What I'm Thankful For

Instead of figuring out what I was thankful for pre-holiday, I found many reasons to give thanks after the weekend ended. Here are my top turkey day 2008 moments (in no particular order):

Cooking with Bridget Jones. Thanksgiving means my mom and I spend about two days in the kitchen slicing, baking, sweating, making messes, greasing pans, cleaning, you get the idea. This year, we decided to put on a movie and for some reason Bridget Jones' Diary seemed most appropriate. The reindeer jumper, the massive undies, Colin Firth (mmm), and the best kiss-off ever: "If staying here means working within 10 yards of you, frankly, I'd rather have a job wiping Saddam Hussein's ass" (burn). Though, I am always a little offended by the Natasha character who snaps her fingers at Mark Darcy, giving my name a bad name. It's always the go-to for villainous women...But I love this movie and it made me happy.

Trying stuffing for the first time. As a terribly picky eater, stuffing never made the cut on Thanksgiving. Soggy bread? No way. Nondescript meat? Please. Celery? Wrong, wrong, wrong. But this year my mom's new recipe smelled too good to not try an itty bitty bite. Now, only one question remains: Italian sausage, where have you been all my 24 years?

Conrads. This little deli/old-people joint in Pasadena makes the best patty melts ever. The pre-Thanksgiving meal bar has just been raised.

Sleeping. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I woke up at 11 a.m. this past Saturday. After going to be at 10:30 p.m. the previous night. Instead of feeling like a total loser (which I assume is the appropriate response to this type of comatose behavior) I am rather proud. And I no longer have gray shadows under my eyes. Which is fabulous.

BFFs. Contrary to some misguided assumptions, I don't need much in life. But I do need three people: Alana, Ciji, and Jenn. And we got to spend the holiday together for the first time ever, which was (as The Cars would say) just what I needed, especially since living in different cities and schedules rarely allow this. Pouring over middle school photo albums post-dessert made the evening even more reminiscent of how important these women have been in my life (having known them since I was 4, 7, and 8, respectively).

Middle school photos. To piggyback on that last, I am thankful that, at some point, I learned how to properly blow-dry my bangs, that mid-drifts are not cute, and that brownish-red lipstick is super unflattering. My younger self is reassured now that, yes, I did turn out pretty-much okay.

Scattergories. This is one of my favorite games but I think I went through the directions too fast with my family because, on the first round, my Mom thought that we were supposed to just come up with any word matching the category. (In Scattergories, you pick a letter and have to come up with words starting with that letter to fit the clues in each round.) As Manny, Eric and I went around with our lists beginning with "M", Mom would crack up and say her "non-M" word. For Things Under the Sea Eric said, "mollusk," Manny passed, I said "mongrel" (which did not count), and Mom blurted out "plankton" in between gasping for air. We haven't hung out just the four of us in a long time, so laughing together was a pretty awesome capper to the weekend.

My parents. On the family note, even though I live at home (and complain about it/discuss my plans to move out ASAP with anyone who will listen), I really loved spending time with my Mom and Manny. Without the stress of school and work, just getting to veg, eat, and repeat for the past four days, I've found that I shouldn't be anything by thankful for my current roommates.

I hope everyone had a great holiday and enjoyed time spent with family and friends as much as I did. :)

Showcasing Men's Shortcomings

I never read He's Just Not That Into You (per the previous post, this may have been the stupidest book ever published because if you even think you may need to read it, you already have your answer--he's not into you. Move on!), but the new trailer for the movie came out and it looks amazing. I was formerly against advice books being made into feature films, since I think most advice books are stupid crap that women buy so we can have what we already know reaffirmed (HJNTIY is a perfect case in point) but given some of the experiences my girlfriends and I have gone through recently, I don't think this movie could have come at a more opportune time. In fact, based on the trailer, this movie should be required viewing for all men 18-30. Heck, age 10-30, why not start 'em young?

Here are some of the issues my gals and I have been griping about (perhaps you're familiar with them):

1) Men need to put their big boy panties on (this is M's phrase but I love it and am now stealing it). They need to say what they mean and mean what they say. You're not into someone anymore? Tell her! You want to be in a relationship? Tell her! You love her? You get the point.

2) To follow that, if you're not into a girl, don't be so full of yourself to think that you're going to break her poor little heart if you're just honest. We're not that fragile. We'll find someone else. Or maybe we don't want a relationship anyway. But don't give the tired "I'll call you" when you aren't planning to. So childish. (Again, big boy panties. Get a pair. Put 'em on.)

3) If you make tentative plans with someone and then that day comes, call the girl you made plans with. Some men think that if they just lay low, we'll forget we even had tentative plans. Just be honest whether you call to say you aren't interested, that you made other plans by accident, or you are afraid of getting involved. We can take it.

4) Don't be awkward. And don't make it worse by trying not to be awkward. If you have an issue, spit it out. Pick up the phone. Write an email. Don't leave us dangling.

I thought once college (and high school for that matter) were over, dealing with men would be easy. We'd all be mature and able to talk about things. We'd get over stuff quicker (or at least be able to work it out to expedite the process). We'd do less stupid things (or at least be better equipped to handle our stupidity). But, sadly, the older I get, the more immature men seem. All around me, women gripe about the game playing, the withholding of real feelings, the stringing along. We're sick of it. Grow up.

Click here for the trailer:
He's Just Not That Into You trailer in HD

He’s Just Not That Into Marrying Bitches

In the “Relationships” section of nearly any bookstore, you can pick up solutions to even the most complicated problems. You will find books on how to get a guy to propose (Why Men Marry Bitches), how to know if you really should have broken up with your boyfriend (It’s Called a Break-Up Because It’s Broken), how to not self-sabotage (Ten Stupid Things Women Do to Mess Up Their Lives), and how to know if the guy you are dating doesn’t really like you at all (He’s Just Not that Into You). If you are even thinking about picking up that last title in the first place, let me spare you 150+ pages—he’s just not that into you. Done and done.

Are we so insecure that we need people who don’t know us to reassure our feelings and appease our decisions? There are thousands of advice books on Amazon.com that millions of women turn to for so-called self-help. The themes stay the same, yet more and more are published each year, so clearly we either aren’t actually taking the advice or we just enjoy the idea of changing our lives.

Lorri Gottleib, who recently wrote the Atlantic Monthly article, “The Case for Settling” (and was offered both book and movie deals because of it) offers a different piece of advice from the stock “find the man of your dreams” mantra Disney introduced to us (without mentioning that Prince Charmings don’t truly exist). While her advice to just settle for someone imperfect might do some overly picky women some good, in the end, agreeing to spend a lifetime with someone you don’t really want to be with just so you can be with someone (anyone!) sounds like a terrible idea. Settling, while packaged as common sense, might encourage people to marry, but it won’t do anything to ease the divorce rate. How long could you pretend you were in love with someone you just settled for?

Perhaps my favorite example of advice book idiocy is Why Men Marry Bitches by Sherry Argov. Let me admit that I used to rave about this book after a dear friend let me borrow her copy. But after thinking about it about it, the book promotes manipulating men as a means of empowerment. Argov says that when we want our boyfriends to propose we should, calmly and rationally, give them an ultimatum. If that doesn’t work, cut your availability with the guy 60-70 percent. Then, if you still don’t get a ring, meet up with him and end the relationship. Then, cut your availability 97 percent. Argov says the key is not mentioning marriage, and soon the guy will realize he made a huge mistake and propose. I think it is more likely he will find someone else who won’t resort to manipulating him into popping the question.

What Argov doesn’t take into consideration is that the guy hearing these entitlement-ridden speeches is your boyfriend—the guy you love and you have been more intimate with than perhaps anyone else. He will probably call you out on behaving like an automaton, unless of course you always behaves so calmly and rationally. Are we to assume our boyfriends won’t know we are reading them a script? And why date a guy who a) is oblivious to manipulation, and b) would fall for it in the first place? Lorri Gottlieb says we should settle. But I would never want a boyfriend, let alone a husband, who was stupid enough to propose to me after I tricked him into doing so.

It’s fine to have a direct conversation with your boyfriend about marriage—or anything else you want out of your relationship. What’s deplorable to me is how this advice uses male nature against men. Men want what they can’t have, so, Argov tells women if he doesn’t want to marry you—fine, play hard to get. How romantic. Then you can tell your friends about how you got engaged, “Well, first I gave Jim an ultimatum, and then I ignored him so much that he realized he just couldn’t live without me!”

Doree Lewak, author of The Panic Years, would likely say that if I were over 25 (and oh that birthday is rolling up quick), I should follow Argov’s advice and snag a husband, even a stupid one, as soon as possible so I don’t end up miserable, jealous, and lonely. Lewak identifies a late-twenties period where all your friends are getting snatched up by men while you sit at home and cry. And if you aren’t like that, Lewak says you should be. She assumes women buy into society’s crap. That we're naturally desperate. I can’t think of anything more insulting.

Advice books reassure us of our feelings, and provide unrealistic solutions to our problems, yet they also perpetuate fear, insecurity, and unrealistic social expectations. Lewak told MSN.com, “Society still perceives singleness as a personal failure and sends us this classic mixed message that while we should flourish in our careers and embrace our independence, we’re still a failure if we’re single.” Instead of challenging the stigma, Lewak’s book buys into it, ultimately telling women that changing society isn’t an option. We must instead, like so many other advice books advocate, change ourselves.

We see unsolicited advice in bookstores, on magazine covers, in advertisements—all giving us a message that we are doing something wrong, but that there is a purchasable solution—a quick fix. Of course, not all advice is unwanted—sometimes I need to know Cosmopolitan’s nine new ways to put my legs behind my head or how make Martha Stewart's latest Christmas cookie. But we shouldn’t need articles or books written by strangers to help us figure out our lives. The process reminds me of middle school when I would enlist my best friend to ask the guy I liked if he liked me back. It was childish, of course, but it also stopped the flow of information. If I want an answer, I should go straight to the source.

In the end, finding a man is similar to losing weight. Both issues yields dozens of books in your local Barnes and Noble, yet each also has one time-tested theory that we overcomplicate because either we refuse to believe that there isn’t another solution, or we want a quicker, chicer way. If you want to lose weight, eat less, exercise more. If you want a husband, have a heartfelt talk with your boyfriend, or if you are single, get out more and meet more people. Sitting on a couch with that stereotypical pint of ice cream and an advice book won’t make you skinnier or get you any closer to Mr. Right. In fact, it will only make you fatter and lonelier.

Besides, according to Lorri Gottlieb, that Mr. Right doesn’t exist. According to Dr. Laura, you’re going to find ten ways to screw up yourself and your relationship eventually anyway. Plus, there’s always that chance he just won’t be that into you.

The Verdict

About three things I am certain:

1) Catherine Hardwicke is an AWFUL director.

2) Melissa Rosenberg can't write a screenplay.

3) Despite the first two, I don't know if I can be productive or socially competent until I see Twilight again.

Even if I outright hated the film, being at the midnight show last night was an experience in itself. Before the movie teenage girls screamed, chanted, and counted down the minutes until the show began. They clapped and squealed when Jacob and Edward appeared on screen. They shrieked with laughter over parts of the movie that were unintentionally funny (bad writing and so-so acting produced disastrous results).

But, here's the deal--despite the fact that Robert Pattinson looked like he was going to have an aneurysm (or worse) every time he was supposed to "smell" Bella and completely overacted his part, and that so much silly stuff was added to the story when the writer could have just used better parts from the book that were cut, and even though the chick from Thirteen was the WORST person ever to play Rosalie Hale, the movie was satisfying in many ways. First, Robert Pattinson is hot. Second, the actors playing the kids at Forks High were hilarious. The guy playing Jacob was adorable (even if he did just have one way of saying his lines). Kristen Stewart was the perfect choice for Bella. And the guy who played Volcheck on The O.C (who I will forever call Volcheck) did an amazing job as the villain (he was probably the best actor in the whole thing, actually).

All in all, Twilight is super cheesy and poorly executed, but I am happy that there is a movie at all. What do you expect for $30 million, anyway? In fact, I may just need to blow off my work today to catch a solo matinée...you know, just to be sure it was only so-so.

Twilight Tonight!

Technically, Twilight doesn't premiere in theatres until tomorrow, but since I have my hot ticket to the midnight show, I'm pretending today is the day.

Since reading Stephanie Meyer's four-part series in August (thanks to Jenn and Arielle), I have to admit that my obsession has waned slightly. For a good 2.5 weeks, I lived, breathed, and dreamed Edward Cullen. Not only did I complete the 2,000+ pages of the Twilight saga in a mere four days (hey, at least I was being unproductive with literature and not Facebook), but I followed up my speed-reading by downloading 20 or so songs fellow fans suggested were Twilight-like, bought and listened to the Twilight audio tape, and watched the trailer for the movie so many times I memorized it.

Why was I so intrigued? I wasn't a vampire enthusiast. I'd never been to Forks, WA. Romance novels were sooo not my thing. But Meyer is an excellent story-teller. She created characters readers can't help but empathize with--we are willing to fight for them and we are invested in their happiness. These, as well as Meyer's ease in portraying Edward as both super sexy and sensitive, are the reasons so many have fallen in love with Mr. Cullen, as well as the series itself.

I couldn't get enough and wished the movie wasn't over four months away. Then, Harry Potter's release date shifted to summer, pulling Twilight up a whole month. Victory! Then, Midnight Sun (Twilight from Edward's POV--OMG) was leaked on the Internet and Meyer said she wasn't going to release it at all. Boooo....

As the semester started, I was able to read other things (notably Janet Fitch's White Oleander and her far underrated Paint It Black, as well as Different Seasons, Stephen King's short story collection). I started a new project, a move inspired by Meyer's story-telling, but very different thematically. I began to fall out of obsession with Edward, which was probably for the best.

Though, at midnight, I may just revert back into my Twilight love affair. While the trailers for the movie are getting progressively awkward and cheesy, I predict I will see the movie no less than three times. If anything, I am excited to see this book on the big screen. It's rare for literature to ignite such fever and I hope the film does Meyer's creation justice.

Welcome Back

The week got off to a rocky start (to say the least), yet I inadvertently self-soothed in a quite unexpected way, by going back in time. (Do enjoy the probably embarrassing high school pics.)

I know I'm not supposed to live in the past, I'm supposed to move forward, embrace change. These things make me a better person. But I was feeling shitty and was cosmically drawn towards my three high school/early college loves: plays, musicals, and dance.

On Monday, I unearthed a play I did a scene from freshman year of high school called Apocalyptic Butterflies. It's memorable not just because I had to wear lingerie, but because my scene partner was USC footballer Frostee Rucker. I played Frostee's character Hank's mistress, Trudi, and after flipping through the playbook, I found a great quote of hers, which she says to Hank: If I were older and wiser, I'd take a walk. I'd go home, watch 'Miami Vice' and feel good about myself. I'd remind myself how good I live without a man. I'd regain my equilibrium...[but] I look at your skin and I think I'm gonna have a nervous breakdown if I'm not allowed to touch that man's skin. I meet 10 billion other men a day but I see you, my heart has a little heart attack.

Trudi vocalizes how hard it often is to do the rational thing when emotions take over, yet she acknowledges her awareness of that imbalance. I love how we should hate her character but can't bear to--good writing--and I love how she lays it all out for Hank as if she has nothing to lose.



Yesterday I gathered my high school musical CDs (no, no, not real HSM, my HSMs.) First, I put on Noah, the modernish retelling of the Biblical story that our drama teacher wrote while cracked out on psychedelics. I still knew all the words and that was oddly comforting--like a piece of young me still wedged inside somewhere. I couldn't stop smiling, instantly in a great mood. I busted out the Jesus Christ Superstar remastered two-disc set next, which not only reminded me how freakin awesome that show is, but upon being able to sing (poorly) almost every single word, I remembered that I used to pass the time in Geometry class by literally singing the whole show straight-through in my head. Is it wrong that I'm proud of that? Listening to these shows didn't make me nostalgic or wanting to go back, but they were a reprieve from real life and reminded me of a joy I had almost forgotten.




Last night, to cap off this journey of former loves, I took Alex's "Dance Moves" class at Equinox. I thought it was going to be like Cardio Dance, simple but fun. Instead, Alex put on "Womanizer" and led us through a choreographed piece. We know I'm Brit-obsessed, and I listen to that song on repeat on my way to school, so even though it was difficult to get back into the hip-hop/jazz steps, having stopped formally dancing in high school, I was energized, excited, and motivated. I focused on the steps, and escape was mine once again.

Today, as I sit to grade papers, I feel lighter than I have in days. I learned that I need to indulge myself once a while--these former hobbies may just be the loves of my life. I am still that cheery theatre dork deep down. I like that side of me and I am a little embarrassed that I let her get away so easily. Now, I'm keeping her around, if only for when I really need her, whether in taking Alex's Tuesday night class or belting out showtunes on a traffic-jammed 110 Freeway. It's the little things in life that make the biggest difference and this little part of myself, while wholly irrelevant to my current life, keeps me going.

I like knowing I can count on me.

And just for fun--a little inspirational tidbit from Noah:

"Life has a habit of twisting and turning, sometimes it seems so unfair. Hope flies away with no plans for returning, lost in a tear drop somewhere. Trusting we turn toward the heavens above us, with prayers for impossible dreams. Radiant you come as illuminations, floating down milky way streams."

McCain Off to the Landfill

I came back from yoga this morning to find my neighbors' obnoxious McCain lawn sign stuffed not-so-subtly into one of their trashcans. It was quite nice after eight years of a completely incompetent president who I didn't vote for to see McCain put in his place. Not that I have anything against the man personally--but when he chose Sarah Palin, thinking women were stupid enough to vote for anyone with a vagina, he lost me. I mean, I wasn't going to vote for him anyway. Unless maybe he picked Hillary for his running mate.

Anyway, for all of you excited as I am that we finally have a president who truly cares about us and our country, enjoy the photo. I hope you can revel in the fact that this time, our guy is in the White House. I'm going to have a view of this site for the next 12 or so hours until the trash people come and the sign is gone for good.

Now if only Palin would go away that easily...