[about the author]
i actually like speaking in front of large crowds. freakish,
i work crossword puzzles in ink.
i am the american nigella lawson. or maybe the american eddie
izzard. can't decide, really.
i would be a really good mom, but i'm cool with being a really
i am sometimes more perceptive than i would like to be.
i am fiercely loyal. sometimes, stupidly so.
i never play dumb. never.
i am way too hard on myself.
i am a change agent.
i sometimes cross that fine line between assertive and aggressive.
i am not afraid to tell people that i love them.
i am militantly pro-choice.
i am pro-adoption.
i know a little bit about alot of things.
i typically enjoy the company of men more than women.
i am capable of being really mean and nasty, but i fight it.
i am a lifelong cubs fan. do not laugh.
i have been known to hold a grudge.
i have hips.
i am not my sister.
i am lousy at forgiving myself.
i am an indoor kind of gal.
i am a bargain shopper. to the point of obsession.
i am 32 flavors. and then some.
scenes from a three-day weekend
the planets aligned as four of my favorite things converged in one shining moment: trading spaces went to las vegas and penn and fucking teller made a cameo.
wait -- trading spaces. las vegas. penn & teller. that’s three things.
oh yeah: three. day. weekend. four things.
shortly after i moved to dc, i had the great good fortune to see penn & teller at the warner theater. second row seats as a matter of fact. it kicked copious quantities of ass. unfortunately, the memory was sullied when i headed out to the lobby after the show in hopes that the duo would grace my playbill with signatures. penn is standing there – well, he’s a massive guy, so he’s actually looming there – and he chats me up a minute or two whilst signing my program. i hear him say that teller is outside. sure enough, i step out into the brisk night air to see him bundled up with an elmer fudd-looking hat on in, a throng of signature-seekers around him. and he’s chatting with them. out loud. fucking talking out loud. that is not right. as a matter of fact, it’s just plain old wrong. i know he’s a real person and everything, and that he probably talks in his everyday life and all, but i don’t want to hear it. it ruins everything. i got my playbill signed, but the whole time i kept fighting this overwhelming urge to put my hand over his mouth and give him a big ol’ “shush already!”
went to see the hours. yes, there’s another of my decorative-yet-functional movie reviews to be had, but that’ll have to wait until later this week. for now, we’ll just focus on the stupid bitch seated immediately to my left before the movie. you know, you try not to listen to other people’s conversations. well, sometimes you try. but, you’re at the movies by yourself, you got no one to talk to, so you really don’t have much choice but to listen in on other conversations. right? plus, it’s not like she was being all quiet or anything. anyway, she is talking to her male companion about the people in her office, running down a list of names and then basically saying whether or not she liked them.
“and then there’s ellen. ugh. i just can’t tolerate her. she has that obnoxious entp thing going on. entps are so obnoxious.”
okay, my head practically explodes at this juncture.
1. who in the hell really lives their life making judgments about other people based on the fucking myers-briggs test? i mean, since we’re on the subject of “obnoxious,” this would a perfect time to talk about people who make judgments about other people based on a fucking personality test.
2. i’m an entp.*
*okay, most of the time i'm an entp. sometimes i'm an entj. every once in a while i even test as an enfp. it all depends on variables. like my hormone levels, or if i'm having a good hair day, or whether or not i got a good night's sleep the night before. you know...scientific variables.
so, i’m sitting there seething. not necessarily because i’ve just been labeled obnoxious by some twit i’ve never met, but…well, okay, maybe that is why i’m seething. at any rate, she starts talking about chicago.
“i don’t know why, but i just don’t like that catherine zeta [pronounced zay-tah, of course] jones.”
i cannot resist.
i lean in and say, “i’m sorry, but i couldn’t help but overhear. my guess is that you don’t like her because she’s an entp. see, i’m an entp, and we can spot another entp a mile away. she’s so entp. and, speaking of a mile away, i hope you enjoy the film.”
and, with that, i got up and moved. in retrospect, that probably didn’t really go very far in dissuading her from her perception that entps are obnoxious.
last night while trying to watch the golden globes, i was inundated with the new chrysler ad campaign featuring celine dion.
i understand and appreciate the magic of marketing. really. i swear.
but, come on. am i supposed to believe for one fucking second that celine dion is driving a chrysler minivan?
i don’t believe it. and, even if i did believe it, it wouldn’t make me want to buy a chrysler minivan. i mean, celine dion is no harley earl, ladies and gentlemen of chrysler. so, let’s just acknowledge that this wasn’t maybe the best idea and please, for the love of all that is right and good in the universe, pull the campaign.
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