Geek Tragedy

Last night I went to a book signing at Vroman's in Pasadena for the very radiant and hilarious Stephanie Klein.

In case some of you don't know this femme fatale wordsmith, her blog is Greek Tragedy and her first book is called Straight Up and Dirty. Both are fantastic reads. The signing last night was for her new book Moose, which is a memoir of her stints at fat camp.

The moment she walked into the room, I felt my geek switch flick on. I couldn't stop smiling at her, I think my pupils were dilated into little heart shapes, and as soon as I made it up to the table to get my book signed, I gushed, "Ireadyourblogeveryday! Can I take a picture with you?"

Then I realized that my geekometer was ticking at HIGH, which made me get embarrassed and blush profusely, which thankfully you can't see in the picture. But I'm sure she thought, "Oh that poor girl. She looks so normal but is such a spaz." Actually, she's probably too nice to think that. Anyway, it was a complete joy to meet her in person and I cannot wait to read Moose. I'll let ya know what I think when I finish it.

Better than Bacon Chocolate Bars

When I was in 7th grade, I had a near-death experience.

It was a warm, early summer evening at the Universal Amphitheater in LA. My friend Rachel and I were wearing scrunchies in our hair, denim shorts, and t-shirts under floral vests. (I believe Rachel’s vest was black with purple and blue flowers and mine was off-white with pink and yellow, because we had to assert our individuality like that.) I had retainers. She had braces. And we both had a light beading of sweat under our aquanetted bangs from dancing in our seats to Tiffany.

Finally, the lights went down. The music started up. And then Donnie, Danny, Jordan, Jonathan and Joey took the stage in a fury of teenage testosterone and musical prowess. It was breathtaking. I saw a bright light and felt angels’ wings flapping lightly around my head.

I leaned over to Rachel and gasped, “I think. I’m going. To faint.”

I didn’t really think I was going to faint, but it seemed like the right thing to say in the situation. After all, I’d been clipping NKOTB pictures out of Teen Beat and BOP magazine all year to compile my NKOTB scrapbook. Seeing them in person definitely felt like a valid reason to break into some sort of fit or at least an uncontrollable drooling spell.

Yesterday, a mere 20 years after that incident, I found myself on youtube, seeking out The Kids’ new video. I popped in my earbuds, turned up the sound, and then sat grinning like a 12-year-old through the entire Summertime video.

Donnie’s hair looks like it might be sprayed on. Danny is a bit roided out. I'm pretty sure Jonathan is gay. (Doesn't every boy band have one gay member? Haha I typed member...) Really only Joey looks like he belongs in the video, but oh what a joy it was to watch them back in action.

Back Street’s Back All Right. Pardon me, while I go beat myself over the head with a filing cabinet.

Pigs in a Chocolate Blanket

I was reading one of my favorite blogs last week, Just Run, Just Live, Just Be, and she wrote a hilarious post about these bacon-flavored mints someone sent her.

This reminded me of a candy bar I saw recently when Mr. Wonderful and I were at the Winehouse in West LA. I’ve had some weird chocolate combos in my day—including hot chili, pear and rosemary—but the chocolate bar I saw at Winehouse took the cake. Made the grade. Fried the pig.

Yes, it was a Vosges’ bacon bar. Bacon and milk chocolate. Who knew Reese’s didn’t nail it with peanut butter and chocolate—that the real key to cocoa bliss was a little pork?

I didn’t buy a bar, but given that I love bacon and chocolate (separately…and perhaps together, but that’s yet to be determined) I kind of wish I had purchased one. Maybe you daring readers will venture out and find yourself one.

Next thing you know, Bristol Farms will start carrying delicacies like donut-covered hotdogs and salami crème bruleé. Look out world, meat and sweets may be here to stay!

Oh the Awesomeness

I have no words for this book. Okay, maybe just Travolta.

It’s Not Just about the Sex

After years of anticipation, days of shielding myself from media coverage and blogger reactions, and a couple hours yesterday afternoon where I thought I might fake a seizure just to leave work early, I finally saw Sex and the City: The Movie. With 9 of my girlfriends.

Sex and the City has this amazing quality of tapping the most common—and often frustrating—aspects of single (and now married) girl-life. I honestly feel like there is a piece of my soul that can only be nurtured by watching that show. I literally find myself hearkening back to its episodes on almost a daily basis.

Like last week when Mr. Wonderful bought me an extra head for his electric brush, I was like, “Ohmygosh this is totally like when Big gave Carrie the pink attachment to his electric toothbrush!”

The breakups and heartaches, dating disasters, silly sexcapades—they’re all so easy to relate to. But what I enjoyed most about the movie was that it wasn't all about the sex. Sure, there were some steamy scenes and a little full-frontal male (talk about getting your money’s worth!), but the main message was Love.

It was so touching to see what love meant—how it revealed itself—in each of the character’s lives. It made me cry (quite a bit) and made me thankful to be surrounded by friends. Three of whom I’ve known for 27 years, two cousins, two kickass marathon friends, and two friends I’ve just met in the last year. We’re all quite different from one another, but like Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte, love has had a unique impact on all of our lives.

For those of you who’ve seen the movie, tell me the Poughkeepsie part wasn’t the funniest thing ever?! My other favorite was the opening of the Assistant’s email file.

If you saw it on the big screen, what were some of your favorite parts?

Eurekugh

Since being the third-, fifth-, and seventh-wheel over the weekend, and watching the nuptials of a long-ago ex, I’ve had this funny feeling shawled around my shoulders.

I thought it might’ve been the time change. Or the crummy hotel rooms I got stuck in. Maybe a lack of greens in my diet.

But something was just making me feel off.

Yesterday morning on the drive in to work, where I do some of my best pondering, I figured it out. What I was feeling was longing. Longing to have what so many of my friends have. A desire to do what The Boss and his Bride did. To stand up with the person of my dreams and gush on and on about how much I love him. Then, hold his hand and listen as he tells me, and everyone we care about, how he’d waited his whole life to find me. How he remembers the moment he knew I was the one for him. How he loved everything about me so much that he just had to spend the rest of his life with me.

I want to look into his eyes and see a hundred memories. A lifetime of little moments that only he and I understand. I want him to finish my sentences and dust lint off my coat. I want to run my fingers through his hair every night until he falls asleep. And snuggle against him every morning. Make breakfast in socks and a t-shirt.

After my last relationship, I buried this longing. There was just too much pain to let it see the light of day. But now all the dust of heartache has settled I can’t help but pull it out from its hiding place.

It feels so heavy right now. But maybe if I carry it around for awhile, I’ll get stronger and forget it’s even there.

Ira Strikes Again

Those of you who read regularly may remember when Ira Rubenstein* emailed me last month. He and I dated back in 2005…and after 3 dates I decided I was definitely not interested in a 4th.

I did not respond to his cheerful “wondering if we could pick up where we left off” message. I sort of meant to, but I wasn’t really sure what to say…and then so much time passed, it just seemed unnecessary.

Wrong.

This weekend, I got a request to become Ira’s Facebook friend. It had the same line as his email intro did—“heya there. long time. hope you’re well.”

I deleted it immediately. But then I realized that if I keep ignoring Ira, he might just keep trying to contact me for eternity. He might even be reading this blog. Or looking up where I work on my website. Or hiding in the bushes outside of Mr. Wonderful’s house in his Harry Potter invisibility cloak. He might come in through my window like Robert Downey Jr. and try to take a nap with my cats.

For these reasons, I’m wondering if I should reply to him. If I should just say, “Look, it’s really nice you want to be in contact with me, but I have too many friends to keep track of these days and I just don’t have room for another.” Or, “If you’re looking to reconnect, I’m sorry to say that I have the most wonderful boyfriend in the world and absolutely no need to talk to anyone from my online dating past.” Or maybe, “Remember when you lied and said you met Bono? You’re retarded and I want nothing to do with you. Stop emailing me.”

What is the proper protocol in a situation like this? Should I just let it lie and keep ignoring him if he continues to pop up in my inbox?


*Mr. Wonderful is a nicer person than I am and encouraged me to change people's names in my blogs...so Ira R. isn't his real name, but it's darn close.