I’m going to have to take a science class. I haven’t had one of those in many, many years.
No one tell 1989 Regan that 2013 Regan is no where near a real wedding dress. You can let her know that her bedroom is still pink, though.
This week marks the seven year anniversary of meeting my super, duper, far too handsome and charming for my own good crush. Also, the beginning of the longest “relationship” that I’ve ever had with a man. He writes the most delicious love letters and smiles at me in a very dangerous way. Nineteen more days until we meet again. Sigh. But really, those boots! That smile! Those hands! The mindless chatter about emerging markets! And baseball! And great cocktails! And the hand holding and the really, really dirty bits that I’m leaving out.
Sure, lots of it may simply be make-believe, but so far, having a fairy tale day or two every few months is far more exciting than any other option.
Did I mention his hands? And his boots? And the way that he holds my face as he kisses my forehead then the tip of my nose?
A pretty, 105lb, 17 yo hostess at your job tells you that you look like the kind of girl who played softball in high school. And you laugh and quickly reply “yeah, I do have that sort of sturdy build, don’t I?” Then she gets awkward and walks away.
It’s good that I can laugh, because if I were 17 I’d cry over it. But damn, I’m almost 30 and she’s right — I was really fucking great at third base when I was her age and a strong lead-off batter at that. At one point in time I could throw harder than my brother who is two years older than me and who was also pretty fucking great at baseball. Also also, I look awesome naked and even though no one has ever mistaken me for a young Kate Moss, I haven’t heard any complaints that I ain’t.
There’s a big point to be made about all of this, and I think I’ve kind of made it, but yeah. We don’t all grow-up to be ballerinas, right?
*and for the sake of full disclosure, I should probably mention that a dumb 17yo host thought I was still in high school. So there’s that?
Somehow I grew-up about two hours southwest of Blytheville, AR (where the West Memphis 3 murders/trial/etc occurred) and I didn’t hear about it until I went to college in MA. It had just turned 9 when the murders happened, so it’s possible that my parents and other adults just shielded me from the “hey, kids your age were brutally murdered in a town close to here” thing. I’m just surprised I wasn’t told earlier. Anywho, I just saw “West of Memphis” last night, and I have some general, unimportant commentary about it.
1) Although I have no memory of hearing about the murders and trial, I have so many memories of discussions about satanic cult shit and the fear that followed. I remember seeing fire pits deep in the woods, pentagrams chalked onto deserted cul-de-sacs in nearby neighborhoods, and older kids’ stern warnings about devil worshipers who skin children after carving symbols into their skin and how these were signs that devil worshipers lived in our town. It was fascinating to have the origin of this fear-epidemic explained.
2) It’s one of the few documentaries I’ve ever seen where I didn’t have to rely on any subtitles to decipher regional accents.
3) I had no idea that giant, terrifying turtles lived in the waters of east AR.
I said they were unimportant observations.
Yesterday my ophthalmologist (I have my very own ophthalmologist now! I even know how to spell it!) got some tweezers and pulled out two quarter sized pseudo-membranes out of my left eyelids and I got my third diagnosis in three weeks: “oh…wow, this isn’t pink eye after all..you not only have the worst of the eye viruses out there, but you have the worst case I’ve seen of it in over a decade.”
On the PLUS side, my left eye is finally looking normal again insomuch as the swelling has almost completely disappeared and the whites are finally white again. On the DOWN side, my left eye isn’t looking normal at all insomuch as it feels as though there is frosted glass on my lens and bright light makes me want to rip my face off.
I’m still concerned that I was developing a super power and now I won’t be able to be a super hero or circus lady. I’m eating Apple Jacks, and cheap potpies, and Mac-n-Cheese because I’m grumpy and can’t watch tv for more than 15 minutes and can’t dick around on the internet for more than 20 minutes and can’t read and can’t drive. I’ll be hitting the gym and shoving my face with vegetables once I feel better so I’ll never catch a virus again. Also, never kissing boys again. Or playing with toddlers. OR going swimming in public pools.
If Taylor Swift did not slip Prince William a dirty note in that event where they were both singing, then our generation has lost. At life. I know I sound 13 and southern and straight and gross, but COME ON!
You’ve been dirty enough to date John Mayer, yer dirty enough to throw yourself at goddamn Prince William.
That is all.
1) Sure, the BoSox won the WS. Weirdo series. Still wasn’t as awesome as our win in 2011. =) Good job, though, kids.
2) I got into graduate school. So in exactly two years and a few months I’ll be a shrink. And my dream of being on a softball team called the Shrinky Dinks will finally be possible.
3) Back to Austin in a few days. Should be super awesome!
4) yay life!
You watch a gorgeous travel show on PBS about Peru while emailing a cowboy banker who’s working in Peru…probably raping the earth and cutting down everything beautiful to make the world’s richest people a little bit richer. Ugh. I need to bone a hippie to make-up for this, in a cosmic way.
Today I looked into the face of God and smiled, looked down, then nervously continued to polish wine glasses. Then the following conversation took place -
Me: Pssst. HEY…there’s a super hero sitting in the bar.
Co-Worker: Um…you’ll have to be more specific.
Me: The Wiz.
CW: Like Michael Jackson?
Me: No, stupid. THE Wiz.
Me: Ozzie Smith!
Me: OZZIE SMITH! THE WIZARD!
Me: The best short stop in the history of the world!
CW: Oh…um, like…that guy who beat out Sami Sosa for the homerun thing?
Me: YOU GREW UP IN ST. LOUIS! WHY ARE YOU THIS STUPID?!?
Single Topic Blog of the Day: 300 Sandwiches
The New York Post’s senior reporter Stephanie Smith’s boyfriend Eric has taken "Make Me a Sandwich" to a whole new level. After he jokingly told Smith that she was “300 sandwiches away from an engagement ring” in June 2012, Smith launched the blog 300 Sandwiches to document her journey of learning how to cook while earning wedded bliss. Today, after creating more than 176 sandwiches, Smith revealed her blog project in a column article on the New York Post, in which Eric was quoted as saying “[Men are] not complex. Just do something nice for us. Like make a sandwich.” Hat tip goes to Gawker!
Make your own goddamn sandwiches, Draco Malfoy. Also: lady, a marriage isn’t a prize to be won. Don’t get it twisted. UGH these people.
UGH HOW DID YOU RUIN A BLOG ABOUT SANDWICHES, DRACO?!DRACO IS THE WORST. ALTHOUGH… THIS DOES MAKE ME WANT A SANDWICH-FLAVORED BERTIE BOTTS BEAN.
Attention to Kirk for last comment.
(I thought this was Julian Assange.)
I literally SCREAMED WITH JOY when I saw her boyfriend’s hair. Oh my god. OH MY GOD. I can’t stop cumming over HIS INSANE HAIR OH CHRIST IS THAT A WIG? It’s dyed blonde, right? It has to be dyed. WHY IS IT SO LONG? WHY DOES IT START SO FAR BACK? Oh my god, my body is ready to look at THAT HAIR AGAIN OH MY GOD WHY IS IT SO STIFF WHAT COULD BE IN IT? OH CHRIST. OH SWEET JESUS. I can’t. That is too good. You guys. YOU. GUYYYYYYSSSSSSSS. I’m dead now. I came so hard, I died and now I’m looking down from Heaven AT THAT GUY’S PLASTIC HAIR OH MY HOLY GOD HOW DOES SUCH HAIR EXIST IN THE WOOOOOORRRLD? IT LOOKS LIKE A SHITTY LACE FRONT! IT LOOKS LIKE HE BOUGHT HIS HAIR AT CLAIRE’S AS A JOKE FOR A BACHELORETTE PARTY!
You know what? Do you think her sandwich blog was just an elaborate ruse to expose all of us to his hair? OH MY GOD I JUST SAW HIS JEANS HERE WE GO AGAAAAAIN…
The upper house of French Parliament voted in favor of banning child beauty pageants (for contestants under 16) as part of a larger bill on women’s rights. The proposal is that anyone found organizing a child beauty pageant would face prison charges and fines of up to $40,000.
Legislators argue that these child pageants negatively influence girls’ body image and sense of self-worth. The hypersexualization of children has sparked controversy in French media before, after a 10-year old was dressed provocatively in a 2010 Vogue spread starting a dialogue about this very issue.
Similarly, there has been discussion of putting a health warning on heavily photoshopped images in a campaign against eating disorders.
Will the initiatives taken in France start a ripple effect in other countries? Should it be illegal or is this part of freedom of expression?
Meanwhile, The American “glitz” or child pageant industry, including famed “Honey Boo Boo,” is a 5 Billion dollar industry.
What a world.
photo (Little Miss Sunshine)
I had a crazy mix of dreams last night. I hiked the Appalachian Trail where I slept on Indian mounds to keep away from the wildlife. I looked adorable at a coworker’s wedding. I went on a road trip with people from high school debate. I did quiz bowl on a very scary hill. An elevator at a hotel gave me crazy vertigo. AND I SAT ON HOLD FOR THREE HOURS! Who has a dream where she sits on hold…for THREE HOURS.
Elevators are a recurring object in my dream. Most of them are when I revisit the Smith campus. Most of them are in a science building (I only took two classes in that space). They’re all Willy Wonka-esque. They’re all either completely exhilarating or completely terrifying but never as terrifying as the roller coaster dreams where the track just ends. My roller coaster dreams are always set in Vegas. Also in Vegas! Lobbies. Lots and lots of lobbies.