tangentwoman

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Who am I?!

I have no idea where this is coming from, because I usually can't say enough awful things about La Duff (actually, Les Duffs -- Haylie is even worse, probably), but I feel inexplicably sad that she and Joel Madden broke up. My initial reaction to them as a couple was, "Gross, and also illegal," but I actually thought they were good together and that they really loved each other. So I feel a little bad for them.

Although I'm happy to have some gossip this week that doesn't involve Britney and her exposed hoo-hoo.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Motor Mouth

So, I think the VH1 show Motormouth has been canceled (although there's archived footage on their web site), but I sort of enjoyed it while it lasted, because people are such idiots in the privacy of their cars. Myself included.

On the drive up to the bachelorette party on Saturday, I was rocking out to some great songs on the radio -- for some reason, "Love is a Battlefield" was in heavy rotation this whole weekend -- and having a grand old time, all by myself. I super got into Brick House, despite not knowing many of the words well enough to sing along accurately. But I sang my heart out, and bopped, and gestured, and I decided that, were there ever a movie made about me, I would want the requisite singing-in-the-car scene (see, for example, "Free Fallin'" in Jerry Maguire; "Tempted" in Reality Bites) to feature "Brick House." And the actress playing me would have to study hours of tape to get just the right amount of dorkiness to represent me accurately.

If the movie song were a duet, though (with the Smelmooo as my other half), I'd want it to be something from the Avenue Q soundtrack, although I can't choose among "It Sucks to be Me," "If you Were Gay...," and "The Internet is for Porn," all of which the Smelmooo and I sing quite loudly and enthusiastically, divvying up the characters (I'm usually Kate Monster, Rod, Christmas Eve, and Gary Coleman, and the Smelmooo is Brian, Nicky, Princeton and Trekky).

What would your movie singing-in-the-car song be?

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Gluttony

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays -- lots of food, no pressure to buy gifts, a four-day weekend. It's so enjoyable, and I so dread returning to work tomorrow. But I think my expanded waistline will be quite happy about it.

The Smelmooo and I had a movie date on Wednesday afternoon (the new Bond, which I enjoyed way more than I thought I would. Just a fun movie, I thought, and I didn't actually think it wore on too long, although I know plenty of people disagree with me on that. And yay to Daniel Craig for pulling it off, because boy did he get a lot of heat when they first announced this casting. But he really worked it, I think). We had a pre-dinner snack in the theater, where I was horrified to discover that my container of Dibs (those super-yummy chocolate-covered ice cream bon-bons) provided NINETY-NINE PERCENT of my recommended daily allowance of saturated fat. Ninety-nine percent, in one little tub, consumed pretty much before the last preview. Unbelievable. Please bring back the pretzel bites, Regal Cinemas! The Dibs are going to kill me.

Then it was on to Thanksgiving day, which entails full meals at both my parents' house and my in-laws'. And I have no capacity for restraint at either home, no matter how much I tell myself to exercise portion control. The Smelmooo pointed out, as I helped myself to a third bowl of fruit cup at my parents' (the first stop), that I needed to slow down, but it fell on absolutely deaf ears.

I think my stomach had completely expanded by Friday morning, when I met an old friend for brunch. I'm sure this same scene was playing out all over the place this weekend -- what do you do with friends who are in town for just a couple of days, if not catch up over food? And, really, whenever I was home from college, it was all about scheduling according to meals: "So, I'm meeting X for breakfast, and going to Y's for dinner, so let's have lunch? Or maybe coffee?" So the tradition continues. And extends beyond formal mealtimes -- the Smelmooo and I went to a party on Friday night, and the hosts plopped a tray of cookies (an assortment including Thin Mints and Entenmann's chocolate chip, so I was doomed) within my reach, and I was done. I can't believe my teeth haven't fallen out yet, never mind that my pants still fit.

My body finally called foul yesterday and tried to balance out my gluttony, and I didn't feel hungry all day, even though I told myself I needed to eat before heading out to a friend's bachelorette party. But I didn't, and I was starving by the time we got to the sushi restaurant (and, as Shari pointed out, why can sushi restaurants not serve some sort of bread or equivalent "to tide you over while you're waiting for your real food" kind of food?). I didn't get an appetizer, but several people had ordered edamame and were willing to share, and I was so hungry I chucked my "I only share with people I know" mantra out the window. Apparently, I also chucked all proper etiquette by eating the whole pod, and when someone pointed out that you're supposed to set the pod aside in your little remnant bowl, I was totally mortified. Truly, I had become that cartoon character downing so much food she's swallowing sandwiches whole with their wrappers still on. Fortunately, it was a forgiving crowd, and no one seemed to be scowling at me as the low-rent chick with no manners.

But really, I think moderation will need to be the key for the rest of the holiday season.

A brief post-script: the Smelmooo just came into the office, and asked what I'm writing about, and then asked that I include his "gluttony of gay television" while I was out this weekend. He's watching both The L Word and Queer as Folk, and I think it has the Blockbuster folks scratching their heads a little.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Happy birfday to the Smelmooo!!

Yaaaaaaaaaaay!!! It's 11/19! Which means it's the Smelmooo's birfday.
Happy birthday, hubby. Hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have so far!

It's a little sneaky and selfish, but I think I enjoy his birthday almost as much as he does. He wants tickets to a show for his birthday? I get to go along! I bake birthday cookies? I get to eat them, too! And so on, and so on, and so on.

I think the Smelmooo should get first dibs on an Evil Dead: The Musical review, so I'll just say that I laughed my head off and enjoyed it much more than I expected.

Unrelated to the Smelmooo's birthday, I got a super-wonderful "just because" gift on Friday: Jenni mailed me, out of the blue, a t-shirt noting, "Good grammar costs nothing." Which I believe I'll be wearing pretty much constantly for the rest of my life.

Happy 33rd, Smelmooo!!

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Tunnel. Light. (I hope)

It has been a loooooooooooooong few weeks. I have been traveling a ton; work has been really hectic and stressful; this morning I awoke in my D.C. hotel room (in which I have an exercise bike! I am living large, baby) at 4:45 a.m., completely confused about my whereabouts. I first thought I was at home, and didn't know where the Smelmooo and Tucker were; then I thought I was in Miami (where I spent about 20 hours this weekend for work). By the time I realized where I actually was, I was completely awake. So I'm tired, almost to the point of being delirious.

On the bright side, though, it's almost over. I head home tomorrow night, and then I don't have work travel until next month, and my first big deal gig in my new job will be behind me (I'm two-thirds of the way through it now, and so far, so good). I have to do a quick presentation as part of a panel on Thursday, but I'm so grateful to be going back to NJ that I don't even care that I have to be "on" when all I want is to take a mental health day, spending the whole day in my pink yoga pants, eating ice cream from the carton and watching bad TV. I believe firmly that I'll have some opportunity for that during Thanksgiving weekend.

My parents took a trip to D.C. last month, and my mom became totally obsessed with a restaurant near the Hill, right near where I'm staying this week. She told me about five times how I have to go to this restaurant, since I'm in D.C. so much for my new job. And I went there for dinner last night -- my co-worker even suggested it; I sort of "uh-huh"'d my mom a bunch, but I wasn't actually planning to make an effort to go to this restaurant -- and realized I'd been there at least twice before, and it was a fine place. Good, solid food; good service; nice atmosphere. Nothing earth-shattering, but a fine place. I called my mom when I got back to my hotel room, and started out with a sing-song, "Gueeeessssss where Iiiiiiiiiiiii went to din-ner tonight!?!?!?!?!" and I could hear over the phone how excited she was that I'd taken her recommendation. I didn't admit I'd eaten there before -- some things are better left unsaid.

In Miami this weekend, I was apparently sending out young, hip vibes. I had to go to a black-tie reception and gala in the late afternoon, and all these hotel staff acknowledged me and asked where I was going. And, without exception, they said, "Oh, no! You should be going to South Beach!" In the middle of a seemingly endless awards ceremony at the gala, my boss told me it was fine for me to duck out; another bigwig at our table chimed in, "Yes! Shouldn't you be at South Beach or something?" Clearly, I'm misunderstood, because I would so not fit in with the South Beach scene, and all I wanted was to go home and go to sleep. When I finally got back to my hotel room at the ungodly hour of 11:10 p.m., my room key didn't work, and I nearly cried. I hopped back on the elevator, and a woman from Scotland remarked, "Oh, you look so pretty! Are you going somewhere special?!" Which was lovely of her, and it was lovely of everyone to suggest that I'm fun enough to rock out at South Beach, but really? Just want to go to bed. Really. I'm a big fat lame-o.

Other random thoughts, late at night, partially fueled by two glasses of red wine that seem to have knocked my lightweight ass on its...ass:

-- I can't believe that Tom & Katie invited Brooke Shields but not Oprah to their wedding. Ingrates.

-- I ran into a guy friend from high school a couple of weeks ago, and he looked almost exactly the same, a bit puffier. And he still seems to be dating the exact type of person he dated in high school: always the blondes who look cute from far away, but who up close are a little funny-looking, with a big nose or gaps in their teeth or some weird flaw, despite the blonde hair and the nice body. I had a bit of a crush on this guy my sophomore year, and he clearly had placed me -- decidedly brunette and cute -- firmly in the "like her like an annoying little sister" bucket, so I felt simulaneously vindicated and embarrassed that he's still the same exact guy he was 15 years ago, I think still living in his parents' basement. He wasn't a bad guy, and I'm sure he's still not, but I was sort of struck by my lack of good judgment about boys growing up, because he's kind of a schmo.

-- It's bizarre to walk around the Senate and House buildings and see all of these Dumpsters and moving boxes and office equipment littering the hallways. Big changes are afoot...which is kind of exciting. I'm guardedly hopeful.

-- In addition to the curious young-hip vibe, I'm apparently emitting a new "talk to me!" vibe. My seatmate on the train yesterday chatted up a storm with me and gave me her card -- she's an artist in Japan, so not someone who has professional reason to chat me up -- which is super-unusual. My mom is the kind of person who always attracts friends and confidants, but not me. I'm often the person people ask for directions on the subway or whatever, but beyond that, not so much. What's happening to me? Am I morphing into some whole new being?

-- I can't believe that Thanksgiving is right around the corner. I feel like I've lost most of October and November in a whirlwind of activity, and I'm hopeful that the next month will be a little slower and more manageable. All I want right now is to be home with my husband and our dog, and I'm really, really looking forward to settling back into a more normal routine at home starting on Thursday.

-- The Break-Up? Awful. Such a bad movie. I guess I can see that such a terrible project could be a bonding experience for its lead actors: "Can you believe what a suck-ass movie this is?!" "I know, but we're getting paid so much money for it!" "You know what might really help us sell this? If we staged a real-life relationship!" "Awesome!! Let's do it, and sue if anyone accuses us of breaking up before we've been out on DVD for a couple months, at least." I do think that Jen and Vince ultimately fell for each other, but I think it grew out of a ploy to rake in more money. A real-life She's All That, almost.

-- Britney, Britney, Britney. I know your mom pressured you into getting a pre-nup, because you believed it'd last forever, blah blah blah, but come on, sweetie. If you have even a teensy doubt that he's sort of a slimeball and would take you for every penny if given the chance, why would you make a sex tape? Or, if you're really compelled to tape yourselves, why would you not destroy it at the first hint of marital discord? Isn't the Chaotic footage sufficent? Kevin's a disgusting, disgusting person, and I do feel sympathy for you, but you sort of should have known from the get-go that this guy was not to be trusted. I wonder if Justin will take you back; I would actually kind of enjoy that, because I like you and him better than him and Cameron.

-- I really enjoyed the movie Word Play, about the New York Times crossword puzzle. See? Tremendous dork. No South Beach for me. Word puzzles, then off to sleep -- that's a wild night for me. I am so old for my age.

Friday, November 10, 2006

Go Rutgers!

I am neither a Rutgers grad nor a big football fan, but because the Smelmooo is both, I went with him yesterday to the Rutgers-Louisville game. I was initially sort of lukewarm about attending, even though I knew it was a huge game. Maybe especially because it was a huge game, I figured it'd be more fun for the Smelmooo to go with a bigger fan, or at least someone with a direct connection to the school. And when people asked why we wouldn't just sell our $15 tickets, which were going for hundreds of dollars on eBay, I sort of saw their point.

But sometime yesterday, I started getting excited. And then as I saw the huge snarls of cars heading toward Piscataway and the hordes of people -- decked out with red shirts and red jerseys and red-painted faces -- walking toward the stadium, I started getting really excited. But not particularly confident that Rutgers would pull a win.

We tailgated for a while (thanks, Brother of the Smelmooo, for our access to the Green Lot!) before the game, and I just loved taking it all in and people-watching. The group next to us had brought a giant flag stand and were flying a Rutgers flag high in the air; several groups had bouquets of black-and-red helium balloons. A guy with a giant Santa belly stood around with his torso naked but for the giant RU painted on his bare skin (there were also several of the more traditional groups of seven guys standing in a row to spell out RUTGERS across their chests, but that wasn't as compelling to me). A lot of people were drinking wine out of actual stemmed wine glasses during the tailgate, which I'd never seen before (at Colgate, where my first year the football team was 0-13, the classiest we did at tailgate was drink wine from a box; otherwise, it was Milwaukee's Best wide-mouth cans all the way). A more familiar sight: three girls walking toward the stadium, the two on the outside propping up the one in the middle as she puked and puked and puked, every 10 steps or so.

The game itself was another first; I can't ever remember being in stands with that much energy and excitement. There were little boys there with their dads, both generations decked out in their Rutgers gear, the kids with temporary Scarlet Knight or R tattoos on their cheeks. People we didn't know at all were our new best friends -- high-fiving and putting their arms around us when things were going our team's way; sharing despondent looks of commiseration when we were down; helping each other figure out what had happened on the field when we couldn't see the action or hear the call.

And when the Little Knights that Could came through in the end? I have never seen so many people spilling out of the stands and onto the field. I actually got choked up at the sight of it; so many people bursting with pride and school spirit and shocked excitement. Even after the last field goal, even after the final cannon was fired signaling the end of the game, even with a thousand or more people rushing the field, many of us were still kind of wide-eyed with disbelief that Rutgers won, blinking hard to make sure we weren't mistaken, or dreaming.

And then we smiled and cheered and clapped and whooped, and it felt like the whole world was cheering with us. And, judging from the media coverage last night and today, we might have been right.

I'm still not a big football fan, but I'm a very proud Jersey Girl today. Woohoo!

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

So many thoughts, so little time

I have a million things I want to write about: Britney and K-Fed's long-overdue divorce proceedings, the election results, my latest insane grammar fixations, the BNL concert last weekend, Faith Hill at the Country Music Awards, the NYC marathon, bonding over flu shots, Dancing with the Stars.

But first, when did Gilmore Girls turn into a freaking sitcom?! I know I've been saying for ages that I'm done, that it's lame, that I was tired of Rory and her slouching and her Logan-pining, that I was boycotting because I couldn't abide the writers' completely lack of fidelity to Luke's character last season (and Lorelai's, for that matter), that this long-lost-daughter thing was really lame, that the only good parts of the show are Paris and Lane and usually Emily.

But last night? I really think might've done it for me. What was that ending?! What was the date with the swim coach? What was the point of the whole April-forgetting-her-lunch bit? And did I mention that ending?! Sitcom, sitcom, sitcom. Blech. I just can't. I really think I'm done, and I might mean it this time.

I'll probably read the recaps, and I'll tune in for the series finale, to see if Lane and Zach have their baby and live happily ever after, to see what happens to Paris, to see if they tie everything up with a nice little bow and have the Girls marrying their annoying rich boyfriends in a double-wedding or something. But otherwise, I think I'm officially done. Who's with me?

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

It's the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November

So get out there and rock the vote!!

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Today, I am...

...a Steve Poltz song. Specifically, the one called "Good Morning (Waking up with You)," which includes the line, "A hundred dollar phone bill, and it's multiplied by five. You look like a phone to me; hey, are you still alive?" I know that the Smelmooo knows I'm alive, but we have had a largely phone-based relationship as of late, and it stinks. I'm in San Francisco for work now (yay! great city, good colleagues; boo! crappy weather here, away from my hubby), and last week I went on a jaunt to Florida for a girls' weekend, which was just poor timing. And it's another two weeks, really, before the Smelmooo and I are both home together for a full weekend, even, never mind a full week.

...DJ Tanner in a Very Special Episode of Full House. I just used the elliptical machine in the hotel gym, and I looked like DJ on the weeklong-diet-and-exercise-binge episode, where she overdoes it at the gym in her big sweatshirt, when Stephanie and Becky take an aerobics class in their absurd '80s leotards and spandex, and then DJ passes out from overexertion, and there's a big family talk in the gym, and everyone hugs, and all is well and DJ never has body image issues again until the E! True Hollywood story. I didn't pass out or get an intervention, but I wasn't used to the machine, which absolutely kicked my ass, and the room was incredibly hot to begin with, so I emerged soaking wet and with a HUGE tomato face. I'll say it again: thank goodness I'm not at the gym to meet men or make friends, because I am not a pretty sight.

...my college roommate, who I'd find in the middle of the night crouched at my bedside, or sitting bolt upright in her bed, or crawling on the floor, or perched on the side of the desk. When she'd finally wake up, she would be incredibly disoriented, paranoid and apologetic, all at the same time, repeating, "It's okay...it's okay...sorry...I'm fine...I think it's fine..." until she fell back into a proper sleep. Sometimes she remembered it the next day, but more often not; she just had a vague sense that it'd been a tumultuous sleep. I woke up with a similar sense today; I was quite sure that my phone had been ringing at 11:30 last night -- the hotel room phone -- but I know I didn't answer it, and I'm not sure it was really, but I remember talking myself down and reminding myself that it was okay to go back to sleep.

...myself, ten years ago, when my best friend first year of college introduced me to her best friend from high school: excited, but also very anxious. Would she like me? Would I see in her what Katie did? And would she find me worthy of Katie's love and friendship? I'm out here in San Fran with Minnams, and her very best friend lives here, so we're all having dinner tonight. I'm so excited to meet this person I've heard so much about, and who's so dear to someone who's so dear to me; I just hope that she won't wonder what Minnams sees in me.

...Borat. I was dutifully doing my networking thing at this meeting, and I told a guy who's a fairly important contact that I looked forward to, I believe, "biting his ear on this," or maybe "chewing" his ear. I meant "bending" his ear -- something I can't ever remember myself saying (maybe I screwed it up because I'm unaccustomed to using that phrase) -- but I think I get self-conscious and insecure anyway when I'm meeting new people, and my mind just goes blank, and I need to stammer out something. Another stranger nearby overheard my slip, and totally giggled, and I felt like a giant idiot. But I think this wasn't my stupidest move today, even.

...Felicity, under Megan's clumsiness spell. I have a huge bump on my forehead -- and it hurts like a mother -- where I hit myself with the door when I entered the stall in the public restroom this afternoon. Yeah, you read that right. And, yeah, that just made me even more anxious about dinner, I think.