Waiting for My Real Life to Begin

The life and times of a girl named Swishy.

Sunday, September 30, 2007

A few sprinkles of random

The Saturday afternoon errands edition ...

* Are you aware that there is a severe wire hanger shortage in America? That's what the sign says at the dry cleaners: "Due to a severe wire hanger shortage, please return any unwanted hangers." Given the approximately 7,985 wire hangers in and around my closet, I always find this shocking. How did we get to this state? Who determined it? What's next, a toothpaste shortage? It's all very disturbing.

* I always wave at the security camera at the ATM. I play it cool for about 20 seconds, until I enter the pin, and then while I'm waiting for the money to come out I scrunch up my face and do my best cute wave to the camera. I wonder if anyone ever sees it.

* I hate going to the grocery store. I have a hard enough time deciding what to eat on a daily basis. I'm supposed to get DAYS worth of food at a time? Without knowing what mood I'm going to be in 72 hours from now? I don't think so.

But even though I hate the grocery store, I love, love, LOVE the Muzak. You know how when the store is quieter, the Muzak gets louder? I love that in a way that is impossible to describe. Short of plopping me down on a beach, there is no way to bliss me out more than to give me a cart and an empty aisle with, say, Journey blaring over the speakers. I'm serious. It is my Zen. Today I got to hear Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac ("Oh, ahhhhhhhh ... I wanna be with you everywhere"), The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel ("Li la li ...") and ohhh, my personal favorite: Endless Summer Nights by Richard Marx. Do I remember? Why, yes, Richard. Yes, I do. I remember, and it was magical.

My love affair with the Muzak began when I worked in the mall (something all good Jersey girls do at least once). I'd get there in the morning. The lights would be low, the store would be quiet ... and then, boom! Someone would flip a switch and Phil Collins would start crooning about a groovy kind of love. Ahhh, sweet serenity.

* Finally, thank you, Tim Gunn, for making it impossible for me to ever shop again. Every time I try something on, I hear his voice in my head: "Swishy! You need to ACCENTUATE your WAIST! No boxy styles! NO BOXY STYLES!" So then I put that adorable burgundy jacket that's more than FIFTY PERCENT OFF back on the rack, and that adorable green scoopneck tee that's only a tiny bit too baggy back on the shelf and skulk out of the store empty-handed. Sad. So sad.

All right, kiddies. Time to catch up on TV premiere week (more on that later!) Hope you're having a great weekend!

Friday, September 28, 2007

Swishy's no good, very bad week

I wish I had a remote control for life. If I did, sure, I'd definitely use the rewind button, but what I'd really like to do is be able to put the world on pause sometimes. Like ... just give me a couple of minutes to think, or to calm down, or to just take a nap or something.

I completely sucked at my job today. I HATE that. Actually, everyone sucks at their jobs some days. I guess what I hate is when everyone else knows it. And trust me, today everyone else knew it. I'm the youngest person in my position at work and people remind me of it all the time, which drives me crazy because I'm not THAT young. I've been working there a long time. I feel like it only comes up a) because I'm also one of only two women who work there and b) as an excuse not to compensate me the way I should be. Not because it's an impediment to me doing my job. There are a lot of ways that I don't feel like the system supports me, and when I bring them up, I get told that maybe the problem is I'm just not confident enough because of my age.

So ... that's the context.

The way that I sucked at my job is that I played EXACTLY into all of it. I got defensive in a meeting. I tried to mark my terrority. And yes, I completely burst into tears in my boss's office. Because when I get mad or frustrated I cry. Men swear at each other and have dick-measuring contests. I cry. Which then makes people think I can't handle stuff. I CAN handle stuff. Just not everything. I feel like I am really talented, and I work really hard, and that they should feel very lucky to have me. Even on my bad days.

I'm also working basically seven days a week and not sleeping a lot and working on a big project right now and my place is a mess and I haven't worked out in three days and I don't even really LIKE my job that much because did I mention that I can never take a day off? Seriously. I really can't, because there's no one else who can do the stuff that I do. I tried to use a vacation day a week ago and ended up working the whole day. So all of that doesn't help.

And I stayed late to catch up on everything and didn't even get to see the first half hour of the Grey's Anatomy season premiere! So now I'm going to have to watch it online tomorrow.

I know I sound very whiny. But, seriously, I have come home and cried for like two hours two nights in a row. I soooo need a pause button.

And it's 4 a.m. and I'm awake, which SO does not bode well for the day.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Dear Kiefer

I usually call you Jack Bauer, but just this once, I will call you Kiefer. This is my favorite picture of you, Kiefer. It makes me want to wrap you up in a CTU blanket and cuddle all the angst right out of you. I even think your feet are cute in this picture. In fact, I think your feet are the cutest part of all, and not just because I'm a Pisces and we like feet. I look at those feet, and I think, Oh, Kiefer! I just want to throw you on the couch and rub those cute little feet and tell you not to worry about a thing.

By the way, did you know I like to sit on counters, too? I do! I sit on the bathroom counter every single morning while I get ready. Only sometimes there's not enough room for my feet on the counter, so I put them in the sink.

But wait! This isn't about me, Kiefer, this is about you! I heard the news this morning. I'm worried about you, Kiefer, and not just because Jack Bauer can't save the world if he's shitfaced and getting hauled in by the cops. And not because you're going to have to spend four days (translation: two hours) in the clink now, either.

I'm worried because you're a little bit of a lost soul, Kiefer. A lost soul that I'd like to find. I think it's time for an intervention. And I am just the girl to give it to you.

I mean ... really. Christmas is just a few months away. Think of the trees.

Love and lots of future kisses,

Monday, September 24, 2007

I SO should be in the CIA

Seriously. Totally missed my calling in life.

So I'm sitting here at my coffee shop, sending some emails for work and IMing my BBFF Manic, when a guy sits down next to me. Like, at the table RIGHT next to me. He's on a computer too, and since I'm so observant of the people around me (translation: a nosy little people-watcher) I notice after a few minutes that he's getting a little twitchy when people walk past him. Like, as if he doesn't want them to see what he's working on. Like ... AS IF HE HAS SOMETHING TO HIDE!

Naturally, the first thing I think is that he must be looking at porn. Or vibrators. So I oh-so-casually lean forward and glance over my shoulder, and all I see are some mysterious looking charts. How do I know they're mysterious? Just trust me--you know when you know. So then I start noticing other things. Like the fact that he's making very suspicious notations on a piece of paper next to his computer. And the fact that he has a very suspicious tattoo on the inside of his left forearm. A tattoo like Jack Bauer has on 24.

OK. Do you guys ever make up stories about people? I do that ALL THE TIME. And the secretive computer use and suspicious note-jotting and 24-esque tattoo all lead me to one logical conclusion: This guy is totally a government spy. Like, TOTALLY. He comes to coffee shops in shorts and canvas sneakers to try to blend in, but HELLO! I WATCH 24. Did I mention that he also has stubble? Not normal stubble. More like "I have a shadowy past" stubble.

Government spy. For SURE!

Of course I have my camera. So I pull it out to document the fact that I am sharing coffee shop space with a secret spy on an important mission. The only problem is, he is sitting literally a foot and a half away from me and um ... I don't know how to turn off the flash on my camera. Why would I? It's automatic! If I don't need the flash, it doesn't go off.

I am momentarily flummoxed. I fiddle with all the buttons and then--brainstorm!--I realize ... I'm on the Internet! I'm living in the age of Google! So I do a quick search and discover that all I have to do is hit the right arrow twice. Done and done.

(Resourcefulness? Quick, on-my-feet thinking? CIA material all the way, I'm telling you.)

OK. So I do a test shot of my computer. He looks over and ... I don't know what. I guess he thinks I'm a crazy girl who takes pictures of her laptop. Whatever. Anyway, he turns back to his computer and I seize the opportunity:

Not good enough. Clearly. So I try again. Only I accidentally hit the power button, so I turn it back on, position the camera and hit the right button this time ... AND THE FLASH GOES OFF! Ohhhhhhh, SHIT! He totally turns and looks at me. I don't dare look up. Instead, I pretend to study my camera intently until he turns back to his computer.

OK. Try again. I check the flash, I lay the camera casually on the table and ...

I know I can do better than that. I just know it.

Money shot!

I know he might look normal here, but trust me. This, my friends, is a government spy. It's also a man who just packed up his stuff and left the coffee shop. I can't imagine why.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Pothead by proxy

So I have a new neighbor. My balcony overlooks what is probably best described as a courtyard, and someone moved into one of the other units overlooking the courtyard. I'm not positive which one, and I don't know what the person looks like, I just know that I heard SOMEONE moving in last Saturday morning when I was trying to sleep in.

Here's what I do know about my new neighbor: He likes pot. A lot. And smokes copious amounts of it every night at 10 o'clock. Every single night at 10. It's 10:35 right now. My bedroom window's open halfway, and even though I'm all the way in the next room, sitting on the couch, I can totally smell it.

Here is my big issue with this: Ever since this person moved in, I CANNOT STOP EATING. Is it a coincidence? Am I looking for excuses? Maybe. All I know is that I came home from the gym last night at like 10, and within seconds I had a bag of tortilla chips in one hand and a carton of ultimate caramel cup ice cream in the other. I'd eat a bite of ice cream, then a handful of tortilla chips, bite of ice cream, handful of tortilla chips. When I left the gym, I remember consciously thinking, "I AM NOT HUNGRY AT ALL!" And a few whiffs of marijuana later, I'm eating like I'm pregnant with quintuplets.

Which I'm not, by the way. Pregnant. Or PMSing. Or depressed. OR underfed.

Anyway, it happened again tonight, which is what resulted in my little epiphany. I went, after a lovely, normal dinner, and grabbed the bag of tortilla chips out of the cupboard 10 minutes ago. I NEVER eat tortilla chips out of the bag! I mean, seriously, I really don't. I either have them with salsa or eat them with chili or something. Never straight out of the bag. And yet, here I am, diving into the bag for crumbs like a pack of women diving for the bouquet at a wedding. And my thought process goes something like this:

"What is WRONG with me? I NEVER eat chips like this. And I DEFINITELY never eat the crumbs."
"Ooh, a regular-sized chip. I wonder if there are any more."
"Shit, I really need to get some work done."
"What should I wear tomorrow?"
"Chelsea Handler is funny."
"Oh, my gosh, my place REEKS of pot."

(Crunch, crunch)

(Ding, ding, ding!)

"It's the POT! The POT is making me eat chips!! It's not my fault!"

Is that even possible? Can secondhand pot smoke give me the munchies? I don't know. All I know is that I'm out of chips.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Longest travelogue ever

Hi, everyone! OK. So you know how I said I had to go out of town at the last minute over the weekend? I was gone for exactly 25 hours. And what a 25 hours it was. The rundown:

* I leave early for the airport so that I can park. I get to the airport, park my car, go to wait for the shuttle ... and wait. And wait. And wait some more. In the meantime, there's an older couple waiting with me, and they're freaking out because--you'll never believe this--THEIR DAUGHTER HAD JUST BEEN HIT BY A CAR! Yeah. For real. And the shuttle is NOWHERE to be found, and they were totally going to miss their flight. And the lady in the money booth SLAMMED THE WINDOW IN THEIR FACE when they went over to ask her to page the shuttle. So they actually walked out to the road and started trying to flag down one of the other shuttle buses. I felt so bad for them, I literally almost tossed them in the backseat of my car and dropped them off myself. I even forgot about the fact that I was going to miss my OWN flight. Thankfully, just as I was going to get my car, the shuttle showed up and we all (barely) made our flights.

* I wanted to get a lot of work done on the plane. A LOT. Which of course means I got nothing done. I sat in the very back so I could have my own row, and wouldn't you know it, AS THE PLANE IS MOVING AWAY FROM THE GATE, some guy moves out of his seat and asks if he can sit with me. OK, fine, whatever. I get everything out and start working, and within milliseconds, it's like 20 questions on crack next to me. Twenty questions that end with, "So ... do you know what you're doing for dinner tonight?" and "What hotel are you staying at?" (Me: "Uhhh ... I'm not ... hey, do you like pretzels? Here, have mine.")

* I go to pick up my rental car and ... who knew? There are two different airports! And I've reserved my rental car at the wrong airport! And, oh yeah, those directions that I printed out ahead of time because I'm oh-so-on-top-of-things? Useless, because I'm at the OTHER airport across town! The lady at Avis tells me it's a common mistake. I guess that's supposed to make me feel better.

* Swishy learns how to read a map.

* Kind of.

* Swishy also masters the art of the U-turn.

* I check into the hotel, change my clothes and then leave so I can find where I'm going the next day before it gets dark. I reread my directions 3,763 times, ask two people in a Walgreens if they know where it is and spend the next hour driving up and down the same half-mile stretch of road before I finally find it.

* I realize at 2 a.m. that the beautiful, exquisite 42-inch flat screen in my room DOES NOT WORK! This is like putting heroin in a locked glass case in the same room as a drug addict. I fiddle with the cables for like a half hour, and nada. I call downstairs, and she tells me I can switch rooms. I grudgingly--VERY grudgingly--decline, telling myself that I have to go to sleep and nothing good is on at 2:30 a.m. anyway, not even on HBO. I'm not very convincing.

* Work thing goes well. I am very relieved.

* I realize I'm going to be late to the airport, and I want a shortcut, so I ask a guy at the Wendy's drive-thru for one. He tells me to turn right, which doesn't SEEM right, so at the first light, I get the guy next to me to unroll his window and I ask him. He tells me, naturally, to turn around. He's cute and seems nice, so I listen. Good call, Swishy! I arrive at the airport 15 minutes later. Which, unfortunately, is a mere 40 minutes before my flight is supposed to leave.

* I am having shuttle issues. BIG-TIME shuttle issues. I wait for like five minutes, then go inside. He's turning in right now, the nice Avis lady tells me. Apparently "right now" means something different in other areas of the country, because five more minutes later, there is no sign of the shuttle. I go back inside and tell the nice Avis lady that I WILL miss my flight if I don't leave RIGHT NOW, so she asks some random guy driving by in a Jeep Cherokee if he'll take me. He's like, Whaaaaaaa? And then the real shuttle gets there.

* Southwest makes me wait in a very long line to check my bag even though I've already checked in online. That doesn't bother me as much as the Southwest lady, who merely points to the line whenever I ask her a question, rather than actually OPENING HER MOUTH to answer.

* I wait in another long line to get through security. My bracelet sets off the metal detector, so I throw it onto the X-ray machine and go through again, earning me a very stern lecture from the security official on duty.

* I run--in THREE-INCH HEELS--to Gate 10, which is, oh, 70 miles away from the security checkpoint. The doors shut just as I get there, but the nice woman at the counter pounds on the door until they let me in.

* A half an hour after I land, I'm informed that my bag didn't land with me.

* Six hours after that, I call the baggage office and am told that I can come get my bag anytime between now and 1 a.m. I get back to the airport a little after 11, and I really, really, really don't want to park and walk all the way inside just to grab my bag. So I go over to the two security guys and summon up all the Swishy charm I can muster, and they finally tell me I can leave my car by the curb if I RUN inside. So I do. And ... there's no one at the baggage office! And the door's locked! I race upstairs to the ticket counter. No one. I race back downstairs and look for anyone who appears to have a set of keys or lock-picking ability. No one. Oh, and did I mention that my cell phone was dead and the charger was in the missing bag? So I go to a pay phone and call the airline's 800 number and talk to them, and eventually I ended up paging airport security and asking them to page my baggage guy, who showed up seconds later, shaking and scared to death he was going to get in trouble. (I have no doubt he was reading US Weekly on the toilet.)

So that was my trip. And that was just the TRAVELING, not the BEING THERE. The being there is like five more posts.

Seriously, though? I don't think anyone will be surprised when I say the worst part was the TV. TOTALLY the TV.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

One crazy Emmy day

You guys! I literally stepped off an airplane mere minutes ago after a whirlwind, last-minute trip for work, only to find out my bag didn't make it with me. But am I going to let that get in the way of Emmy fun? No, I am not. (Although, ohhh ... the blog stories! We'll have to get back to those in a day or two.)

All right, Emmys. I just flipped on E! Ryan Seacrest got a haircut for the big night, and so far both Kyra Sedgwick and Tina Fey have asked him what the hell he's doing on the red carpet when he's going to be hosting one of the biggest awards shows on the planet in just over an hour. Good question, ladies! He also just talked to America Ferrera, who didn't seem very amused when he made a joke about her being 13. Oh, America.

5:39: Kate Walsh looks like she has an animal nesting on the side of her head!

5:51: OK, so Jaime Pressly's talking like a drill sergeant about her cabbage soup detox diet. That sounds absolutely disgusting. I think I'll hold on to the extra eight pounds, thank you very much.

6:01: I think Ryan is gone.

6:12: Sorry, I HAD to go get some chocolate and soda, because I am dying and need a caffeine boost. In the meantime: Julia Louis-Dreyfrus looks gorgeous, and Joely Fisher has very large breasts.

6:17: John Krasinski walked in with a beautiful woman ... who's his AGENT! Ha! Still single!

6:21: Jenna Fischer, when have you EVER seen an enormous bow on a dress that looked good?

6:26: OK, you heard it here first: I think Giuliana DePandi/Rancic is totally pregnant, or about to be. She keeps asking everyone how they lost their baby weight so fast. Um, THEY STARVED THEMSELVES! Duh.

6:32: I did not think it was possible for Heidi Klum to look bad. Tonight, I discovered that anything is possible. Why is everyone wearing their hair like that tonight? I DO NOT like it!

6:39: My friend, commenting on Eric Dane and Rebecca Gayheart: "I hate it when they look like they just stepped out of a coffin."

6:39: Me, on Katherine Heigl: "She is soooooo pretty!"

6:46: Playing the role of Bride of Frankenstein tonight: Ellen Pompeo!

7:00: I do not like cartoons on award shows. So far a big "F" to the opening!

7:03: Cutting to T.R. Knight after the cartoons sing about Isaiah Washington? Not awkward at all!

7:08: OK, the "Teri" thing made me laugh. So did the Jeremy Piven/Hayden Panettiere line. Ha.

7:14: Jeremy Piven. Yawn. He looks like he got his hair cut by a four-year-old with paper scissors.

7:16: Upset! Terry O'Quinn! I like him. I don't know how I feel about the pink shirt, but hey, you know what--I like to see middle-aged bald men take fashion risks. Go on with your bad, fashion-flaunting self, Terry! And cute speech!

7:26: HA! Ha ha ha ha. Oh, Katherine Heigl. That girl just says every single thing that comes to mind. I love her. I could see her mouthing, "Hi-jell?" on her way up, and I was like, "Nooo ... she won't say anything ... she did!" Ha ha ha. "It's OK, it's a hard name," she says. She kills me.

7:41: I. Love. Katherine Heigl! LOVE HER!

7:45: I still really love her. But, wow, I'm surprised she won!

7:59: Does anyone else remember Christina Aguilera writhing around in a boxing ring singing about being "dirrty"?

8:04: Roots tribute? Food break!

8:23: OK, whenever I see people from The Office, I always think, "Why can't *I* work with totally funny people?" I mean, SOME of the people I work with are funny. Sort of. I guess. Well OK, a few of them are. Just ... it's not the same.

8:38: I saw someone passing a note! Now I'm trying to figure out what it said. Maybe something about Marcia Cross's boobs?

8:51: Annoying non-Emmy side note: My cell phone just died, and I realized my charger's in my bag ... THE SAME BAG THAT HAS YET TO SURFACE AT THE AIRPORT!

9:05: Blah, blah, blah. I'm ready for the big awards.

9:07: So you remember my political consultant airplane buddy? He swears Al Gore will announce in November that he's running for president. And that Hillary Clinton's head will then explode.

9:09: I have never heard so many boob jokes in a 45-second span in my entire life. Thank you, Joely Fisher and Brad Garrett.

9:29: I love Rainn Wilson. And I loooove The Amazing Race!

9:41: Can Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert and Steve Carell host the Emmys next year?

9:43: This is what we call irony: FOX, of all networks, is the one with the itchy trigger finger when it comes to the "potty mouth" cutaway?

9:56: OK, I called America Ferrera ... but James Spader? Seriously? Wow. The Sopranos is not doing so hot tonight, huh?

10:09: All right, I spoke too soon. Enjoy your little prize, Sopranos. 30 Rock, on the other hand? Upset of the night!

Friday, September 14, 2007

I looooove the Emmys!

Oh, I'm so excited. I just adore the Emmys. I love the Golden Globes the absolute best, but the Emmys are right behind. I'm gonna live-blog again this year, I think, but before I get caught up in the red-carpet frenzy, a few picks/thoughts ...

First off, my big concern was the red carpet, but it turns out Ryan Seacrest has cloned himself, so he's doing the red carpet AND hosting the show! Seriously, that is insane to me. I would be throwing up in the gilded toilet in my dressing room 30 minutes before showtime, not standing out in the sun asking Eva Longoria who she's wearing. Anyway, I hope he does a good job. It will be different, I think, but I actually think he'll do fine.

OK, the categories:

Outstanding actor, drama
James Gandolfini, The Sopranos
Hugh Laurie, House
Denis Leary, Rescue Me
James Spader, Boston Legal
Kiefer Sutherland, 24

This is the category I have the biggest beef with. I'd bounce James Spader and either Leary or Gandolfini and replace them with Michael C. Hall (Dexter) and Kyle Chandler (Friday Night Lights). I seriously do not understand how neither of those guys got nominated. I mean, James Spader? Seriously?

Who I want to win: Kiefer Sutherland, because Jack Bauer is one of my make-believe boyfriends and a trip to the podium equals more chances to ogle him.

Outstanding actress, drama
Patricia Arquette, Medium
Minnie Driver, The Riches
Edie Falco, The Sopranos
Mariska Hargitay, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
Kyra Sedgwick, The Closer
Sally Field, Brothers & Sisters

Who I want to win: Connie Britton, but she's (inexplicably) not nominated. So Mariska Hargitay, because I think she's gorgeous. That's really my only factor in what is obviously a very scientific, analytical process.
Who will win: Hmmm. This is a toughie. I think it's a three-way race between Edie, Sally and Kyra ... I think I'm gonna go with Sally Field in an upset. Craaazy!

Outstanding actress, comedy
Tina Fey, 30 Rock
America Ferrera, Ugly Betty
Felicity Huffman, Desperate Housewives
Julia Louis-Dreyfus, The New Adventures of Old Christine
Mary-Louise Parker, Weeds

This is such a hard category!

Who I want to win: Tina Fey or Julia Louis-Dreyfus, because they would give the best speeches.
Who will win: America Ferrera, because Hollywood likes opportunities to prove it embraces normal people and not just utterly abnormal freaks of nature.

Outstanding actor, comedy
Alec Baldwin, 30 Rock
Steve Carell, The Office
Ricky Gervais, Extras
Tony Shalhoub, Monk
Charlie Sheen, Two and a Half Men

I will be so freaking annoyed if Tony Shalhoub wins. I'm sorry, I DO NOT GET IT.

Who I want to win: Steve Carell!
Who will win: I say ... Alec Baldwin.

Outstanding supporting actress, drama
Lorraine Bracco, The Sopranos
Rachel Griffiths, Brothers & Sisters
Katherine Heigl, Grey's Anatomy
Sandra Oh, Grey's Anatomy
Aida Turturro, The Sopranos
Chandra Wilson, Grey's Anatomy

Who I want to win: Katherine Heigl. (See: Mariska Hargitay, pretty factor.)
Who will win: Conventional wisdom says the Grey's girls and the Sopranos' ladies will cancel each other out, leaving ... Rachel Griffiths? Maybe?

Outstanding supporting actor, drama
Michael Emerson, Lost
Michael Imperioli, The Sopranos
T.R. Knight, Grey's Anatomy
Terry O'Quinn, Lost
Masi Oka, Heroes
William Shatner, Boston Legal

Who I want to win: Michael Emerson, only because he freaked my ass out on The Practice way back when. (Sorry, but George O'Malley was TOO WHINY last season!)
Who will win: I say ... Masi Oka. People love that dude.

Outstanding supporting actress, comedy
Conchata Ferrell, Two and a Half Men
Jenna Fisher, The Office
Elizabeth Perkins, Weeds
Jaime Pressly, My Name is Earl
Holland Taylor, Two and a Half Men
Vanessa Williams, Ugly Betty

Who I want to win: Pam! Of course!
Who will win: Either Vanessa Williams or Jaime Pressly. I kinda feel like it's going to be an Ugly Betty year, though.

Outstanding supporting actor, comedy
Jon Cryer, Two and a Half Men
Kevin Dillon, Entourage
Neil Patrick Harris, How I Met Your Mother
Jeremy Piven, Entourage
Rainn Wilson, The Office

Who I want to win: TOTALLY Rainn Wilson!
Who will win: I'm gonna guess Neil Patrick Harris.

Outstanding reality competition
The Amazing Race
American Idol
Dancing With the Stars
Project Runway
Top Chef

Who I want to win: I love Project Runway AND Amazing Race. It's like trying to choose between chocolate cake and chocolate ice cream. I love 'em both.
Who will win: I'm gonna go out on a limb and say Project Runway, even though Amazing Race has won every year ever. Although it WOULD be kind of cute if American Idol won, just because FOX, Seacrest ... you know.

Outstanding comedy
The Office
30 Rock
Two and a Half Men
Ugly Betty

Who I want to win: The Office, but of course.
Who will win: Remember how I said I thought it was Ugly Betty's year?

Outstanding drama
Boston Legal
Grey's Anatomy
The Sopranos

I do NOT understand why Boston Legal is nominated. I love David Kelley as much as anyone, but does anyone even watch that show? I mean, please, tell me if you do, because I would love to know. Friday Night Lights should totally be in here, and I'd say 24 on its worst day is still better than some of these shows on their best. And I have mentioned my newfound love of Dexter?

Who I want to win: You'd think I'd say Grey's, wouldn't you? Well, I'm not. If they win, Shonda Rhimes will feel vindicated for that crappy season and that CANNOT happen. So I'm abstaining.
Who will win: Freaking stupid Sopranos. I was not a Sopranos fan, but I watched that season finale and thought it was absolutely INSULTING. It was the worst series finale I have ever seen, and trust me, I have seen some horrible series finales.

All right. Have a great weekend, everyone ... come back on Sunday and say hi!

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Scenes from a coffee shop

(Previous installment here.)

Let me tell you, this place is bouncing tonight. Not like the other night, when I came here and someone actually had the AUDACITY to SHUSH me when the text-message sound on my cell phone went off. (It's like, ONE BEEP. And I was GONNA silence it, but I hadn't even SAT DOWN yet! Sheesh. Or, as I used to say when I was little, sheesh capeesh.)

Anyway. That night is not like this night. This night, there are people everywhere. I snag a nice little spot in the corner and, since nothing is more fun than people-watching and procrastinating, that's what I do.


There are three high school boys doing homework a few tables over. They're always here when I come. Tonight, though, they brought Gatorade to power them through their nightly trig assignment, which is a new touch. (Who knew, by the way, you could smuggle in your own Gatorade?)

One of them is wearing a red t-shirt that says: "Prom '08: SACRIFICE the frills but not the FUN!" OK. I get why "fun" is capitalized ... not so much the "sacrifice." I also don't really get why he's wearing a t-shirt for a prom that presumably hasn't happened yet. Is this like the new vintage?

After a minute or two, one of the boys breaks off from the other two so that he can sit closer to an outlet and plug in his computer. Apparently, though, he misses his buds. Every two seconds he turns around and giggles at them from across the room. It reminds me of a couple of lovesick 14-year-olds, which ... hey. Maybe they are. I'm not here to judge.


There are two tables of ponytailed and goateed guys playing this board game called Attica. I've never heard of it. I'm more of a Scrabble or Pop Culture Trivial Pursuit kind of girl. (And UNO! Never underestimate a good game of UNO.) Anyway, they are VERY into it, which strikes me as somewhat random, but hey, whatever.

OK, now one of the tables has packed up Attica and moved on to ... hmm. It starts with a U, but I can't read it from across the room. Ubonga? I SO need to put in a new pair of contacts. At any rate, these guys totally have, like, a little board game club! I think that's very cute, but I also think it's a little rude of them to hoard the tables by the electric outlets if they're not even going to use a computer. Just saying.


Daddy-daughter math homework! At least I hope that's his daughter. Otherwise ... creepy!


OK, we've got our couple on a date. They look very, very cute, like the kind of couple that met at, like, a poetry reading at some independent bookstore or an acoustic guitar night at some (much hipper) coffee shop. She worked very hard to look good without making it look like she worked hard to look good. You know what I mean? Her hair's freshly blown out, but simple. She's wearing glasses, but has on the shiny lip gloss. She's wearing a basic shirt and jeans, but has on trendy heels.

He, on the other hand, has a hole in his t-shirt and hasn't shaved in three days, but it also seems calculated in a way--he strikes me as the kind of guy who's very concerned with playing it cool. I think she's more into him than he is into her, but you know those boys who like to play it cool! They can be deceptive!


A guy in the corner is teaching himself how to read his palm. Should I go over and ask him to read mine? (He is not cute, so the answer to that is NO!)


Ohhhh, boy. A woman in the opposite corner, who's here with two friends, has just started crying. I have to say, she's a really great crier. She doesn't look bad at all. Me, on the other hand, I look terrible when I cry--eyes all bloodshot, nose all runny, face all red and puffy.

OK, she's crying harder now. I am dying, just DYING, to know what's going on. Actually, scratch that. I have no doubt it's about a man. The BASTARD!


One of the teenage boys just came over and shared half his strawberry smoothie with electric outlet boy, who is now ten kinds of giddy. Secret--or not so secret--looooovahs? Or just strawberry smoothie fans? The jury's still out.


Holy freaking crap, the daddy-daughter duo just walked by and, uh ... she's not his daughter. How do I know? Just trust me. I know. I am SO CREEPED OUT right now!

Monday, September 10, 2007

Hit me baby, one more time

OK, I have to make this kind of quick, but ...

Ohhhhh, Britney.

What a train wreck.

This is the main thing I want to know: Doesn't that girl have any friends? Isn't there ANYONE around her who will step in and stop her from making herself look bad?

I could hardly even watch it. I mean, seriously, I was cringing. The bad extensions. The horrible lip synching. The oh-so-unflattering outfit. The pink body makeup. The near-stumbling. The fact that she appeared to be, oh, DRUNK the whole time. I flipped it on at work, and it was so sad we couldn't even bring ourselves to make fun of her.

Which is why I thought Sarah Silverman was pretty bitchy when she got up there after the performance. I only caught part of it because I was working on something, but did she really make fun of Britney's KIDS? Like, Britney practically just hammered the final nail in the coffin of her career in front of a national live audience, and you want to make fun of her drooling toddlers? That is MEAN! Like I said, I didn't catch the whole thing so maybe I heard wrong, but given the fact that Ms. Silverman was not exactly sugar and spice and everything nice to your friend Swishy once upon a time, I believe it.

Anyway, poor Britney. I blame Justin. If they had never broken up, Britney never would have run off to Vegas with the non-bald Jason Alexander and gotten an annulment and made out with Madonna and married K-Fed and on and on. It ALL comes back to Justin. Well, Justin, what goes around comes around, and that doesn't just apply to Elisha Cuthbert.*

Ohhhh, Britney.

It's a sad, sad night.

* (Did you guys know that? He wrote that song about Jack Bauer's daughter, who cheated on his best friend. True story.)

Friday, September 07, 2007

Nicest man on the planet

(OK, I want to say one thing first: You guys are SO GREAT. You really are. I'm not sure I can really explain it, but I think about that--how great you all are--all the time and I just felt like telling you. I hope that's not too random.)

OK. You know what? I was like two-thirds of the way through an entirely different post, but I'm sitting here, watching the repeat of Tim Gunn's Guide to Style, and I HAVE to blog about this instead. Because ...

Tim Gunn is the most wonderful human being in the world. I mean, seriously. The nicest person EVER!

You know Tim Gunn, right? The mentor from Project Runway? Of course I adore him on that show, but I was up in the air when I heard about his new one. Just because, you know, there are SO MANY makeover shows on TV. But then this girl at work was like, "Swishy, I saw a preview of it last night and YOU HAVE TO WATCH IT! You will LOVE it!"

So I watched it. And I LOVE it!

So first, Tim Gunn. The man is an angel, an honest-to-goodness angel. He's funny and honest and warm and genuine, and it all just radiates from him. I know this is going to sound corny and cheesy and ridiculous, but I swear to you it's true: I watched Tim Gunn on that show tonight and it made me want to be a better person. I KNOW how that sounds! But it did, it really did. I want people to feel that good when they're around me. He makes you feel great and empowered JUST BY BEING ON TV! I can't imagine what he's like in person!

Did any of you read the Entertainment Weekly story on him probably a year ago? In it, they talk about how he was in love with someone, like, 25 years ago who broke his heart so badly that he knew he could never be in a relationship ever again. Isn't that the most horrible thing you've ever heard? It makes me wonder about the kind of person who's capable of hurting someone that good and kind. Poor Tim Gunn!

All right. The show. The show is SO CUTE! You guys, it will be on like a thousand times this weekend, so please watch it. It made me laugh, it made me (almost) cry ... and, yes, I know, I totally sound like a publicist for the show. (Bravo, please make out that check to Swishy. S-w-i-s-h-y.)

So here are two things they taught the girl tonight: First, you need to have a fashion inspiration. (Hers was Jessica Alba.) And second, you need to walk like you have a feel-good soundtrack playing in your mind, because it gives you confidence. (I don't know what hers was. But this guy I used to work with? I SWEAR to you he had "Stayin' Alive" playing in his head whenever he walked down the hall.)

If I were going to pick a fashion inspiration ... maybe Reese Witherspoon? I like the way Jennifer Aniston dresses, too. Soundtrack is WAY harder. I'll have to think about it some more and post in the comments ... in the meantime, I am DYING to hear yours!

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Creepy McCreeperson

So how was your Labor Day weekend? Good? Good. Do anything fun? Yeah? Me too ... like, for example, I ALMOST GOT KILLED.

OK. It is entirely possible that my imagination is on overdrive because I just happened to be catching up on the first season of Dexter this weekend. Which, as a side note, creeps me the hell out but is an AWESOME show. I kinda think Michael C. Hall is hot in it, though, and I really just don't know what to do with that. I mean, I really don't. HE PLAYS A FREAKING SERIAL KILLER! And yet ...

All right. End of tangent. So I take my computer to the park to work. I drive around and pick sort of an isolated spot, you know, so some screaming kid won't run by and fall on my laptop. I spread out my blanket and dig into my Oreo Blizzard and start typing away. So far, so good. A car of guys drives by and honks, and my self-esteem is sufficiently boosted. And then ANOTHER car drives by, with two guys in it, and the one in the passenger seat is creepy. Seriously, seriously creepy. He's, like, falling out of the window staring at me. But then they disappear, and I shake off the shivers and go back to my computer.

But then--THEN!--five minutes or so later, the car comes back. And parks right next to my car. And the guys get out of their car and just stand there, staring at me. And there's no one else very close by and it's REALLY freaking me out. So I get on the phone and wait for them to leave, but they don't. They're just standing there, staring. For like 10 minutes. They're a weird pair, too--one's like a younger skinhead and the other totally looks like a middle-aged pedophile, and I'm convinced they met in jail or some messed-up halfway house. And then this other car pulls up, and a kid gets out, and the two creepy guys jump back in their car. Which CONVINCES me that they just got out of jail and are looking for fresh prey and this kid who just showed up is a monkey wrench in their plans. So I'm like, I'm outta here. I pack up all my stuff and hustle to my car, keeping the phone held up to my ear the whole time so they know I could scream into it if I had to. I pull out and then ...

The pedophile guy starts waving at me! Not a regular wave ... a slow-motion, scary movie wave. AND THEN HE STARTS FONDLING HIMSELF!!!

I am SO never going back to that part of the park again.