Wherein I quote a Demi Lovato song and relate it to my life.

Pon & Zi

I haven't made it a secret that I am a closet Demi Lovato fan.  I don't scream it from the top of the mountain, but...I mean...it's there.  I own her albums. I sing her songs in my car like you. would. not. BELIEVE.  I get she is (was?) Disney, she's had her shit going on and hitting the metaphorical fan and all that, I've even admitted that she's pitchy and not-so-great live (because yes, I have seen her in concert).  And yes, I do have her new album UnBroken, that was just released Tuesday.  I may have even downloaded the leak a week ago, eagerly.

Moving along.

She has this new song on her album called Lightweight.  And I mean...it's just one of those cosmic things where you're sitting by your lonesome, contemplating how emotionally drained you feel and the shitty situations you find yourself in, and basically being a big fat downer - when suddenly you hear a song, and it just fits.  It's like it's reading your heart, pulling your feelings into words.

And I'm only slightly ashamed to admit it's a cheesy pop song in my heart.

     I'm a lightweight better be careful what you say
       With every word I'm blown away
       You're in control of my heart
       I'm a lightweight easy to fall easy to break
       With every move my whole world shakes


I am a romantic. For some reason I don't really like admitting it, but it's true: give me a dozen roses, write me a poem, stand outside my window with a boom box over your head and I am yours, forever.  Kiss me on the forehead, even just tap the inside of my wrist and my heart will probably flip three times over.

The problem is that I am a romantic about everything, to anyone.  It could be a friend, it could be an innocent move, and it will make me fall just a little in love with you.  In college, a friend waited outside a classroom for me to finish my chat with our professor so we could walk to our next building together - and I fell a little in love.  A different friend held back the group we were going to dinner with at the Commons by 15 minutes to accommodate my 6:30pm registration time, without me even asking -- and I fell in love.  Another friend told me he likes the books I recommend - and it's love all over again.

So imagine how deep it goes when it's someone I am interested in who does something like that for me.  It's just game over at that point - I am yours, forever, for always, with everything I have.  I'm a big flirt, but underneath it all, my heart is just hoping to pieces that something he's said is real.  That we'll lock eyes and one of those moments will happen where we just know our lives are meant to be intertwined somehow.

And I fear that this happened with someone, but it was all just...me falling too hard, too fast, too easily.  It's that situation where I know he was meant to be Someone in my life.  It was too immediate when we met for me to ignore it.  But then...it all just went to shit.  We immediately got along.  We started flirting.  We joked and laughed and shared interests and argued intelligently and it was like I found a piece of a puzzle I didn't even know I was a part of.

But for some reason, it's not fitting right now.  I don't know if it ever will, but all I know is I keep trying to put it together, and it's just bending and breaking me.  Every now and again he'll give a little hope that he is a match, that we'll fit just-so...but it still doesn't quite look right.  And eventually, we'll try so hard and fail so much it will all fracture and fade away.

I'm a lightweight, easy to fall and easy to break...

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I have reservations about posting this since it's so detailed and personal, but...I'll go with it.

So, this is a post I was working on last week.  Last Thursday, to be exact.

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Dear you,

It's been awhile.  We haven't seen each other in quite a bit.  Almost 3 months now?  May-June-July-August.  Four!  Soon five!  I hardly even remember the last time we saw each other, actually.  Well...now that I wrote that, of course I remember.  5am.  I fell asleep on you.

Not that i haven't heard about you in five months.  No, I'm not sure you realize how much you're still in my life.  The magic of having a mutual friend, I suppose.  The thing is, everything that's been said have been things that are driving me away.  That you're going to the shooting range with your roommate?  I really don't like that.  I'm weird about guns, since I've had friends die at the end of them.  And I very much do not support the idea that just about anyone can own one.

The other thing...you're still smoking pot?  Honeybee, you're in your 30s.  It's time to quit that shit.  I can understand some experimentation, liking it, doing it when you're carefree in your 20s and all.  But to regularly be doing it when you're in the 30s, good job, steady finances?  Now you're just running from something and supplementing it with something unhealthy.  It's being your escape.  You need to face that and quit that.

I suppose I shouldn't judge you so hard, because I bet there are several things you'd change about me.  I'm perpetually late, by at least 15 minutes. I know you're not a fan of the fact I let people walk all over me for things that aren't even worth it. I think you think I'm the least interesting of all my friends. If you knew me more, you'd probably dislike more things, too.

Despite all that, I still can't help that I want to see you.  I thought being away would make it go away.  And it has, sort of.  I don't think about you constantly.  I don't talk about you all the time, I'm fairly certain there's even been days when you don't cross my mind.

But that little flutter is still there.  I relive that one night much more often than I'd like to.  And it wasn't even anything too important in our lives - we held hands.  And not like that first time, when it was walking through a bar.  This was you and me, standing outside that club together.  You with your arm firmly anchored down around my back, mine around your waist, your hand so sweetly in my back pocket.  And then you insisted walking us back to my car, and we were going down the street and somehow your hand found mine and I can still feel the warmth as your hand closed around mine and that thrill that shot through all of me when your fingers spread through mine and we were locked hands, walking blocks, smiling at each other and swinging our arms just a bit.  For twenty seconds of my life, it felt like I finally had you.

And then the next time I saw you, when you nearly picked me up off my feet with the big greeting hug.  When you whispered that you wanted to stay by my side all night.  When we were all headed back to your place and we passed by that slightly shady part of town and I felt you tighten the arm I had mine looped through, bringing me closer to your side and you reached up to cover my hand with yours.  When I fell even more in love with you when we started discussing books.  When I fell asleep on you.

The funny part about all this is even I know that this doesn't matter too much.  What really matters is that you don't ask me for my phone number or contact me or really bother to keep in touch.  That the five months its been speaks volumes more than that hand hold.  That the important part is the non-communication, not those brief nights of smiles.

Well...obviously that's not the funny part.  Really, it's the sad part.  The one that makes me want to cry.

People tell me to forget about you. That obviously you're a bit opportunist, that you're kind of leading me on.  People tell me you're actually being a jerk this way, playing with my emotions and making me feel something that obviously isn't shared.

Maybe they're right.  You certainly haven't done much to prove all of them wrong.  But 

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I don't remember what it was that made me stop writing. I think I had to go back to work or a friend came into the Starbucks I was working in.  I really love that I stopped mid sentence - "...but."  It's so...cliffhanging, right?  I mean, what was I going to say to defend that?  How was I going to justify my still wanting you?

The part that I love is that so much has changed since last Thursday.  Let's keep it in the same style, shall we?

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Dear You,

It's certainly been quite a week for us, hasn't it?  I didn't see you for 5 months, and then I saw you twice in the span of 3 days.  Not just saw - we hung out. We had some drinks together.  I went to your house.  We have each other's phone numbers.

But you still make me want to cry.

I can see that we're not meant to be more.  Not right now, anyway.  It's one of those feelings that's just deep in my bones, that I know.  I told a friend when we first met that our timing was off - that in five years, you and I would be each other's One.  I don't even think you think of me in a romantic sense, thanks to my relationship with our mutual friend and that I'm so much younger than you ("so much," really, because what's 6 years in the long run?).  But right now it's just...not our time.

That doesn't make this any easier.  Knowing that we're not right for right now doesn't take away how attracted I am to you.  How easy it is for me to be around you, what we have in common, how funny and personable you are.  How much I still want you.  It doesn't take away our discussions, those nights we danced, all the drinks and shots we've had between us.  And unfortunately, i don't think it's going to prevent me from asking you to hang out or join us on nights out, and I don't think this was our last time being silly and stupid and drunk together.

But I can see that that's all it's going to be.  It'll be a good time, lots of laughing and most likely an equal amount of teasing and sarcasm.  Maybe it'll even be more hand holding, some flirting, potentially some more nasty naughty dancing, and it's just as likely that we'll call each other pet names and maybe even make the occasional insinuation that we could be more.  None of that would be the first time.

What would be a mistake is forcing this.  Because I can see that I am not what you want.  You can't have a serious relationship, not after your last...lifetime.  Not after what you went through.  Maybe you wouldn't mind dating, having a girlfriend again if she's the right one at the moment -- but I see that it's nothing that could be a wife in a couple years.

Not to say I want to be your wife, or married in the next decade.  But I like to have an option of a future with someone, and right now, I don't think you can offer that.  That's not a fault, it's nothing to blame you for; that's just where you're at right now.  I can see that.

And it's not like you're what I want.  I don't know what I want, first of all.  I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship, or for dating even.  Which should probably end all of this right now. But I can recognize that if you did ask me out...I'd say yes.  So that has to mean something is ready in me, right?  True as that may be, I'm not one that can keep it casual and have the 'maybe...we're just enjoying spending time together' answer to give.  I'm too emotional for that.  I need to know what we are, and I don't have qualms about talking about it.  And I know that you are not someone who can give me the answers right now.

I want you to know how much fun I had these past few days.  That it was really good to see you.  That my heart fluttered when you opened your arms to me and called me beautiful.  That I was more than ready to say yes when you asked us to join you the next day.  That I liked when you came over to me after our gazes tripped over one another across the table. That you are a hilarious dancer, and yes, you are terrible - but I love you so much more for it.

And I want you to know that I won't wait for you.  That I am not going to hang around and see if you are ready, or when you're ready, or hope that you are ready.  I will not hinge my life on yours.

But if in five years...

It will be a yes.

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Sigh.

I'm trying my hardest here to not get my hopes up, to not obsess, to not overthink and overplan and get caught up in the whole thing.  I'm trying not to let it consume everything, I'm trying not to plan my life around this thing.  But it's not working...

...because he held my hand.

Holding hands is pretty much my favourite thing in the world.  Above kisses, and hugs, and cuddling, and being in their arms, and having funny conversations and tickling other people...I simply want to hold hands.  In today's society, people can flirt, kiss, dance, grind, fuck, and break hearts in less than 12 hours.  We can do so many things without really meaning it.  And I'm not naive to think holding hands always means something, but...it kind of does.

There's a certain amount of intimacy in holding hands. Of offering a connection to someone that doesn't cross certain boundaries, that can simultaneously calm you down and make your heart skip all at once.  Holding hands is physical without being exploitative or lewd, it's being public without too much, it's being an extension of someone and letting yourself connect.

So yeah...he held my hand.

It was bad enough when he let me walk 8 blocks with my arm tucked into his.  It's not the same, but it was nice to know that he was steadying me and that he's considerate enough to not just ditch me or push me away or tense up and be awkward about it.  It was...natural. And nice.

So then when we were dancing, I just thought...that's fine.  We're both a bit drunk, this is what you do in a crowded bar that's groovin' all around you and bumpin' some fine 90's jams - you grind it out.  You dance, you attach your hips, you hold his arm while he holds you're waist.  My heart skipped a few beats when he did pull me into him and he put his cheek on top of my head and we just spun in a slow circle for a minute or so, but I can blow by that.  I'm sensible enough to offer it up as drunkenness, as wanting to feel like you're circled in someone's arms.  I even managed to calm it down and offer up rationale when he moved in front of me and grabbed my arms and wrapping them around him and pulled me up against his back, shimmying down my front and holding my hands and not even letting go to spin around and pull me into him again and that feeling I got that he just didn't want me to let go of him.

And the first time he grabbed my hands, I managed to move it all out of my head.  That it was part of the dancing, that it was part of the drunkenness, that it was just to keep us dancing together.  That was it.

But then he had to intertwine our fingers. And keep holding on, even when we stopped dancing.  And even when we would break apart or dance with our two other friends, he'd still come back to me and take my hand(s) again.  And he'd hold my hand as we walked through the bar, and he'd take my hand in his and interlace our fingers and hold it against his chest and smile down at me and my heart would explode.


I don't know what he meant by any of it, if there was anything there at all.  Maybe it was all him being drunk and he just does that.

But holding hands is one of my favourite things in the world.

And he held my hand.

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Why're You Smiling Friday

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One of the radio station morning shows here has a segment called "Why Are You Smiling Friday," and I find that I really like listening to it.  You can't help but smile along with everyone, especially when its a 10 year old kid calling in saying he's smiling because he's going to school and he loves math.  Or when this little girl said she was getting to go to a friend's house and play dolls.

So, because I've had a shit-tacular week, and I'm either hungover or just badly reacting to lots of alcohol + no sleep, I figured I may as well do mine, too!

Why I'm Smiling This Friday

1. The sun is out. It's been a particularly rainy season (for San Diego...), and it is glorious having it back to it's 80* weather.
2. I love my new scarf.
3. I have a super awesome moleskin notebook and it makes me feel old and wise.  Even though all I do is whine about drama and my life in it.
4. Last night started out weird and pretty bummy what with our plans getting screwed up since Eden was closed, but it turned out really fun.  I got to see a friend I haven't seen in awhile and go to some really chill bars.
5. I got to see one of the boys I'm crushin' on.  And while it's not a crush that will actually lead to something, and it's a pretty pointless thing...I can't stop smiling.
6. Dancing. Lots of dancing. Which I'm always down with, but this was particularly a stand out because...Crush (I've got to figure out a better code name for him...where's my 13-year-old-self when I need her?) isn't exactly the best dancer, and he gets incredibly awkward about it when he's really sober. So...let's just say he was not sober. And it was hilarious and adorable and awesome and dirty and naughty and YEAH I SAID IT.
7. Ashley sandwich. That was a rough ride.
8. I seriously have one of the best friend's ever. Kathy's been in my life for 12 years now, but every day it gets more and more evident how much of a rock she is and how amazing and beautiful she is.  She listens and advises and helps me.  And in return, she lets me ask and be her friend. It's one of those friendships that has meaning, and I sincerely hope I never take it for granted.
9. It's kind of nice to feel giddy. Even though I'm fairly certain my heart is going to break eventually, it's still a fuzzy feeling knowing that there's someone I'm excited about.
10. I have legitimate plans this weekend.  Nothing crazy, but some good times with good people. Hurrah!

Happy Weekend, all!

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At least he was hot? Let's just pretend that makes this better.

     Rae and I entered the bar, looking around trying to spot E + company.  We walked all the way around the room, squeezing by groups of people and through crowds.  We stopped by a bench to try and text E to find out if she was upstairs.
     "Ladies, come with me and drink beers!" a guy said, coming up to us and gesturing wildly.  Rae and I were confused, because he'd said it in Italian.  How did he know we both spoke Italian?  Who was this guy?
     "What?" I (so very smartly) asked.
     "Nevermind, just come with me! You must come with me!" he said (in English), grabbing Rae's wrist and pulling her to follow him.  I grabbed her other hand so as not to lose her, and we were propelled through the crowd.  Italian man finally stopped in front of a table that had 7 or 8 other men around it.  "Sit down! Drink beers with us!"
     Rae and I glanced at each other - any other time we probably would have been charmed by this man and considered stopping to have a few beers with them, but we were already late to meet E and neither of us had had a drop to drink.  "No, thank you," Rachel said politely.  "We're actually here to meet friends, we need to find them."
     "No, but you can't!" the Italian protested. "Have drinks with us!"
     "Sorry, we're sorry," we repeated, shaking our heads.
     "But you're too beautiful not too!" he protested.  I hated to admit that I was considering it - I'd always had a weak spot for foreigners, and especially Italians.
     "No, we really can't--" I started.
     "Picture!  We want a picture with you beautiful women!" exclaimed one of his friends.
     "I...what?" I was so confused.  Too many people, too many random requests, so many accents!  It took a few seconds to process, but the friend who was now pushing himself into me to squish me between his and the Italians' arms for the photo was Australian.
     The Italian leaned over and kissed my cheek, then turned to kiss Rae's cheek.  The Australian leaned far into me, a camera was put up, Rae and I looked at each other in confusion -- but we smiled to the shutter anyway.  After the camera flashed, Rae said, "Ok, well..."
     "Where should we go next?" the Australian interrupted.  He went on to explain that it was their first night out, and he, the Italian (who was still leaning heavily into Rae), and their friends were looking for suggestions where to go.  We named off a few bars and continued trying to leave.
     "Hey," the Australian said to me, catching my wrist in his hand.  "Do you have a boyfriend?"
     "I...what?  No..." I said, caught off guard.  People don't ask me those things.
     "Really?  You don't?"  I shook my head.  "Can I kiss you?"
     I was stunned.  Who the fuck was this dude?! I hadn't even been inside the bar for 2 minutes, much less talking to him.  "Um...no?  Thank you?"
     "But I really want to kiss you!" he said, smiling at me.
     I smiled back, a bit lost. "Well...thanks, but no, you really don't have to."
     He continued to pull on my wrist. "Please?  C'mon, I want to kiss you!"
     I shook my head, slowly trying to yank my arm away.  "No, I'm good, it's fine, thanks but...no..."
     "I'm going to kiss you," he said, still smiling.
     Before I could say anything else, he pulled me into him, grabbed my face between both his hands, and leaned in to kiss me.  I was trying to struggle back, but he had a firm grip on me...and honestly, my head could not wrap itself around the idea that some guy was trying to kiss me.  This. Does. Not. Happen. To. ME.
     And then his lips were on mine. And he was kissing me.
     And I was slowly catching up to what was happening. And I was halfway between, "Holy shit he's kissing me and I said no this isn't right" and "Holy shit he's kissing me and if I was at all drunk or near drunk I would super be into this."
     And then I felt his tongue.  Licking at my lips.
     And that's when everything caught up to me and I thought, "WHAT IN THE HELL" and finally pushed myself away.  I barely remember anything of it, aside from it being wet, and surprisingly not aggressive in comparison to how fast he'd clutched at my face, and his face smiling down at me and him looking at my lips and leaning in like he wanted more.
     And that's when Rae and I grabbed hands, said, "Thanks ok bye!" and sprinted off towards the other end of the bar to find E.

***********

So here's the thing about that story.  Which is all true, by the way, and the story of my Saturday night.   The thing about this is...
1) This is the first time I've had someone kiss me. (NOT to be misconstrued as 'this was my first kiss.')
2) This is the first time I've ever had a guy make a move on me.
3) This is the first time I've ever had a guy make a move on me over one of my friends.
4) This is the first time I've ever had someone kiss me with tongue.
5) This will probably be the only time in history I'll turn down a foreigner (/sluttiness).
6) This is the first time I've kissed someone since 2006.

Yeah...awkward.

I think that's why I didn't have a stronger reaction. Normally I'm all about saying no and fending off asshole dudes from hitting on my friends...but to me?  It just doesn't happen.  And I don't mean this in some pity party type of way where I'm boo-hooing about how I'm fat and unlovable and no one will ever want me and etc. etc. etc.  It's just a fact of the matter: my friends get hit on, and I do not. There's been a few, every once in a blue moon, sure...but generally, I'm the girl the wing man is for.  Last month, not even the friend's wingman would go for me (seriously. I heard him protesting and saying no. It stung, I'll admit it).

So when this incredibly hot Australian guy asked to kiss me, it simply didn't process.  And then when it started to, all I could do is think I was in some weird alternate world or that someone was playing a joke on me.  I'm still not convinced the entire situation wasn't some dare, but I guess I'll never know.

Onto more serious matters, it kind of stings that some sorta drunk stranger gets a lot of my first moments.  That ain't never comin' back to me, and I feel a bit robbed, to be honest.  I'm not even angry over the fact of him basically harassing me--truth is, I thought he was charming and attractive and had I had something to drink, I wouldn't have said no. Only because I was stone cold sober and not understand what was going on did a "no" happen, and I take responsibility for that.

It's just weird to think that this minor, 1.5-minute exchange gets to turn into A Moment of My Life. It's sort of upsetting, but...at least there's a story to tell, I guess.

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This post is completely hypothetical. Except for the parts that are not.

You know what's really inconvenient?

Crushes.

Especially when they're superficial and dumb and they don't mean anything and they won't amount to anything (and you don't even want it to).

They're just incredibly distracting and time consuming and stupid.  Because I mean, let's say the crush is some dude from, oh I don't know, hypothetically let's say work and all of a sudden you're like "Oh crap, I have to care what the fuck I wear to the office because he might be in today" or you think "hmmm wonder if he'll be in today!" or "work blows and I want to kill myself but maaaaaaaaaaaybe he'll be in and I can ogle his attractive self and it will almost sort of be worth a second of it."

Hypothetically.

It's super frustrating knowing your crush is most likely due to circumstance and not real factors, that your attraction is mostly based on the what you think about him and not what you know, that you don't actually want to have anything with this dude but still get little flutteries in your stomach when he walks up to your desk and smiles and asks how your day is going.

I mean, if this were something other than hypothetical, of course.  Of course.

You do some good work convincing yourself that it's nothing, that you just like him as a person so it's cool when he's around and he's really no different from any of your other co-workers--and then it's all blown to shit when he comes striding into the office in that confident way with his freakin' adorable green hoodie and he gives you that little smile and asks "how are you?" with just the right amount of caring and actually listens to your answer, and then later in the day he'll stand with you at your computer and try to help you find some information you need and make you laugh and come hang out and stand talking with you when he's waiting for his slow ass computer to boot up.

I mean...hypothetically or whatever.

You continue to do good work since he's one of the traveling coworkers who is only in the office maybe 3 times a week, so when you don't see him for a string of 5 days and you don't even realize it's been that long until a client calls and asks for him and you hear his name and think, "Oh yeah, him...no he's not in the office at the moment, may I take a message?" you're convinced that you've finally gotten over this pointless, foundation-less schoolgirl crush...

...until he calls the office and you answer with your usual, "Thank you for calling [company name], this is Ashley," and he's like, "Hiiiii Ashley, it's [insert name of dude who I would have a stupid, stupid crush on if this weren't hypothetical and completely and totally made up], how are you today?" and suddenly those goddamn flutteries in your stomach wake up and you smile even though he hasn't said anything of worth and even though all you two do is talk about business and work-related crap you're still like weeeeeeeeeee I just talked to him!

Say it with me: hy-po-the-ti-CAL.

This is also incredibly inconvenient, because maybe one day he is in the office and the other four guys who are normally in with you both are gone on various meetings/lunches/appointments, so it's just you two and even though you're in separate parts of the office building he'll IM you through the office IM system and what starts as completely work-related discussion turns into witty banter and thinly-veiled maybe-flirting.  And then you realize what the fuck you're doing at work, with a co-worker, who you don't even know how old he is or where he's from or who he is really and you're like shit what has my life come to.

Dumb. Completely, totally dumb.  He's not even that attractive (because that's totally a deal breaker, y'all), and usually I question if he even likes me as a person at all.  Normally I get the feeling that I'm just another part to the day, a section of scenery that he sees but never processes, another face in an endless visual rolodex (can that expression even be used today?  Readers who are younger than 20, do you even get that?!).  I just feel like he sees me as that young, vaguely clueless girl who shares a building with him.

And then I start to wonder if I even like him as a person, because the few things I do know about him aren't exactly winning points with me.  We clash on a lot of beliefs, he runs marathons and freely says the words "calories" and "buff" and "burn", and eats chickpeas, and wears a puke green colored hoodie.

But then I remember that he is really nice.  And funny.  And smells fucking incredible.  And is helpful.  And he is really cute, in that sneak-up-on-you way.  And can dress up reaaaaaaaaaaaal well.  And invited me to his birthday celebration, even if I felt that was more a courtesy than a real invitation.  And was nice and offered to take a mushroom off a slice of pizza that was getting near me since he knows how freaked out I get by them.  And doesn't get all weird when I start talking football with them.


You know, this would all be a lot easier if I could just have a stupid, superficial, childish, foundation-less, pointless crush on the hottest guy in the office, because I know that even though he is smokin' hot and I'd probably let him do bad things to me because he is just that attractive, I still see that there is no real attraction to him and I'm mostly put off by the fact he sounds like the football player Kevin in Daria (no, really...).

Dumb.  So dumb. So, so dumb.

I mean...hypothetically dumb.  You know.

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I often wonder what I did to him. What his side of the story was.

I know my side. I relive it often, much more than I want to admit.

But I wonder what I put him through.

Did I make him doubt their relationship? Did I plant a seed of doubt in his head? Her head?

Did it make him feel guilty? Was I an unwanted thought? Am I the person he always tried to get out of his head? Was I the bad dream that haunted him at night?

I wonder what he did with that birthday card I sent him. I wonder how he felt when he received it: was he happy? Did it make him sad? Smile? Was it another weight added to his heart? Did he read it often? Or did he throw it away, no reason to hold onto deadweight? Did he tell his girlfriend about it?

Was I just some silly girl to him, clinging to a person he never was? Was I temptation? Was I another lifeline?  Was I a passing thought?

Late at night, sleeping in the barracks, in the tent, as he and his unit moved from one camp to another...did he think of me?

Did he ever think of me?

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Search terms are funny things...

Happy Tuesday⁺, everybody!  Remember in this post how I mentioned that I had a goal to watch all the Best Picture nominated movies before the award show?  And that I was super awesome since I'd had a grand total of 2 out of the 10?  Well, I got to four!  FOUR!  That's ridiculous for me.  That means I watched 2 movies in a week--I rarely watch 2 movies in a month.  Accomplishment, kids: it feels good.

(For those wondering, my four were: Up, Up in the Air, The Blind Side, and An Education.  Highly recommend all of them.  I have a slight girlycrush on Carey Mulligan now, too.)

Anyhow.  So I was recently checking out my Google Analytics--can Google do any wrong?!--and looking at the search items that have led people to my blog.  The usual Charlie Brown-related things (HI PEANUTS FANS), the few related to David Sedaris (which I apologise to those who have searched that and are led to a post that also has Twilight in it), a few about unemployment from my early blogging days...but apparently, one of the biggest hits on my site is the post about how I was severely skeeved out by a man who had freakishly long nails.

I never realized how many people Google men with nails (or any variation of terms with "man" and "nails").  Apparently there's like an underground fetish going on, or something...maybe it's a lot of drug usage, I don't know.  Whatever the reason, I pretty much owe one-third of foreign page visits to my site to that specific group of people.  So thanks, odd group of people who apparently like and/or want a man with long nails!  I hope we never, ever date the same men.

And lastly, there was one more item on the search list that caught my eye.  Apparently, someone searched the phrase "How to Not Creep Out Guys."  I laughed.  And then I started to think about the person who searched that...do you generally creep out guys?  Were you searching for a friend?  Does that friend creep out guys?  Were you researching something for an article (if so, hello fellow journalist!)?  Were you trying to find an inner source to the psyche of men?

Now, I admit to being a bit of a people-person.  I'm not a doormat, but I like to deliver when something is asked of me.  And I don't want that person who doesn't want to creep out men (whether it is the person to search it or for that "friend" they searched it for) to be disappointed!  And maybe I'm sparing some men from being creeped out by a girl.  Two birds with one stone.

Without further ado, here are a few things I think you should avoid in order to not creep out men when you meet them*:

• Drooling.  Whether its at dinner, while in a dentist chair, making baby voices at your cute puppy, or when he walks into the room.  Generally, spittle down the side of a girl's mouth isn't deemed attractive, because if you can't keep that in check...well...who knows what else you can't keep under control.  Mainly your inner psychotic.
• Calling him 7+ times in less than 24 hours since you met him.  I know, I know--that's just annoying and clingy, but let me finish.  Don't call him 7+ times and leave him a whispered message each time detailing every infinitesimal thing you love (yeah, love) about him.  Because face it, that's weird.
• Anything that may result in some sort of fluid or excess leaving your body, from any orifice.  Sure, maybe the boy laughs at farts or doesn't mind belching, but when that gas turns to a solid (or, heaven forbid, a liquid)...that changes things.
• Pick at your toenails.  While out to dinner.  At a restaurant.  Sitting at the dinner table.  If you do actually do this, please keep on walkin' past this blog post, because I can't help you here.
• Talk about any products relating to your monthly lady times.  It freaks him out enough to hear period chatter, spare him the details about what caught the results of that one time your body decided to hate you by giving you a flow that rivaled Niagara Falls.
• Staring him while he sips his coffee at his favourite coffee drink from behind your newspaper for 5 hours, then following him as he runs his errands at the grocery store next door and darting behind shelves and displays and aisles when he gets a glimpse of you.  Also, this could get you arrested.
• Profess your undying love and devotion to the brilliant musical talent of Miley Cyrus/Vanessa Hudgens/Honor Society/insert-any-tween-Disney-Channel-star-here.  Go ahead and have your opinions, like the music you want (because who hasn't caught themselves humming that fucking catchy "Party in the USA" rift?), but saying you want to move to Malibu to live next to Hannah Montana who is just like SO real to you because she just like GETS you won't get you anywhere.  And if it does, I'm not sure you want to be with him anyway.

* all suggestions are void when in sexual situations.  I can't say firsthand, but I have a hunch all bets are off in that department.**
**also, what the fuck do I really know about men and what they really like or don't like?
⁺ I will not be doing Ten on Tuesday this week; and no, I will not say why.

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A Golden Globe-themed Pictorial About Me

I'm kind of a big sucker for awards shows.  There are some I pass up (Critic's Choice Awards, AMAs, any on MTV), but most of them I will watch, and definitely the big name ones I am guaranteed to have it on.  Grammys, Tonys, Golden Globes, Oscars, Billboard Music Awards....yeah I'm on it.  I can't explain it, but I really dig the celebrity life.  Not in the sense that I want to have their life and live all the glamour or whatever, but i'm oddly fascinated in their interactions with other celebrities, and the opinions of each other.  Which all come together nicely at award shows.

I rarely do any written commentary on the shows, and even less do I ever do anything with outfits.  If you know me, fashion doesn't really factor into my life.  Before I was 18, I got on with jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirt.  In college, I got on with jeans, slippers (or flip-flops, as I guess non-Asians call them), and layered shirts of a deep-v over a cami/tank.  Now?  I get on in yoga pants and t-shirts.  I'm sure that'll morph when I finally get a job, but you get the point.  What the hell do I know about couture and the like?  Aside from Project Runway, my reportoire is non-existent.

BUT!  Let's alter that a bit and learn some fun things about me using the attendees and the outfits of Golden Globe goers, shall we?

I thought I'd show Marion Cotillard first, because hohmygodiloveher.  BUT...I don't love this outfit.  I want to so badly, and it's so close.  But I can't take the little chunk cut out at the front.  If it had been full, I think I would have adored it.  I do think she still looks beautiful, because...she's Marion.  And the reason I put her here (other than the fact hohmygodiloveher) is because she's French, and I love France and the French language, and--I'm gonna say it--the French.  France is a country dear to my heart for very specific memories, and I've been speaking French since I was 4 years old and I find it so beautiful.

I adore Tina Fey.  She's so brilliant in everything she does.  And really, 30 Rock is possibly some of the best television ever.  BUT...cute as she is here...and other than the fact the dress kind of hurts my eyes (patterned black and whites don't do well with my eyesight)...I feel like the dress makes her look short!  I don't actually know how tall she is (quick Google check: 5'4"), but it doesn't do any favours.  Seeing as how I myself am a measly 5'3", I try to avoid seeming my height or lower in formal situations.

Anna Paquin is weird for me.  I hated her dress the first moment I saw it (which was during the ceremony, because I didn't watch any red carpet arrivals...I was too busy watching my Chargers lose and my boy place second at Nationals...*sob sob*).  But the more I stare at it, the more I come around to it.  It's not anything I'd ever wear (too bright), but...I kinda like it.  It reminds me of mosaic art and the museums I'd go to and some of the street art I'd see when I was walking around Italy.  If that dress were in a solid, dark colour I would totally rock it...and if I had a body remotely acceptable for that kind of exposure.  I also included her (and Stephen Moyer) because they represent True Blood, a terribly horrible show (at least Season 1, since that's all I saw) that I just can't stop watching.  I am just as liable to watch brilliant shows like 30 Rock as I am to watch trash TV like True Blood.

Christina Aguilera.  So the thing is, I love her music.  Her album Stripped is on my top favourite albums ever.  How does that voice fit in such a small body?!  I was never a big fan of her Stripped-era style, nor do I like the throwback one she was rocking awhile for the Back 2 Basics era.  But I feel like she looked so good at these awards!  It's classy and sophisticated while still being weird enough for her.  I still don't like her hair color, but I do like the cut.  It's just so nice to see someone I loved still around, and doing well.

So, I put this in because...seriously, I want to hang out with these three.  I'll be honest and say that I've only seen one Scorsese film (The Departed)--and I know, I know, I'll work on fixing that--and I really haven't seen many DeNiro films.  But how fucking awesome would it be to go to lunch with these three, or a jog in the park, or whatever!?  And...hello Leo.  He-LLO.

Keeping with people I want to hang out with, Meryl Streep.  But really, I just kind of want to be her.  I hope that one day I have the poise and grace and ease this woman does.  And I really hope I am respected in whatever business I end in, just as she is.

While I'm wishing for things, can I also have Jennifer Aniston's body?  I mean, before I get all the poise and grace from Meryl.  How the hell does it look like not a moment in time has passed from the first time I saw her as Rachel Greene in 1994?!  While the slit is just a liiiiiiittle too high for my taste, I do like the dress.  And, of course I had to put someone representative of Friends on this list, because it's such a part of my life I can never not put it in.

GLEE!!  Many, many congratulations to them on their win!  Dianna Agron (left) is possibly my Best In Show.  I don't normally think much of her (sorry!), but holy crap she looks stunning.  Her make-up, her jewelry, the dress....love love love.  And I've loved Lea Michelle since her days in Spring Awakening.  I hate princess dresses, but I do love this one for her.  Besides, it's in black, so I can forgive the massive poof.  I put them in because it's just all a big musical mess, and I love me my musicals!  Matt Morrison, and his voice, and his dreaminess...yes.

Which leads me to boys!  I don't discuss love life much on this blog (it's kind of non-existent at the moment anyway), but lets just set that aside for this.  So first, I will admit that I have a Type.  It's not a solid type--I mean, the rules are a bit flexible, but in general, if you know it, you could pick out the man in a crowded room.  So, unfortunately, no one that fit my bill was at the awards, BUT...as I said, I'm flexible, right?  Yes, let's!

Oh, Neil Patrick Harris.  NPH.  See, what's not my Type is blondes.  However, I will look past that for Neil, because he is possibly perfect for me.  Aside from the blonde.  And...you know...not really into my gender.  I mean, I could look past it, that's cool, but I would think he'd have a problem with it.  If he doesn't though, send him my way!  The amount of charisma NPH has just defies reality.  Have you seen Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog?  Because if not, please go promptly to Hulu, and don't talk to me until you have.  Have you seen NPH do magic?  Because it really is magic (puns!).  He even makes the most sexist man on television (Barney Stinson) lovable.  I mean...really.  And if the rumors are true about him guesting on Glee, I seriously think I will have a heart attack and die.  DIE.

See, dark hair, as exhibited by Chace Crawford.  Even though he dyes it funny and on occasion is blonde.  But dark hair.  Yes please.  So, Chace is here for two reasons.  1) His eyes. Oh his beautiful, beautiful eyes.  I don't have an eye color preference, because mine are the standard dark brown and who am I to reject what I have?  But his...oh, so beautiful.  An ocean of blue, and so much more stunning when they're looking at you.  How do I know this?  This leads to 2) I've met him.  Yes, be jealous ladies, I have.  And seriously, he is so nice, and so adorable, and rather charming.  Initially I decided to go meet him because I needed an event to cover for a journalism thing (hi Vivian!), but let's be real: he's hot.  And it was so worth it.  And because I like to parade this little gem around (please ignore me and my terrible hair and glasses that needed to be pushed up):

Moving along (almost done here kids, I know this is super long), let's actually get into the good things.  The things that count.  Joseph Gordon-Levitt.  I mean, I do think he's quite attractive, but I also find that he seems to be pretty grounded.  He seems so intelligent and passionate and creative.  I love the work he does, and I honestly think he's become such a solid man.  I know I've never met him so this could all be crap, but let me just believe, ok?  Ok.

And lastly, but ever so not least, what it all comes down to is I would like a man who is gracious enough to do this, and lovable enough to do it with a smile on his face:

all photos taken from JJB, but I'm pretty sure most of them are from Just Jared.  Apologies for those not!

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Creep-Out: Men With Long Nails

Tell me: is there any reason why a man would have long nails?  And I mean LONG.  Longer than mine (and mine are currently quite extensive.  Nothing Guinness Book long, but enough).  I honestly want to know if there is any sensible reason.

Not saying women have a sensible reason to have long nails.  It's a whole vanity thing.  Plus, it's a fun canvas.

The man ringing up my purchases today at Borders (bought The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova.  Highly recommended to me, and on sale for $6!) had ridiculously long nails, and I couldn't help but be entirely creeped out.  It was definitely past the point of laziness and neglect; it was plain length.  I'm pretty sure he tapped the keys on the register with his nails; and I know for a fact that if he were to type on a keyboard, he would have to readjust his finger placement.

So, I wonder: why?!  The only reason I've ever known men to have long nails is for drug use.  General assumption is long pinky nails = powdered drug use.  Borders Man did have 10 fingers with long nails, so...lots of drug use?

Really.  If you have an answer for me as to why a man would have that, any sort of idea, I'm open to it.  I felt bad for feeling a bit of revulsion when he reached out to take my money.  And it's not like he had dirty nails, either (that is a HUGE turn-off for me)--they were fine.  Nothing extraordinarily clean, but it didn't have little flecks of dirt flying off.  I don't think it helped that he was in a very crabby mood (frowny-face) and had really long, very greasy black hair.  It just didn't help paint his image that well.

On a semi-related but not really note, I went next door to the Best Buy and purchased I Love You, Man (hi Sarah!).  The guy who rang me up was super nice!  Very nice.  He asked how my day was, and then started talking to me about the movie, and asked about my life, and asked what I'd done that day, and...asked...and asked...and kept asking.  Still nice, but suspicious.  I mean, he was the only checker and there was a line behind me.  And then I figured it out: he liked my voice.  My "I've been sick for two and a half weeks, am now in the coughing stage, croaking" voice.  What is it about this sick voice that everyone says is so "sexy"?!  The two times in my life I've had laryngitis, all the boys came barkin' up this tree because they thought my voice was "sexy."  Please; I sound like I'm dying or I'm about to projective vomit all over you.  That ain't sexy.

Unless I'm wrong.

And before you ask, Best Buy Boy was cute...but young.  Probably 16.  Talk to me in 20 years, kid.

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I'm going to defy my blog title

Because in less than a hot minute I'd start a love story with any of the three following men.

Brought to you by my awesome file of Hot Men on my hard drive.
Inspired by the forum post made by my friend Dylan. Thank you Dyl, for inspiring Lust Post 1.


Henry Cavill


Rodrigo Santoro


Gaspard Ulliel

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