Not Constantinople

I speak Italian, so do they. Anyone want to go to Istanbul with me?

Google wishes and Blogger dreams....

Mags: the other problem with blogger
Mags: and most blogs, as far as I can tell
Mags: is that it's not well searchable
Cred: very true
Mags: so I have like 6 years worth of content on this blog, and I can never find anything
Cred: I am surprised that people haven't all realized this now, but Google and Yahoo have done more than replace the dewy decimal system.. they have conditioned people to be able to find what they are looking for without a lot of wasted time/effort
Cred: newspapers, digital media, tv media... all of them should be Lexus-Nexus like searchable
Cred: and of course freaking blogs
Mags: I was never very good at lexis-nexis searching
Mags: I'm a bad searcher in general
Mags: Google saves me
Cred: google is so much better than everything, except:
Cred: 1) rear-wheel drive, manual tranmission, convertibles
Mags: 2. single-payer medical care
Cred: 2) midget KISS tribute bands
Cred: ooo your 2 is better than mine
Mags: sorry
Cred: no worries
Mags: but that's all I got. I was trying to come up with a good 3
Mags: but your 2 floored me!
Cred: well i was going to say coffee, but why take a good run and exaggerate too much right
Mags: hahahaa!
Mags: I'm posting this converation
Mags: just so you know
Mags: what do you want me to call you?
Cred: lol... it is yours as much as mine, just be sure to give me a cool screename that preserves my street cred
Cred: I leave that to your considerable creative prowess
Mags: fine, I'm calling you cred
Mags: for street cred
Cred: lol
Mags: and for your credulity in thiking I have any kind of prowess
Cred: perfect

Product Whore no more...

It all started out so simple. I was a poor grad student, and I was in love with this skin serum that cost about $50 a bottle (sounds almost cheap now!). When I realized that Prescriptives gave away nice-sized samples at every department store counter, I hit the malls. Around Christmas, I could get a year's supply of samples in half an hour -- three or four counters per mall, two or three people working each counter, and huge crowds meant no one noticed if I hit the same counter more than once. I would decant them into a clean glass bottle, and voilá -- full-sized serum for free.

I graduated and moved to New York, the nexus of both cosmetics counters and parties with gift bags. As an editor with an office in a hot downtown zipcode (marketers didn't know I ran a university computing mag) I soon found myself on the mailing and invite list for lots of beauty industry parties and give-aways. I was lucky, I always had larger apartments and more closet space than your average New Yorker, so I built up a fabulous stash. Ricky's was having a sale on Philip B hair products? Stock up! Bliss having an end-of-year clearance to make way for a new product line? Stock up! Bendel's invitation to a Christmas party with cocktails, snacks, and deluxe samples at every counter? I'm there!

Free stuff and great deals are addictive, of course. Say it with me girls -- Gift With Purchase. But once I started advancing in my career, I had more discretionary beauty funds, so I could actually pay for what I wanted. Anyway, the go-go 90's were over and there were fewer freebies and mini-burgers being passed around on silver trays in Bergdorf's basement. The quest for a deal may have passed, but the chase after new and high-end products continued. Bigelow's has a new product line? And it's half-price at Bath & Body Works? I'll take one of each, please!

When I moved into the new house, I refused to actually start sleeping there until the bathroom was fully set up and unpacked. I wanted supreme order in this new life. The products alone filled up an entire floor-to-ceiling cabinet, and the actual first-aid and medical items have been banished to the medicine cabinet in the guest bathroom. I was kind of ashamed (glass doors!), but my real estate agent, accustomed to his clients in the South End, said I had nothing to worry about.

And then the rash hit.

As skin peeled and flaked off my face, as the red itchiness spread across my neck, the nice allergist restricted me to nothing but plain Dove soap and baby shampoo for two weeks.

No moisturizer in the dead of winter? No conditioner, when my hairdresser just told me that my hair was severely crunchy, even though I just cut off six inches? No makeup for Christmas and New Years?!?!?!

No, no, no! Dove, baby shampoo, and a little hydrocortisone cream until the inflamation went down.

Cruel? Surprisingly not. My hair has never looked better -- soft, silky, shiny. My skin has almost totally normalized. Oh, the irony!

My dad fears that I've developed a chemical sensitivity. I don't know about that, but I think it's probably a good idea for me to dial it down, before I turn into one of those bubble-living freaks.

I'm in the midst of allergy testing right now, and we already know that I'm reacting to the hair conditioner I've been loyal to for years. Funny thing is, I don't use much on a daily basis. But when I gathered everything I'd used at least once in the past month, it was over 20 products!

So I'm going to change myself from a Product Whore into a pure, sensitive soul. Once the allergy testing is done, I'm packing up the bulk of my magnificent stash and dropping it off at a local women's shelter.

But before that happens, you, my beloved friends and loyal readers, get first dibs. Drop me a line and let me know when you want to stop by to rifle through the archives to my beautiful past.

PS: I just noticed that the rash is flaring up again on my face. Could it be possible that I'm allergic to cashmere, too? Oh, the injustice!

Crimefighters

They didn't list my favorite euphemism, "fighting crime," so I submitted it.

I gotta say, though, "playing cars and garages" is pretty brilliant too. Why do the best ones always sound British? Are there any good cockney rhyming euphemisms?

Weapons of egg destruction

So, folks are, understandably, a bit concerned about my plans to go off and get pregnant half-cocked (pardon the pun, it wasn't even mine!). They remind me that random sperm can have legal consequences down the road, and I should tread cautiously.

Well, according to Slate, I'd have better chances of a successful non-traditonal parenthood if I were a lesbian. And it's not the first time that's seemed liek the solution to all my problems, either, alas!

Pachelbel in hell

All pop music is the same, and a cello will never make you cool (though playing guitar is no guarantee either).

Who you calling "Ho ho ho"? (and stop stuttering)

Merry Christmas, my babies!

First Christmas in the new house was pretty easy, since my guests did all the cooking and cleaning, and all I did was decorate and serve drinks! But man, does this house look good with its halls decked.

Spent much of Christmas Eve teary-eyed, because I was trying to decide if I should marry the hippy and let him make me happy and secure, or if I should hold out for true love. Having run away from, or otherwise sabotaged, every chance at true love I've ever had, I maybe should not be trusted to make this decision for myself (though yes, Manda, I'm still heeding your advice and not dating by committee, so have no fear that I'll be putting up another Pick Maggie's Husband website!). Also, to be honest, hearing that Will rescinded his aversion to tradition and actually made it legal probably increased the sense of urgency for me. But the Mystical Smoking Head of Bob thinks that L will give me another chance, and I should try for real. Now I just need to figure out how to do that.

And for those of you keeping track, I finally paid my electric bill, and signed my Brooklyn renewal lease. Painless, in the end, and nice to start 2007 with a clean slate.

Gifted

Gave out gifts to the PubNight folks last night. It was fun. Von loved her dress, and Catmandoo was engrossed in the book on Banksy, who he had surprisingly never heard of. Y got nothing, which is actually an improvement over the coal he deserved for trying to sabotage the Holiday PN.

Lumberjack seemed pretty happy with the sweater, even though it wasn't the kind I really wanted to get him. Maybe I'll knit one for next year, as long as I finish the rest of the knitting queue first.

Monkey, monkey, fritos!

The results of the Code Monkey Remix Contest are in, and they are fabulous!

Because, of course, everything's better with monkeys.

Oldplay

SpinozaNY sent me this deeply touching video yesterday, as he remembered his mom on her birthday. I'll let him tell you about it:

A choral group of very senior citizens, called Young@Heart, sing pop songs. When a very heavy man, on an oxygen tank, sings with a backup group about how you can't go back, and you can't replace what you lost, it completely changes the meaning of Coldplay's "Fix You."

Women Unafraid of Condo Commitment

At least there's one kind of Commitment I don't run screaming from. Though considering how long I waited, and how much I feared getting a bad deal, I'm kind of a guy, too.

Shades of Bull Durham

Looks like Don Carman took some advice from Crash Davis, and prepped himself with some advance work.

Crash Davis: It's time to work on your interviews.
Ebby Calvin LaLoosh: My interviews? What do I gotta do?
Crash Davis: You're gonna have to learn your clichés. You're gonna have to study them, you're gonna have to know them. They're your friends. Write this down: "We gotta play it one day at a time."
Ebby Calvin LaLoosh: Got to play... it's pretty boring.
Crash Davis: 'Course it's boring, that's the point. Write it down.

Now I'd say that was my favorite scene, but who are we kidding? They're all my favorite scene.
Sigh, remember when Kostner was good?

Carman and Crash had something else in common, too. They respected the game and the fans.

Speaking of evil overlords...

The GFY girls are going a little googly over flight attendants.

Did I say overlords?...

...I meant protectors.

Jonathan Coulton posted a fabulous new video yesterday, so I ended up sending my Christmas e-cards early this year. When you check it out, don't forget to scroll down past the adorable Code Monkey to see the video.

Giving thanks for hypocrisy

There used to be 23 comments on the last post, which I've since deleted. For those of you unfamiliar with the players, a brief history:

Epenthesis is my friend Mike's blog. You may have seen him commenting on here once or twice, or met him at a party or PubNight. He's been being harassed in his comments for some time now by this ass who calls himself "Grossman." Recently Grossman has stepped up the harassment by insulting Mike's dead father.

I understand that those of us who blog are taking ourselves out of the private sphere, and by making our words public, we open ourselves up to attacks. However, there are millions of bloggers -- we're not that influential, and if you don't like what one of us says, there are plenty of others to choose from. So I don't understand why anyone would continue a campaign of harassment against someone they only know online.

And to do so under a shield of anonymity is just cowardly. When I post somewhere as Maggie, I always link back to this blog, so even if someone doesn't know who I am, at least they can have some context, and a place where they can respond to me. Grossman gives no such courtesy. He hides behind an unlinked username, since he can dish it out, but he can't take it.

A few days ago, when Mike was forced to step up his measures to block Grossman, I once again observed how pathetic G's behavior is. So he decided to target me as well. But I found it almost funny. After about a dozen comments, you'd think he'd have gotten as bored with his pathetic inanity as the rest of us were by then, but it was clear that he enjoyed listening to himself. So he continued, bragging about his ignorance and using nasty slurs, presumably because he thought it made him look like a big man (though he actually looked about 8 years old). We were all impressed at how he insulted himself every time he wrote something -- he did our work for us. The irony was comical: He harassed countless folks he doesn't even know, and never apologized to anyone for his behavior, all the while vociferously proclaming that we reap what we sow (so I wonder what kind of retribution he'll be getting). Truly, it was almost performance art.

Anyway, I post now to speak out against the assholes, but I'm not too comfortable giving them any kind of forum, so I deleted all the comments. If you ever see Grossman lurking around here, though, feel free to give him shit.

Scope of things to come

Today's Yahoo horoscope for Scorpio:

You'd rather be the power behind the throne, but the stars say your very special brand of magnetism needs to be front and center. So get in the limelight. You might find you have a knack for it!

Sounds like that's been the theme of late, reader-supported no less. So fine, I'll let the limes shine their light on me; it shouldn't take too long to get used to.

And I have a date tonight, but don't worry, I'm not going to bore you with the tedious details. Unless there's some public sex acts to relate, but this is Boston, who are we kidding?

I need a Shag

In my continued development as an art collector, I was going to buy this: reclining Italianesque hottie with a MONKEY, but it's alreayd been sold. Anyone know where I can get an art print, or how I could shamelessly manipulate this image to make it worth printing out for framing and display?

It's like they wrote it just for me

Get Fuzzy

Somervillionaires Rule!

I live in the best town ever, we are so cool. Check out what some of you might be getting for Christmas.

and I feel fine

God I still love R.E.M..

I need to find a barber in Natick

Quote from the staff meeting I just barely stayed awake for. DOn't know why that made me giggle so much.

What women want

My horoscope for today:

Now is a great time for you to get what you want out of life, whether it's a new sweetie, a better gig or just some peace and quiet for the day. You're filled with raw power and can use it however you want.

So what do I want? I have no idea. Yesterday I wanted a new job; today things are going more smoothly and my boss loves me. Monday A. joined me out for a birthday dinner, and it reminded me how much I still adore him and how he makes me laugh (despite his fixation with undergrads, but really, who am I to talk?); today I want to ask the Lumberjack to go furniture shopping with me. In North Carolina. Last week I was working on adding a shelf to my bedroom closet; this morning I seriously thought about switching to the downstairs bedroom.

Honestly, I never know what's best for me, and I think too much. I wish I could flop through life and let the cards fall as they will.

Ooh! In the spirit of post-election-day fabulousness (Democrats everywhere, no alcohol in the 7-11, yay gay marriage!, bye-bye Rumsfeld), and recalling the famous "Pick Maggie's Husband" vote of 1999 (I should really dredge up that website and archive it somewhere), let's have a ballot referendum. (yes, Auntie Amanda told me to stop dating by committee, and she had a point, but this is fun!)

Q1: Should I stay in the upstairs bedroom, or move downstairs?

Upstairs advantages -- upstairs, away from the rest of the house; large closet; bed's already up there.
Up disadvantages -- hot and stuffy; shares a wall with the upstairs apartment, I can hear them, and they can hear me (or they will if ever I get some play); no space for a double-wide dresser.
Downstairs advantages -- larger; closer to the bathroom; good feng shui; fits a wide dresser; upstairs kids won't hear me having sex over their Cheerios; I could use my old fabulous box spring.
Down disadvantages -- small closet; close to the rest of the house; I already bought a new split box spring for the upstairs bedroom.

Q2: Should I stick with it at the Paper of Record, or try to move to NPR?

Exposure and power versus intellectual cred and a sense of superiority. Also, do I want to be famous?

Q3: Wherever I stay, should I be trying for a byline or an on-air feature?

Would you want to hear my voice over your radio every afternoon, or maybe once a weekend like Ira Glass?

Q4: Does A get another chance, the next time he's free?

He is a serial monogamist, after all, you know he'll be looking for a new girlfriend five minutes after he breaks up with this one.

Okay, go! Vote early and often!

Britney Spears loses weight

Best news I've heard in weeks: Britney Spears files for divorce in LA. Ditch that freeloading baggage, baybee!

Malibu Barbie

How unhappy must I be with my dried-out post-beach hair, if I'm really liking how Courtney Love's is looking?

But you know, I can't help but love the girl. She's a mess, but she must be doing something right, considering how well Frances Bean is turning out. And the music continues to rock, Malibu is still one of my favorite albums. I might even read her new book.

As for fashion choices, I also prefer her messy to glam; she wasn't fooling anyone in that couture. And this is the best I've seen her skin, hair, nose and eyes in... ever. Maybe the Fug Girls are right, and the glasses make all the difference.

Okie!

Wow, turns out I like a Oklahoma accent.

Code Monkey!

Code Monkey very simple man. Code Monkey like you.

I'm in your PC, stealing your internets

"oh hi, I upgraded your RAM."

Marmaduke is a l33t h4x0r

Joe Mathlete Explains Today's Marmaduke.

No, no, *I* am un chien Andalou

So, today, I go into work after a sick day out of office yesterday, and instead of catching up on all the stuff I missed, I decide to watch Un Chien Andalou on YouTube, basically because I've never seen it before, and after the cultural wasteland of PubNight last night, I felt the need for a bit of intellectualism.

Once that's done, I switch over to my daily dose of blog-surfing, and what did Bostonist have listed yesterday, but a screening of the film at the Harvard Archives! And here I was bitching about the poor quality of the YouTube video. So excited, and also a little freaked at my continued Zeitgeist surfing....

Anyone want to come see it with me?

Bad italian, but hot designer

He was hot and compelling enough to draw me into watching Runway; he was hot and compelling enough to win it!

Told you so.

Yay, Jeffrey!

Is This Anderson's "Latinization"? - Gawker

Faguar! I love it!

It's tricky

So, am I the last person to know that the gays are linguistically bonded with the hookers? I was all confused when I read:

"I brought home a trick the other night and he puked in my underwear drawer."

And no, it wasn't for money, just for vomit.

House of [Fashion] Worship

"Look, all I have to say is 'Here is the church. Here is the steeple. Open the doors and fuck off, Angela.' "

can't
stop
laughing!

And for the record, I think the neck tat is HOT. I'm pretty sure the only reason I started paying attention to the show this season, after utterly ignoring the first two seasons, was because of shots of Jeffrey in his dandy suit and his tats in the early promos.

And the only people who don't get how hot he is, and are annoyed by his outlaw rawker act, are the kids from the not-cool table who are still pouting over high school.

my buddy

The best thing about fuckbuddies -- they don't notice that you've gained 15 pounds since you last hooked up, they only notice that your rack is looking bigger, and they have no complaints!

Me and George and lots of sex

Check out what I saw on the BANG Showbiz wire this morning:

George Clooney will never run for president - because he's had too much sex. The 'Ocean's Thirteen' star - who has dated a string of stunning women including Teri Hatcher and Renée Zellweger - is convinced his racy past would ruin his chances.

He revealed: "I couldn't run for office. I've slept with far too many women. I have a very keen interest in political issues, but if I decided to run for office there would be a few juicy stories dragged back from the depths." He added: "I've also done far too many drugs and been to too many wild parties."

Clooney is not the only Hollywood actor who has ruled himself out of a race for the White House. Robin Williams, a reformed alcoholic and drug addict, also admits his colourful past automatically rules him out. He revealed at the New Yorker Festival: "I would never run for office - because I make Bill Clinton look Amish."

However, Williams thinks Jack Nicholson should go into politics because he would be happy to be open about his past. Impersonating 'The Departed' star's voice, he said: "Jack would say, 'Sex scandals? What do you want? I've done 'em all. Twice. And I have it on tape!'"

See, we're so perfect for each other -- my George and me have so much in common! Okay, I didn't know about the drugs, and ordinarily that would put me off. But sometimes you have to make concessions for the one you love.

Happy Lumberjack Day!

Holy, maple-soaked crap! Lumberjack Day was last week, and I missed it! Admittedly, I was in Italy for a funeral, and also I'm totally disenamored of the Lumberjack, but still... how about that Zeitgeist, hmm?

Muppets in a sporty Matrix

Muppets like we've never seen them before. For more fabulous muppet clips, check them out on YouTube.
All leading to the ultimate cross-over -- Muppets on Sports Night!!!!!!!!!

yes, sir, that's my rainblow

For the record, I LOVE this pic of Tristan, I think she looks absolutely gorgeous. Sadly, she doesn't look much like that in person anymore. Last time I saw her, she was so skinny and puckered of face that I thought she might be strung out. Still, she gives good face when it's called for.
House of Ass, indeed. Gawd, remember how enormously fun the old blog was? Sigh...

Star Trek Cribs

Looks like Spock is a little less reserved than we saw on the show. Chillax!

Knit to last

Wow, this reminds me an awful lot of the continuing effort on Haneway's scarf!

back once again in crisis mode

okay here's what sucks..

I said I wanted to leave tonight
we decided I would wait
unless he took a turn for the worse
he took a turn for the worse
I got a call at 3:30 this morning
I slept for a few hours, and now I'm looking for flights
there is nothing
there were flights two days ago
I'm also freaked,
because exactly what I said might happen, has happened
I need to leave
I need to go to work
I need to take care of Siena
I need to sleep
this is bad bad bad
also, surprise surprise, no word from the lumberjack
lovely call with Ave last night, though
and so much for my date tonight with MJ, I guess, hmm?

I will call you later in the day, when I know more.

The Coloring Box

Well, Daily Candy really does go everywhere, don't they? This would have certainly helped out Samantha avoid her Bozo-the-clown situation on Sex and the City, but for the rest of us I think it might be a bit too far (also, so many disturbing terms!). Though I'll admit I'm a bit intrigued by the pink; pity I have no body hair...

Also, as for their assertation that using this product will "attract plenty of male attention," I'm thinking that if they see your dye job, you've already got the attention, no? Or is this product specifically targeted to Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan?

Bored bored bored

Geez my life has gotten so boring up here in responsible adult-land. The deal with the lumberjack fizzled out -- well, maybe not, but I'm refusing to continue to put in effort just for the sake of drama. (he's doing this stupid possiveness without commitment thing that I find nauseating.) And when have I ever opted AGAINST drama? I met this other guy, total yawn, works in pharmeceuticals! I am a domestic goddess, which is inherently too stable to be exciting. And I'm paying off my credit cards, always a sign of infinite boredom.

Thankfully, no one is sick or dying, unlike last year at this time. Life is good, and safe, and stable, and prosperous -- but no drama, no circus sex, no 17-hour benders or last-minute trips to foreign lands. I can't become a groupie for a punk band, because there are no good punk bands left, and they're closing CBGBs. Last time I was there was on said 17-hour bender, ordering water and underwear, right before I passed out in Nomda's hotel room. (Funny, the first time I was there, I showed my lace underwear to Mindless Self Indulgence, and to Nicfit and the biker, who were with me the last time too. What is it about them, me, CBs and underwear?)

Also, no one is racy up here, I can't even *imagine* having sex on a fire escape (also, I don't have a fire escape...) No one even swears. It is so... Bostonian. Don't get me wrong, I am very very happy, so glad I moved back, hardly miss New York at all -- except for the adventure (and my friends, of course, but we've been doing pretty good with the visits so far). I want circus sex, I want all-night raging benders, I want wild parties!

I don't want to grow up.

No, that's not true. I want to grow up, but I want a partner in crime that will let me be devious and bad on the side. If not on a fire escape or in a taxi cab, then at least on the kitchen floor.

Holy crap! The Great Monkey Project!

I always did like that DeCordova museum. Also, proof once again that my thumb is firmly on the zeitgeist....

it gets me auf

Oh, Tim. Say "visible boning" again. It makes us weak!

The first step is knowing you have a problem

I'm having a grammar crisis.

Very Slowly and I Am CELLPHONE You

Too, too, sexy, in a disturbing way that only someone as hard up as myself could find appealing.

Kidding! But it is funny, no? I am loving this guy. So much so that his is the only 9/11 anniversary commentary that I could tolerate reading. I feel exactly the same way he does, for the first two graphs, at least.

I also felt like I was in an action movie -- Independence Day and Armageddon were the two that went through my mind -- and that I had to get off the island at all costs, because the Empire State building was about to be attacked by aliens or a big meteor, and I wasn't going to stand around and stare and then be trapped in the streets, futilely climbing over cars. And I also agree with him that I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. And I hate hearing about it. All of these memorials, and bullshit about how we were unified... we weren't. You have your own pain, I don't deny you that. But if you weren't there, then you do not feel mine. I can assure you that it's totally different, so stop pretending we were unified as a nation in our suffering. Does anyone pretend to share the suffering of the folks in Oklahoma City? Of the Columbine parents? Of course not.

Wow, that started one place and ended up way different, huh? Sorry about the bait-and-switch.

Snakes on a Train - Gawker

Dear god, I am laughing so hard that I've almost completely forgotten about my undatability, the pulled muscle in my neck, and the staff meeting with the big cheeses from New York that failed to answer any big questions -- except that they love the last project I did!

me and my lumberjack...

... are apparently way more compatible than I would have ever expected -- if you enjoy drama and explosives in your compatibility. And as just the other day I was complaining that I fear getting bored, maybe there is still hope for us yet.

Or maybe not. As I am clinically insane.

How the other half lives....

Having been the object of much status curiosity and envy this weekend (the Lumberjack guessed within $3K what my salary is, and told everyone, and was also speculating on my mortgage,and in general thinking way too much about my money), I now find this article even more interesting, and well-timed.

In fact, I was just saying last night that the only reason Gee was getting worked up about my house and mortgage is because he can't stand anyone who has more, or even different, from him. To be fair, he is clinical, so not a good representative sample. But he owns a lovely home; what the hell does he care what I spent on mine?

Play safe, people!

"Intraurethral introduction of a pencil"? Ewww ew ew ew!

Honestly, how could that have seemed like a good idea? And if you're going to go ahead with it ahyway, you really should take it slow.

Yes, Suri, that's his baby

Sigh. How non-gossip-worthy. Suri Cruise looks just like Tom, and also looks to be about four months old. There go all my theories about how she's actually Chris Klein's kid, and that she was actualy born a few months earlier than publicly claimed and they were hiding her until the age discrepancy wasn't so noticeable.

Feh, nothing to see here, move along. Poor Katie!

Party Girl

The housewarming party was amazing, in case you were wondering. Fabulous friends, amazing neighbors, cute babies, still so sleepy. Dear friends and relatives came from far and near to help me unpack, to stock up for the party, to raise a glass, and to turn my house of stress into a home at last. I love everyone, and I have loads of thank-you notes to write, but for now, just let me say thanks and I love you to all you darlings.

And no, I'm still not sleeping there. I'll move in eventually.

And the Lumberjack gave me an old Kodak Brownie camera of his own, because I'd said his collection was cool. But still he didn't kiss me, and he hasn't mentioned a word about the e-mail from Thursday.

And as soon as I move in for real, I'm ready to have a baby. The neighbors offered to help me take care of it (told you I have amazing neighbors!). So first I finish the bathroom, then I finish unpacking and move in, and then I'm shopping for sperm. Done and done, tired of waiting around.

Pop-up kitten tissue

As soon as I started watching this video, Siena jumped onto the desk, watched the screen, and then walked on the keyboard until she launched the video in several more windows. I do believe she likes it.

What I Like In A Man: BALLS

More on our favorite seaside topic of conversation, BALLS, from my favorite magazine, Esquire.

dream a little dream of me

I had the strangest dream last night. Bear with me for a moment.

You and I and the rest of the usual suspects were in this huge, loft-like house, with 12-to-15-foot ceilings, and giant appliances and cavernous rooms and floor-to-ceiling modern-looking cabinets everywhere. The fridge alone was like 7 or 8 feet high, and there were maybe three separate kitchens in the house. It was like a showroom, except I lived there. Of course, I was trying to get unpacked and settled in, and everyone there was helping or keeping me company or getting ready for the party. Surpringly, the whole thing seemed sane, not too frantic.

Von was in the kitchen with Gee, and you and I were talking on the couch, when you took me by the shoulders and kissed me. Soon after, you got your coat and went out to run some errand for the housewarming party.

Surprise surprise, my subconscious thinks the house is huge and overwhelming. (To be fair, some really bad things have happened, like the bleeding delivery man, the electrical mess-up, the sewage overflow and the mis-installed fridge.) And I've been frantic and cranky and sensitive, and I want people to help me and support me with everything. But maybe I've been more difficult with you because I'd like to date you and you don't seem to feel the same, and so I was disappointed. And so I act badly sometimes, and so I'm sorry.

I don't want this to be bad for our friendship, so I'll sack up. But the house will continue to be crazy-inducing for a while, so I can't promise to totally chill.

Get home safe, see you soon.

...And that, my friends, is what I sent to the Lumberjack last night to get this stalled vehicle moving. Whether it's the death knell that brings the tow truck, or the jump start that starts us purring down the road, I don't care. I just want to move on.

And yes, I really did have that dream. Maybe I'll sell the house?

A bigger hard drive, for one thing...

Hmm, they do make a compelling argument for a new MacBook.

Much ado in the firmament

Pluto has finally been downgraded, and we're left with only eight planets (none of them Xena).

I wonder what this will do to the highly scientific field of astrology? Because check out today's encouraging horoscopes for the Lumberjack and me:

Mine: Look forward to a good day -- finally! It might feel that you've been down for quite a while, but that won't matter at all when the right person smiles at you in the right way and al that stress dissolves.

His: You need a combination of head and heart when it comes to dating. You can't always go on analytical judgments -- you need to soften that with some kindness and understanding. Give a little.

Oh, go fly a kite

Finally, a practical use for all your old band t-shirts!

deep cleansing breaths

Hmm.

Well, one drink would have been fine. But I had two.

Which would have been NOTHING back in my harder partying days in New York. But I have noticed that in the few short months since I've been back in Boston, my tolerance has gone way down. So I got a little tipsy, as my intern/the bar hostess put it. But what was stranger was that I didn't expect it or see it coming at all, as I'd only had two drinks, and with food too. So I made a couple of possibly ill-advised phone calls, got the intern laughing and Von shaking her head, and then went home and crashed immediately.

And today intern told me that their cocktails are notoriously strong, and each one is kind of the equivalent of two, and that they only let her have one when she's working there. So that explains a bit. Still, next time I'm sticking to the virgin drinks.

As for the move, here's what I have to do:
1. have electrician do some rewiring
2. have contractor reverse the hang of the door
3. have cleaning crew clean the place -- they came this morning
4. have the HVAC system flushed -- the HVAC guy says all I need to do is vacuum it out, but the house inspector had made it sound more complicated. So I called the Lumberjack last night to ask his opinion, and he didn't answer, nor did he call back or e-mail. Pout.
5. have the washer/dryer delivered -- scheduled for Sunday
6. have the fridge delivered -- scheduled for Tuesday
7. have the movers drop off my stuff -- scheduled for Tuesday.

I'd like to get the rest of the stuff done this weekend before the movers come, but I haven't been able to reach the electrician, and I'm currently pouting that the cleaners came before I was able to finish all the dust-generating construction work. As for what help I need, I basically need company while they're moving stuff in, because it's good to have more than one person supervising. The real help I'll need is unpacking, which will happen later, of course.

Now, here's what sucks the worst. The contractor that will rehang the door would have also done the cabinets, but for some reason I wanted to have the IKEA guys do that. And apparently he also does electrical work. So I could have had the cabinets, door, and electric all done two weeks ago, if I weren't so committed to making bad choices and making everything more complicated than it needs to be.

In fact, I'm so stressed about the move that I wept in A's arms in the middle of the Square a few nights ago. No, really, it's so bad -- I can't get the electrician to come, I'm worried that the work I've already had done isn't very good (they have to come back next week to fix it). It should have been easier than this, and my parents are in Italy, and things just keep going wrong, and I waited almost two months to move in so that things would be taken care of, and now they're not anyway, so I hyperventilate. I make things more difficult than they have to be; this was supposed to be exciting, not stressful.

Manda agrees that I'm spending too much time trying to make everything perfect, when I should be making it as easy for myself as I can. But she also, sweetheart that she is, assured me that I'm not alienating everyone, and not terrible, just a perfectionist.

Still, I think I lost the Lumberjack over this. He's barely spoken to me since the cabinet incident. Manda thinks that maybe he's giving me space to freak out, and he figures I'll call him if I need him. Except that I did call him last night and I did need him, and he neither answered nor called me back. Maybe he's waiting for the crazy moving stress to pass, or maybe he's sick of me, now that he's seen me at my craziest. Either way, he's not here whenI need him.

I can barely concentrate on work, but I must, because there may be big changes afoot. Work & moving. That's all I should have in my life right now. Once that's all settled, then Manda will give me permission to fuss over the 'Jack.

I can't move into my house and I am going to get fired. Sigh. I think I need some tea, and a boyfriend, or else I'm joining a convent. Which would conveniently resolve both the housing and the romance issues.

Blue States Lose: Cobrasnakes on a Plane

God help me, but I really do miss my past life as a downtown clubbing hipster. All the snarkiness in the world cannot make me doubt that these folks, this week's batch in particular, were having a fabulous time.

It burns, it burns!

Gawker asks: What Has Two Thumbs and a Boatload of New STD's? You got it, it's our favorite lecherous adulterous redheaded pig. Ironically, that pic is probably the best I've seen Batali looking in years.

Still stuck on George

Man, when I get an idea into my head, the whole world conspires to rub my face in it, hmm? Check out this recent article in Slate. Yes, I know the topic's kind of boring, but then this graph leapt out at me:

"High crop prices are good news for the farmers who grow carbohydrates and for the companies that process them. ADM, one of the world's biggest processors of grains and oilseeds, just reported record annual results, with sales, margins, and profits all on the rise. Here's a one-year chart of ADM against the S&P 500."

If you're wondering WTF, George's grandfather is the chairman emeritus of ADM. So, for example, I think of George whenever I order a veggie burger or see that the gas I'm pumping has ethanol in it.

Shake it off

I promise to be less moody and introspective soon. Really!

I mean, I called the movers, and the electrician, and I ordered appliances, and my cousin is coming to visit. So really, I'm moving forward with getting on with my adult life, and things can only get more chipper, right?

My rock

I went up to G. to visit the M's yesterday. Visiting the M's in G is often a bittersweet event, for as much as I love them and they treat me like family, that sometimes only serves to remind me that they aren't actually family, and how small my own family is and how far away most of them are. Then I think how nice it would have been if I could have actually become family, say through marrying a son or cousin. Well yesterday was such an event (admittedly I was already moody and wistful to start with), because I had great company and conversation with the uncles and aunts as well. So much fun, so smart and well-spoken, and so adoring of the Maggie!

It's true, I want a big family. I always hated being an only child, and I'd always hoped to have several kids of my own. Interestingly, all the men I'm even vaguely interested in at the moment come from families of five or more kids, as do two of my closest girlfriends.

Then I went off to find my rock. Some days I can't find it, depending on the tides and the seagulls. Yesterday I found it, but the tide was still too high to sit on it, so I retreated to higher ground. After about half an hour, when the tide had gone out a bit, I went back to find my rock, and it was gone. Mysterious rock, disappearing in the sun-bleached expanse, only visible when your surface is wet. It made me a bit sad to see how easily you can lose something that's right in front of you, but at least I think I know how to find it again next time.

Days like that also make me blue because I think of LC, and I get all self-critical, alternately because I couldn't make the friendship work, or because I didn't cut my losses sooner. THEN I start to feel petty and weak, because I'm the kind of person who can't let go of this list of grievances that still surfaces occasionally from the back of my mind, and I see myself as this victim of her underminer ways. When honestly, whether it be a romance or a friendship, sometimes things just don't work out. One person does not always have to be at fault, and the other person a martyred saint. And she did me the great favor of bringing her magnificent and wonderful family into my life.

bookish love

Dammit, every time I read a book with any kind of relationship plot, the characters meet cute on campus, and never leave each other's side. In the book I finished this morning, there were two couples who did so, and to add salt, they both met on the campus where I went to grad school.

My ex-fiance and I met cute, but not on campus, and he was not the guy for me. I have the odd but good fortune that he married an acquaintance, so I get to see what he is like as a middle-aged husband and father. And every time I do see him, I am glad we didn't marry. He is a sweet, great guy, and they are fabulous and happy together, and I would have run screaming long ago if that were me.

I met George, the oft-alluded-to one that got away, on campus when we were undergrads, but the meet-cute wasn't until grad school, on that very same literary campus as this morning's book. Every day I continue to think I made a mistake in letting him go, that I was blind not to see that he loved me and was just what I was looking for. Being back in Boston and seeing our old haunts just gives me constant reminders. And since I haven't seen him in almost ten years, I have no evidence to contradict my memory's belief that he is perfect.

So instead, I wrote the Lumberjack and told him that I missed him and to hurry home. And here I was supposed to be ignoring him. At least I didn't call. E-mail is so unromantic...

This is the dawning....

So Ave gave me a tip on horoscopes that are not completely full of crap. I did an initial reading, and it sounds about right to me.

Slate on "The deluded world of air conditioning"

And this is why I went two years without AC in Brooklyn, and why I'm installing a ceiling fan in the new house. Even though it is equipped with central air, I'm going to try not to use it too often.

Sorry if you're bored

Looking for a link to something funny, I realized that, despite all the tragedy, last summer was way more entertaining and salacious than this summer. Sorry, guys, I'm growing up a tiny bit.

Of course, if anyone wants to help get me some action, my parents leave town in a few days, and I move into my own big-girl house in a few more, and I am more than willing to generate fodder for the blog. I'd hoped that would be with the 'Jack, but I'm open to suggestions....

Eddie Money is a tool

And to think, I used to think he was cool for doing a duet with Ronnie Spector when she got out from under Phil's thumb. But nope, turns out he's actually the Biggest Jerk.

Mind the gap...

Got new panties for you!

Wishing won't make it so

Yes, I babbled on and on yesterday. Some of you might be interested to hear it, some of you may be bored -- if so you can just scroll on to another post, right?

But LJ has this cool feature where you can lock posts so that only certain friends are allowed to see certain posts, as designated. And I'm wishing that Blogger had that as well, because we've all got some non-loving readers, and there's at least one guy who will read what I posted yesterday as proof that I'm totally undatable and pathetic, and will laugh at me. And this blog does not exist to help people mock, but rather so they can share the love.

So unless someone can teach me how to selectively block on Blogger, I might start putting certain posts only on LJ. If you want it all, and you're not already an LJ buddy, talk to me and I'll set you up.

VodkaTonic sorts it all out for you

A few of you have pointed out that I've left some gaping holes in the Lumberjack Saga, as I just jumped in in medias res this week. So today the VodkaTonic hipster got the whole back story, which we now share with you....

VodkaTonic: Any update on the lumberjack? Does the lumberjack predate buying the house?
Me: All happened around the same time. I met the lumberjack when I moved to Boston.
VodkaTonic: Oh yeah, good choice not letting him work on your house. Not that he might not do a great job, but if he did a bad job, then you would be fucked.
Me: Exactly.
VodkaTonic: And you have, or have not, gone on a date?
Me: Depends on what you call a date. We had this one night that definitely felt like a date, except that he didn't kiss me at the end of it.
VodkaTonic: Where did you meet?
Me: Through friends. First there was a drinking outing. He was kind of obnoxious, and we didn't talk much, and later I didn't even remember him. Then like a week later, there was a group dinner outing, like a dozen of us, and he and I sat together, and talked the whole time, and it was amazing. After dinner, a few of the dozen went for a drink, and he picked the perfect bar. Then after drinks a few of us went for a walk to sober up, and we found a playground and played on it, and it continued to be fabulous.
Me: The next week, we talked on the phone for a while, and he said he'd help me refinish some furniture. Then after that we were talking like every day.
Me: We saw fireworks together on the 4th, just him and me, but he didn't kiss me. But then he got pissy at a party when another guy was talking to me.
VodkaTonic: The playground is really cute. And he is sooo interested.
Me: Then he went on a business trip for two weeks and I didn't see him.
VodkaTonic: You just aren't being aggressive.
Me: And when he came back, we went out on Friday with the group, and we bickered all night, but Saturday he promised he’d be nice if I came out. So we went to a show, and he was so sweet, and then we went back to his house, and stood in his kitchen and ate ice cream out of the container together. Then he showed me all the work he’d done on his house, and then we went to the attic.
VodkaTonic: oh god that is so cute
Me: And he'd strung lights from the rafters, and it started to rain, and we could hear it right over our heads on the roof. And we were standing close.
Me: And HE DIDN"T KISS ME!
VodkaTonic: I think that you need to kiss him.
Me: Fuck that.
VodkaTonic: The girl needs to start these things.
Me: I hate always having to be the aggressor.
VodkaTonic: Guys are pussies.
Me: no shit
VodkaTonic: But guys think it’s hot.
Me: Whatever. So then he went away again for another week of business trip, and then when he came back, he had this whole plan that he was going to pack a bag and come over my house and do the work on the kitchen. Then shower at my place, and we were going to go out. The whole thing sounded like a pretense to have to stay over.
VodkaTonic: Yeah kinda
Me: He even wanted me to come pick him up, so then he wouldn't have a car. So you know he'd end up staying over. And I was all for the plan, but then he cancelled, and came over Saturday morning instead -- in his own car.
VodkaTonic: what was the reason?
Me: None given. He is stingy with details of his life.
VodkaTonic: hmmmm, I don't think I like that.
Me: Me neither. But he spent the whole Saturday with me, and my kitchen, and my friend who was visiting. And it was a great day, and he was so nice to my friend. And we went swimming, and he did not kiss me, but at least this time we were with other people, so there was a reason.
Me: Then suddenly last week, he was always busy and we didn't see each other. Then last night he said that sweet thing about why he wanted to help me with my house, but I wanted to see him before he leaves on the next trip and he said no.
Me: So I told him, “I'm going to stop now, because I can't do anymore and still be socially acceptable, without embarrassing myself. The ball is now in your court.”
VodkaTonic: You actually spoke all this?
Me: Yup!
VodkaTonic: oh my god talk about confusing! This man sounds like he could be great and could also never make a move and completely lose his chance.
Me: Exactly! I mean, how many perfect moments can he waste by not kissing me? Fireworks, rain on the attic roof, swimming at sunset?
VodkaTonic: Sounds like you need to definitely put it on ice for a week.
Me: Yeah. Last night I was as clear as I could stomach. Now I need a vacation. Good thing he’s leaving town tomorrow.

and another thing

The sweetest thing he said to me yesterday, was that he wasn't mad that I didn't let him do the work on the kitchen, he wasn't insulted or pride-wounded or emasculated or any of that bullshit. It's just that he hated to see me so upset about the house and going through all these ups and downs, and he just wanted to help me get through it.

I hate this.

Serves me right

me: did I mention that I was playing matchmaker yesterday?
him: many times
him: 20-something girls don't need help getting dates, they are the group that should have the least trouble with that. 30-something guys need the help
him: just tell her to show up at any bar in the greater boston area, and she'll be fine
him: as long as she has a pulse, and is not vomiting profusely
me: okay, I'll remember that for next time
me: (and sometimes even if she is vomiting; never hurt me any when I was that age. kidding...I think.)
him: its true
[pause]
me: so now you need help getting set up?
me: I'll have to think about it. you already know all the age-appropriate women I know
[pause]
him: no, i'm all set
me: okay, good

Yesterday, I got as close as ever I do to laying my cards on the table, but with my tendency to dance around matters of the heart, we know that's only an aproximation of straightforward. Today, he makes a comment about guys his age needing my matchmaking skills, and I had to push it, and so I got the answer I deserved.

Another lobby in the language wars

I love any linguistic analysis that uses James Joyce as an example. Also, intransitive verbs!

Welcome to my hometown

Yeah, we're a little bit preppy up here. Also, my hometown is so snobby, we don't have a yacht club. That would be gauche to brag like that. We have a "boat club."

Third date? Aren't we moving a bit fast?

My off-the-top-of-my-head list is in the comments towards the bottom. True fact -- there was a time when I felt that a guy had to see Chasing Amy before dating me, just to prepare himself for the experience. I can't date someone who'll feel inferior or insecure or judgemental about my past. Now, I just think that Amy is a bit too wordy.

These days, I just want a guy who'll actually take me on a real third date, instead of waiting for me to make a move. I'm still very sad about the breakdown of progress with the Lumberjack.

Caution - Whitecaps: Raging stream of consciousness ahead

You know what sucks about my new job?

I am no longer anywhere near the youngest in the office anymore, so I can no longer get away with being cute and charming to engender the goodwill that makes my job so easy to do. In addition, I am now far too old to be the kid in the office with the crazy social life who needs patience, compassion, and and some good boy advice.

I'm still not sure if it's a cause, or just a coincidence, that I fell for the Lumberjack while I was doing work on the new house. I've always liked a man who's handy around the house, and there were so few of them in New York. (Stef was taken, and the Cokehead Alcoholic was tolerated for as long as he was in large part because of his household skills.) Honestly, I was first interested after the dinner where we talked all night, and he was funny and we were right in synch. But it was after Ave told me about his woodworking tendencies that I had a reason to call him, and we had something to share.

And I know for a fact that after I saw his house, and all the beautiful work he'd done on it, that my heart skipped a beat and I gave up younger men for real. Younger men have crappy messy apartments, not lovely homes with bead board and fine detailing.

So here's where I went stupid. I asked him to do the cabinet work on my kitchen. As soon as I said it I regretted it. I've been very hesitant with this house. It took me forever to actually make an offer, and I considered pulling out a couple of times. Now it's over a month after I closed, and I'm still nowhere near moving in. Mum reminds me that when I was little, I wouldn't even wear new shoes until they'd been sitting around in the closet for a long while. I am very hesitant and cautious with new ventures, and I get skittish when someone steamrolls ahead of me.

So when the Lumberjack came over with all his tools, ready to rip cabinets out of my walls then and there, I freaked. What if he did a bad job? He seemed too confident, so I worried that he hadn't considered all the possible complications. What if he hurt himself? And would he let me pay him? Was he more likely to be insulted if I did offer, or if I didn't?

Really, I was a mess. Part of me loved that he wanted to do it for me; part of me just wanted him to refer me to a good person he trusted. And I felt like he was taking over, and he hasn't even kissed me yet.

So I told him I'd decided not to do the work at all.

Then I got a few more estimates from contractors. And 'Jack didn't talk to me for days.

Now I have one contractor coming Saturday morning to do the cabinets, a second contractor coming on Saturday afternoon to rehang the bathroom door -- and really, how am I going to explain to those two why neither of them are doing both jobs? But that's a separate issue.

And 'Jack was pouting today, and wouldn't let me come over to use his saw and pick up some wood and give him his thanks-you gift, and just kept saying "you should have let me do it the other day." And he sounded so angry that instead of being honest and telling him I got scared of mixing my personal life with my contracting job (as SereneRandomness so eloquently put it), I told him that I was afraid he might get hurt.

I am afraid of doing something wrong with this house. And I am afraid of doing something wrong with this guy, who I really do like. And somehow, I have combined these two disasters, and now he is leaving and I lied to him.

But at least there's a chance that the house will come out good....

"The Apes of Wraths"

You must see Hell Monkey! OMG!

My sweet solace is that Kaiju Big Battel is "Boston-based," so I can catchthem up here even though I'm missing them in NYC. In fact, I believe we promoted them when they were up here in May...

Militant Grammarians of Massachusetts

If you never read Infinite Jest, the above is a reference to a group I've always wished actually existed.

Who knew Abe of all "people" would be starting up a New York chapter...

Andrea finally gets a fair verdict

Thank God Andrea Yates's conviction was overturned, and she was found not guilty by reason of insanity. However, her ex Rusty still doesn't get a free pass in my estimation. First off, he drove her to the state she was in when she killed her kids. He isolated her from adult interaction, he minimized the severity of her post-partum depression, he didn't get her help when she needed it,and he insisted on havign still more kids when she was already miserable and overwhelmed. He is as responsible for the death of their kids as she is, if not more so. Secondly, how Christian of him to divorce her while she was in jail and get remarried.

But this latest is just adding insult to injury. I don't recall him speaking out in her defense, or correcting any of the prosecutors lies, during the first trial. And he still hasn't taken responsibility for his reprehensible treatment of her during their marriage.

Poor poor Rusty. Fucker. But Yay! for Andrea!

McSweeney's knows your tendencies

Spam Finally Taps Into Male Desires.

keep it cool

It's going to be a scorcher this weekend, kids.

Next, how about a woman in the White House?

I don't really see what the big surprise is. For years now, women have seemed more serious and trustworthy than men in the public's opinion. It started with all the himbos in advertising over 10 years ago, and the role reversal of gender perception has only continued since then. Men are petty and cheat and lie, sleep with their interns (mind you, I'm still a total Clinton apologist) and take us into foolhardy wars. Note that the old saying, "For every beautiful woman, there's a man who's tired of fucking her" is never heard the other way around.

So if women are hoarding all the credibility points in the country these days, how long until this reaches the good and logical conclusion -- Madame President?

Woman spots monkey in her condo - Boston.com

Nope, this story is not about me. I haven't even moved into my condo yet!

all the eyeshadow, none of the anorexia

Reason number 12 why I love my intern --
Regarding my hairstyle today, she IMed me: I like the headband--very "keira-knightly-pirates-of-the-caribbean-business-casual"

Oh, yeah, that's me. Thanks babe!

It's not just a job, it's an adventure

I love this, the idea of dating as a hiring search. As such, I seriously want to streal this concept to Apply to Be My Boyfriend. I mean, in three months in Boston, I've had one failed attempt, and one that's possibly advancing, but also possibly foundering. Getting scientific about it can't hurt.

Play with your (raw) food

Tiny baby sushi, courtesy of Haneway.

Is Orlando Bloom the secret of TrimSpa?

My oh my, I used to love Keira Knightley, but this is just sad. Worth noting, however, that her face and smile are still gorgeous as ever. Just don't look below.

What happened to the argyle?

I didn't even know Adam Brody could grow that much facial hair.

MUJI MUJI MUJI

For anyone who's heard the story of my mom finding A's condom in the trash, and my convoluted explanation that I'd accidentally bought it in Japan thinking it was an eyemask, this is the generic Japanese product line with minimal package markings that I was talking about in that excuse.

perhaps another clue

And I've been so proud of the fact that I don't need a man, that I can take care of myself just fine, thanks. Maybe, as Muffy said, that's the problem.

baby boomlet

With pride, I can say that I've talked several childless couple friends into reconsidering, for all the reasons Prudence lists, and several more. Just yesterday, I got more joyous news that another set of happy, healthy and wise friends have changed their childless stance (though I take no credit for the decision in their case).

What remains a mystery to me is why the Fates have decided that I should remain barren. Since a very young age, I've always been the most maternal person anyone had ever met, and all my college friends predicted that I'd be the first to have kids. So as much as it thrills me each time a friend procreates, and I get to be "Auntie" to one more adorable budding genius, it still breaks my heart a little each time too.

Of course, I've resisted the marriage part of the equation for years,and I'm not the type to get knocked up without a plan, so if I get really rational about it, it's all perfectly clear. And maybe the Fates thought it would be better for me to be sharing the love with all those kids I'm Auntie to, instead of limiting it to my own brood. Still, sigh....

for all the LJLs out there

That would be LiveJournal Lovers, and you know who you are...

The most fabulous Randomness has syndicated this here blog. So if you really prefer to do all your social reading in the LJ format, now you can.

(This raised an issue for a bit, though, until I better understood how LJ works, when I thought he was revealing my Maggie-ness to those who know me in the wet world. So kids, if you knew what I look like before you saw that sketch over there, please remember that not everyone has met Maggie, and let me make those introductions on my own. My coworkers, for example, have no need to know about my circus stunts, you know?)

later, baby

Sweetie, I love you, really I do, always have. But when you finally decide that you're ready to grow up, I might not be waiting anymore.

In praise of Vince Vaughn

This man also has a vodka drink named after him:

"He's borderline beefy, has a recessed hairline that only McConaughey could envy, and has no discernible aesthetic appeal, and yet, when he speaks, he can melt more panties than a Lilith Fair concert in a hot Smith College auditorium."

When I was there, Chris Isaacs melted our panties in the auditorium. Never thought I'd be comparing those two...

Any takers?

Keanu Reeves says he wants to get married. I've seen him in person, at an East Village restaurant, and he's not bad. No George Clooney, of course, but that's a high goal.

Seriously, was I the only one who didn't know that he lost a child and a female S.O. a few years ago? Am I really old school for still thinking of that David Geffen boy toy story?

give the devil his advanced payment

So today is the much-touted 06-06-06 date, and all sorts of terrible things are supposed to happen -- like the release of Ann Coulter's latest book and a really bad horror movie remake.

And yet, not to jinx anything, but I'm having a way better day today than I did, oh, yesterday for example. I came home last night, burst into tears for really wussy reasons, and curled up on the couch with Arrested Development, unable to cope with anything more complicated.

Today, the worst of it so far (knock wood) is less-than-perfect hair. And the office DJ just started up a devil-themed playlist -- "Sympathy for the Devil," "Running with the Devil," "Devil Went Down to Georgia" -- that is totally making us all giggle.

Just to play it safe, I snoozed the alarm until 6:00 this morning, to add a fourth 6 to the list and diffuse the impact. Maybe I should leave work at precisely 6 tonight to keep it going...

I'd better be getting a Mother's Day card.....

This weekend, someone called me a MILF. Yes, I'm over 30, but no, I don't have any kids, so it was particularly odd.

I have more to say on the subject, but since I'm so OLD, I have a responsible job that requires me to get up at 5:30 am. And since I'm so NOT AT ALL OLD AND I SHOULD REALLY GROW UP ALREADY, I was watching Family Guy in the basement of my fraternity house until late (with said MILF-labeller), and only got four hours of sleep last night. And a MILF needs her beauty sleep, you know.

Sorry about all the shouting there. You know how we old ladies get cranky and temperamental. I'm going to have some tea to soothe my nerves and do a spot of knitting.

The new leaf

I had an epiphany over the weekend.

(as a huge Joyce fan, I absolutely love having epiphanies. When I was in high school, try as I might, I could not understand the concept of an epiphany, aside from the early January holiday, so now I revel in them when I have them.)

Anyway...
This past weekend I visited friends with two kids. The one-year-old boy is always smiling and laughing, and loves to be held and cuddled, and loves to get raspberries on his belly. He always acts happy to see you, and he totally responds to the affection he is offered. The other child, a four-year-old girl, is really strong-willed and incredibly smart, but she's also a little prickly and not at all cuddly. She will almost never give a hug or a kiss, or tell you she loves you. Although I adore her and am constantly amazed at her brilliance and hysterical sense of humor (so young to be so witty!), I have to admit that her brother is more effortlessly lovable.

Playing with the two of them this weekend, I remembered an NPR story I heard a while back, about mothers who felt guilty because they were afraid that they loved one child more than another. One mother in the story described her two children basically the same way as the two kids I was with -- one was strong-willed and independent, and the other was cuddly and affectionate. And the mother admitted that it's just easier to love the cuddly one, because he's the one who loves you back.

THEN, I remembered something my first love said to me so many years ago, in a love letter that I still have. "O Maggie it is so hard to love you, but I do..." See, when I was in high school and college, I was very affectionate and outgoing. But after college, people were really critical of me for being that way, and unlike when I was younger, I responded to that criticism, and changed my behavior. Then, in New York, it seemed that everyone plays it so cool, and they laugh at you like you're a sucker if you show your heart. Even worse, a woman is derided for being desperate or scheming and clawing if she shows any interest at all,and that just made my blood boil. But instead of fighting that attitude, I went to extremes to avoid ever being accused of it (which did no good anyway).

So I closed up my heart, and now if I'm interested in someone, I don't know how to show it, and instead I back WAY OFF. I show more interest and love to people I barely know than to people I care about, for fear of being "too much" or "too intense" -- all because of what others have tried to teach me.

Now I am going to work very hard to open my heart back up and be loving, and in turn, loveable, again. I am trying to turn off the censor, and instead of thinking about how to behave (hmm, maybe I was calculating after all, but not in the way they meant), I will just act from the heart and show what I feel.

I started last night, and it was SO much better. I felt like myself for the first time in ages and I had a wonderful time. I caught myself a couple of times, like the moment I wanted to kiss A. on the cheek for no apparent reason and I hesitated, but then I did it, and then later I did it again without even thinking about it. Baby steps, I know, but this can only lead to good things.

I may have made similar proclamations before. I've known for a while that I was closed off, and wanted to change, but I didn't feel it. It was only a cerebral awareness, not in my gut. That's the whole point of an epiphany -- it hits you on a different level. And maybe the new city will help with the new attitude as well. I can only hope so, and try.

Wish me luck.

Enjoy that metaphor

Your kids won't know what an iceberg is! HAHAHHAHA.

That's too sad to be this funny.

Jealousy, thy name is Maggie

Damn those lovely, witty, brilliant Fugsters. Not only do they have the Best Intern Ever. But to add to my torture, it seems he gives great footrubs too.

Sigh.

Thank you, Dan Savage....

So I'm warming up to my workday by catching up on a few back episodes of Something Positive, when I overhear one coworker say to another "I knew you were a sensitive guy like that. I had you pegged!"

Good thing I had not just taken a sip of my tea, or there would have been some Dean Martin-style spewing going on...

Some creepy imagery

Just checked the stats, which I haven't done in forever. Good news is that I've crossed the 10,000 hits mark! You like me, you really like me!

Bad news is, people all over the place have been coming here by searching for creepy images. The most popular referrer by far is a Google Image Search to that NOT SAFE FOR WORK Anna K. picture I posted over a year ago. The next most popular referrer is a Google Image Search for my profile image. Which either means I'm going to get sued, or that someone's trying to figure out who I am. Neither of which is very nice.

For those of you who've never met me ...

... I've got a great rack.

Seriously, ask everyone who has already met me. And this is a lucky thing, because apparently A isn't much of a butt man, so my rockin' ass, which you all have seen on this blog, is totally wasted on him.

And that's all I'm going to say about A, becasue unlike all the other guys I've written about here in deliciously inappropriate detail, I actually like and respect him. And Manda says he makes me happy, and sometimes I need to be reminded of obvious stuff like that, but she's right, he does.

So remember when I was interviewing for this faboo new job, and I kept trying to keep it secret, because I didn't want to jinx anything? Same story here. The only person I'm telling all to is my realtor, because he is my New Best Friend and must know Everything About Me to find me The Perfect House. Or something like that.

The Clooney is such exquisite torture

Oh,this is killing me! Daily tips on where to see my husband, right after I leave town! It's not FAIR! I'm on the verge of moving back, just for him, and the new walls and floor in my old apartment, and to get my taxes done...

I Walk the Line -- of Shame

This kind of info would have been very useful in my Jersey-working days, becuase when you live in Brooklyn and work in the armpit of the Jersey ghetto where there are no decent stores for emergency clothes shopping at any time -- well, you can bring your hookup to your place or you'd better find someplace near the PATH that's open early.

Of course, I didn't know, so I used to bring them home.... Poor Siena.

And now this is all useless to me, but soon I'll put together my own list of resources for the Boston area. Inthe meantime, may it serve all my beloved New York peepstresses well. Walk the shame proudly for me!

Don't buy for me, Argentina

I know how much you all love me, and how much you New Yorkers are missing me already. So I just want to let you know, I already picked this up. But it is the thought that counts, so thank you!

Quick, make a wish!

This morning, at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00 a.m., the time and date was 01:02:03 04/05/06. If you're not committed to military time, you have another chance to catch it this afternoon.

A clean, well-lighted place

I wish I didn't mind, I really do. Driving out to my parents' house, a cute, fluffy little white bunny ran across the street ahead of me. Awwwww. (no, I did not hit it. It was not suicidal; I just saw it in my headlights waaay ahead of me.)

Driving around my parking garage at the apartment, trying to find a space, a HUGE rat ran out from under a car and into a trash can. Eewwwwww.

I mean, they're both just little animals -- disturbingly, of roughly equivalent size (that was one large rat) -- going about their lives. But now I'm creeped out. Like I wasn't freaked enough by the underground garage, between my mother's panicked calls to make sure I wasn't mugged on my way home, and perpetual viewings of old episodes of Alias, with Sidney getting attacked in a garage every other episode. Already I've been trying to park near the elevator vestiblues, and stay away from the low-clearance creepy damp end of the garage. But now I'm all afraid something's going to scurry up my ankles.

Fucking Big Dig construction, displacing all the poor, homeless rats and putting them in my path.

Oh, and the other freaky thing that happened in the garage last night. I never got a tour of my building, and apparently it's chock full of secret passages and back entryways. So last night I get in the elevator (18th floor views of the river, baybee!), on my way out to the folks, and there's a guy in there already. Very nice, pushes the button for me, lets me off first, holds the door open. I turn left and he turns right. When I get to the elevator to the garage (I told you it was a complicated building), he's coming from the other end of that hallway. We laugh, and I tell him I still don't really know my way around, and he tells me about the back door to the garage, and shows me the way. We get to the garage, I say goodbye, and walk towards my car (blissfully unaware at that time of the Rat Menace).

I hear a noise behind me, a strange building-type grinding noise, turn around, and see the guy right behind me. I'm not afraid of him or anything, but I take my key out to push the beep-beep button to unlock the car for quick getaway -- and the lights of the car next to me flash. He's parked next to me!

Too weird. At least when we exited the garage, he turned right and I turned left. I was half expecting him to be headed out to suburbia....

Get yer mitts off my husband, Gawker!

Oh. My. God. Gawker has now dedicated an entire channel to my husband. It all seems to be in good fun, but I'm just thrilled to have one-stop George news I can subscribe to.

Of course, I am equally sad to learn that he checked into the Peninsula and is filming in Midtown just as soon as I left town. That's just mean.

But that's okay. My new job is so incredibly kick-ass alsome that soon I'll be a super-famous but really nice columnist, and by June I'll interview him for said new film he's working on... and then we'll get maaaa-reeeeeed. For real, yo.

Not to sound ungrateful ...

... but when you come home to find your front door locked differently, the bathroom door shut when you'd left it open, the blinds opened onto the patio door -- oh, and the bed made and the rug vacuumed, it's a kind of disconcerting way to discover that your corporate apartment includes maid service!

Chopped Pickles

Ah, to be back in Boston, where you can get chopped pickles and minced hot peppers on your sub, like a sub is supposed to be!

Hey, remember the bachelors?

Seems like Daily Candy does; they've described them each pretty spot-on, too!

Let Si Get This? I never had the chance...

Five years at Advance, and I never managed to break into the glamourous set. Sometimes you have to cut your losses...

Yes, a Leprechaun!

Did I ever tell you about the Tarot-reading leprechaun who told my future inteh Burlington Mall Macy's? He said I'd meet a guy who made me laugh. I love leprechauns.

Who knows how to make love stay?

Tell love you are going to Junior's Deli on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn to pick up a cheesecake, and if love stays, it can have half. It will stay.

Weep

As I walked out of my building just now, I was seized with an overwhelming feeling. I mean that literally: overwhelming, as in I couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and definitely couldn't shake it off. Feeling, as in I physically felt as though something had grabbed hold of the soft spot just below my solar plexus, took a big handful and yanked hard.

I am deep in it. As sure as I was when I first heard about the new job and I just knew it was perfect for me, that it would make me happy and that I had to have it -- so too am I now sure that Chris is the guy. So what the hell is his problem, why is he fucking it up? Is this just part of the movie's plot, something I have to live with before the romantic, tear-jerking last scene? Or is this my punishment for talking about it too soon, unlike my long secretive silence about the job, for fear of jinxing it. I hope it's not some punishment or curse for breaking someone's heart in the past -- I've tried to be kind and not too much of a heartbreaker.

Haneway says that I need a guy who's sure that he wants me and is strong enough to go right out and get me, with none of this pussyfooting confusion bullshit. And a part of me agrees with her, but my solar plexus says otherwise. I need him to find the balls to be that guy.

My beloved friends, your positive thoughts helped seal the deal on the dream job. Can you spare a little more of those good vibes to secure my romantic happiness as well?

Closer: an old, incomplete, long-uppubbed post

A few months ago, I bought the DVD of Closer, my favorite movie of 2004. After watching it, I started to write the following post, but never finished it, because I couldn't put the words around what I was trying to say.

I really do love that movie, and I think everyone should see it. Come on over sometime and we can watch my DVD together. More importantly, I think anyone trying to understand my romantic inner workings should see it (similar to how when I was in grad school anyone who wanted to date me should have really watched Chasing Amy first, if only to spare us both the inevitable jealous blow-up).

Anyway, in the context of my recent posts and love-life dramas, it suddenly seemed worth posting, even if unfinished. So here you go...

"Hello, stranger"
So yes, I share salacious details of my sex life with strangers in this space. And true, those details tend to be somewhat wild, if at the same time dismissive of the co-stars. You can choose to believe them or not, as you wish.

I'm not sure if I've been in love since I moved to New York. I'm not even sure how long it had been before I came here. Memory is tricky. But I can assure you that I have loved, and loved fiercely.
It burns through all your resources, love like that. It's intimidating, even frightening. Maybe I could have found the fuel to keep that up, maybe I'm weaker than I'd like to think.

What I cannot tolerate is the empty return. To not have that intensity reflected back at me, or to have it twisted and distorted. . . that broke me down, eventually.

There's a scene at the beginning of the movie Closer when Jude Law and Natalie Portman's eyes lock from a distance as they walk towards each other on a crowded London street....

Of Heartache and Hanks

For all my cynicism, my running around with inappropriate men and treating them like tissue to be used and discarded, there's a part of me deep down that's a total romantic. And it is true, I have been known to fall in love, even at first sight once.

These transitional times, when you're uprooting yourself, making major changes, have a tendency to bring drama out. Suddenly nothing is status quo anymore, and people take action on stuff they would have let lie indefinitely without the shakeup. (yes, I will clean up this post later to get rid of cliches and bad writing, I promise.)

Over a year ago, a new guy started in the office upstairs from mine. We met while he was being taken on a tour of the building, and there was an instant spark. I can't explain it, but you know what I'm talking about anyway. A shared look, a smile you can't hide, a flip in the pit of your stomach. Later, we ran into each other on the PATH train, and talked and flirted as much as being surrounded by coworkers would allow. I wanted to invite him to PubNight, but we were interrupted by a coworker before I had a chance, and then we were at his stop.

And then I didn't see him for months. We don't work together, we had no reason to run into each other, and our paths never happened to cross.

Last August, the editor of the office upstairs quit, and I went to his goodbye party. And this guy was there (see, I don't even have a nickname for him!). After a little bit of proper party behavior, us both talking first to the editor and then with his friends, we eventually settled deeply into rudeness by only talking to each other.

For hours. We closed down the party.

We talked about career goals and our families, his father's death and my sick grandmother, running training -- everything from silly to deeply personal. We played questions and held nothing back. And he asked for my phone number, and very properly asked if he could call me to take me out soon. He even offered to run my September race with me, to keep me company and help me stay motivated.

We dismissed the fact that we worked together, because we didn't really work together. I tried to ignore that he's in sales, a field I'm always suspicious of, and that he was saying exactly what every woman wants to hear. We kissed outside the bar, but agreed that it shouldn't go any further, because we wanted to do it right and get to know each other, not hook up randomly and never see each other again. We promised we'd visit each other more often in the office, but we'd have to be professional and try not to distract each other when we were busy. And he took a picture of us together that is so cute I still have it on my digital camera. I'd love to show you, but you know I never put my face on this blog. Trust me, we look really happy.

I left the bar, and half an hour later got a sweet text message from him, which I gushed over, saved, and showed to all my friends.

In the following days, we e-mailed and IMed a bit, but nothing magical. And I was crazed with the work situation that was the first step in my ultimate decision to leave the company.

Then I got the call that my grandmother was dying (though she didn't until months later), and I had to leave for Chicago right away. I e-mailed him to explain, his response was tepid. I figured he had played me after all, and when I got back from Chicago I tried to let it go.

But I couldn't, not really. On the rare occasions when I did see him around the building, my stomach would leap. I tried very hard to ignore him and avoided going up to his office. It was childish, but I had work to do, and he distracted me no matter how hard I tried.

After he smiled at me in the hall one day, I IMed him "damn you for still having such a cute smile. not fair" and then immediately logged off, not wanting to give him a chance to not respond and break my heart.

That was the last I said to him, though my stomach still flipped on the rare occasions when I saw him around the building. His friend who I met on that same night in August, however, I had no problems talking to, and chatted amiably with every time I saw him.

Said friend had heard about my goodbye party and promised to be there.