RELOCATION!!!

I have moved over to Tumblr. It's easier to use. Sorry. xo

http://itsablunderfullife.tumblr.com/

Soon.

Six months ago, when I returned from New Zealand, I was totally smitten by an Englishman that I met while I was traveling. I can’t even tell you what we had in common, other than the fact that he worked on the British counterpart to a television show that I had worked on in the states. I dunno, I guess I just liked that he paid attention to me. And he promised to visit me sometime soon.

“Soon,” btw, is one of my least favorite words in the English dictionary. If “soon” had meant that he would be over here before the holidays, you would have found me running up and down the hallways singing songs of joy.

But soon never means anything other than “not now,” so I couldn’t get excited about it. “Soon” is the opposite of a promise, just like its vicious cousin “maybe.” If I’ve learned anything, it’s best not to work yourself up for something that might not (probably won’t) ever come.

It took me about a week to let any hopes of a visit being a reality die down, and then I was on to bigger and better things. I’d say I almost completely forgot about this Englishman if it weren’t for the occasional “how are things?” Facebook wall post that I would get every couple of months or so. Otherwise, he was a non-thought.

So wouldn’t luck have it that when I’m waiting on a “soon” from someone else that this Englishman would pop back up into my life? He will be in Los Angeles in a week. That. Is soon. It will be good to see an old familiar face, but he’s not the one I want to see.

Let me be emo for one second

This. Is my anthem.

Story of my life.

Failure #347

Man, it sucks when that shitty book He's Just Not That Into You is right. I don't want to be part of the same demographic that views Sex And The City as the single girls' guide to being fabulous. I'd always fancied myself in a different echelon than the girls that put designer shoes at the top of their list of interests. I never thought I was that obvious.

But in this case, I'm gonna have to call a spade a spade. He is just not that into me, and it's about fucking time I recognized that.

He's not that into me if he'll only talk to me via internet. He's not that into me if he uses the Master Cleanse as an excuse to postpone seeing me for 10 days. He's not that into me if he's sneaking out of my bedroom at 4am without saying goodbye or why he was leaving. And he's sure as hell not that into me if he's letting me walk away.


Jesus. What was I thinking? And when did I become so pedestrian? Ugh, I'm sad.

Batter Up

I went to the Angels vs. Yankees yesterday with a bunch of ladies and the Infamous Mark Roden. Baseball is one of the only sports I actually understand most of the rules to, so it's actually a good time for me. Really, though, going to baseball games is all about cramming your face full of grotesque amounts of sodium and washing it down with good ol' American beer. Oh, and it's about the boys. Those dreamy baseball players! Yowza!

I fell in love with a little Puerto Rican slice of heaven called Jorge Posada. Unfortunately, he was playing for the wrong team, but every time he came up to bat, I suddenly became an avid Yankees fan.  I'm serious, he's ridiculously handsome:

 Holy smokes!

The ladies and I discussed this, and my opinion was not the favorite, but I personally believe that baseball players are the sexiest of all athletes.

Any athlete is going to be gross if you take more than a 2-second look at what they're all about, but it seems like the only big issue with baseball players is that 90% of them are pumped full of steroids. Apparently steroids make your weenie majorly tiny, but I'm never going to get anywhere close to a professional athletes' weenie, so that doesn't concern me.  And sure, the steroids make some of them beat their wives, but if I'm not even gonna get the chance to see their weenie, I'm sure as hell not gonna get one to marry me...so there's nothing to worry about.

But let's consider the alternatives:

Football players are enormous, meat-scented (they have to be, right?) date rape machines, hockey players are equally enormous but lack the mental ability to even come up with a scheme as complicated as date rape, golfers are either 85 years old or serial adulterers, and let's not even get started on basketball players.

Tennis is for nancy boys, swimmers have enormous bat wings, and anyone that participates in extreme sports as a profession is an equally extreme asshole. As my friend Bowman once perfectly articulated: "Bam Margera seems like his life is made up of three components: Blowjobs, Cool Ranch Doritos and dutch ovens."

Thus, baseball players seem to be taking the lead with their slight steroid issues as the sexiest professional athletes.

 Think about it. I'm right, aren't I?

xo

Drastic Measures

Ugh. I told the guy that I'm "talking to" that it was his turn to make the next move, and now I'm trying everything I can do to distract me from the purgatory that is waiting for this "next move."

I reached the end of the internet by about noon today. Needed a break from constantly refreshing my inbox --- did you know that actually makes time go by more slowly? --- so I took a long walk in the sun. After I got back I realized that I needed something super involved to keep me distracted or I would definitely break my own rule and email this guy.

So I did the one thing I said I would never do in this life. I did exactly what I have been mocking some of my dearest friends for since this option first came about. I started a Farmville farm on Facebook.

I know, I know. The shame, the humanity.  Seriously, though. What a distraction!

Now I'm too busy trying to figure out if I need to feed the cow that my cousin gave me as a gift, or what I'm supposed to do once I harvest my strawberries to even notice if I've got a new email in my inbox from this silly boy. I don't, btw. But I also haven't embarrassed myself by reaching out when I said --- very clearly --- that the ball was in his court.

Of course, I will have embarrassed myself if it turns out that he reads this blog...

Nah.

Pearl of Wisdom #8

If you are going to do any "breast pumping" at the office, just know that everyone will always (ALWAYS) think of you doing this every time they see you  for forever and ever. This image will never go away. No matter what you achieve in your life, your co-workers will always think of you as the lady that pumps your breasts at work. Also, we will have visualized it, which is basically like seeing you naked. Just sayin'.

Cute Boys Doing Cuter Things :: Vol. 2

This is just the opinion of one man, but man-oh-man!:

Click me!

Oh, to have a man describe my kisses as cupcake-shaped grenades! Le sigh.

Cute Boys Doing Cuter Things :: Vol. 1

However, they lose cute points for making embedding impossible. Let's just assume it wasn't their decision. CLICK HERE (!!!)

It gets especially precious at 2:28.

Cross My Heart

All I've ever wanted from a boy was a necklace. I want a boy to pick out a necklace on his own and then give it to me. Then I will wear it around my neck and tell him that he's always close to my heart. Give me a break, dude. I'm super cheesy.

So I've told every boyfriend that I've had that I want a necklace, and never once have I received one. It's not like I'm asking for a fucking ring, man! I just want a silly little necklace. I don't need diamonds or pearls, either! Just. A necklace.

I've received all sorts of strange little gifts instead, though --- 2 watches from the same guy on the same day (the opposite of a necklace?), a jar of pocket change (long story, I guess), a "Vote For Pedro" t-shirt (jesus, dude), a Tamagotchi (this one I received less than two years ago, btw) --- you get the gist.

Nary a necklace. Is it because it's jewelry and that seems super serious? Or because I'm just dating dudes that don't care about what I actually want? What does a girl have to do to get a fucking necklace around here?

Annnnnd Action!

I wanna see a movie with a cute boy. In the theatres. I wanna see something scary or something funny. I want to sit in the very back row and lock arms, with my head on his shoulder and my hands in his lap. We'll steal a glance (or maybe a kiss!) when we laugh at the same thing, or I'll have to bury my face in his chest if it gets too scary.

I'll make the dumb joke that my dad used to always make when we saw movies together: "Did you hear the weather forecast? They said it was going to rain!" Then I throw popcorn up in the air and laugh as it falls down like "rain" while my date looks at me like he can't decide if I'm mildly disabled, or if I'm the cutest thing he's ever seen.

The last time I saw a scary movie with a boyfriend was when we went to go see Michael Clayton. We made it through like 15 minutes of the movie before the heavy petting started bordering on obscene, so we took off. Michael Clayton is a horror film, right? Or is it a comedy? I wouldn't even know! And every time I've tried to watch it since, I can only think about the things we did in the theatre rather than watching the film and my focus is instantly shifted to something much more naughty than the film itself.

Yes, I want to do something like that again.

Spring Cleaning Objectives

IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
-Clean room. Not just like..dust and polish. I mean I'm throwing some major shit out. Garage sale? Who wants to buy my old junk. Nobody. I've always been jealous of those people that have almost nothing personal in their homes. Sure, I also thought they seemed like they lacked a soul for not having any sort of memoribilia or trinkets from the past, but whatevs. At least they look organized. Once I've gotten rid of the crap that's suffocating me in my room, I'm going to completely rearrange it. I'm gonna need help with the heavy stuff, so I'll let you know when to come over.

-Clean closet. Similar to the last one, only this time I'm gonna toss all of the clothes that I haven't worn in the last 6 months. If I lived in a city that actually experienced seasons, then maybe I'd give the sweaters a chance and toss out everything I haven't worn in the past year, but I don't. It's always about the same here, so if I haven't worn it in the last 6 months, it's Goodwill-bound.

-Clean up my act. Been much better about exercising more regularly, but I need to step it up a notch. I've gotta start being one of those people that wakes up super early and works out BEFORE work. Yuck. I'm gonna hate it, but it has to be done. I also need to bring my lunch to work every single day, and cook my dinner every night. Weekends are negotiable. Also, I started taking classes that Richard Simmons teaches at his gym and I am 100% obsessed. I'd go every day if I could afford it. I also desperately wish I were a gay  man now so that I could date Richard. He's that awesome.

-Clean up my heart. I've been really good about keeping the men away since my last messy incident, but I let a stupid one (See: Reset) break the barrier a couple of weeks ago. I swear, just a little attention from a man and all I can think about is making out for weeks. I need to get back into focus and concentrate on everything but love and sex. Like working out with my new best friend Richard Simmons, for instance.

-Clean up my finances. I had zero debt until last year, but I got all of this dental work done and I  still owe my dentist another like...$8000. And then my adorable accountant somehow fucked me over with the IRS to the point where the only thing I can do is just pay them, and that's another $6500. So instead of buying that sparkly blush from Sephora that I've been coveting since the 90s -- the one that I always forget to buy it until I have no money -- I have to save my stupid money so I can pay off "the man." The "men," actually.

I think that's good enough for now. If you can think of anything else, let me know.

Coors Light Wishes & Karaoke Dreams

If I had a decent voice, or if I didn't have a performance-crippling fear of singing to a bunch of faces that are staring at me blankly, and if I had at least 4 beers in my system...I would totally sing the song "Hot Child In The City" by Nick Gilder. If they didn't have that song available, I'd sing "The Warrior" by Scandal, and I would hope that my current love interest was in the audience so I could do the little "Bang! Bang!" signal directly to him, followed by a wink.

But I don't have a decent voice, and I'm too terrified to relax on stage and instead of singing anything awesome, I always end up crackling out a shitty, forgettable rendition of something safe like "Daydream Believer."

One of these days I'll grow a pair and actually attempt to nail one of my karaoke fantasies. Until then, I am sticking to the AM Gold classics.

Bus boy.

Phew, thank god. There's a new hot guy on my bus. I can't tell if he's really hot, or if he's just the most suitable candidate on the bus, though. He's like a super tall Mexican Fonzie, complete with pompadour and leather jacket. Also, I'm pretty sure he's like 19 years old. I know, sounds sorta disasterous --- but there's something to be said for a man (boy) that wakes up early in the morning to comb his hair into an old timey coif.

Reset

Thought it would be a good idea to go home with one of my roommate's friends last night, only to arrive at his place while a girl was breaking into his apartment through the screen window.  Once inside, she proceeded to book it to the bedroom, where she immediately took her pants off and insisted that she would leave once she was warm.

Yes. The guy I went home with knew her, and yes, there was probably some truth to the insane story she was spewing about how he had been texting her all night with invitations of sandwiches (not sure if it was a euphemism or not) and sex.

Needless to say, I bounced.

Fuck. My. Life.

Faux Bus Love

The bus ride to work is long and boring, so I decided to have a crush on a few of the regular commuters that share the same route as me. They aren't real crushes, I've just picked out the most acceptable dudes on the bus and put them in order of my liking for time-killing purposes.

In first place there's the smoking hot spanish dude that wears shiny shoes and is studying to be an actor (yuck!) at the film school on the 5th floor of my building. He's a super hunk and is always reading spanish newspapers, but I'm willing to bet he's already got a pretty foxy girlfriend. No way is this guy single.

Then there's the dude that looks 100% european as well, and I always assumed that he was part of the same international film school as the smoking spanish dude. He looks more on the Scandinavian side. And, while I DO happen to collect Scandinavians, lighter-skinned dudes aren't really my first choice - - - but if you saw what I had to choose from on the bus, you'd put him in second place, too. Thing about this guy is that I would only have a chance with him if he actually were, in fact, european. If he's american, he's juuust rock and roll enough that some Silverlake hipster chick would be all over him in a heartbeat - - I lack the whole "hip" factor, so that puts me out of the game.

And the third guy is really just an alternate, but I threw him in because I always like to lump things into groups of threes. He's no feast for the eyes, that's for sure, but there's a nerdy quality about him that makes me think that he could possibly have potential in the personality department. Eh, but he seriously needs to shave the inch-long spotty red patches of hair from his face and change out of the non-ironic Member's Only jacket before I give it any more consideration.

Ok, so those are the key players. They are never all on the bus at the same time, and NEVER have any of them sat next to me. I always leave the space next to me open on the bus that we share in hopes that one of them will plop themselves down, and still. Nothing.

So last night I get on the bus and it's like a fucking party exploded in there. ALL THREE DUDES were on the bus, and TWO of them were talking to each other. The spanish dude had his nose shoved into one of his sexy periodicals, naturally. The two that were chatting were Second Place and Third Place, as I call them.

After hearing the two of them speak for 30 seconds, my Final 3 was instantly whittled down to just one: The hot spanish dude.

Dude. Second Place not only isn't european as I had originally fantasized, but he also has a maaaaaajor speech impediment - - - which I normally wouldn't be so cruel about in the real world, but this dude is just a bus fantasy, so I'm pulling the plug. Third Place, the ugly one, has the most obnoxious stoner laugh I've ever heard, and the very thought of his next bout of laughter made me move to the back of the bus, so...I nexted his ass, too.

And there you have it! The only guy I have left on my list of dudes to fake-fall-in-love-with on the bus is the hot spanish dude with his shiny, shiny shoes. Olé! Yep. I said it. How productive was that bus ride?!?

The Hollywood Exception

Every couple in the world should utilize the Hollywood Exception rule. It doesn't actually have to be someone that lives or works in Hollywood, just someone that is in the public eye. I just happen to be incredibly shallow and am only turned on by/made aware of people that are on the screen.

Anyway, the rule applies to anyone famous and alive. Basically, each member of the couple gets to pick one person that they get to, providing the opportunity presents itself, engage in a romantic or physical relationship for ONE NIGHT.

For instance, say I choose...Johnny Depp as my Hollywood Exception (I won't), and let's also say that I'm in a relationship (I'm not)...if somehow I find myself in a position to have some sort of escapade with Johnny Depp, as long as it's known that he is my chosen Hollywood Exception, I get to act on it. Just one time. Same goes for the guy in the relationship and his Megan Fox or whatever.

Since I'm not in a relationship at the moment, I'm going to choose 3 people as my Hollywood Exceptions...just for kicks: My first, my current, and my forever. Behold:

My first and longest-standing Hollywood Exception:

My current and mainly conditional Hollywood Exception:

Annnnd...every woman's secret fantasy and my forever:

Shit. I can't keep it to just 3. This last one is someone that I wouldn't necessarily insist that I get to be romantic with (though I totally would) --- in the event that I'm simultaneously in a relationship and in the presence of such a breathtaking man, of course --- but I definitely would straight-up ditch my significant other in a nano in order to hang out with this dude instead:

Ladies and germs: Sir David Attenborough

*Swoon*

Who would yours be?

Pearl of Wisdom #7

Don't interrupt people while they are talking on the phone to someone else. It's fucking mega-rude. I don't care how important it is, wait your turn.

I'm Every Woman

I dated this semi-famous-for-a-minute reality TV chef for even less than a minute last year, mainly because I knew that no matter what happened, it would be a good story to tell. Even from the start it had all the components of a brilliant little memoir: he was currently on television being portayed as "the villian," he was wildly European (not just mildly), and he lived like a block away from me. All it took was a simple email inquiry about cooking classes and we were off!

Cut to the present day and I will tell everyone to avoid dating a chef. Well, give it a shot if you don't mind dealing with someone that is compleeetely spastic and never available. Nothing terrible ever happened between me and the chef. There were no falling-outs or fizzles. The story just became less and less fun to tell. I still keep in contact with him, though. Only now the broken-English semi-naughty texts that I used to find endearing drive me crazy. I got another one today. Ugh.

But it's not the chef's fault that I no longer care to bounce texts back and forth, pretending that either of us actually wants to see the other. The chef was just another in a series of distractions that were keeping me from having access to anything meaningful. Now that I'm on a break from romance, I'd rather distract myself with something productive - - - like exercise. Or learning how to make those French macarons that I'm so desperate to make.

It's funny how it works. When you're in the thick of it, it's all you can think about. Love, sex, company. But when you're on hiatus, it only takes a short while before you've completely forgotten about it. And once you get to that point, then you can really start to get shit done. I changed my own fucking bike chain last weekend, for chrissake! I am kicking ass and taking names and I've got absolutely no time to stop and worry about silly relationship bullshit. Yeah!!!

Now cut to a 30 second montage of me getting my shit together (i.e., sweatin' to the oldies, pulling a batch of perfectly risen macarons from the oven, leaving the hair salon with a gorgeous new set of extensions) all to the sweet sound of Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman" blasting in the background.

Yep. That's me.

My One True Love (Forever and Always)