Sexiest Man Alive

I have a new celeb crush. Move over Bradley Cooper. You've been dethroned.

Last night, I rented Defiance, which was a very good film. Well shot, well acted. Based on a true story. Learned a lot. About my taste in guys. Because it wasn't Daniel Craig I was drooling over. Not Liev Schreiber. Oh, no, I became obsessed with Mark Feuerstein.

Let's see: scruffiness, glasses, sizable nose, blue eyes. Yes, this dude is my idea of the perfect man. I couldn't find pictures of him from the movie that I liked, though I did include some below, in case you are not familiar with Mr. Feuerstein. (Who, I think, was also in the movie In Her Shoes.)

Try as I might, I will never be attracted to jock-ish, Abercrombie-model, Brad-Pitt-types. Just not sexy enough for this chick...

Mission Failed?

A couple weeks ago, I proclaimed that I would attempt to make-out, kiss, or otherwise lock lips with 31 different dudes by July 31st. While technically my deadline is tomorrow, I think it is safe to say, considering I am currently in Bumblefuck, Georgia, that I did not accomplish this feat.

In fact, I did not come close. Since setting this goal for myself I managed to make it to four. This number at first seemed substantial, because I am not and never have been a chronic at-bar-maker-outer. But then I remembered that I kissed three guys on my 25th birthday within about an hour. When I say remembered, I mean, I remembered that Meagan or Julie informed me of my antics the day after. Hence how I managed such a high (for me) number in the first place. Oh, tequilla, how you turn my memories (and judgment) into nothingness.

Anyway. I guess I just felt a sense of responsibility to inform those of you who read this thing that I did not end up completing 31 in 31. I do, however, have a very good reason for such failure. For now, I will just say that I enjoyed one of the four more than the others.

On Air Travel

People in airports crack me up. The eye rolls and exasperated sighs at long security lines. The I'm not going to wait in this! attitude. Come on guys. What do you expect? That by being negative and complaining the people waiting ahead of you will magically part and your sour face will just float on up to the front?

I realized while waiting in the pre-security line at LAX this morning (which quite impressively spanned the length of the entire Delta departures terminal) that airplanes are no different than any other type of public transportation. Except that we expect them to be such. Planes are merely buses that fly. Except that they require higher fares. There's nothing really glamorous about air travel (unless you do the private plane thing, but that's totally overrated considering how scary they are to actually fly in).

While I've certainly been that girl in tears having to gate-check my bag because I was late for a flight, and of course have complained, eye-rolled, etc while at the airport, I was quite calm and unaffected today. Patience and a smile go a long way. I was slightly dumbfounded when the lady at the check-in counter seemed shocked that I replied how are you after she'd asked me the same question. It's not like I made her day or am trying to congratulate myself, her reaction just reinforced the idea that she has to continually deal with people who are stressed, mean, angry, late, and tired. I tried to smile and be courteous to everyone around me after that encounter.

Until I couldn't. The whole airport experience was fabulous before I got onto the plane. Actually, the plane itself was fabulous, too. I had my own little TV (in coach!). Pretty good seat. The guy next to me wasn't huge and ebbing into my space like the last time I flew to Atlanta. In fact, today was probably the best flying experience I've had in a long time. But, then, the teenager across the aisle from me opened her Tupperware container of tuna.

The TSA makes rules mandating that certain items cannot be brought onto air-crafts. Tuna should be one of them. As I gagged in my seat, fully engulfed by the thick, sour, fishiness, I wondered if anyone had ever asphyxiated from breathing in tuna. I wondered if anyone spontaneously threw up all over their mini-TV because of tuna. I wondered if anyone ever stabbed another passenger with a plastic knife or smothered her with a SkyMall magazine because of disgusting-smelling, unbearable, demonic tuna.

I thought about the man earlier who scoffed at the security line, who inspired me to write this post. And I felt sorry for judging him. Because in that moment, surrounded by tuna, I was about two shallow breaths from complaining to a flight attendant. How dare she bring that ungodly food aboard. I demand you reassign my seat! I settled for putting the sleeve of my sweatshirt around my nose and mouth like a breathing tube until the girl finally put the top back on the Tupperware. But in the process I think I understood the mind of not just the cranky man from this morning, but of a serial killer.

Mastered that Ish

I did it. I finished my thesis. (Golf claps, please.)

And because I am a total crazyperson, even though I turned it in last Thursday, I decided I had to sit down and read the whole thing today just in case it's horrific, since tomorrow is the official deadline.

Guess what? It's not horrific.

Since I decided to change my thesis from straight non-fiction to memoir, I've battled some nearly-crippling doubts. I worried I was being self-indulgent (I'm sure I still am). I felt stupid for writing my graduate thesis about boys. Especially when one of the relationships I wrote about ended just 12 weeks ago. Was the material too fresh? Was I just bitter? Was I making something out of nothing? Would I be the only person on earth who would "get" my book?

One of my teachers, Janet Fitch, wrote a blog post earlier in the year, which I printed out and stuck on my fridge. She says she realized: "I didn't need anyone's seal of approval to do what I wanted to do...if you let yourself do what you want in life, you'll always be a success. Even if nobody else likes it or gets it or wants it."

While I can't be 100% sure if my thesis will make it to a Barnes and Noble near you, I do know that the process of writing memoir and embarking on my three years of grad school, from New York City and back, changed the direction of my life significantly.

This may seem random, and maybe only makes sense to me, but I learned something in the process of analyzing my relationships with men. I've had three boyfriends (if you can call them that) around whom I was completely incapacitated. By this, I mean I was totally not myself, always worrying over everything I said and did around them. Because I wasn't that way around other guys I'd dated, I thought that my behavior meant I must have really, really liked those three, and the constant nerves were merely a response to how badly I wanted the relationships to work. However, I realized that those three had something else in common: their feelings toward me were highly ambiguous. I never knew where I stood, and was too nervous to ask, creating a cycle of highs and lows. When it seemed like one of the guys loved me, I was elated. When it seemed like maybe he didn't, I was devastated.

Here's the realization: I didn't really, really like them. I mistook fear and misplaced infatuation for fall-on-my-face love. Idiot!

Well, now I know.

And, armed with this knowledge, which I feel a little dumb about because it was so freakin' obvious, (and a Master's, what whaaaaat), I'm looking forward to going through life a little differently. I'm, dare it say it, optimistic.

Just Sayin...

I haven't had a boyfriend (or a life-sucking pseudo-relationship) for 10 weeks now. And I feel fucking great. :)

New Motto

I don't have much to say, only that I've come up with a catchphrase/mantra for life: If I have to think twice, I'm already thinking too hard.

Basically, the memoiristic journey I've embarked on has led me to really examine the choices I've made and what my motivations have been, which has been both humbling and enlightening. But, the best part is, in becoming more aware of who I am (and was), I've been able to see if there is a disparity between me and who I wish to be.

This is all sounding a little philosophical, so why don't I bring myself down off the high horse. Okay. So. I've been blessed with a killer intuition. When something is wrong, I feel it instantly. Recently, the intuition kicked in and I thought, as I always do, that the feeling would pass and I would get over whatever it was that instinctively was bothering me. Then I got wise and realized maybe I should start trusting myself a little more, considering that nothing good ever came of ignoring my intuition.

I've realized that I don't want to convince myself or talk myself into anything ever again. There is a reason, say, when I meet someone or hang out with them and feel a little weird about it. I'm all for giving people a chance, but when my gut kicks in, I am going to trust it. I'm not going to think twice.