05.30.08
Now That I Finally Know
Originally, I had a very different kind of post written for after the movie. In it, I was light-hearted and silly and my words conveyed my sight-unseen-certainty that it would be everything I wanted it to be. And without any hints or spoilers of any kind here, I will tell you that it is that and more.
A few hours ago, I sat fidgeting in my seat in a crowd of scantily-clad and stiletto-heeled women. I forewent my beloved movie nachos for fear they’d be too much of a distraction. I laughed, I applauded, I wept. After years of the same old moves on TBS, Sex is just as good as it ever was.
But it’s the kind of Sex that makes me feel…reflective. The words I’d intended were mentally deleted even before the lights dimmed. In their place, I was remembering how I first came upon the show as a freshman in college and the embarrassment I felt at liking something that spoke so frankly about sex, until my friends admitted to watching it too. Soon we all were watching it together every Sunday night.
And I was reflective of all that has happened since. A lot to say the least. Four apartments. A handful of boyfriends- one or two serious. A master’s degree. Two jobs. The friends I watched season one with are now long gone (although one disturbingly pops up on my bus route to work more often than I’d like), the heart I thought had felt love and been broken at the time had another thing coming, and I finally found balance in my life.
Six years of what might seem like a silly TV show, but had this undeniable presence in shaping my beliefs and perceptions about love and friendship and myself. I’m amazed at the memory of who I was at 18, watching it on TV in secret. And I’m amazed at who I’ve become, going to see the movie in downtown Chicago, coming home to my own apartment undergoing its own redecoration (the new couch arrives tomorrow!).
In this reflective state, I watched this movie and I got it. It felt authentic. Maybe it always would have, maybe I’m grasping at straws, or maybe it’s the life experiences I’ve had of my own since 2004 that vouch for accuracy. At any rate, I’m sure you’ll have reflections of your own. Oh, and of course, that you’ll love it.
05.28.08
36 Hours, 4 Minutes, 21 Seconds
I had a bad dream last night. A very bad dream. I dreamt that my pre-purchased ticket to the midnight showing of the Sex and the City movie was actually for Saturday night rather than tomorrow. Horrible, no?
Upon waking, I confirmed that in my haste to procure a ticket the moment they went on sale, I still managed to get one for the first publicly available showing in Chicago. Is it cliche yet to say I can’t wait?
With all the gossip on plot lines and costume changes swirling about these days, I’ve become hyper-vigilant to accidentally acquiring too much information about the movie’s outcome. I. Do. Not. Want. To. Know. So help me God.
But while the world screams and wails with glee at their weekend-long cosmo-guzzling SATC parties, I’ll be playing Scrabble and eating at Panera with my grandma. That is not a complaint, mind you. But, more than my own fanaticism, this is largely why I will be up and about long past my bedtime tomorrow night. It is my earliest and only chance to see what happens before next week. And I simply cannot stand not knowing what happens for that long. Or risk surreptitiously finding out.
I know that this movie may turn out to be a horrible disappointment, that all our hopes for Carrie and Big may come to naught, that the improbability of four fast friends such as these to amass let alone maintain such posh lifestyles in New York will become even more glaringly unrealistic, that in the end we’ll be reminded that life is not a fairy tale after all. And I don’t care.
My only real hope for the plot is to find out how they all became friends in the first place- like they did that time on Friends when Monica was in a fatsuit and Rachel was pre-nose job. As boring as that sounds, I’ve always wondered and wished they’d have told us that rather than Big’s name (which I’ve since, and perhaps purposely, forgotten because he will always be ‘Big’) in the finale.
Even so, it may be that as it grows light out and I finally crawl into bed, I’ll fall asleep easily rather than lay awake tossing and turning from the adrenaline rush of what I’ve just seen. Maybe.
Despite the real potential for a real letdown, somehow I feel certain that, at the very least, the movie will be a feast for my fashion-hungry eyes. And besides, isn’t it always better to have loved and lost than to have never [found out what the movie would be like] at all?
05.22.08
Bad Bridesmaid: Part 4
I’m swimming in a sea of wedding registries. Soup tureens. Fluted stemware. Salad spinners. A Nintendo Wii (people, you don’t have to get married to get one). Satin Balance flatware. Matte pointelle fine bone china. The Magic Bullet (not that magic bullet- the one “as seen on TV”). Spatulas, gravy ladles, napkin rings, chargers, decanters, pepper mills, butter dishes. A chainsaw (seriously).
WeddingPalooza ’08 has hit its stride. Wedding #1 (gift card- got to the registry too late) culminated in mid January, and Wedding #2 (pancake batter dispenser, batter bowl, spatulas, silicone oven mitt, and dish towels- because she loves pancakes and makes really good ones) takes place Sunday. And now it’s onto the next: I’m perusing options for Wedding #3 and #4 for August, with shower gifts to be purchased for June and July respectively.
In general, I’m of the mindset that wedding presents should be memorable, personal, and useful. But each of the couples comprising WeddingPalooza ’08 also cohabitate (in one case for five years), which means they already have a lot of this stuff anyway.
So, I was thinking, how funny would it be if “the couple who already has everything” registered at, oh, I don’t know….Skymall for example. They could request such fine items as…
This classy decorative wall hanging; only $98.95: 
Or this hot dog cart for a whopping $499.99, which could also serve as an extra source of income during the summer months:
Or this mini big foot sculpture for the garden, available now at the affordable price of $98.95: 
Or perhaps even a new-fangled “Litter Robot” ($299.99) for the cat-loving couple: 
I mean, who wouldn’t want these prizes of domestic bliss?
In all seriousness though, I really do love picking out the perfect card and present and wrapping it up all fancy like. I’ve just reached the point where I can’t keep everyone’s shower and wedding presents and registries separate. And the floor of my bedroom is beginning to look like I’ve registered at Crate & Barrel!
Note: No, you can’t register at Skymall (yet), but you can set up a “wishlist” (for one of these perhaps?).
05.21.08
Toolbag Wednesday #7: Hyuk Norris
It was only a matter of time really. In fact, now that I think of it, I’m surprised he hasn’t had a showing until now.
My boss, Shucky, AKA Hyuk Norris, Count Hyukula, Hyukleberry Finn, Hyukzilla, Hyuk Bass (gotta give me the Gossip Girl reference); is THE most obvious Toolbag of all. Prime Toolbag material.
So what prompted his finally appearing on this the seventh Wednesday in Toolbag Town? Where do I begin?
Let’s see…the fact that he is so dubbed “Hyuk” due to his unfortunate penchant at *incredibly fake* laughter which makes the nomenclature not only my sole opportunity at creativity on the job but also an appropriate onomatopoeia (i.e. his loud and obnoxious laugh sounds exactly like it’s spelled: “hyuk”- repeated in rapid succession).
Or perhaps its the micro-managing of which I have previously blogged. Or his sincere love of the phrase “quick and dirty” (EW!) in reference to getting projects done, which is rife with irony as I’m on version 22 of a press release from December…..typically something that, by definition, is intended to be important and timely.
Or perhaps his tendency to run around the office every time a new piece of work, fortuitously in his mind, drops from the sky and he gets to freak out and turn everything into a “fire drill.” Or how he stinks up his office, the conference room, the hallway…anywhere within a 10-foot radius with the nicotine that spews from his mouth and oozes from every pore.
To me, these are all great reasons to award him the Toolbag Trophy; however, they’re so rampant that the exposure has nearly desensitized me to their annoying toolbaggery. Also, I feel guilty because underneath it all he’s actually a nice person who just unfortunately cares a bit too much about his stupid little job as a MIDDLE MANAGER. Seriously dude, chill the fuck out. You’re not that important.
Ultimately though, he gets the Toolbag title for his excessively unsanitary habit of taking print outs of work into the men’s room that he then hands off with scribbled comments to me and others in the department. It’s just wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong.
I mean, what does he do with those papers while, you know, uh…yeah. God, even the thought of him in there with something that moments later will reappear on my desk turns my stomach. I don’t want to know. I don’t even want to think of the mechanics involved. And I certainly don’t want his personal business on my professional business. Ever. Ever ever.
That shit’s just nasty (no pun intended).
05.20.08
It’s a Bittersweet Happiness, Really
Mostly it’s a good thing. But then there’s that one day that proves harder than the others.
Waking up, you just know. The dreams about closure and good bye don’t help. In them you’re working through what you can’t seem to otherwise. But in the daylight there’s everything that comprises a life to fill the hours until you’re home again. Where it’s quiet. Where you can think as much or as little about it as you allow.
Maybe in those waning hours you indulge your tendency to wallow. You let yourself acknowledge your sadness again at how it all turned out. It’s not an angry sentiment- not anymore- certainly not what you left with.
It’s the learning to live without him and the letting go. It’s the memories that wrap around you- sometimes a comfort, others still a choking pang. It’s the learning to let that be enough, to somehow have that be okay too.
Some days are harder than others still- to have known him, but now…
Harder to know what love is- how complicated and painful it became- and to willingly choose this time to let it fade away.
05.18.08
Pour One for the Homies at Starbucks
I was at Starbucks yesterday for a blueberry scone and grande coffee, and asked them to leave room for cream. After, as I stood at the counter pouring it and the sugar into the cup, I watched three other people come over and pour out the top quarter of their drinks and begin to also add cream and sugar. Which got me to thinking…
What with all the “green” talk these days and fears of being wasteful of anything (I’ve even taken to washing out and recycling my plastic sandwich baggies), it seems, well…wasteful to just pour perfectly good and *expensive* coffee into the garbage like that. Just think about how many people do that at one Starbucks, let alone any coffee establishment, in a given morning.
And then it hit me. As I watched another guy pour out his coffee, I was this……….close to asking him if it was “for the homies” (I decided not to lest he think this Crazy was trying to hit on him or something). But it made me smile and maybe it will make you do the same.
I don’t know what Starbucks would do with all that coffee, but maybe they could turn it into some kind of “science fair thingie” and have a community bucket where people dump that excess instead of throwing it out.
Or they could turn it into a charity type thing where when the bucket level reaches a certain point, they then would donate like a $1 or something for some water project or free trade thing somewhere in the world.
And even though it’s not like they could resell it or anything, I think it might encourage people to think about their own wasteful habits and give them an opportunity to take a portion of their purchased product that they would normally throw out and turn it into a donation.
I don’t know. It’s not really a fully cultivated thought. But they might want to look into something like that because, you know, they’re actually closing Starbucks these days.
P.S. I’m making my own coffee at home this morning.
05.16.08
Toolbag Wednesday #6: Andy Bernard & My Tivo
Happy Belated Toolbag Wednesday. For this week, it seems that my Tivo and Andy Bernard were in cahoots.
A big thank you to my Tivo for inexplicably not recording the first 17 minutes of last night’s The Office finale. WTF?
After an afternoon at the Cubs game, I had sauntered home on my two-beer buzz, only to fall into a three hour nap. Awakening with a sixth sense of there being something seriously wrong, I rolled out of bed into the living room to find that the red light on the Tivo was dark. For whatever freaking reason, the season pass that’s set up to record any and all Office episodes didn’t pick it up at all and if I hadn’t woken up when I did, I’d have missed the whole damn thing! Stupid Tivo. If I didn’t normally love you so much, I’d say you just tapped the keg on haterade.
And then, there’s the second toolbag for the week: namely, one Andy Bernard. Seriously, what a douche. Just as all of our Jam (Jim + Pam) hopes were coming to fruition, he steals Jim’s thunder. Jackass.
Pam’s disappointment, her face at the end of the night when she admitted she really thought he would ask, was so sad, such a let-down, that felt so…familiar.
Of course, I didn’t think the whole proposal thing would be smooth sailing- because how is that “good TV” after all?- but I guess, deep down, I hoped it would be.
Stupid Andy. I know you’re just a character on a TV show, but if I saw you walking down the street, I’d throw a burrito at you. Even if I had to go buy one just to do it. Or maybe just spit my gum at you instead. Toolbag.
05.08.08
Foot Maxi Pads
This is straight up the nastiest thing EVER.
I was watching TV the other night and this commercial for “ancient Japanese” Kinoki foot pads came on. Apparently, they *miraculously* detox your whole body of such harmful things as mercury, asbestos, lead, and cellulite. Sounds pretty sweet, right?
To help explain the “science” behind these Always with Wings for your feet, they offer up diagrams and charts and “consumer feedback.” They even have this handy graphic that draws a parallel between the way a tree brings in energy through its leaves and then expels “byproduct” through its roots. I’m no botanist or anything, but don’t trees pull in water and nutrients through their leaves and roots?
As I sat mesmerized by the sheer stupidity I was witnessing, the commercial proceeded to show a Lifetime TV-style reenactment of a gullible crazy-assed lady affixing these pads before crawling into bed. Now, I’m thinking that those things would peel right off in the middle of the night and end up lodged at the bottom of the bed, buried between the covers like that one sock that always ends up missing until you change the sheets.
And then, when she wakes up– I don’t know if Crazy’s husband is playing tricks on her in the middle of the night or what– she *happily* removes her foot pad without the slightest bit of disgust at what she sees:
Are you screaming yet? BECAUSE I AM!
Seriously, WTF?!?!?!?!?!?! I don’t know about you, but if my foot spawned something like this I would a) throw up, b) see a doctor, and c) apologize profusely to the poor soul sharing the bed with me as I threw him out and burned all the linens.
Don’t these people WASH their feet? Seriously people, WASH YOUR FEET. And don’t eat asbestos. That’s not cool.
05.07.08
Toolbag Wednesday #5: Bubble Skirts
Formerly perceived to be an anomaly of the bridal industry (see my bubbletastic bridesmaid dress for August wedding #1), bubble skirts seem to be cropping up everywhere this spring.
Are we really going there? Really? Is this what we’re doing now?
For example, in a quick perusal of Nordstrom’s online recommendations for wedding guests, these fine specimens of dress-making savvy appeared…..
Demure bubble (I’d be ashamed too):
Overpriced bubble ($630!!!!!):
I hate the bride bubble (how can they seriously be recommending white for a wedding?):
Cracked out bubble (go big or go home):
The only good reason that I can think of for owning a bubble skirt (other than not having a choice, i.e. the servitude of bridesmaidhood) is the potential that the hemming could anchor a skirt in place in a brisk Chicago gale. But even the convenience of not having to worry about flashing my lady bits to innocent bystanders isn’t a strong enough provocation (for me at least) to buy one. That and I’m a big believer in underwear…even a terrorist thong.
I stand on principle and assert that bubble skirts are hateful; toolbags even. They discourteously muck up (above examples excluded- those dresses are too far gone to be helped) what would otherwise be innocuous hemlines. Why bubble? Why?
05.06.08
OMFG: Gossip Girl Recap
Oh my effing God! We’re all still squealing in the office this morning. Gossip Girl was freaking AWESOME last night!!!! Tell me you’ve seen it. Anyone? Anyone?
If you didn’t catch the episode, then do not read this. If you did, have at it. You won’t be disappointed.
All I can say is a big thank you to my coworkers who brought me begrudgingly over to the dark side last fall. I can’t believe I might have missed out on all this teenage angst and Upper East Side drama. Especially now that Socialite Rank is defunct.
In fact, last night’s episode was so good that after Serena’s bloated tear-stained confession to Blair (and I realize what I’m about to say verges on sacrilege- more than my blog title?), I couldn’t have cared less about what happened (or didn’t happen) on The Hills.
