysterically for 2 and a half hours every Tuesday. I loves it.

So, its the first class, and I was waiting for the 15 or so drop-dead-gorgeous, crazy funny, and all-about-me-guys to walk into class that I was expecting, and then HE walked in. All of the people in my class are AWESOME. There's a lot of energy, everyone is really funny and we have a great time. And I get to flirt with some of the guys so I can dust some of my flirtskillz off. They've been out of use for a while, (question mark?) When HE walked in, (we'll call him "Gollum" and you'll find out why in a minute,) I was pretty stoked. So this kid is supercute. Great jawline, pretty fit, quite funny and SO nice. Then, he started stealing my heart away.

Each week, I have gotten a little nugget from this guy about how MUCH we have in common. The first week, he made no less than 2 Lord of the Rings references. Which, you may well know, is one of my FAVES of all time. Then, via our weekly email listing thing, I found out that his email address has "Gollum" in it. So he's not just a little bit of a dork. It must be pretty serious.

Then, the next week, he made a reference to Step Up 2 the Streets. BEST MOVIE EVER. And not just like a little reference, but it was all-out and awesome. And I thought that I and my roommates I dragged to see the movie were the only fans. Nay. He is also counted among our ranks.

I then did some friendly Internet stalking, (a phrase which cracked my dad up. It's kind of cute really, the things old people giggle at,) and I found only one hit on him. A website in which he was selling off his "Magic the Gathering" cards. HUGE. CLOSET. DORK. I'm the biggest dork I know and I don't even play MtG. Although, after a friend said it had been used as a hilarious drinking game, it no longer sounds that crazy.

And then, last night, the final nail in the coffin was driven home. I found out that he, "Gollum," is... (take a huge breath,) a huge pirates fan. We're talking wants to get a parakeet and wear it like a pirate, has a picture of Johnny Depp as CAPT Jack Sparrow, skull and crossbones, and a ship in his house. I nearly choked. It must be a sitcom, I mean COME ON. WHO IS FEEDING THIS EXTREMELY HOT GUY THE LINES?!?!?!? In retrospect, its really like he's me trapped in a superhotboy's body. We are, as my best friend so adeptly coined- as she always does- nerdmates.

**sigh**

So now the question remains: how to proceed? Does this guy's nerddom extend to a social awkwardness around women so I should take the lead? Or has his face/body been used to his hotness, although I am not, so he's never had a problem in this department so I should continue with operation "breezy and awesome"? Sigh. Also, I fear that there are a few cons I should list. He's only 22, and 2 years isn't a lot, but he just graduated, so he's most likely looking for something different in the realm of romance than I am about now. He alluded to being a bit of a ladies' man, but again, that could be the totally truth or something any dork would say as an endearing, self-deprecating "I'm such a dork" joke, although that's probably just wishful thinking. Also, there is the bubble of the class- we all love the class and it is TOTALLY drama-free, so I feel it should stay that way.

**sigh again**

I fear that I may just have to let this one slide. It may be like being stuck in a rowboat having been stranded at sea for weeks and just letting a cruiseliner with a rock climbing wall and 24/7 buffet and open bar pass you by, but it may be the best answer.

Did I mention that he's in a similar line of work as me, wears glasses sometimes, has an adorable like duck-tail-in-front hairstyle and also made a Dumb and Dumber joke?

srsly.
nerdmates.

Inbloguration.

2009-01-23T13:58:00.000-08:00

So if you're in DC, or traveled down here just for the occasion, you've heard about it. The dresses. The re-taking of the oath. The concert. The random guy who wrote "this land is your land" just wearing a flannel shirt like the people from the retirement home couldn't throw a coat on him. I went to the Mall on Sat, the concert on Sunday, and the big kahuna on Tuesday.
It was cold and miserable, but I'm glad I went.

I don't really feel like telling the whole ordeal, (I'm a little inaugurated OUT,) but I felt like it was something I should address. I guess. Whatever.

It happened, I'm glad, it was cold.

Although, to Barack- whom I really respect and wish all the luck in the world to:

no pressure.

A Letter to Santa

2008-12-19T07:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa,
Hello! I'm sure you've been FLOODED with fanmail, but I thought I'd add my letter to the fray, just in case you needed a little guidance on what to bring me. I know how hard it can be to get presents for people who don't even give you a HINT as to what they might want. So, I thought I'd be EXTRA helpful, like always :)

This year, I fear I have a pretty long list, so I know its not all likely to happen.

Here it goes.

- a mac. I know, I know. Pretty expensive, right? But I really need a computer that works so I won't want to DIE every time I make a playlist. And it won't take 2 weeks to update my ipod. AND I even promise I 'll be better about my writing! And I could get another computer, but I feel like I should just save up and get what works best for what I need. Wanna go in halfsies for it?

-The DVD of Sleeping Beauty- although I already asked my parents for it, so make sure you check with them first.

-New perfume. I don't really care what it is , but I've run out and I do like smelling pretty. I typically prefer scents that are unusual, and hopefully not too citrus-y.

-A job overseas. Not sure how much you can do for me on this one, but if you've got ANY connections, let me know and I'll send my resume.

-A new bra, preferably in a funky color.

-A boyfriend. Preferably Edward Cullen or Jack Sparrow. But even if that's not possible, an actual mortal would be just fine. Just someone to waste time with and enjoy one another's company.

Other qualities in this department are listed but not limited to:

taller than me
intelligent
funny
curly hair (not required)
attracted to me (REQUIRED)
man enough to gain my father's respect
adventurous spirit
must get along with my friends
either share or indulge in my interests
must not be TOO clingy, but still let me take care of him occasionally, while also returning the favor

so yeah. Santa, if you've been hording all of the ideal men up in your workshop at the North Pole, feel free to deliver them this year.

I've been good all year, for the most part, (and as you're always watching- you know the parts where I was slightly naughty, but I think we've already had that discussion.)

Please take care of all the elves, and tell Mrs. Clause I say hello!

Merry Christmas,

Maggie

P. S. As a note, this is meant to be in addition to all of the standard wishes for peace in the Middle East, a cure for cancer, and a pony.

mundane

2008-12-08T08:52:00.000-08:00

So, it occurs to me as I read back over my meager blog entries, that I only blog when things are like LIFE ALTERING. So my blog is a bit more heavy-handed than I prefer.

So now, I shall endeavour to include life's funny little anecdotes as well as the universe-shifting ranting.

Mundane Entry #1:
Cubicle etiquette. Do coworkers appreciate hearing your juicy story from the past weekend? This occurs to me as a coworker tells me her THOROUGHLY juicy story from this past weekend. At one point, I actually got to say, "So are you going to get it tonight? THE JACKET I MEAN---- HI YOOOO!"

And then we were giggling at the DEAFENING throat clear from my septuagenarian cube neighbor. Usually, he laughs at my antics. And on even more unfortunate occasions, he contributes his own stories that would curl your hair. So does he find it funny? Is he offended? Or did he really just have a tickle in his throat?

thoughts?

Reality Check

2008-12-05T09:57:00.000-08:00

So this is going to be a check-up on Maggie's grasp of reality.
Hmmm... open up and say "ahhhh."
Let me check your pulse and blood pressure.

Verrrrry interesting.

All vital signs are pointing to an imminent relapse of irrational desire. Symptoms last seen after the final Harry Potter book, and previous to that, the Return of the King, (if you don't know which series I'm talking about, you may as well stop reading now. It's only downhill from here.) What's the latest trigger? Vampires you say? How interesting.

That's right, I'm talking about Twilight. And I know, I know. We're just going to have to jump over all of the assumptions/eye rolling that just happened because I know. Words like "pathetic," "13 year old," and "pubescent," all just jumped to the foreground of your mind. And yes. I am all of those things. At least mentally/emotionally. Unfortunately, that's only the tip of the iceburg for all of the internal gazing I've been forced to do. I've gotta tell you, gentle reader, I'm Grade-A concerned. I mean, legit worried.

And I think I've been able to boil it down to my exact fear. Now brace yourselves, its going to be a bit of a doozy. Here I go.

I'm worried that I'm never going to feel anything as strongly or as passionately in real life as I am able to in my imagination.

There. It's out there. In the blogosphere.

So I think that I have kind of dealt with this in the past, and just kind of either gotten attached to a new piece of the Fantasy genre or eventually gone back to the monotony. Scratch that. I still watch/read/daydream about all of these things all the time.

The problem is, it isn't about the stories themselves. I loved the Twilight books, although they are definitely not the best written pieces of literature ever. And I would give the movie a B-. I mean, I thought Bella was great, better than I expected, and RobPat NAILED Edward, **swoon**, but they cut out too much dialogue. Whatever. Its not even about that.

For a while, I was wondering if I only loved these things because they were imaginary or impossible. I can't tell you the number of times I have thought and said "why is NOTHING that is cool REAL?!?!" If you've been around me at any length, I'm sure you've heard me utter these words. If not, I've definitely thought them around you. "Why can't at least one of them happen? Hogwarts? The Shire? The Black Pearl? Tattoine? Forks? Not even one? Not magic, nor hobbits, nor pirates, nor the force, nor vampires? NOT ONE?!?" Now that I look at it, I'm not sure these are required to fill the void their stories leave behind. Sure, any one of them would be amazing, but if something like that existed, would I even appreciate it? Maybe it does, but it doesn't seem as fantastic because it is possible.

Lord knows I am beginning to understand the people in costume at the RenFaire (**cough** **cough**,) although maybe not the stormtroopers just yet. And although I poke fun, I begin to realize I am in exactly the same boat they are in. And I suppose that there is a sort of comfort in the fact that other people feel as strongly and as wistfully as I do for stories that are not necessarily ours. The problem is, even if you are dressed in a funny outfit of another time and place, it almost seems like a mockery. It becomes more apparent that no matter how badly you want it, fantasy cannot become reality. The pirate hat is merely a tease. Going with just pretending is not going to be a full solution. at least not for me. Sure its fun, but it doesn't tackle the bigger issue.

No, I think the problem is easier to solve than that. The thing that links all of these imaginary universes together is the emotion the creatures in them feel. All of these stories are epic on some level. Some trial or struggle seems to be taking place. And the characters in them are responsible for way the story will end. To overcome the strife, the characters are tested. They must have bravery, fortitude, creativity, love, faith, strength, imagination. Any number of virtues each of us would want to discover in ourselves.

Maybe the issue is that I haven't been tested. What situation have I been in where I would get to see what kind of person I am? How brave would I be before a dragon? Would I be able to escape a prison to save someone I loved? Could I lead a group of people to their freedom despite all of the odds? Will I ever need to stand against fate for love?

There is one type of challenge that the Frodos and the Edward Cullens and the Jack Sparrows rarely face. The challenge of patience. Of facing monotony and apathy and mediocrity. The fact that some of these heroes are reluctant to go boggles the mind. They always seem to want the calm routine of home. I've seen that part- not so great. The question comes to mind, do they seek their challenges? Or do circumstances present themselves that give our heroes the opportunity to rise to the occasion?

So now, I suppose I must just resign myself to searching for my epic challenge. There must be tales yet to be told that will require the same level of emotion, right? If my choices are moping and daydreaming, or remaining hopeful, the choice seems simple. So now we arrive at the only productive result: resolve. I must use the epic strength of resolve to be patient and not only seek out whatever my own adventure is supposed to be, but also believe that I will find it.

And so, I check my map and compass, adjust my pack. I look around my group of companions with a wry smile and a light joke.

And we set out on the path that ends we know not where.

La Traviata

2008-09-19T05:34:00.000-07:00

Last night, a lovely friend and I had the opportunity to exhibit our "culture vulture" sides. As Leah put it, "We are TOTALLY cultured."

And it was BEAUTIFUL. Just the atmosphere of the other opera-goers is enough to give anyone that tingling of anticipation. Although we brought the average age of the audience by a solid 20 years, it was spectacular.

From the first whispered strains, before the curtain even rose, I was hooked. The entire production was sheer opulence. All of the costumes were to DIE for, and all the scenery was lush in every aspect. One of Violetta's dresses nearly brought tears to my eyes- and not from being so emotional ,but because it was SO SPARKLY. SHINIEST DRESS EVER. Which in this girl's opinion, makes it the awesomest ever. And the physicality required of the actors/singers/operalias was so impressive. Having no microphones to speak of, and reaching every single ear in a packed house of hundreds just gave me goosebumps- let alone the soaring high "c's". Being able to not only sing like that, but to have to ACT it well enough so that hundreds of people who don't understand the words you're saying can emote along with you? It's just amazing. I guess there's a reason that its such a prestigious artform. Not a major shocker, but its still nice to be able to appreciate it.

And you have to love ANY artform that has an ending like this: Violetta, who has just been reunited with her life's love while on her deathbed, seems to get a burst of strength, leading us to believe that perhaps she can be healed and go on living and loving. She stands on her own, singing of her newfound strength, sings "OH JOY" (in Italian) at her happiness, hugs Alfredo, then dies in his arms (insert cartoony sound of deflating balloon in my mind.) Now I was already crying at this point, but I was waiting for the cathartic song after that where Alfredo perhaps mourns her. Maybe he would find new purpose and promise to love again, or perhaps grow bitter and carry on his days in agony without his love, but Opera, apparently, doesn't give you that. Just "Oh Joy!" **pfffffffffft.** I was left wondering "what is the message of this? Don't get tuberculosis? It was worth it to die for honor? God is an unjust jerk? Love is fleeting? She deserved it because she was previously a courtesan?"

The more I thought about it, the more my need to tie all of the strings up seemed a product of modern entertainment. For all of its over-the-top melodrama, and beyond realistic emotion, maybe Opera is closer to real-life than I previously gave it credit for. Sometimes, drama or tragedy just happens, without rhyme or reason; without catharsis. In the real world, like La Traviata, sometimes the Violettas truly just die. And I was sad to see her go, but you've got to admit, she went out with style.

Regeneration

2008-08-06T07:32:00.000-07:00

We women are all these little compact universes. Each of us have a sense of infinity about us- ever expanding, (not just our asses.) We are always searching, growing, puzzling through. Nothing is ever truly complete or final. This isn't to say that we are necessarily pessimists or perfectionists (at least not all of us.) It means that there is always an optimism or opportunity. Maybe it is why or because we are the carriers of life. This belief in the eternal possibility of just that thing we do- regeneration.

Most men are finite creatures. That is not to say boring or lazy, necessarily, (although it must be noted that these are definite possibilities,) but just looking at a man, it seems truly possible to know everything there is to know about him. Men can really close up an issue and lock it up and truly never think about it again.

Woman, to man's chagrin, rarely, if ever, forgets.

And then- she's usually only pretending to forget.

The Dentist Test

2008-07-24T06:32:00.000-07:00

CHOOSE ACTION.
This is going to be my new mantra. I saw "Wanted" last night, (and I TOTALLY thought Angelina was hot- never been a fan of hers before, but yeesh. Now I get it.) The last line stuck with me, as I think it was intended to. "What the fuck have you done lately?"

My honest answer? Nothing I've wanted to. I realize its a bit cliche and/or cheesy to be reinvigorated by an action movie, but hey- if the shoe fits.

So I'll let you in on a little secret- my job sucks. Yeah, I know everyone's job sucks, so I guess I'm part of everyone. But I'm to the point where I'm wishing I could muster the give-a-shit to actually do something about it.

I read in the most recent issue of GQ, (one of the best written magazines on the rack,) that if your job doesn't past "the dentist test" you should look for something new. If going to the dentist seems like a vacation from your job, its not good enough. And I have to tell you, my job fails the dentist test abysmally. Going to the gyno is like Christmas come early because I have an excuse to not be here for a few hours. The gyno. Girls, you know that this illustrates how bad it is.

And so, I'm now CHOOSING ACTION.
You can lead a horse to water, and all that. Nothing is just going to fall into your lap- you have to seek it. Go out there and make something happen.
And I fully intend to do so.
I'm going to write, apply for jobs, excercise, initiate new friendships, get comfortable with going to the bar on my own, etc ad nauseum.

Who knows?
Maybe something exciting will happen.

Dorky books

2008-06-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

So I just finished reading the "Twilight" saga- well the three books that are out- and I wanted to geek out about it.

Two words:
SO HOT.

Whenever I was reading and would have random outbursts of "OMG I JUST WANNA HAVE VAMPIRE SEX!" my roomates just politely shook their heads and ignored me.
(Actually, on second thought- shouldn't they have been more weirded out? Have I really desensitized them THAT much? Hmmm.... must think on that later.)

But I'm TORN! I know that this debate is the same one that every pubescent, fantasy-reading, dorky girl like me is thinking- but EDWARD OR JACOB?!?! I have to say that I was appalled that it was even going to be a choice at the beginning of the book. I mean, COME ON?! Who doesn't want to jump Edward's bones? But Jacob, I'm forced to admit, had quite the healthy rally. Having babies and eventually dying with the awesome best-friend type? Or immortal eternity with the one who you're obviously supposed to be with.

Ain't that the eternal question?

Yikes.

So I'm stressing. And not working.

I do have to say that I'm almost thankful I didn't discover this gem of a series earlier, because I'm fairly certain I'd flip out if I had to wait even LONGER for the last book in the series.

And I miss Harry Potter. (Seemingly unrelated, but if you're reading this and are a fan of both, you understand how they are linked.)

Which brings me to another painful conclusion I draw again and again after I finish another fantasy book.

NOTHING THAT IS COOL IS EVER REAL.

Pirates? Hobbits? Dragons? Magic? Hogwarts? Vampires? Werewolves? Mermaids? Fairies?

None of it. Not even one thing is real. I mean, COME ON. Not one teensy weensy little element of fantasy can come true?

**sigh**

I suppose that's why they call the genre fantasy.

Part of your WORLD

2008-06-17T05:39:00.000-07:00

So, when I was on my awesome trip to NYC, I dragged my friends to go see The Little Mermaid. We were tired as hell, got ripped off on the tickets, and it was DEFINITELY aimed at 8 year old little girls, but I have to tell you, I loved it.

A SPARKLING NEW MUSICAL?
If you know anything about me, (and I think you do,)
you KNOW I'm in.

But I think that I discovered something about my adult self, in the midst of all the FUCKING AWESOME shinies and shpanglies.

Flash back to Maggie, aged 5.
Her dad is a Submariner, (pronounced sub-mah-REEN-er, not sub-MARE-in-er, thank you very much,) and he is about to leave on deployment for 6 months. Before he goes, he takes Maggie on a date, (they let Mom come along too.) On this date, they go see The Little Mermaid at the theater. They watch it, and as the lights come up, Mom and Dad look down at Maggie and she is BAWLING. Mom goes, "Maggie, what's wrong?!?" She replies, "SHE LEFT HER DADDY!" and continues sobbing.

Flash to present.
Maggie still has the same sentiment. I still HATE the ending. I mean, I appreciate it for what it is, but it seems like a raw deal. Let's review. She could either- hang out with her dad, and all her sisters and her friends and be A MERMAID. OR she could go be with this other douchebag. I mean, sure he's handsome, but still- not a fair deal. ( I think that this may also be telling of my mixed sentiments towards the male race, but that's going to have to be discussion on a separate post. Can't live without them, can't live without them!)

On broadway, I still cried at the ending, as I suspected- but I cried earlier in the show too, at a point that surprised me.

I cried at "Part of your world". And not just becuase it was beautifully performed, although it definitely was- I still get goosebumps thinking about it. I think there was a bit of sadness behind it. I remember totally sympathizing with Ariel at that point when I was smaller. There was still a great big exciting world out there, and I just couldn't wait to be a part of it. It was going to be fabulous and shiny and an adventure.

And now, I'm allegedly part of that world.

I gotta tell ya, its not quite living up to my 5 year-old-self's expectations.

I guess I was feeling a bit of loss at not still having that sense of passionate wonder and hope and expectation for some great big unknown.

I do think that it has kind of motivated me, after the fact. There is still wonder our there. Sure, its a little harder to obtain- but its possible. And even if its not marrying prince Eric in the dress with the big puffy sleeves- its out there.

And maybe it'll be even more wonderful because now I appreciate how much it should mean to me. And having to work that much harder for it makes it that much more valuable.

so...
watch and you'll see
someday I'll be
part of your world.

I feel silly

2008-06-10T12:57:00.000-07:00

Alright, so I just accidentally signed up for a blog.
or did I...

I'm thinking it was a sub-conscious choice.

So now I have somewhere to write so I can still look busy at work.
I don't have to tell anyone about it- but its out there.

So cool! I'll start.

So I just got back from the best trip EVER.
I went to NYC with my two best friends on the PLANET, Mo and Meggie, and our other "all-of-a-sudden-really-good friend", Dennis.
I could tell you about the events- which were awesome. Drinking, and walking, and taking thousands of pictures. Going to a Yankees game, playing in Central Park, eating good food, more drinking, seeing The Little Mermaid on Broadway, and all of the other AMAZING things we did- but that wouldn't be describing why it was the best trip ever.

It was the best time ever, because with these people, its truly about just being together. Its all the dumb little details that fill in the big events. Its the things that made us laugh our asses off, (making me spit out whatever I was drinking 3 times, which I never do.)

Its the little funny things we said, that are already forgotten, despite our attempts to live-action document all of the quotes. Its the feeling that you can truly do or say anything, and these people will still be there.

AND JUST HAVING FUN! God, I had forgotten how fun it can be to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Its weird. That's something that can only come from the right combo of people.

Its both heart-wrenching and perfectly ironic that I would have known how rare all of this was only after it wasn't in the foreground of my life. I used to get to see these people every single day- and I was probably better than most at realizing how freaking special and awesome it was.

I just didn't know how truly rare it would turn out to be.

I'm glad that not only do I have that in my life, however infrequently face-t0-face interaction may occur, but I'm also half-glad that it doesn't happen all the time.

It doesn't make my friendships with these amazing people any more special- that'd be impossible.
It just makes me realize it.