Why I need to blog more often

So I'm sitting in this coffee shop. There's a guy to my left: button-down shirt, slacks, bent over a calculator, scribbling numbers on a sheet of looseleaf paper. On my right, the poster girl for hipsters: big glasses, skinny braid-as-headband, hemp purse and, of course, the requisite coffee and iPhone. Based purely on appearance, the only thing these two people appear to have in common is the fact that they're currently sharing air at the same place.

BUT!

She cannot stop looking at him, and these are not just any looks. She's enamored. She's enraptured. She has never seen anything so cute in all her life as this boy and his calculator, and with every glance, she's practically pleading with him to look up and just NOTICE HER ALREADY.

He just dropped his calculator. He leans over to pick it up and for a second, for just a second, he looks like he finally might notice her looking at him ... and then he goes back to his calculator.

OH, MY GOSH. I CANNOT EVEN STAND THIS RIGHT NOW!

Is this thing on???

I don't even know if anyone comes here anymore, but just in case: I suck. I mean, REALLY suck. I always swore I would never be one of those people who just disappeared and then I did. I didn't REALLY disappear, though, I swear. I just sort of went on ... hiatus.

(Lame. So lame. I know.)

SO. I'm coming back for real, I think, pretty soon. I'm not totally sure when, and I'm not totally sure what it will look like, but I'll be doing something.

(If anyone's around to read it anymore!)

P.S. Yes, I am totally watching the Emmy red carpet show right now. I AM the same girl, after all!!!

Back from the dead

I am not really dead. If I ever DO die, my friend Allee has strict instructions to post the details of my demise. So ... see? I do care! Even though my poor little blog totally has grounds to file for divorce and take the kids away by reason of abandonment these days.

Which is basically my way of saying: Yes, I know I suck. I swear I don't know where the days go. It has been an extremely overwhelming month--not, like, BAD, but busy, so, so busy, compounded by the fact that I would rather sit on the bathroom floor filing my toenails and talking about how busy I am than, you know, actually UN-busy myself. The job has been very busy. Do you know I have a mininum of 42 meetings a month now? 42 meetings! In 20 workdays!

Blah blah blah. I know.

Everything is really good, though. I really can't complain about anything ever, because I have a good job and I know lots of good people AND I even got to go away last week and reclaim a few shreds of my sanity (a few shreds is all I really need anyway). So I'm great, and I hope you're great too. I WILL be better about posting, because I do miss it, but I'm also thinking about giving the whole Twitter thing a shot so that when I can't get a whole post together, I can still do something. I say "give it a shot" because you know I can't commit to anything, least of all a publishing device that limits me to only 140 characters a pop, but I'm here if you're interested and we'll see how it goes. And no, I haven't really posted anything or started following anyone yet, but I will!

In the meantime, a couple of little nuggets:

* I read two books on my little vacay. One was A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby, which I liked very much (f-bombs aplenty, but so funny). The other was a compilation of essays from the Modern Love column in the New York Times. I ADORE Modern Love--I read it every Sunday. If you've never read it, this excellent column from Mother's Day is a good place to start.

* Oh! I also read Emily Giffin's new book The Heart of the Matter before I left. She is on tour now and I was able to go to one of her signings. If you ever have the chance to go see her, I highly recommend doing so. She is wonderful--I just adore her--and the book is great (of course).

* Lost finale ... any opinions? I liked it on its own (I was VERY happy Sawyer and Juliet ended up together) and I like the messages about human connection and everything. At first I was a little bugged that they didn't answer ANYTHING, but the more I let it marinate a little I think I liked it.

* I'm going to a wedding on Saturday and I don't know what to wear.

* I don't even know what I'm wearing to work today, I'm supposed to know what I'm wearing five days from now?

* I hope you're all having a great week. I promise I won't be gone as long this time!

What I've been up to

I cannot believe I've had a post about urinals at the top of my blog for so long. I mean ... URINALS. Things I've been doing lately that have nothing to do with urinals:

I got promoted. This is a good thing--I mean, I've only been here 18 months--but it's a stressful thing, too.

I've been hanging out with him. I've also been hanging out with the guy who introduced us and ... yeah. I don't know.

I met up with Miss Manic in the Big Apple, which was super duper totally awesome and fun (of course!). I hadn't seen her in forever, and she was just exactly the same in all of the very best ways.

I've completely neglected my DVR. I've kept up with Lost, Survivor and Modern Family, and that's about it.

I've been listening to this song like a crazy person (161 times since I downloaded it like a week ago ... holy crap, I really AM crazy). At first I thought the video was like what??? but now I kind of like it. I TOTALLY get the song.

I've also fallen madly in love with the last Phoenix album, especially the song Rome (and especially the 2:15-3:15 part of the song).

I've almost emotionally eaten my way through a box of Yodels. Why Yodels? Why indeed. Why not?

I've tried to figure out a vacation with my friend Allee. My only requirements: sand and water, not prohibitively expensive. Any suggestions?

I've tried to figure out a gift for a bridal shower I'm going to on Saturday. Do I get something from the registry? Do I get a gift card? (I know her, but not INCREDIBLY well--I'm friends with her fiance.) Any suggestions?

So ... yeah. That's me. What about you? What have you been up to lately?

The great urinal debate

So you know that show The Marriage Ref? It's a very polarizing show among my friends--some people like it, some people hate it--but what we can all agree on is that it's much better to watch with a group of people. The other night, we flip it on during a couple of minutes of downtime at work and we're presented with the hot topic to end all hot topics: Should a man be allowed to put a urinal in the house?

Me: "I mean ... is this even a discussion? NO. They're GROSS. They look DISGUSTING."
Guy No. 1: "I don't really see a downside."
Me: "The downside is that they're DISGUSTING."
Guy No. 2: "But they save water. And they're easier to clean."
Me: "Really? How many urinals have you cleaned?"
Guy No. 2 (after a long pause): "OK, they LOOK easier to clean."
Me: "And what about the aesthetics? I don't want my makeup and my hair things and all the rest of my stuff right next to a urinal."
Guy No. 3: "Well, I don't want that stuff near my urinal, how's that?"

It's a simple question, a stupid question, really, because who in the world is actually going to put a urinal in their house, but it ignites a three-day (yes, that's right, THREE DAYS) discussion on the topic. Every time someone walks in the room, they're greeted with the question. No hello, no how are you. Just a: "So. Would you put a urinal in your house?"

We debate the "splatter" effect. We delve into urinal etiquette. We Google the cost of a urinal vs an ordinary toilet. We talk about urinals far more than any group of educated, professional adults in America should.

Me: "Who even WANTS to pee standing up? Sometimes it's RELAXING to sit down. You ever think of that?"
Guy No. 4: "Don't worry. You'll get so used to having a urinal in our bathroom, you won't even notice it after a while."

Ha freaking ha.

(P.S. I am so glad I'm a girl.)

Houston, we have a problem

So. I'm at work, and as I often do at work, I get up to go to the bathroom. I walk out of the stall, look myself over in the mirror as I wash my hands and ... ohhhhhh, no. No, no, no, no, no, HELL TO THE NO.

I immediately walk back to my desk (this is my first mistake) and then (second mistake) ask the guy next to me if he notices anything different about my hair.

"What?" he says.

"Anything, you know ..." I start tugging on individual strands of hair to give him a clue, and then I just give up and half-blurt, half-scream: "DO YOU SEE A GRAY HAIR ON TOP OF MY HEAD? DO YOU? IS IT BLONDE OR IS IT GRAY? I CAN'T TELL BUT I THINK IT'S GRAY AND I KNOW I JUST HAD A BIRTHDAY BUT AHHHHHHH I CAN'T HANDLE THIS DAY OR THIS WEEK OR THIS WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. I CANNOT HANDLE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW."

By now I've attracted a bit of a crowd, all male, who start picking through the top of my head like a bunch of monkeys.

"It's a little lighter, but it might just be the lighting in here. The lighting blows in this place."
"Look, it's shorter, like it's broken off. I don't think it's gray, I think it's just broken."
"My wife's younger than you and she has some gray hair. She's, like, REALLY self-conscious about it, too. Like, REALLY. Which, I mean, I can totally understand--" He's interrupted by one of the other guys: "Dude, NOT HELPING."
"I can't tell. I'm color blind." (Pause.) "Is there a color blind test online? I want to take it."

I resist the urge to yank it out, start rocking myself in the fetal position and pretend the whole sordid thing never happened, because you know if you do that you're cursed forever and, like, 75 million of them appear in its place. Now, I can't find it. Which means it really is blonde and is blending in with the rest of the blonde hair. Which is the story we are sticking to for the next day, week, month, 50 years if we have to.

Let's talk about the Oscars

OK. It's a little after 9 pm and we've made it through the red carpet, the opening monologue and the first half hour of awards. Let's pick it up from here, shall we?

* My friend Allee can back me up on this: I called the Neil Patrick Harris thing an hour before the show. I swear I did, Seacrest dropped a couple of hints and there you go. I'm so proud of myself, you'd think I just gave birth.

* Whose idea was it to have Kathy Ireland co-host the preshow? OH, MY SHRILL. Move over, nails on a chalkboard, there's a new most annoying sound in town.

* I am totally on Team Sandra Bullock. She looks nervous, and I think it's adorable, and I totally hope she wins and says something sweet to her husband.

* I sat up on the couch and clapped for Ryan Reynolds. Literally. Anyone who looks that good deserves applause when he enters a room, even if it IS through a 32-inch TV in my living room.

* This is the first awards show in a very, very long time in which Cameron Diaz doesn't look like a drunken ex-sorority girl turned cougar.

* I like the longer clips for supporting actor, and I like clips instead of performances for best original song (the performances always take FOREVER and they're never songs anyone knows anyway). Has anyone seen Crazy Heart? That song is pretty, I'm almost tempted to download it.

* "I love you more than rainbows." Wait. Wait a second. I don't mean to crap all over the sentiment here, but isn't that more the kind of thing a 4-year-old says to her stuffed animals than something a grown man says to his wife? Like ... what does that even MEAN? (That was the best original song winner, by the way.)

* Coke commercial: I love this song, Sweet Disposition. I listen to it all the freaking time.

* They said Chris Pine and I totally thought they said Chris Klein. I was like, wha-wha-whaaaat? Suri's real daddy? Wasn't he paid to disappear forever? Where did they find him? But it wasn't Chris Klein, it was Chris Pine. Total letdown.

* People I want to win, part II: Kathryn Bigelow for best director. GIRL POWER!

* Molly Ringwald has crazy eyes. I feel like she's going to pull a machine gun out of her dress any second and start going ballistic all over the Kodak Theater. (But that was a really sweet tribute to John Hughes.)

* * * * * *

OK, Monday morning update: I got a little derailed with the commentary last night by a pack of crazy boys (long story). But: so glad Sandra Bullock won. So glad Kathryn Bigelow won. So weird that they announced best picture so fast like that. And so sad that it's a whole SIX MONTHS until the next big awards show! Emmys, I love you, I'll be waiting!

On my day off

I went ice skating.
With a boy.
I don't know how to ice skate.
He tried to teach me.
It was fun.
Maybe we'll go again sometime.

It's all relative

So I've been working a lot lately. I actually had a Valentine's post half-written, but then ... yup, had to work, never finished it. Is there anything LESS interesting than someone telling you how much they've been working lately? Let me answer that for you: Hell freaking no, there is nothing in the world remotely less interesting. Put A plus B together ... what does that equal? Me, basically the most boring person you know right now.

In fact, here's a (partial) list of things more interesting than me right this second:

* Flossing. Especially when you get a little piece of something out of your back teeth ... it's like roaming the beach with a metal detector and finally finding something other than bottle caps. Score!

* Blowing spit bubbles. Try it. Seriously. Right now, just try it.

* A line at the post office. I mean ... at least at the post office there's people-watching!

* Curling (as in the sport, not the iron). Although, this apparently seems to be the new hipster Olympic sport du jour, so maybe this is SUPER more interesting instead of just a little, I don't know.

* Reading the owner's manual to your car. My friend's mom used to go through hers and circle all of the phallic-looking shapes. That is absolutely a true story.

* Talking about the weather. This is made all the more fascinating when the weather-people start doing a little "pin the freezing temperature on the precipitation pattern" game to come up with their forecasts.

I have a day off coming up. I'll see what I can do to up the interesting factor a little around here. In the meantime, please regale me with tales of how interesting your lives are. I like to live vicariously.

Engagement chicken

So we're sitting around at work the other day in a little bit of unnatural silence. Everyone's kind of pissy, and it's awkward, and if there's anything I can't stand it's unnatural, awkward, pissy silence. So of course I blurt out the first thing that comes into my head: "I'm making engagement chicken tomorrow."

You can practically feel the whoosh of the ears perking up. "What's engagement chicken?" one person asks.

Engagement chicken, I explain, is a recipe Glamour magazine prints every so often, and they SWEAR that if you make it for a guy he'll propose within two months. And no, I am not looking to get engaged any time soon, but I was looking for another recipe and found this one instead, and it's like four ingredients, two of which are salt and pepper, with about five minutes prep time, so why NOT make it, right?

"I've heard about this chicken," one guy says ominously. "Howard Stern's girlfriend made it for him, and he proposed right after. He kept saying on the show, it was the chicken. It was the effin' chicken. The chicken made me do it."

It's true, I say. If you Google it, you'll see a million testimonials about how foolproof it is.

It's amazing what this revelation does to the mood of the office. "So who are you making it for?" they ask, all a-twitter at the thought of a magical little love chicken.

No one, I insist. In fact, I'm adamant on this point. There will be no leftovers brought into the office, no invitations to pop-in visitors to pull up a chair and have a bite to eat. I am NOT playing with the fire of engagement chicken.

For the rest of the night, the questions roll in:

Coworker 1: "So if someone comes to your house and says, oh, I'm starving, I'm weak with starvation, I'm going to die, you're still not going to offer them any chicken?"
Me: "No! I'll hide the chicken and give them a bag of chips."

Coworker 2: "Are you scared if you eat engagement chicken by yourself, you’ll end up alone?"
Me: "No! What is WRONG with you?"

Coworker 1: "So, what? You're practicing? You're practicing, aren't you. I bet you'll be engaged by the end of the year."
Me: "Noooooo." (Pause.) "Although, I wonder if I THINK of someone while I eat it, it works the same way."
Coworker 1: "What, is Brad Pitt gonna show up at your door?"

Coworker 2, looking at me very seriously: "I don't want to get engaged."
Me: "I’m not ASKING you to get engaged."

* * * * * * * * * *

So I go to make the chicken and ... can I just say, ramming a foreign object (in this case, a lemon) up a chicken's rear end? Never a pleasant thing.

Update No. 1: Your friend Swishy cooks the chicken upside down, which, since I am a little neurotic about such things, basically ruins the whole experience. Hello, breakup chicken ... and honey popcorn, which I am now eating for dinner instead because I can't deal with the psychological implications of the whole thing.

Update No. 2: I'm starving, so I go into the kitchen and start picking at my little chickie. I may have judged too harshly. I mean, I'm not going to jump back into anything, but ... it's not too bad.

(And if Brad Pitt shows up at my door, I'll let you know.)

I wish they had a Grammy for best car singing

Oh, time, you have not been a friend of mine lately. In fact, you have been my vicious, bitter arch nemesis, and yes, I know I waste you a lot and don't appreciate you the way I should, but really? Is this any way to act? Let's make up. Please. I have like a zillion shows to watch on the DVR, I NEED YOU!

Yes, I have been a busy little bee lately. Work has been fairly non-stop and I've been working on a couple of little side things which make me happy, but my, oh my, have they made life a little insane. Not so insane, though, to keep me from a little Grammys chatter!

What I liked:

Lady Gaga and Elton John. I've decided I like pretty much every Lady Gaga performance. She is a lunatic, and I have a soft spot for lunatics. Also, if you can tear your eyes off all the over-the-top theatrics and insane outfits long enough to listen, she really does have a great voice.

Pink. I am not totally, 100 percent positive what that was, but HOLY CRAPOLA.

Beyonce. This one comes with an asterisk. Her performance was great, but I really, really, really wanted her to do Single Ladies instead, if for no other reason than it was in my head the entire rest of the night after it won the first award. (I did think it was cute--and a little surprising--that she thanked Jay-Z. Could have lived without the crotch grab, though.)

Sheryl Crow's dress. It was very simple, but I thought it was flowy and pretty.

What I was so-so on:

Taylor Swift. I think she's adorable and I think it's great that she won ... but am I crazy or was she a little off-key during her performance? Especially at the beginning? Maybe she was nervous, but I kept hearing Randy Jackson's voice ("It's a little pitchy, dawg, little pitchy") in my head as she sang.

The Michael Jackson tribute. THERE, I SAID IT. I know that's not really allowed, I know we're supposed to love every Michael Jackson tribute ever, and yes, I did have a little bit of love for Celine Dion and Usher performing on the same stage (not to mention not one but two American Idol alums) but they TOTALLY faked me out. I thought they were performing We are the World! I was all ready for it, singing it a little under my breath and ... nada. Thanks a lot, Lionel Richie. So disappointing.

What I definitely did not like:

Rihanna's dress. No woman alive should want to ADD to her hips, and the whole top of it was just a mess. But it wasn't as bad as ...

Katy Perry's HORRIFIC dress. Nude-colored anything is just a bad idea. I really, REALLY hated this dress.

Lil Wayne, Eminem and Drake. It is VERY annoying to have half the performance bleeped out because of language. I seriously kept thinking the sound on my TV was going out. Dude, you know you're on national TV, you know it's going to get bleeped. WHAT IS THE POINT.

My guilty pleasure of the night (no, Lady Gaga does not count):

Bon Jovi doing Living on a Prayer with the girl from Sugarland. What can I say ... once a Jersey girl, always a Jersey girl.

Happy Monday, everyone!

Leaving on a jet plane

So I'm going out of town for a couple of days. I get on the plane and head for a window seat in an empty row on the right (as usual), and am immediately joined by a Louis Vuitton-toting mom and her highly energetic young son. This is sort of the reason I log on to Southwest.com the day before and refresh the page like a maniac to get an "A" pass, to avoid these types of situations, but you know, whatever, I like kids well enough, it could be someone whose underarms smell worse than a bucket full of catfish left to rot in the sun all day, this is definitely a workable situation.

And then the little kid, who's sitting next to me and has the swingiest arms ever (I mean, he's practically doing the butterfly stroke), gets a marker in his hot little hands. I'm wearing a light-colored sweater. What this equals: Definite potential for disaster. I start bobbing and weaving like Ali in his heyday. I wear him down, and he passes out five minutes into the flight. Crisis averted!

* * * * *

I am pretty sure one of the flight attendants is a little drunk. It starts off harmlessly enough: A woman comes on with a McDonald’s bag: "Oh, you brought me a cheeseburger!" she says. A guy throws away his Diet Dr Pepper bottle: "Oh, I can’t believe you didn’t save me any!" But then she goes up to the three debonair businessmen lined up in the row behind me and completely loses her shit. “You’re in exit seats,” she says, ready to give them the exit-row spiel, but that’s all she can get out. Instead, she starts giggling uncontrollably. And then she scootches into the row--ostensibly to let someone by, but she’s practically on the one guy’s lap. “So,” she giggles, “are you sitting on me or am I sitting on you?”

* * * * *

I am getting old. This means two things: In some ways, I am vastly more patient than I used to be ... and in others, I am so incredibly NOT. Like this baggage issue, for example. The whole fee situation when you check bags has resulted in a nation of people who carry ridiculously oversized bags onto the plane. Which, though I would never do myself (too many liquid products in my high-maintenance repertoire, thank you!), I sort of get. What I don’t get is doing it on Southwest, where there are no baggage fees. I also don’t get hauling a bag on the plane that is big enough to hold an average-sized dead body. Yet that is exactly what the woman next to me on the way home is trying to do. She’s trying to squish it under the chair in front of her IN THE MIDDLE SEAT. It’s literally like watching an army of Sumo wrestlers trying to cram into a clown car. I should be amused, I should maybe even offer to help, but instead I feel myself wanting to shake her shoulders and ask her if she is 10 shades of insane because she’s acting like a complete lunatic with this bag. She--I kid you not, are you ready for this--GETS ON TOP OF THE BAG AND STARTS JUMPING ON IT. IN THE MIDDLE SEAT NEXT TO ME. It lodges in there enough for her to prop her feet on top and I spend the next 45 minutes pissed at her based on the whole principle of the thing. Because, as we've established, I'm cranky and curmudgeonly and things like people lugging overstuffed bags onto planes is enough to make me rant about the state of our union for two hours (or 200 words).

* * * * *

I overhear the guy behind me talking about how he travels a lot. He travels so much, it turns out, he hit 2 million miles and is now a member of Southwest’s platinum club. He’s totally George Clooney! This is totally Up in the Air! I turn around, ready to assume my rightful role in the real-life Up in the Air sequel with our knockoff George Clooney. Turns out he’s really not that much like George Clooney. Like, at all. He DOES have a fancy platinum tag, though.

* * * * *

(I had a really great girls weekend and not one single actual travel issue, just ones I like to pretend are issues. Hope you all had a great weekend too!)

(P.S. Oh! Golden Globes! I almost forgot! Yes, we must discuss, and we will. Oh, WE WILL.)

And this is why we eavesdrop

I'm sitting at the coffee shop. I just got here, and there are two guys sitting a few tables away. One is facing me. He’s in his early 20s. He’s wearing a black concert T-shirt (regrettably, I can’t tell which concert) and a necklace with a little white pointy thing hanging down that somewhat resembles a fang. His friend appears to be a nice person, but is clearly the “dork” in this friendship while the necklace-wearer is the “cool” one.

His plan in life, we quickly learn, is to teach a college course on human sexuality.

Those are my words. His words: “I’m TOTALLY gonna use this class to pick up girls. I’m gonna be, like, awesome. I’m gonna be the coolest teacher in the school. I’m gonna be fit, I’m gonna be trim, sleeves rolled up, looking good ... oh, yeah. It’s going to be awesome.”

At this point, I have pretty much dropped everything, including my jaw, as I listen to this guy. I’m not even PRETENDING not to be listening to him. I am full-on staring, full-on you've-to-be-kidding-me cracking up, and naturally, he is oblivious.

“I don’t think a lot of guys will take the class. I think it’ll mostly be targeted to girls. I mean, I’ll tell the guys—look, this class is going to be intense, so if you can’t handle it ...”

His friend nods.

“Or, you know, don’t tell your parents if they’re going to freak out, because, you know, I don’t need that shit in my life.”

He takes a sip of his drink.

“But I can’t call it, you know, SEX. I’d have to call it something else. Like Everything You Want to Know But are Afraid to Ask. “

(Creative.)

“Or like ... systematic excellent xylophone. Get it? S-E-X. Or ... wait! Systematic excellence! S, and EX!”

Sounds like a winner! And the subject matter?

“It’s not going to be overly vulgar, but I AM gonna be like, ‘You know, when you’re going down on a guy ...’ "

A meaningful pause follows (presumably, he’ll turn to Google or Wikipedia to research the end of that sentence by the time the first class rolls around). So, Mr. Sex-pert, what else can you tell us about yourself?

“I was in this class once where the teacher started talking about the objectification of women in the media. I was like, whatever, that’s BS. (Pause.) My sister often jokes that I come off as a misogynist."

(NO. WAY.)

And now he’s talking about shaving his chest. I am seriously not making any of this up.

It's the little things

I came across the greatest article the other day (and not just because it's from a London paper and therefore uses the cutest British lingo ever). It's a list of the top 50 greatest little pleasures in life. In the top 10 are things like finding money in your pocket, getting into a bed with freshly washed sheets, laughing so hard you cry and catching up with an old friend. No. 1: Getting a good night's sleep (so boring but so true!).

So, in honor of the list, a few of my favorite little pleasures:

Getting the seat that I want at the coffee shop. I've found kind of a knockoff version of my old coffee shop, and after trying out lots of different seats, I've decided my favorite one is in the very back corner. It's not a table, it's an armchair with two mini-tables, and it has not one but two outlets within plugging distance. (Bonus: I get to spy on everyone else's screens but no one gets to spy on mine! Ha.) Every time I go there, I do my little "Please be open, please be open" chant ... and when it is, I always do a little happy clap.

The dollar spot at Target. As the enormous shopping bag full of cute dollar notecards in my closet will attest.

Eating in bed. This is a little rebellious thing I do when I'm having a bad week and want to feel nothing like an adult while simultaneously basking in the fact that the only reason I get to do this is BECAUSE I'm an adult. I prop a plate up on a pillow, get all snuggled under the blankets and put something on TV. (And usually fall asleep 20 minutes later, which sort of helps the cause, too.)

People magazine's Sexiest Man Alive, Most Beautiful People or Most Eligible Bachelors issue. Love, love, LOVE.

Getting a card in the mail for no reason at all.

Getting on a good laughing jag. One of my friends at work sometimes puts on old Beverly Hills, 90210 episodes on mute and makes up dialogue for me. It's usually only for a minute or two, but I nearly lose my mind every time, it's so funny.

Walking past a guy and then catching him turning around to get another look. (Who DOESN'T love that?)

Hearing a song I really like while I'm in the car. Bonus points if it's nice enough out to roll down the windows. Double bonus points if it's a totally embarrassing song I get caught singing along with at a stoplight, because then I'll spend the next five miles laughing, too.

Awards shows!

Starting a new book, especially a book I've been dying to read. I seriously turn it into an event.

A good, old-fashioned bubble bath.

Leaving work early. This basically never happens to me anymore, but oh, there is something just so delicious and scandalous about leaving early, even if it's totally allowed.

There are so many more I can think of! What are some of yours?

I like the look of you, 2010

Happy New Year, everyone! I love New Year's Day. New Year's Eve, I could do without (that and Valentine's: so overhyped), but I love, love, love, with a great, big puffy heart, New Year's Day. I totally get into the resolutions and clean slates of it all. Plus, lots of great marathons on TV, no one expects a single thing out of you because half the world is hung over ... what a great holiday.

My favorite New Year's was a few years ago. A couple of days before New Year's, my friend Allee and I were going to a comedy show with some of her friends from work. It was actually a fairly miserable time in my life in a lot of ways, and long story short, I ended up getting into a huge fight over the phone with a guy while we were waiting in line at the comedy club. I spent the next chunk of forever standing outside in the freezing cold, fighting with this guy, bawling my eyes out, while poor Allee was stuck between her friends inside and coming outside to check on me ... just not a lot of fun for anyone.

At some point, a few minutes after the show had started inside, a random guy (cute, single, around my age) walked past me and then kind of backpedaled. "Hey," he said. "Are you OK?"

I looked at him, my face just a wreck, and said: "I could use a hug."

(I can't believe I said that to a stranger, by the way, even a cute one. You can see what kind of night it was.)

He was totally unfazed. "I can absolutely give you a hug," he replied. He did, then he stepped back, tipped his head to the side and looked at me. "I don't like to see girls cry," he said. "Any guy who makes you cry is an asshole. He doesn't deserve you."

That made me smile a little. "Thank you."

He didn't leave then, though. He took me and my friend inside, even though the show had already started and even though he'd gone to an earlier show. He bought both of our drinks and walked us out after the show. He got my number, and called a couple of times to check on me and ask if we could have coffee or something. I never did return his call. It was kind of a shitty time, and then I lost my phone and, with it, his number. I still feel bad about that.

A couple of days later, it was New Year's Day. "You have to see this movie," Allee said. "It's the perfect movie for you right now." It was The Holiday--she had seen it the week before. Allee picked me up and we went to see it (and then snuck into Dreamgirls for good measure. Ha.) She was right, it was the perfect movie for me that day, and I sat in the movie theater and cried because it made me feel so much better. And the fact that I had a friend who KNEW it would make me feel better made me feel about a thousand times better than the movie did.

So every year around New Year's, I think about that, about the humanity and goodness in those two things, and it just makes me so happy and hopeful--that in this crazy world with lots of crazy things happening, there are such good people who help make life a little less crazy for each other.

I was flipping through my blog archives looking for something the other day, and when I look at it all at once, I'm like, holy CRAP, you guys have been here for a lot of my life. You were there the day I found a nest in my car, the time I saw a naked streaker at McDonald's, when I stalkerazzi-ed the guy who carries around self-portraits at Target. You hung out at the coffee shop with me. You indulged me in my love of hot TV characters and my inexplicable affection for eHarmony commercials. You read all about my many, MANY run-ins with the popo as well as my ridiculous airport and other traveling exploits. (I have to say, CIA agent notwithstanding, those are my favorites.) And you were there a year and a half ago when I made one of the hardest decisions of my life.

I (naturally) had to look up my 2010 horoscope, just for fun, and it said that after a couple of bumpy years, this year is going to be full of happiness. It HAS been a couple of bumpy years, but in a lot of ways it wasn't really so bad because I had you guys. I've let things lapse a little around here over the last year since I moved, but in spite of that and Twitter and Facebook and everything else, I still love my little blog, and I love that you're still with me.

So thank you. You, too, have brought such grace and humor and kindness to my life, and I appreciate it so much. Happy New Year. Here's to 2010, the best year yet.

Happy merry holidays

I hope you're all having a great week! I guest-blogged last-minute gift ideas the other day at the lovely Miss Karen's blog ... check it out, and I'll see you in a couple days!

Things I am loving right now

* The new show Men of a Certain Age on TNT. I am especially loving Ray Romano, in a vaguely dirty way I can't quite put my finger on. I'm not alone in this--I went to the very awesome Television Without Pity the other day and there's all kinds of Ray love. "I am actually finding RR to be kinda attractive," said one person. "Does anyone else find that Ray Romano looks kind of sexy?" said another. This might be a good time to point out that his character is a total schlub whose wife left him because of his gambling addiction, which basically proves every social theory ever about how women generally think a man who can be saved/fixed/rescued is about the hottest thing since Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise.

* The latest Alicia Keys song Try Sleeping with a Broken Heart, more specifically the 1:45-1:55 mark. Nobody loves a good blend of pretty and angsty more than yours truly.

* Mindy Kaling, the girl who writes for The Office and plays Kelly Kapoor on the show. Her Twitter page is so funny/true, and she just wrote this great essay for the New York Times about her imaginary husband and kids. Which transitions nicely to ...

* The incredibly hot guy I saw at the gym. He was tall and cute and he actually brought a magazine to read while he worked out, like a real magazine (GQ). Guys never read when they work out! They watch, like, Cops or SportsCenter or The Simpsons, or themselves in the mirror. He must be smart, I thought to myself, and that was all the permission I needed to stand behind him a few more seconds than is socially appropriate to ogle his sweet little booty. (And then I might have possibly snapped out of my daze, walked into a wall and spilled half of my water bottle on the floor ... but let's talk more about that sweet tuchus!)

* My complete domination in the kitchen lately. (We're counting the holiday cookies and definitely NOT counting the way overcooked and completely inedible salmon from the other night. I am the only person on the planet who cannot make a grown-up dinner, I swear.)

* That blanket I made for my mom for Christmas. I hate it and love it at the same time. Here were the two problems at work here: I had no idea what the hell I was doing (thank you, Google, for holding my hand and whispering sweet words of encouragement) and I have this issue with details. As in, I obsess over them a little/a lot (and thank YOU, seam ripper!). But after one marathon eight-hour session to finish the thing, interrupted only by trips to the bathroom and copious chocolate-covered pretzels, we have a blanket.



Can I point out one more thing here? The fact that this is in one piece is all the more impressive considering it was done by a girl whose very worst grade of her academic career (a big fat D) came in eighth-grade Sewing class. (Although I somewhat beg to differ on the D. One of my projects was a telephone pillow, and while the numbers are long gone, I still own that telephone pillow and it's all still mostly in one piece. Take that, Mrs. Eighth-Grade Sewing Teacher!)

Photographic evidence:



* The little string of white lights over my living room window. I did make a holiday decorating concession or two, and that is one of them. They make everything look festive and pretty at night, and they go splendidly with the Christmas tree-scented candle.

* All of you. I hope you're having a great week. Have a wonderful holiday!

Evolution

Signs I have evolved as a human being:

* I decided to dust off the sewing machine I got in the height of my Project Runway fixation and make a little throw quilt for my mom for Christmas. Despite the fact that I very nearly broke into hives in the fabric store at the stress and pressure of it all, I managed to pick out the material and the thread all by myself, and I felt like a little mini-Martha Stewart just holding the bag as I walked out of the store.

* I am starting to realize that life is not all about me, in one of the very best ways--as in, if someone (or a group of someones) does not want to be friends with me, it does not mean there's anything wrong with me. (As I like to tell my friend Allee, you have to get to KNOW me first to decide you don't like me ... ha, I'm hilarious.) But really, that is my favorite part about getting older, not caring about stupid things quite so much.

* I have let a smidge of my vanity go and occasionally wear glasses out in public on my days off.

* Part II: I actually bought a winter coat based solely on the criterion that it is warm as opposed to cute and semi/not really warm.

Signs I have definitely not evolved as a human being:

* In the process of starting the quilt (and by "start," I mean, cut out a few squares) I might have set a new world record for the number of times one person has managed to say "shit" in a very short period of time. I also have announced that I am a "renaissance woman" at least a dozen times to my largely indifferent coworkers, which I think somewhat nullifies the point. ("That's nice," said one. "Will you make one for my cat?")

* I fail to recognize the connection between working out (sort of) with no visible effect and the consumption of lots of yummy holiday chocolates, cheeses and caramel corn.

* I still think life should be like a Julia Roberts movie. Or The Holiday. Both of which were on TBS yesterday. (Great movie weekend, TBS. I wholeheartedly approve!)

* I am seriously wondering if lighting a Christmas tree-scented candle (Fresh Balsam from Bath and Body Works, sooo good) in one room and a cookie-scented candle in another room is a good enough substitute for holiday decorating and baking.

* I totally forgot to transfer money from one account to another. I'm at the coffee shop for a little bit, but then I have to run a million and one errands (that require money in the one account) and I don't want to go home first, otherwise I'll never leave because I have the attention span of a guinea pig. So I logged into my bank account a couple of minutes ago but, once I'd entered my pin and security question, I totally started to freak out about some hacker getting into my account, so I logged out and did the transfer over the phone. I am now completely obsessing about becoming Sandra Bullock in The Net, which all could have been avoided if I'd transferred it at home when I first thought about it. Please tell me I'm not going to get my identity stolen for being stupid and logging into my bank account in a public place. I logged RIGHT out, no one was looking over my shoulder and I promise I'll never do it again. I swear. Please, please, please???

(Clearly, I still have a little way to go.)