Sunday, February 27, 2011


From the heart.

Dear ex-boyfriends,

Stop inviting me to your weddings. I am happy for you, but please don't expect me to actually show up. Quite frankly, my experiences with this in the past have been much more bitter than bittersweet.

Also, I'd appreciate it if more of your future wives would register at Target, rather than Williams-Sonoma.



Saturday, February 26, 2011


While I usually have little taste for doting on the great number of celebrity encounters I've had, the one truly amazing one was with Andrew Bird at a brunch place in Chicago with a near dear friend.

Actually, "encounter" would be more accurately described as analogous to one of those safari parks where you drive through in a car and "shoot" the animals with a camera. Unfortunately, although my friend and I did our best to get some good shots in (all while pretending I was actually taking pictures of her), the result was just a bunch of blurs with various pieces of my friend's forehead. Also, one of his butt. And to add insult to injury, he did not even try to attack. Complete amateur fail as papparazzi.

No, no, Andrew Bird. Just keep talking to your pretty girlfriend and drinking that expresso. As long as you keep doing things like this, this girl will try to shrug your unintentional snub off. Well, almost completely.

Cary Elwes

It hit me during a drunken sunny moment this afternoon that Cary Elwes has absolutely destroyed my chance of ever having a normal love life. Specifically, Cary Elwes playing Westley in the Princess Bride.

This observation is not entirely random. As was pointed out by a male friend of mine during said drunken sunny moment, the last guy I dated looked freakishly like said Cary Elwes. It was more the Cary Elwes of Lady Jane, but the resemblance was so eerie that on one Ambienified evening after seeing that particular film, I actually texted him to make sure he still had his head attached to his shoulders. Actually, in reality, he did not. Metaphorically at least. C'est la vie. I loved him anyway, although he later turned out to be a total cad. Even good looks can't disguise pure douchedom.

But this disenchantment actually has little to do with the secret wish that an ex-boyfriend would grow a pencil thin mustache and wear a black mask on Sundays. It really has to do with the curse of every little girl who has buried herself in fairy tales, and golden-hued movies. Did Buttercup and Westley ever stop in the Fire Swamp for a pee break and did he ever get on her ass about her utter uselessness during that ROUS attack?

I think, before I go on, I need to know the answer to both questions is a most definitive "yes."


"You can't hold it too tight,
These matters of security.
You don't have to be wound so tight,
Smoking on the balcony.

But it's that sleaze in a park
You women you have no self-control,
The angels remark outside
You were known for insatiable means
I don't know a thing."