Rainy Day Reflections

Posted on December 19, 2010 by romanticcomedygirl

It’s funny, in romantic comedies, couples always seem to be breaking up in the rain and bad things are happening around them, but I have so many cool romantic comedy girl memories in the rain. Most of them took place at sleep away camp.

There was the time that it poured so hard that my three girlfriends and I went outside in bathing suits and washed our hair. I have put that scene in a script I wrote. It was so refreshing to have the cool rainwater pouring down as hard as a shower… actually harder since at the time we had a shower house where you had to hold a string and a trickling stream of warmish water came down. How are you supposed to wash yourself and hold a string at the same time? I always seemed to need two hands… Anyway, so there we were sudsing up out hair with our Finesse, cause “sometimes you need a little and sometimes you need a lot”. We were only eleven so we had no idea that this was like porn to the bunk of 11-year-old boys who were watching us through their moth infested screened windows.

And then there were movies in the rec hall. The entire camp could fit in there, and it didn’t matter how old you were, you were watching Pink Floyd’s THE WALL. I think it was the only movie my camp owned. You’d sit with your ‘boyfriend of the week’, and watch something that only made sense to the counselors who’d smoked pot before arrival. And then the bats would start flying around. Literally bats with wings that got stuck in your hair if you didn’t duck. The counselors were too high to care about our terrified screams, but some of us, were lucky enough to have boyfriends who not only cared, but came prepared. So instead of watching the nonsensical WALL, we would be entertained by the 6 coolest guys under 13 who brought their tennis rackets and were swatting the bats.

As I got older, hitting bats with tennis rackets got less romantic, but the rain didn’t. At 13 I was still a camper, but a CIT (Counselor in training) who I’d had a crush on for at least 3 summers, took me out on the lake in a row boat. Everyone else was inside because it was raining, so it was like there was no one in the world but us. He put blankets down on the bottom of the metal row boat. He sat up. I was curled up with my head in his lap and an oar sticking in my back, but I didn’t say anything for fear this moment of perfection, with him lightly stroking my hair and the rain misting on my face, and the warmth of the day…

And the warmth of the day. Yeah, something about the warmth mixed with the rain and I don’t know how weather works, but all of a sudden I heard him say “Shit!” As he jumped up jabbing my my back deeper into the oar. When I heard the sudden clash of thunder, I realized while my eyes were closed, he had seen the sky light up with… yup, lightning. Sitting in a metal row boat in the middle of a lake in a lightning storm… not ideal. Watching his shirtless body row as fast as he could… priceless! I didn’t know which muscle group to stare at… arms, chest, abs… perfection!

And when I became a CIT, rain brought skinny dipping, because all of the campers were inside with their counselors, so the CITs had no responsibilities. We would get gallon jugs of Riunite wine, drink on dock 2 which was hidden by the woods, shed our clothes and jump in the lake. (note: there were no cell phones then, let alone phones with cameras in them) We would all pair up and make out with our ‘boyfriend of the week’ until one of the girls would think she felt a snapping turtle brush her leg. Coulda been.. or it could’ve been her boyfriend’s hand and she needed an excuse to get out, either way, all of the girls got freaked out and jumped back on the dock, wrapping ourselves in towels, as our still naked boyfriends would try to see who was the most macho by allowing their precious jewels to become turtle bait.

And now that I’m older, as long as I don’t have some place to be, rainy days are great for wrapping up in a blanket, watching a romantic comedy, and reflecting.

Good times!

© 2010

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Things We Do For Men… or do we?

Posted on December 15, 2010 by romanticcomedygirl

I had a phobia of needles until a few years ago. I remember two boys in the eighth grade used to chase me around our classroom with a textbook opened to the page with a syringe on it and I’d nearly pass out. Then it dawned on me one day as I lay on a sheet covered table, naked from the waist down, one leg up against the wall, the other stiffly draped over a robust Russian woman, who was pasting hot wax on my inner thigh with a tongue depressor… “ah, how nice and warm the hot wax felt,” but then she put the cloth strip on it and my body tensed, and in those seconds of anticipation to the RIIIIIIIIIP.. I thought, “I’m about to let her do this at least 19 more times, probably more, on the most sensitive area of my body, lasting at least 25 minutes, and I’m scared of a 1 second prick from a needle in my arm?!”

And that was it. I was cured of my needle phobia, but not of my need to get waxed. Now I don’t do it for myself. I would take an out-of-control thigh creeping bush, any day over 25 minutes of my ‘precious place’ being burned, torn and tortured, but I do it for men. And it’s not just me ladies… I don’t have a friend who doesn’t do it.

The question is, do men care? Seriously, do they give a rat’s ass? Here’s why I ask. Most women I know get the full on Brazilian, aka- bald as a baby. But then, they are confused when their men ask them to leave a little triangle. I’ve been there, it’s confusing, because Playboy magazine and icon Pamela Anderson, taught me that no hair is sexy… yet the guys are asking for a triangle. Hmmm.

Further into my investigation, enters Jennifer Love Hewitt, who talks to Chelsea Handler (goddess) about her vajooge (pronounced vah-juh-ge, see RMC’s glossary) and how she gets it vajazzled. In case you haven’t heard of this procedure it’s like getting your cell phone be-dazzled only instead of crazy glueing gemstones to metal, you’re vagina gets decorated in rhinestones.. how they stay on, I do not know.

Here’s the thing, vajazzling girls THINK they’re doing it for their man, but really they’re doing it for their girlfriends. I’m not wrong. Think about it. After Love told Chelsea about her bejeweled vajooge, it’s all Sister, Best Friend, and I could talk about. And if one of us had done it, it would have been as hot as buying a new Louis Vuitton bag. We would have squealed in joy, asked to see the dazzling dark place, maybe even dared to poke at it, just to see if they’d fall off.

Now, what do you think would happen, if a guy went to his three best friends and said, “My girl had the prettiest heart made out of  fake diamonds glued to her vagina.” I’ll tell you what would happen- he’d have the crap beat out of him for being a ‘P-word’ for vajooge.

So gals, if you really want to do something for your guy, dye those pesky pubes of yours mold colored, and then spray your ‘special place’ with sulfer, because nothing would make your guy sound cooler to his friends, than for him to go back and say, “Yo, I don’t know what’s going on with my girl, but she’s got mold growin’ down there [insert lewd gesture to the groin area] and she smelled like rotten eggs!” And then his friends would say, “Nasty! What’d you say to her?” To which he’d reply, “Nothing, I just tapped that.” And then he get hootin’ and hollerin’ and high fives and you’d be legendary.

But let’s face it, there’s no way on earth, we are going to be known as the girl with the moldy, egg stankin’ vajooge, so let’s just admit it, here between us girls, that we don’t wax and vajazzle for our men… we do it for each other, because it’s prettier and fresher, and girls like that! Which is why men have learned that if they don’t “manscape” we’re not going down there.

Which leads to the conclusion that the world revolves around women, because we do things to impress and bond with each other, and men do things to make us happy so they can get what they want.

Fascinating!

© 2010

 

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It’s Really Annoying…

Posted on December 14, 2010 by romanticcomedygirl

To see commercials for the Craig’s List Killer on Lifetime for women, as I’m posting things I’m selling on Craig’s List… it’s really annoying and it’s freakin’ me out!

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To Hit ‘Send’ or Not to Hit ‘Send’ That is the Question

Posted on December 11, 2010 by romanticcomedygirl

TEXTING:

ME: I saw a movie tonight, it made me think of you. Sorry, it’s late, I shouldn’t have sent this anyway. Don’t write back.

Then I wait breathlessly hoping he will write back, waiting for that sound on my iPhone that I have a text… waiting… waiting [insert iPhone text received sound] my heart drops than leaps… it’s him.

FIRST LOVE: You tell me not to contact you so I don’t. Then you write to me and tell me not to write back? Don’t you know this hurts me just as much as it hurts you?

I start to cry, alone in my apartment. My St Bernard looks at me. She’s worried I reassure her, I’m okay. But I’m not. I type, “I’m sorry, I saw a movie tonight and it reminded me of you and it made my heart hurt.” Then I delete it. Then I type..

ME: I bet you didn’t know that I always think of you at Christmas.

It’s true I always do.. for 20 years, I’ve thought of him at Christmas. I never celebrated Christmas before him, and my first introduction was strange and magical. I remember walking in his front door, we’d been dating a few months so I knew his parents and sisters but that was it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a huge decorated tree with presents covering the floor of his living room. I’d never seen so many presents. But before I could take in the full beauty of it and the incredible aromas that were wafting up my nose, I found myself in a bear hug with a woman I did not know. She was telling me she loved me. This went on, from person to person, like a reception line at a wedding, strangers hugging me like I was family, all telling me they loved me. And he had a huge Italian family! So there was a lot of hugging and a lot of ‘love.’ Later when I expressed the strangeness of it to FL, he responded that if he loved me, his family loved me. Coming from a non-affectionate bent and broken extended family, (on both parent’s sides), I actually kinda fell in love with them too, just because he loved them… [insert iPhone text received sound]

FL: I still remember every present you bought me that year.

I was deliberating on whether or not to make a clever joke, or stay along the line of what my heart was truly feeling… broken, when [insert iPhone text received sound]

FL: and how you wrapped all 12 of them and kept them in your dorm room to torture me.

I did do that. I loved buying presents for him, practical things, sentimental things, meaningful things, gag gifts.. and even more I loved wrapping them each with such perfection that you almost didn’t want to open them you just wanted to stare at them. But he didn’t want to stare, nor did he want to wait. Though that was all I would permit him to do, just stare at them… tortured. Looking back I did a lot of that… torturing him.  So maybe I deserve what I’m getting now, or what I’m not able to get now.

ME: You were like a kid when you opened presents. I always remember no meat before midnight and then a huge feast of it after mass.

I never went to mass. He didn’t go either. We’d stay at his house and pig out on seafood. His mom was an incredible cook. And then after midnight a whole new buffet of meatballs and sauce (excuse me GRAVY, please don’t let his mom see that I wrote sauce), sausages, steak, if it was meat it was on the table. I’d never seen two full dinners like this before. And then dessert! Don’t get me started.

I slept on the couch that year. Every Christmas after that I’d sleep in his bed and he’d sleep on the couch, but that first year I wanted to sleep in the room with the tree.

ME: In the movie tonight he picked out a song that was their song.

I knew I was in love with him the first week I met him. First, he somehow got into my dorm room, put a tape in my tape deck and stuck a note to it that said “press play. This is how I feel about you.” It was Eric Clapton’s, Wonderful Tonight. I’d never heard it before. I grew up on Run DMC, and by college was a hairband only girl.  Anyway, I pressed play and then rewind and then play and then rewind over and over again. It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me. Until the next morning, when he showed up at my room to wake me up with a hot chocolate (I had told him it was my favorite drink). I knew in that moment that I was in love with him. But I wouldn’t be able to say those words to him for a very very long time. More unfair torture that I was responsible for. [insert iPhone text received sound]

FL: What movie did you see?

ME: Blue Velvet. What are you doing up so late?

FL: I don’t sleep well and I saw you had texted, so now I’m wide awake.

Why did I start this? Why? Why? Why?! I just wanted to hear his voice, see his face, touch his skin, run my finger over the lips that I will never kiss… If only I hadn’t texted him. If only I had just blogged about it and gotten it out of my system so I wouldn’t do anything stupid…

Oh. Phew. That’s exactly what I did. Saved by the anonymity of cyber space. Luckily, he’ll never know how much I miss him tonight.

© 2010

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What The Heck Is Boredom?

Posted on December 8, 2010 by romanticcomedygirl

Seriously. Is it an emotion? A feeling? A state of mind? I don’t know because I’ve never really experienced it… until now. It may sound hard to believe, but if you knew me, it wouldn’t be. I have literally kept myself busy since nursery school.. probably before, but I can’t remember.

Growing up, I remember being alone a lot. Both of my parents worked, and Sister is younger than me, so we were doing different things. And yet, I was never alone. Neighbors thought I was the weird kid because I didn’t want to walk to school alone. So I didn’t. Mickey Dolenz and Mike Nesmith (yes, from the Monkees) would pick me up and as they walked me to school we’d pick up Davey Jones and Peter Tork along the way. I would talk to them, out loud. I chose Mickey and Mike to come first because Mickey would always have something funny to say to start off my day, and Mike being the smart one, could help me with any homework questions I had.

After school, I’d have a classroom of kids, to whom I was their beloved teacher. I also directed musicals with imaginary friends, and solved mysteries.

Once I was in high school, I knew that it was weird to talk to myself when I was alone. So figuring house “chores” left by my mom, to be completed before her return would inevitably be boring without friends, I decided to put my imagination to good use.  As I emptied the dishwasher, I would fight with Holly from General Hospital over Blackie. By the time I’d started vacuuming, he couldn’t resist my seduction… I always wrote myself into my favorite soap operas as the girl who all the other girls knew was bad, but the guys just didn’t see what they saw, making me the perfect seductress. Well, if I was going to be such a goody-two-shoes in real life, I may as write myself as the bad girl in a soap opera. The chores got done and I wasn’t bored.

Then I went to college, where you’re never alone and definitely can’t talk to yourself “out loud.” So I got really good at getting busy and no I don’t mean ‘getting busy’ where is your mind? I mean doing stuff all of the time… constantly. My freshman year, I played two intramural sports, was the manager of the boy’s soccer team (which required being the only girl on bus trips), and pledged a sorority.

After getting into the sorority, my first semester I was assistant pledge mom, the next semester I was voted pledge mom (where I single handedly revamped the entire pledge program), and then spent the two following years as president. But being “just president” would have been boring for me. Too much about delegating. Luckily, being the only one in my sorority who didn’t drink, my fellow board members didn’t mind when I infringed on their territory. Like Rush, for instance.  The Rush Chairman, ran Rush, I just made every name tag, every decoration, and wrote every song. Control freak- YES! Bored? NEVER! To the point that First Love (see previous posts to learn about him) would get irritated that I cared more about coloring Sesame Street characters than spending time with him. Not true, I just needed to work on decorations until I was too tired to color, but not tired enough to sleep. He would fill in the gap.. I mean the ‘time gap’, don’t get dirty on me… okay you can if you want, because this time you’re right.

Well, guess what? I became an adult. And the habit of ‘busyness’ is a hard habit to break. I have kept myself so freakin’ busy in the last 15 years, that I can’t tell you where the time has gone. Yet, if you asked me what I was doing, I could tell you, because, I’ve kept a running to-do list in a Word Spreadsheet that is color coded… and girlfriends, I got sh%t done!

But working in the same job was getting to feel a little bit.. dare I say…… boring (not to mention my boss was a humungous jackass and I couldn’t work for him anymore) so I thought it would be brilliant to start my own business, because that would give me plenty of stuff to do. And I was RIGHT!!!

Busy Bee nothing.. I was the Hectic Hornet! I would have a minimum of three projects going at once. I would wake up and slide my laptop onto… you guessed, it my lap, work until I realized it was 3pm and I hadn’t eaten yet, eat, go back to my laptop, work until 3am, and then go to sleep. I had the most magnificent to-do list of all times. I had to use the double column in my Word Program to fit all of my to-dos on one page. Friends and colleagues were in awe of what I was accomplishing. But I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know how. I had to be doing stuff. Because if you’ve been following this blog you know I’ve been living alone for the last two years, and I just haven’t been able to bring talking to imaginary friends back to the table. I do talk to my dogs, quite a bit, quite a bit more than a say.. normal person. But dogs don’t take the place of people… but being busy does.

So that’s what I’ve been for the last two years. And then recently I was ordered to stop. I was told that I had done enough creating for my business and I had to stop creating and start marketing and doing more “technical and business work.” Then I was taught to outsource, so a lot of my technical stuff was taken away. The I was taught to create systems, so lots of my business work was no longer necessary.

Which leads me to where I am now. Since December 1st, I’ve been recording made for TV holiday movies, and watching them. It is now December 8th. Today, on December 8th, I completed my to-do list in 4 hours. There was nothing left to keep me busy, but watch a Christmas movie. When a 1985 movie starring Mary Steenburgen who has an angel trying to get her back in the Christmas spirit gets deleted halfway through… I know there’s a problem. I always see a movie through to the end. Even if I know what’s going to happen I have to ‘know’ what’s going to happen. But tonight, I didn’t care… I WAS BORED!

The fact of the matter is, this is probably my longest entry yet, why? Because I’m afraid to stop writing. What the heck am I going to do when this post is over? I have no idea how to do nothing… I’m about to enter into the realm of the unknown.  I’ll let you know how it goes, because I’ve got to stop typing at some point and that point is…………… now.

Rats! I’m back! Okay… now.. for real…. now. I wish my battery would just die.. no luck. Okay, really, now, I’m stopping typing I’m not even going to type a period to end this sentence

© 2010

 

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Why Our Best Girlfriends Are Just That… The Best

Posted on December 6, 2010 by romanticcomedygirl

Last night I was hanging with one of my best gal pals who will be known on this blog as “Hip Mom” to distinguish her from other friends. Did you ever hear the expression, “you have different friends for different reasons?” Well, Hip Mom, is my friend for every reason (we laugh together, I can count on her for anything, we share the same values, we enjoy the same things), pretty much everything… with the exception of trolling for single guys, since she’s already married to one of the few ‘great ones,’ but let’s face it.. I don’t troll for guys anyway, so who am I kidding.

You know why she’s the best? Because she can laugh at bad or sad things with me. Like, last night, I went to her house. I hadn’t been there in a few months because every time we’ve seen each other recently we were out with her boys who at their young age are still entertained by odd people dancing in odd costumes, and singing very strange songs, that apparently children under 5 enjoy, but scare the crap out of single adults… they’re worse than clowns!

Anyway, so I walk into her house after not seeing her two dogs for a few months, and one of them looked very different. At first I said nothing, I just marveled at how a bath could make her fur so fluffy. But then, said dog came over to kiss me hello, and WHOA, it was no bath, puppy had a badonkadonk that would make Kim Kardashian green with envy. I kept it together, because my first concern was for the dog’s health, so I politely asked, if the dog was okay. Hip Mom, informed me that she had just started taking medication, which was when I answered with an empathetic tone, “Oh, and it made her gain all that weight?” To which she replied, “NO! It’s so she’ll lose the weight.” It was one of those moments like when you ask an overweight woman when she’s due. So obviously I had to burst out laughing and Hip Mom, because she’s a BG (Best Girlfriend) couldn’t help but burst out laughing too, as she tried to explain that not only had her dog been eating her other dog’s food (who was looking svelte), but she was also eating all of the food the two boys dropped on the floor, which when you have two small boys, is a lot.

But then I’d get preoccupied with one of the kids and forget about the sweet massive canine, until she’d enter the room, head first, like a normal animal… and that was the thing. You see, her head stayed the same size, so for a second I’d see that tiny head… and then that bumper rumper would enter my line of vision and I’d burst out laughing again, which of course made Hip Mom laugh too. Phew, that could have been bad. You don’t laugh at peoples’ kids and you don’t laugh at their beloved animals… unless said massive beloved animal is your BG’s and you know she will take good care of her and have her down to game weight in no time.

Of course we’ll laugh about this for years to come, because no matter how much time goes by, funny between friends is always funny. Last night, perfect example. We were discussing Thanksgiving, which turned into a reminiscing of the Thanksgiving that Sister and I spent with Hip Mom and her family, and friends. As a non-mother, there are things I’m not always quick to put 2 and 2 together on, but as a mother, Hip Mom, really shouldn’t have been hysterically laughing with me then, and she shouldn’t have been laughing with me now, because as a mother, she should have felt the pain… but it was too dang funny to not laugh and she is my BG, so here’s what happened-

Sister and I, knew that dinner was going to be taken care of, but being raised as we were, wanted to bring something to the Thanksgiving feast, and preferably homemade. So we made cookies. Not just cookies, outrageously good chocolate chip cookies, soooo good, that as the whole table was eating them, including one couple’s young son, someone commented that they were addicting. I agreed, and knew not to reach for another, because it wouldn’t have been good for me. Why? That would be answered when another guest asked what is making these cookies so good? To which I answered, “I think it must be the ground espresso beans.” I can’t have caffeine, apparently, neither can young children. Ooops. My bad.

The table went silent as husband of the couple whose son was eating the cookies (at this point I have no idea how many he’d had) turned red then purple that very, very loudly, just to be sure he was clear, asked, “there’s espresso in these cookies?”

His wife jumped in when I stared at him, mouth agape, and no sound coming out (running through my mind was: this is why I’d be a terrible mother!) and told me that it was okay, but husband was not letting me off the hook. He yelled at me about the repercussions of the espresso not only on his son, but on him, and the lack of sleep he was going to experience which he so desperately needed. Suggesting he ingest more turkey was not the tension reliever I’d hoped. He stormed out of the room, grabbed his kid, and waited for his wife to follow, as they were going home.

It was bad… but last night, on Hip Mom’s couch, we got an abs workout from laughing so hard as we relived the moment. You’ve got to love Best Girlfriends!

© 2010

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Seriously spammers! I Do Not Want a Replica Watch

Posted on December 4, 2010 by romanticcomedygirl

I get 30 of these a day:

ReplicaWathes.H2@insertaddressherebecauseit’salwaysdifferent. It tells me that “It’s.time to.buy-gifts!” as if a snob like me would by a fake watch as a gift! Now wearing one is a whole ‘nother story. I like to see what Sister spends her ‘big’ money on and then get the knock off.. but not from a spammer!

I don’t know how to block spam. I’m a girl. And I’m discovering that as such, there are things that I do differently than guys. One being, I don’t know how to block spam. So I must suffer through tons of stupid penis enlargement and cheap drug offers daily.

I also don’t organize the files in my computer, which means I could have the same file in 4 different places, if not more. Then I get a message that I’ve used up all of my space on my hard drive and have to remove things, and I have no idea what that means, so a guy will come over and tell me what a mess my computer is before he tells me how to fix it… which I’ve already forgotten. I have more important things to do on my computer like watch Glee on Hulu so I don’t have to deal with fast forwarding commercials.

And let’s discuss my new car. I decided to go green from an SUV to a cute little hybrid. I have NO FRICKIN’ IDEA how to use this car! I know the night I bought it, the sales guy gave me all kinds of information:

1. How to program the phone so I can go through bluetooth. With his help I programmed the three numbers I know by heart; my sister’s cell, my parent’s home number and their cell. Which means that my parents and sister hear from me constantly because they’re the only ones I can call when I’m driving… and in LA you do a lot of driving. I tried to add in a few more friends the other day and mayhem broke out. I could swear the lady giving instructions was raising her tone! I was so afraid I was going to lose the three numbers I had, that I just turned off the car and prayed whatever I had just done would be forgotten and the mean lady’s voice would stop asking me questions.

2. What the buttons mean. But I can’t remember what the buttons mean. Apparently this is dangerous, because I thought I remembered what the buttons meant, but apparently the one I pushed was not what I thought. You see, my car has 3 buttons. One is for driving on electricity only. That’s for when I ‘m in a garage and don’t want to kill people with my car toxins. For some reason when I press that button in garages, it never seems to be “available.” I wasn’t aware that car functions got time off. The second button is “Eco” this one is my favorite. It makes me feel like I’m in a video game. If I stay within a certain range on one of the “…dometers” on my dashboard, I am getting the best milage, and I can watch the numbers go up telling me what great gas milage I’m getting. The problem with this, is that I drive a bit like a grandma when first accelerating which annoys other people and causes them to honk at me (*see 3), and the other problem is that I spend way too much time with my eyes on my ‘video game’ rather than the road. Dangerous. The third is the power mode. Now I was under the recollection that this button was for when I was going down hill, and I didn’t want to use up my breaks, I press that and it downshifts, in a sense, by itself. Big time wrong. So there I was driving down steep and windy Laurel Canyon and thought instead of riding my break, I’ll press power mode. I guess the name should have been a give away because it was as if my car turned into a Delorean… it took off!! I was scared for my life and then thought perhaps it’s the B on my tiny joystick (yes this car has a joystick via Intelevsion 1984, instead of the big gear shifts or side gear shifts that my old car has, which is why I keep turning on my windshield wipers instead of going into drive). The joystick has 3 modes: R for reverse, D for drive and B that could be for the downhill breaking, but at this point I’m too scared to find out.

3. Also, I can’t figure out where my horn is! The other day a jerk was honking at me and I wanted to honk back, so I looked at the little icon on my steering wheel that resembled a horn and as I held it down the only thing that happened was my satellite radio station got blaringly loud.  Apparently THAT button was not a horn, but my radio volume.

4. I was embarrassed by a valet last night. The sales guy taught me how to lock up my glove compartment and trunk by taking apart my keyless key. As I got out and handed the valet my key, he informed me that I had to give him the computer piece, not the thin key part that I disassembled. Logic should have told me that. If I lock the car with the thin key part, why would I then hand it over to the valet? But who has time to think about that when you’re wearing 5″ heels?

Guys solutions to all of the above is to read about it. Read the driver’s manual, read your help page on your host site to tell you how to get rid of spam, Google how to organize your data files. HOW BORING IS THAT?

Did I mention I finished reading the Carrie Diaries? I love it. No matter how old I get, I still love reading books about highschoolers. I’m also almost done with my ginger bubble bath, which is not a strange tangent.  I read the book in during my bubble baths, which reminded me I have to go buy a new scent. I’ve already done ginger, vanilla, and lavender. Any good suggestions?

© 2010

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My Boobs Hurt

Posted on December 3, 2010 by romanticcomedygirl

Right now I’m recalling my mother fluttering around the house singing, “I enjoy being a girl.” She’s really into show tunes, my mom. Anyway that’s not the point, the point is that my boobs hurt.. a lot!  And it seems like every time I do the math my PMS is getting longer and longer. But seriously, they are D+ right now, as heavy as cantaloups, and my dog just loves to rest her head on them. Considering she only weighs 30 pounds less than me, when she stretches out on the couch next to me and puts her giant paw across my stomach and rests her head on my boob, it should be adorable, but really it just hurts. So, no, I don’t enjoy being a girl today.

She doesn’t get it. She was fixed when she was a puppy so she doesn’t have to deal with these things. Did I mention she has a giant head? We call her Baby Big Head. I wonder if my dogs secretly call me Mommy Big Boobs.

Usually I’m quite enamored with them, being my age and still able to pass the pencil test (for those who don’t know what it is, it’s when you raise your arm and put a pencil under your boob. Then you put your arm down. If the pencil falls to the ground, you pass, if it stays stuck under the boob, well… it’s just a stupid test). It helps that I haven’t had kids, so I suppose all you moms out there are far more normal being enamored by your kids rather than your boobs.

I know the human body is a miracle and everything, but what is this whole order of things: 1 week we have PMS, where our boobs are sore for no apparent reason, I mean seriously, what does that have to do with creating a life? We also get to enjoy and share our nasty mood swings, which despite knowing in the moment, as we scream at someone we love, that it is in fact “PMS talking” yet we can’t stop ourselves, nor will we ever apologize for it. Because lord knows, once you use the “I’m sorry Honey, it was PMS,” for the rest of your relationship, every time you get upset about something, you get , “Do you have PMS right now?” which even if you don’t makes you want to kill the same way you do when you do have PMS.

Then the next week we have the joy of enduring terrible cramps and blood streaming from our body. We have to make sure we always have the right products in us and with us at all times, whether they be Super Plus or with Wings. It makes wardrobe very challenging, and the bloating doesn’t help. And on top of that, for those of us who don’t like things ‘messy and yucky,’ sex is out unless it’s in the shower.

Don’t be fooled into thinking the week after that is time off. Oh no, a few days later, we get the wonderful clear, sticky, gook that apparently is waiting for sperm so it can hold it until you ovulate, which pretty much guarantees you a girl because girl sperm can outlive boy sperm. So, unless you have really good birth control that slimy week is a pain in the ass.

Finally you have the week where you’re horny as hell! But you know what that means, you’re in heat, which again means, if you don’t have really great birth control, you’re having a boy, because those boy sperm have speed and they are on a mission!

I’m sorry I’m being so morose, it’s just that I have PMS, and as girls I know you won’t hold it against me (also I’m trying to scare off any guys who are reading this blog… they hate this “Flo” talk). You can commiserate over the fact that I can no longer be on the pill, because I’ve tried every one and they turn me into Dr Jeckyll and Mister Hyde. Just ask my sweet ex-boyfriend who is now a dear friend who on one occasion, cooked me breakfast in bed and garnished the plate with banana slices. This caused me to burst into a crying fit because I didn’t like bananas… that should have been his hint that I was bananas, but he stuck with me. But it was after he took me out for hotdogs and Nathans was closed that I had to settle for the deli and matzo ball soup, that I knew it was time to get off the pill forever. I pouted as I gave my order, and when the bowl arrived at my table with nothing but a ball and broth, I felt infuriated, but that feeling instantly changed as I sipped my soup, which was so hot I burned my lip and started crying. The whole restaurant was watching me and the guy came out from behind the deli counter to make sure I was okay. The reason my sweet ex boyfriend is still my friend is because he’s a writer and I give him so much material.

The bottom line is, my boobs hurt which reminds me that I have a cycle, which reminds me that I’m not on the pill, which reminds me that I could get pregnant, which reminds me to abstain from sex… which sucks!

The funny thing is, in a few days, when PMS is over, I’m going to reread this, and think, “What the heck was I thinking writing that?!” Stupid sore boobs made me do it that’s what I’ll say!

© 2010

 

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Can Girls Be Sexy AND Know Sports

Posted on November 30, 2010 by romanticcomedygirl

Now you see, this is why this blog is for CHICKS ONLY, because I imagine if there are any guys who are feminine enough to read a blog that is clearly for GIRLS, they are thinking, “Absolutely, it’s sexy when girls like sports!” But this is a blog for romantic comedy gals who are seeking their leading man to live with, ‘happily ever after.’ So a reality check is needed. Sure, it’s sexy at first, but when a chick starts knowing more about a sport than guys do, suddenly we’re emasculating them. Plus, manly men don’t really want to watch sports with their girlfriends, they want to watch them with their guy friends and have their girlfriends bring them beer and snacks.

I admit, I’ve had many romances with guys with whom I’d watch sports. In most cases, they all knew more about the sports than I did, so everything was fine. Here’s when it went terribly wrong…

Recently, I’d been dating a guy and things were going famously. He lived pretty far so we didn’t see each other often but we spoke and texted daily. He thought it was very cool that I was a huge football fan. It was a bit of a problem that we liked two opposing teams in the same division, and I like to talk trash. Here’s how one of our text sessions went:

Me: It’s gonna get ugly on December 5th, isn’t it? [note: that’s when our teams are playing each other]

Him: For sure, I’ll be there with my shoulder for you [he was implying for me to cry on.. so I started talking smack]

Me: Good thing, because if it’s anything like the December ’09 game against you, I might need to take a nap on it. [my team kicked his team’s ass I mean slaughtered them, made HUGE fools out of them!!! It was embarrassing, really]

… and I never saw him again. He’s alive, I know that because a mutual friend set us up. She said that he likes to move slow. Well, girlfriend, he’s moving about as slowly as a defensive tackle with bricks for feet running around out on the field trying to catch touchdown passes.

Don’t be too impressed, as far as knowing what happened in a game that occurred a year ago, I just googled it, same thing with the slow NFL position, I even stole the quote. So, it would seem that posing as some kind of football expert did not empower him as a man, and put me in the category of Gracie Hart (Sandra Bullock’s character in Miss Congeniality) before the makeover.

Okay lesson learned. I will no longer say anything about sports that I don’t know off the top of my head… NO MORE GOOGLING to sound like a ‘sexy sports girl’. Because it seems unless I am wearing a ‘team shirt’ and nothing else on Sunday, it’s going to work against me in the long run.

The good news is, I only know a few solid names and facts, mostly in football, a little less in baseball, and like 2 in hockey. As far as basketball goes, if a guy’s not in a commercial I don’t know his name, but if he is, I do, and I’m not afraid to say it.

Personally, I don’t think there are any other sports worth talking about. Some would argue soccer, but the only thing worth talking about in that sport is how hot David Beckham is.. uh,huh. Maybe that’s it!  I think I know how a romantic comedy girl needs to  “talk sports with guys”. Wait! I’ve got a good one. The next time a guy brings up something “footbally” with me, instead of talking about Thomas Edward Patrick Brady, Position: QB Height: 6-4 Weight: 225 lbs. Born: August 3 1977 in San Mateo, CA College: Michigan, Drafted by the New England Patriots in the 6th round (199th overall) of the 2000 NFL Draft. Career AV: 104 (100th overall since 1950) 5-time Pro Bowler & 1-time First-Team All-Pro, I’ll just say,

“Do you think that hot guy who is married to Gisele, should cut his hair or leave it long? I think it makes him look like Justin Beiber.”

© 2010

 

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Why I Hate My Kitchen

Posted on November 28, 2010 by romanticcomedygirl

Some women like reading books, some like sports, some like painting, some like gardening, and still others like… or should I say, “LOVE” cooking. I am NOT one of those women. I can’t stand cooking. I’m not even a big fan of food. If I could survive on nutrition given to me intravenously or in a powder form, I’d be perfectly happy. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy eating delicious food, but if I had to choose between a good meal or a good movie, I’d pick the movie any day, hands down, no competition.

I don’t really remember how I’ve survived this long. I know my mom (who likes to cook) provided all of my meals when I was growing up. She was ahead of her time, no hamburger helper or frozen dinners for us, everything was made from scratch and included healthy ingredients.

Then I went to college and was on a meal plan Freshman year, though after that, I chose to spend the next three years of school living on Ramen Noodles (didn’t know they existed until college), Dominos Pizza, and $1 Chinese Food (probably the root of my inability to eat Chinese food now).

When I graduated college, I had a roommate in Manhattan who liked to cook and several great restaurants in my upper west-side neighborhood.  So, I suppose that’s how I survived.. and I drank a lot of Snapple in those days. The crazy caffeine high I got off of that was probably an appetite suppressant.

Upon moving to Los Angeles, I moved in with two guys. One of them worked at Mulberry Pizzeria, so I ate pizza for two meals a day and was once again reunited with my college love.. Ramen Noodles. I did a little better when my sister and I moved in together, it was fun to shop and cook together for the week, but I still don’t remember how I managed to nourish myself on a consistent basis.

Then I got spoiled. My ex cooked all three meals a day for me… perhaps that’s why I stayed with him for so long… fear of starving to death. When it was over, I was left with “the kitchen.” I didn’t know what the heck to do in there! I hadn’t been in there in seven years. My fancy Amana refrigerator, my Cuisinart, Emiril Lagasse’s pots and pans, all looked at me with mockery in their stainless steel, as if to say, “So what are ‘you’ going to do with us?”

Well, I showed them! I went over to Trader Joes and bought enough Frozen Mac & Cheese, and TJ quiches, to last a year… and they did. Unfortunately my microwave didn’t. I would have replaced it, but it happened just as I found out I had to start eating gluten free, which meant no more TJ mac & cheese of quiches… Why go on, you wonder? I question that myself.

So I’ve had to try and make nice with ‘my kitchen.’ My nutritionist says that I have to make breakfast within an hour of waking up. And of course there’s lunch and dinner, and a few healthy snacks throughout the day. I’ve found a quick and easy solution to my health needs, taste bud desires, and time factor (if it takes me more than 5 minutes of work in the kitchen I won’t make it). My solution is Wildtree. My friend hosts freezer parties and I leave with forty meals that I defrost and cook up in less than 5 minutes.

But here’s the thing that my kitchen and I don’t see eye to eye on… dirty dishes. Preparing and eating three meals a day, creates tons of dirty dishes, utensils, and pots and pans. Not to mention I have to cook for my dog every other day which is three pots. Guess what I dislike more than cooking… cleaning dirty dishes. AND THEY NEVER END! And I don’t want them piling up because that’s gross not to mention they’re harder to clean when the food is caked on, so I’m constantly doing dishes. And I’m TERRIBLE at doing dishes. I swear more water gets on me than the dishes, my floor is soaked when I’m done, and as soon as I finish, I always find one thing that I missed!

My mom explained that, that is what an apron is for. I don’t want to wear an apron, it’s like a commitment. So, now I have more laundry to do because my clothes are wet so I have to change twice a day at least.

Seriously, take a moment to think about the enormous repetitiveness of the kitchen cycle… cooking 3 meals a day, cleaning dishes, putting clean dishes away, everyday, for the rest of my  life. And to make it worse, if you add up the above, it comes to at least 90 minutes of my days and it only takes about 3 minutes to scarf down a meal. It’s totally and completely illogical!  I hate my kitchen!

© 2010

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