Louis CK

Louie, the TV show written, starring, directed and edited by Louis CK, is consistently lauded as innovative, thoughtful, and funny. On Monday night, two new episodes aired, the first of which, called So Did the Fat Lady, has been exceedingly controversial inspiring rants and raves across the internet. Bloggers, TV reviewers, and people who comment on websites are arguing passionately about what exactly Mr. CK was trying to say, and I figured I may as well throw in my two cents.

The final eight minutes of the episode are the focus of the controversy, and consist of a monologue delivered by Sarah Baker, playing Vanessa, a variation on the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope. She is charming, self deprecating, flirtatious, and very cute. She could clearly be good for Louie, make him laugh make him happy. But, she is also fat. Not morbidly obese, unable-to-walk-fat, but more fat than is allowed for a woman to be considered attractive on TV. 

She asks Louie out a few times, and absorbs his rejection with deflective jokes and a friendly goodbye. There is no reason for Louie to reject this woman who was clearly written to be a perfect match for the protagonist. He is also fat. Again, not to fat to walk fat, but fat. His weight is often brought up in his stand up comedy and TV show, and the episode takes great pains to show that Louie is unhealthy. 

After rejecting the cute-but-fat waitress initially, he stands with his brother on a busy corner in NYC, ogling the modelesque women that walk by, before going on a "bang-bang," an outing where the overweight men go to two different restaurants and consume two full meals, appetizers to dessert, back to back. It's filmed lovingly, the trays of food and forks flying, ending with the men deciding against going to the gym. 

There are no social consequences to Louie's binge. He doesn't feel good at the end of it, both physically and mentally,  but he doesn't feel bad enough to do anything different.

When Louie finally succumbs to the charms of the cute-fat waitress, their date goes perfectly, no awkwardness which is again, very pointed. All romantic encounters Louie has are fraught with awkward moments. He is convinced to wear a dress and laughed at, he is tickled to the point that he elbows a hot model he just slept with in the face, a woman is so horrified by their date that she flees via helicopter when he tries to kiss her, he winds up sleeping with a beautiful young woman who fetishizes his age and gets off on evidence that he is old. He is afraid of being alone but makes terrible choices when it comes to women.

As the two are walking in a park by a river, surrounded (deliberately I'm sure) by fit joggers,  she makes a comment calling herself fat and he halfheartedly tries to argue.

"You're not--" he starts to say, before she interrupts.

She is fat, but she is not stupid. She knows what she looks like. She also knows what Louie looks like. And in a seven and a half minute monologue (filmed impressively as one take), Vanessa explains exactly why she thinks that Louie is full of shit.

 Come on. If I was a “very really beautiful” then you would have said yes when I asked    you out. I mean, come on, Louie, be honest here. You know what’s funny? I flirt with guys all the time. And I mean, the great looking ones, like the really high caliber studs? They flirt right back. No problem. Because they know their status will never be questioned. But guys like you never flirt with me because you get scared that maybe you should be with a girl like me. And why not?!

Her point being that Louie hates himself so much that he can't accept his own weight and thereby can't accept hers. Its as thought dating a woman that is his mirror image would make him admit something about himself and he isn't brave enough.

As much as Mr. CK is clearly saying about the double standard of attractiveness in media for men and women, I think he is saying much more about the character Louie who has been dealing with self hatred since the pilot episode. And I do think this experience for that character made an impression, reaching him as much as a father of two girls who, between their genetics and the US's obesity epidemic, have a high chance of being fat girls themselves, as a man who is uncomfortable in his own skin.

So Did the Fat Lady's epic monologue reminded me of the scene from the second episode of Louie where the only gay comic at the poker table explains what the word "fagget" meant in the historical context, and what it meant to that character. Louie isn't a gay  man or a fat lady, but he is trying to understand the perspectives of others, and I respect that.

You can find seasons one and two of Louie on Netflix, and season three airs at 10 pm on Monday nights on FX. 

Quitting Smoking

I smoked my first cigarette out of spite. It was a Camel Lite with a speckled light brown filter that I took from a friend's outstretched hand while staring my boyfriend down.

“Ali, don't smoke that,” he said scoldingly, and I reached out my hand for the lighter he held. He didn't hand it over.

“Daniel, help a lady out?” I said to our friend, who was laughing at our standoff.

“Of course,” he said, fumbling in his pocket, smiling like the Cheshire cat. He fished out a green Bic lighter passed it over.

“Thanks, doll,” I said, keeping my tone arch and locking eyes with my glaring boyfriend.

I fumbled with the lighter in the slight breeze and lost all my sense of cool before I finally got it lit. I didn't cough, truly, I didn't even inhale. But I blew the smoke out, feeling like a 1950s bombshell bad girl.

We were arguing about something, I don't recall what exactly. I was trying to prove that he wasn't the boss of me, a position I'm constantly defending for no real reason. Thomas, my boyfriend both ten years ago, the summer of my first cigarette, and now, at the end of my smoking career, is sensible and rarely tries to push his will on anyone. But, when I feel like I'm being ordered to do something, my rebellious streak emerges, generally to my detriment.

I didn't smoke often after that first cigarette. I bought a pack on a whim, because I was 18 and legally able. The pack stayed in the glove box of my car for almost three months, me smoking an occasional cigarette while driving, mostly.

When I moved to DC, I committed to cigarettes. It was a conscious decision that happened one night when I was feeling very lonely during the first week of my semester in the capital. I didn't know anyone in the city, and my roommate and I weren't very compatible. I was standing in front of the huge bay window that took up most of the front of our tiny studio apartment, watching the streetlights switch on, when I noticed a group of fellow interns standing under the apartment buildings green awning, all smoking, talking, and laughing.

The next day I bought a pack of smokes and that evening I joined the crowd. It was immensely fortuitous because the group of smokers that lived in my apartment building and were spending the semester in DC through a Universities of North Carolina program became dear friends. We spent all our free time together, exploring both museums and nightlife with equal enthusiasm.

After that, I was a real smoker. A cigarette in the morning with coffee, cigarette breaks at my various waitressing jobs, cigarettes and wine, cigarettes while walking on campus.

I never pictured myself as a smoker. When a person was surprised when I lit up, I was flattered. I only liked the idea of smoking when I was angsty, like a tortured intellectual, or like a flirty bad girl. And, I was trying on the persona of a tortured intellectual and a flirt quite frequently in college.

Now, when I think about the fact that I've been smoking for TEN years, I feel like a fool. What are the statistics on that? Ten years of smoking, say on average, three packs a week. There are 52 weeks in a year, that equals 1560 packs of cigarettes. Cigarette costs have risen over the past three years, when I first started smoking I could buy a pack for about $2.50, now, it's more like $5.00 a pack. If we average those numbers to $3.75, then I have spent somewhere around $5850 on cigarettes. That is too much money on something that is fundamentally bad for me. That is a lot of cute shoes, books from the real bookstore, nail polish, or dinners out that I couldn't afford because of cigarettes.

So, I'm ready to quit. I've been working up to this for the past three years, quitting for longer and longer stretches each time. And this time, I'm done.

I want to be healthy, I want to live a long time and have great skin. I want to take my time getting married and having babies, and I need my heart and lungs in good working order to facilitate that.

Today is the day. The first of May, 2014, is the day that I quit smoking, for good. Luckily, I have supportive friends and family who want me to be happy and live a long life. Most of my friends are former smokers, and I'm ready to join their ranks. There has got be to some tortured intellectual street cred among former smokers, right?

Regardless, this is another step towards improving my circumstances and I am very excited about that, even with the grumpiness that is sure to come for the next few days. I guess, too, that this essay is an attempt to hold myself accountable to the world at large, too.

So, world,  if you see me sneaking cigs, please feel free to remind me that cigarettes are gross, poison, icky, trashy, and only mean people smoke them. I know that is not true by any stretch of the imagination, but help me pretend till I break the habit, ok?

We're Not in Westeros Anymore

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Out of Hibernation

Well, that was a longer hiatus than I anticipated!

Spring is finally here, the sun is shining, my favorite trees are bursting with flowers, and my front porch is now more perfect than ever before since I added the rocking chair that my dad made.

Everything is in transition, but my day to day life follows the same path and I'm still unsatisfied. 

I've been writing, but really just for me. I've been following pop culture, but just for fun. I've been reading the news, but just to have something interesting to say to my friends.

I was putting forth a lot of energy into attempting to find a new job, one that would be more stimulating and more lucrative. Like, a stupid amount of time and energy. And I fell on my face again. It's back to the drawing board while my current position gets increasingly more unpleasant for me. 

Believe me, I'm not giving up. But, I need to feed my soul and writing does that. So, I'm back! I'm hoping to update twice a week with a personal essay about my life and something about current events and pop culture. 

Stay tuned, folks. I've got jokes. And probably embarrassing stories. Everybody loves embarrassing stories, right?

Netflix Review of the Week

If you're anything like me, you've spent far too much time trapped in the red maze known as Netflix Instant Streaming.

I get all cozy, my beverage of choice next to me, Wii remote in my hand, ready to find the perfect story to amuse me during my limited free time.

Netflix recommends a few options that are somewhat appealing—although I have no desire to watch Archer no matter how many times it's suggested to me—but the problem really comes down to an abundance of choices.

When a genre is titled Witty Movies Featuring a Strong Female Lead how can I stop flipping through the options?

This will be a weekly column where I tell you about one awesome program I watch on Netflix and, when necessary, I will warn you of the bad eggs floating around out there. So next time you're struggling to decided what to watch, check me out here and I'll give you some pointers. I'm going to focus on the less popular choices. Everybody knows Louie is awesome. Or if you didn't and you're reading this, it is, check it out ASAP.

First up:

Did you know that there are THREE fantastic Audrey Hepburn movies currently available on Netflix Instant Streaming? Well there are.

Breakfast at Tiffany's

Funny Face

Sabrina

Its funny that these three films feature Hepburn very differently. In Sabrina, she is the sweet, shy daughter of a chauffeur who goes to Paris to find herself and get over unrequited love. When she returns with a boatload of confidence and a fantastic haircut, she is irresistible to both old and new love. Its a charming story, romantic and sweet, filmed at gorgeous locations.

In Funny Face she plays a black-wearing, intellectually-conversing, beatnik.
Hepburn plays a young woman who get swept up into international modeling by Fred Astaire. The sing, they dance, they argue...you can probably guess the rest.

Breakfast at Tiffany's is a classic for a reason. The film, while fun and thought provoking in its own right, is more than the sum of its parts. Holly Golightly represented a shift in the options for women in the 1960s. She was a young, single woman living in Manhattan, making a way for herself without being responsible to anyone. Her choice, a traditional lifestyle with a husband, children and security vs. instability, adventure, and a pinch of loneliness, was one that young women wanted to make for themselves. Every time I watch this movie, I want to read Franny and Zooey by JD Salinger and smoke out of long black cigarette holder.

Next week I'll be singing the praises of Lars and the Real Girl, starring Ryan Gosling with funny facial.

Good Morning

The verdict is in: Amy Poehler and Tina Fay remain awesome, and my hangover isn't as painful as it probably should be, thanks to a late night grilled cheese sandwich and liberal rehydrating.

They hosted with grace, humor, and just enough sassiness to keep things interesting. My only quibble is that we didn't get to see enough of them! Where did they go for the second half of the show?

I have to say that both ladies looked gorgeous, Fay's sparkly blue dress was awesome--flattering, sexy, and kind of like the dress I always wanted from the end of The Little Mermaid. Poehler was sexy too, but edgy in her structured red number.

Can we get more of this duo? I'd watch pretty much anything they're in. Even Baby Mama (which was funnier than anyone gave it credit for).

Golden Girls

Its the night we've all been waiting for!

Thats right, you guessed it, the Golden Globes are tonight, hosted by none other than two of my favorite people on the planet: Tina Fay and Amy Poehler.

I'm enjoying the festivities at home with a few pals, including my long distance BFF via Skype.

Usually I reserve drinking games for events that I'm pretty sure are going to be terrible (Liz and Dick, the Republican debates, The Room, etc) but I feel that this occasion calls for a beverage or two and when playing drinking games, everybody wins!

*Drink in moderation, hydrate, yada yada, its Sunday night and most of us have to work in the morning.

The Rules:

Take One Sip If:

Tina Fay rolls her eyes like Liz Lemon

Amy Poehler gets crazy manic like Leslie Knope

A presenter flubs their lines

Fay or Poehler mention their kids

Cheers Everyone and Guzzle If:

They sing and/or dance

They make a decidedly feminist statement

There is a wardrobe malfunction

Finish Your Drink If:

There is any improv.

I hope the show lives up to my (unreasonably high) expectations.

Cheers!

A Brief History of my Celebrity Crushes

This is pure sillyness but the new year is making me nostalgic.

1990

Tony Danza

When I was about five years old, whenever Who's the Boss came on television, I would scream “The Tony show is on!” I liked his accent, his hair, and his sad-puppy face whenever he got in trouble. I probably liked that the lady on the show went to work and Tony did all the chores, too, now that I think about it.

1995

Jonathan Taylor Thomas, Devon Sawa, The Hanson Brothers

I'm quite sure that most women my age went through the same Teen Beat crush list that I did. One summer, visiting my cousins, we all wrote letters to the love of our lives, aka JTT. My best childhood friend and I would watch Now and Then over and over, swooning over the youthful courtship of Devon Sawa and Christina Ricci. And I saved my pennies until I had enough to purchase a colorful, short book entitled: The Hanson Brothers, and Unauthorized Biography. The middle brother was just my cup of tea, all soulful-sensitive.

2000

Heath Ledger, Josh Hartnett

 

I fell head over heels for both these boys because of two very different but equally appealing films: Ten Things I Hate About You and The Faculty. Both of these men had more swagger than a 14-year-old could handle, and that was before swagger was super trendy. Heath's curls and Josh's smolder covered my high school pin board, the background for pictures of friends, movie stubs and concert tickets.

In some ways, I credit these actors with my interest in film and TV. I watched a short-lived series called Roar starring Ledger, and was fascinated by the movie The Virgin Suicides. It was the first time I thought about what made these actors “good,” and tried to figure out what it was that I was so taken with.

It was probably the hotness.

2003

Dean, Jess, and Luke from Gilmore Girls

Gilmore Girls remains one of my favorite TV shows. Its warm, funny, and populated by interesting characters that interact in believable ways. When Dean showed up to woo Rory, I was right there with her, flustered, flattered, and terrified of embarrassing myself. Then, Jess appears just in time to throw everything off kilter with his rebellious attitude and over confidence. The ever present Luke, grumpy in his baseball cap, but always there for the girls whether it was driving Lorelei to the hospital when her father was ill or making Rory a coffee cake and putting balloons on her chair for her 16^th birthday, still gives me the warm fuzzies when I bust out my DVDs. Yes, I have the whole series. Its ok to be jealous.

2006

Denny Duquette

Grey's Anatomy is one of the most emotionally manipulative shows I've ever watched regularly. I still DVR it and watch it when I have down time, but during the second half of season two, I was utterly hooked by Denny.

He was a handsome patient waiting for a new heart. He was funny, charming, disarming, handsome, strong-looking but gentle. I suppose I should put a ***spoiler alert *** but I don't think that many people are waiting to watch season two of Grey's Anatomy, even though it is available on Netflix. Anyway, Denny dies incredibly tragically. I watched the episode at a dear friend's house when I was in college. She lived a few blocks away from me, and when I walked home, I bawled like a baby.

Jeffrey Dean Morgan is the actor's name. He seems to be working, but I haven't swooned over him since Grey's.

2010 to Present

Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ryan Gosling

These two gentlemen are absurdly charming.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt's hotness was obscured in Ten Things I Hate about You by Heath Ledger. I found him sweet, but it wasn't until I saw Brick that I saw him clearly. I watched everything I could find with him in it, Manic, The Lookout, Mysterious Skin, 500 Days of summer, and then, in a fitted vest, he stole my heart even more completely in Inception. He picks interesting films, he sings, he dances, he encourages collaboration on his website, hitRECord.com. I wish we could hang out every day.

I don't even feel like an explanation is necessary to explain my attraction to Gosling. His face is awesome. He is super fit without seeming like a meathead. He stops fights, saves women from being hit by taxis, plays the ukalale, is dorky, sweet, and badass.

That about sums it up. Look forward to next week when I plan to unveil my most embarassing and unexplainable crushes on famous people. A sample? Snoop Dogg. I don't know, don't judge me.

Who was your first big crush?

Happy New Year!

I've got to be honest: 2012 wasn't exactly the best year of my life.

This year, though, is going to be awesome. I can feel it.

There were some things I couldn't control, tragedies that I will always remember and continue to break my heart, although a little bit less every day.

My brother was in a horrific accident involving him somehow getting shot in the head and surviving like a champion. Emergency brain surgery and a couple of titanium plates later, and he is strong enough to kayack and registered for classes in the fall. Seeing the scar that grazes his temple makes me want to cry every time he turns his head.

As for me, well, I'm in the same place I've been in for two years.

My whole life, I've been focused on the future. When I was a kid I couldn't wait to be a teenager. In high school, all I wanted was to get into college. In college I couldn't wait for my first real job.

It seems like now, everything has ground to a halt. I've been working the same job for almost three years, and it has nothing to do with my education. It doesn't challenge me (well, except when I have to keep my temper around particularily rude or aggressive customers).

I want to find something to look forwards to again. This sounds like a downer, but I swear its not! I'm excited to challenge myself this year.

I'd like a better job, to write more, and to do more yoga.

Those are my New Year's resolutions. What are yours?

Weighty Options

I'm on this stupid diet. The details are unnecessary, the last thing I want this to turn into is a health and fitness blog because I am not qualified to dispense that kind of advice. What I want to do is bitch about how being careful about what I eat sucks but it is working and I'm both grumpy and proud of myself.

I've always had a strange relationship with my weight and size. When I was a child, I wanted to be a jockey and a gymnast. My stature made both of those dreams impossible, although I did ride horses and do gymnastics for a time.

As I've gotten older, and become more aware of the standard of beauty, two truths have emerged. First: I'm not ever going to look like a model. Second: if you have big boobs, blonde hair, and blue eyes you don't really have to have a modelesque physique to have get a significant amount of male attention. Getting that attention made it easy to ignore my increasing dress size.

I know that it's not politically correct to admit a desire to change your physical appearance to be more universally desireable. And there are plenty of other reasons that I can provide for changing my diet. It's healthier; diabetes, high blood pressure and heart disease run in my family. Its better for my joints; my childhood athletic endevors ended after I broke my ankle for the second time and had surgery--I'm kind of a gimp. I can't do any high impact exercise which means I am limited to swimming, walking my dog, or using the elliptical machine at the gym as far as cardio goes. Reducing my weight by 20-25% would ease my daily discomfort in my ankle.

Those reasons are as true as any other, but the thing that helps me choose an apple over a bag of chips is improving my physical appearance.

I'm still totally a feminist guys. Don't freak out.

I think, too, that my current life situation is really frustrating. I have little to no control over most aspects of my life right now. I'm waiting for the economy to change, waiting for the pennies I keep trying to shove in my savings account to amount to something of value, waiting for my life to improve. This is something I can actively do to improve myself. I don't have to wait on anybody else, I can make good choices each day and see the results in how my clothes fit or an actual number changing. Its satisfying and gives me a feeling of momentum. Seeing as I generally feel like I'm treading water, forward movement of any kind is awesome.

So, I'm going to keep it up. Maybe by the time I accomplish this goal I will have developed stronger will power which can only help me attain other goals in my future. Just as soon as I figure out what they are.

Nostalgia Isn't What it Used to Be*

Since leaving the warm and pillowy bosom of the tiny mountain town where I went to college, I've been looking for a similar community in Charlotte, NC.

I realize that Boone, home of Appalachian State University, basically exists in a bubble. Not just any bubble, a Cinderella, “a dream is a wish your heart makes,” bubble, tinged pink and reflecting progressive politics, community gardens, and social consciousness. It was a wonderful place to get an education.

Today I drove out of my way to stop at a gas station near my old house. Their gas prices are usually a few cents higher than a more convenient location, but I always patronize this store. I got gas and headed in to buy a Redbull to get me pumped to sell cell phones all day. I always go in and buy something, even just a diet coke, because I so enjoy the proprietors. Its owned by a middle eastern family. The patriarch is a tiny and ancient seeming man whose beard and hair are the exact same length and color. Its not much more than stubble, a mix of white and grey. He has a scratchy voice and always looks at me disapprovingly if I buy cigarettes. He is usually working with another, younger man, much taller but equally wiry.

A woman, his daughter I believe, works during the day. She looks much younger than her age, and she is pretty, with huge brown eyes, and pink round cheeks. She is always smiling and sighing, making jokes about her children. Her English is perfect, with a charming accent. 

The younger man came into the AT&T store where I work a few weeks ago. He doesn't speak much English, but we recognized each other and both laughed at the role reversal. It felt very strange to see him in a different setting.

At ASU, it was so easy to get involved. Being a student meant that there were endless clubs or groups to join. Taking classes, especially classes in your major, required interaction with other people who shared your interests. There was no excuse to be bored or lazy, and alone time was something to schedule, not the norm.

I frequent a neighborhood watering hole that is part remodeled gas station, part deli, and part back alley for drinking. They have an oddly fantastic wine selection and you can get bottles for sane prices. The staff is an interesting ensemble but all are friendly and more than willing to recommend a great bottle or fancy microbrew. They are a pierced, tattooed bunch, dressed mostly in black, but I don't feel like an outsider, even though I'm a clean slate—my only piercings are in my ears-- and am usually wearing a brightly colored sundress.

I've been feeling lonely lately. I have a few, dear, friends in this town, but its not the same. I am sure that part of my nostalgia has to do with getting older. I turn 27 in a few months. I spend much more time at home with my (absurdly cute) dog, and my (ridiculously adorable) boyfriend. Its not a bad thing, its just different. Its quieter. But its OK. And I'm creating my community in Charlotte, slow and steady. I've got a favorite gas station, bar, coffee shop, breakfast place, park, video store, and I've joined Charlottes chapter of the National Organization for Women.

I feel better just reading that list.

*Lyric from a great song by by Sam Phillips called Taking Pictures. 

Fall Back

Fall is in the air! When I stepped outside with my pup this morning, the chill in the air seemed to give her a burst of energy because she ran the length of the fence at full speed, leaping like a gazelle over obstacles.

It hasn't frosted yet, my garden is still producing tomatoes, but it is autumn in the south, one of my favorite seasons.

Its more bittersweet now that I'm no longer a student. I miss shopping for school supplies and feeling that my empty notebooks are a clean slate and anything is possible for the new school year.

I can still enjoy wearing my favorite sweaters, tights, boots and mini skirts, but I don't have a classroom full of potential friends to impress with my sweet fall fashions.

I still get overly optimistic in the fall, and there is still a lot of wonderful things to enjoy: cuddling is better when its chilly out, cooking butternut squash soup, hot tea in the evenings, walking my dog without the heat, humidity, and mosquito that dominate summer....these are all great things.

I miss that clean slate feeling.

But! I shall channel my bummed, stuck, bitterness over feeling as though I'm treading water, barely able to keep from going backwards let alone move forward, into writing, into the people I care about, and into making my house fall ready.

I try to convince myself that accomplishing small goals while maintaining my responsibilities will lead me to success, and I'm pretty gullible so I accept that logic, but I'm ready to start seeing some results from my attempts. I just need a shred of evidence that I'm on the right track to keep pushing my boulder up my mountain, but right now, its heavy and my arms are tired.

Not to end on a sour note, I'm alone in my house for a week and plan to "fall-ify" it with fun Pinterest projects and new curtains.

Labor Day at the Beach

Noah took me on vacation for labor day weekend. I'm telling you this because I feel the need to provide and excuse as to why, after barely starting to create a routine for my blog, I didn't make a list of interesting links.

To make up for my oversight, I present to you the highlights of my mini vacation.

#5. The hotel was lovely.  There were slightly overgrown gardens with fountains gurgling and the warm, end-of-summer scent, something like magnolia blossoms and honeysuckle, hanging in the air.

#4. I love riding in the car with Noah. We've taken lots of road trips in our time together, and I feel safe with him behind the wheel, teasing each other and being excited about what adventure lies ahead.

#3. Spending time with Noah's family and their friends. His sister was having a Labor Day cookout and we were welcomed with cold drinks and a huge feast of classic grill fodder. After, we played Mad Gabs outside, surrounded by citronella tiki torches to keep the mosquitoes away. It was fun to hang out with Noah's siblings without parental supervision. I think its the first time that's happened.

#2. A sneaky moonlight swim in the empty pool with Noah back at the hotel.

It was even prettier at night.

#1. The afternoon at the beach.  I still have sand on my toes as I write this. There is something so calming to me about the ocean. Its probably just a vitamin D boost  but I feel pretty great.

Mommie Dearest

My mother told me she was going to Thailand to teach tiny Thai children about four months ago. She had been talking about finding a teaching position abroad for a long time but I'd just assumed it was a passing flight of fancy and that she and her partner would end up in NYC, living like hippy activist educators in a tiny Brooklyn apartment.

Thailand is a lot further away than New York.

I'm very close with my mother. She is one of the most entertaining people I've ever encountered. When we get together, especially if my brother Huston is there, we become the most obnoxious table at any restaurant, one upping each others stories and jokes, smiling so hard our cheeks hurt.

She has this laugh that is so specific and so loud that as a child I would listen for it in the grocery store if I had wandered off. Her laughter always led me back to her.

She is a small woman, barely 5'3'', with big brown eyes, choppy brown(ish grey) hair, and skin that is always at least 4 shades darker than mine. I know we're Italian but I did not get the olive skin genes like she and my sister.

My Mom and Me 

She's been gone for three months. We talk on Skype a few times a week which is very nice. I can't imagine how much I'd miss her without it, but it's not the same.

She is literally living in the future, my today is her tomorrow. When we talk one of us is always sleepy—its either first thing in the morning for me and the evening for her or it's early for her and late for me. I miss being able to call her on my way to work in the morning or when I'm walking Lucy.

I especially miss being able to call her in the middle of the night when I'm panicking about my life, future, money, job, relationship, or whatever else makes makes my stomach churn and sleep an impossibility. She's the only person who listens to me until I'm completely done talking.

Its bad, too, because now I send her crazed e-mails, thousands of words, virtually no punctuation, just a stream of conscious, panicked rant. I know those e-mails make her worry, which isn't my intention. It's just that sometimes I have to let my crazy brain do its thing and since I don't have the verbal outlet anymore, I write it all down.

She knows me pretty well, being my mom and all, so I don't think it gives her undue anxiety. I guess the only difference between my verbal and written rants is that when we talk she can calm me down. Sometimes I just need to hear that everything is going to be OK. It's better, too, hearing it from someone who has made it through an eventful life with a positive attitude and wound up in an unexpected but happy place.

I miss my mom, but its reassuring to know that adventure and excitement are always possible if you're brave and willing to take chances.

Disclaimer: I am not actually crazy, but my life constantly in chaos so I have to work really hard to be sane and sometimes I take a mental break.

Things that happened: 8.19.12 - 8.25.12

Joseph Gordon-Levitt, total dreamboat, is apparently awesome in his new movie Premium Rush. 

The Hunger Games officially outsold Harry Potter. This creates conflicting emotions within me seeing as I love Harry Potter AND Katniss Everdeen so I'm going to just be happy that people are reading.

This NYT article traces the crazy claim that women who are "legitimately" raped cannot get pregnant. Thanks, Representative Todd Akin, for your uninformed, ignorant, input. Now please go crawl under a rock.

Advice columnist Dan Savage invited the President of the National Organization for Marriage over for dinner and an impressively civil debate on gay marriage and religious freedom.

Fish are Weird Pets

When I'm not working my crummy job, I occupy my time with my obscenely adorable dog, Lucy, and my boyfriend who is the strangest normal guy I've ever known.

I'll be honest, I have weird taste in men. I have dated musicians, artists, writers, anarchists, hippies, nerds, straight edge kids, any pretty much any other type of guy that fits into the generally odd, bohemian subculture. But boyfriend, henceforth known as Noah (because he bears a slight resemblance to the ER star, Noah Wyle), appears completely normal.

What a handsome devil.

He's quite tall, lanky, and more tan than the average person of Irish descent. He has huge hands, blue eyes, and a wide mouth. When he looks at me with intensity I still get butterflies. We started dating when I was 18 and he was 17.

Yes, I'm a cradle robber. Whatever, get over it.

Anyway, we dated through my freshman and sophomore years of college, broke up for three years, and reunited at my little brother's high school graduation party three years ago.

We live together now, in a small house with vaulted ceilings and ugly brown carpet. He has a real person job actually using his degree as an engineer. But man, he is so weird sometimes.

He really likes keeping fish as pets. But, he doesn't really see them as pets, they're more like moving art. He's been carting around a massive, empty fiberglass (or something else thats kind of like plastic but its clear), tank. It has been used as a table to complete the 1000 piece puzzles he was obsessed with six months ago. It currently sits in our TV room, empty except for some kitty litter in the bottom, adorned with huge jade plants that my old roommate left in my custody. It makes me a little crazy.

Ugly brown carpet AND empty fish tank.

About six weeks ago, he started looking around on craigslist for another fish tank. He would enthusiastically tell me of his plans to make a breeding tank, and then of course we'd need one for the bedroom, and eventually we'd get to work on the big fish tank.

Fish aren't really my thing, although I do like to name them. Right now we have a bright yellow one that I call Pollyanna and two silver spotted ones of the same breed that I call Jack and Diane. I have no idea of their gender.

One evening, after work, he asked me if I'd go with him to look at a fish tank from a guy on craigslist. We drove to the address in question and met the gentleman selling what appeared to be all his worldly possessions. They negotiated, the seller a hispanic man in his early 30s with long, oiled, curly hair and no accent to speak of trying to convince Noah to buy random tools that were laid out in the half empty garage. I stood behind Noah, listening to the guy list the DVDs he had left to sell. We left with a new fish tank.

Noah picked out a desk from the restore a few days later to put the fish tank on in our bedroom. After a few weeks, he filled the tank. He decided that the water was too cloudy, probably because the sand he put inside it was ”dirty,” and emptied the tank using our hose. He filled it up again and emptied it again. And again. And again.

I guess it was worth all the effort because we have pretty fish that swim around in a tank filled with ceramic flower pots.

Its weird, just like Noah. Secretly weird.

He is kind of obsessed with normalcy though. One of his most used phrases is “that's strange.”

When I put my desk catty corner in the study? “That's strange.”

When I want to eat dinner outside on the patio furniture? “That's strange.”

When I put groceries away in the pantry differently than his parents do, “That's strange.”

I think he is so concerned with strangeness, fitting in, wearing the right thing, saying the right thing, because he knows he's a secret weirdo.

And I think its the secret weirdo part of him that I fell in love with. Though, as charming as his weirdness can be, I do kind of wish he'd develop some improved social skills. But then he'd be the perfect man and I'd get bored and run off to date some bass player with a credit score of 12. This is probably all for the best.

EDIT: Noah would have it be know that the kitty litter like substance on the bottom of the fish tank is actually crushed coral. Which is fancier and far less strange.

Things that happened: 8.12.12 - 8.18.12

I read about Paul Ryan in The New yorker. It was an interesting, balanced piece.

My favorite absurd comedy, Hot Rod, finally achieved credit for being a cult classic.

The Wonder Year's Winnie Cooper is a super hot math nerd!

Ron Swanson's 'stach is for sale for charity.

I feel less crazy after reading about these psychos.

Combating Crap Job Malaise

I work for a large At&t retailer at a store in a strip mall. The walls are abrasively orange which can be a problem when coming to work hungover. My main responsibility is to pounce on every customer in the store and twist their arm into purchasing the latest and greatest devices while grinning manically and providing an "extraordinary customer experience."

My selling style is a direct result of the eight years I spent waiting tables through high-school and college. I don't attack customers, I try to charm them and sweet talk them in to opening their wallets. I'm lucky that my boss is pretty relaxed and lets me do my thing. And I meet the goals set by the company so everyone, for the most part, leaves me alone.

I hate my job. I've been there for over two years now and have been steadily losing all hope of finding a real person job. In college, I studied political science and journalism. I imagined a future where I found a job writing for a newspaper, reporting on local stories before "getting noticed" because of my interview skillz and crazed work ethic, churning out more stories a day than most people did in a week! I would have my pick of papers in five years time.

Just over two years ago, I marched in to the Charlotte Observer office, resume and clips in hand, only to be stopped by a security guard. They wouldn't even let me in the building. I left the folder with a sympathetic looking female guard and walked back to the car, feeling ridiculious in my high heels and blazer.

Needless to say I've not heard from them.

Since then I had a freelance job at a small, county paper. It was about an hour out of town and as much as I wanted to write, I couldn't afford the gas or the time on top of my full time job. I've tried every paper thats closer to me. I couldn't even get on their list of freelancers.

So for now, I stick it out at At&t.

When we're slow, and we have done all the housekeeping required, we amuse ourselves in various ways. I'm energetically bored, pacing the floor, building forts in the back out of our expired decorations. I play endless rounds of Tetris on my phone, in between checking Facebook every ten minutes and reading inflammatory Jezebel articles to relay to my coworkers.

My boss, we'll call her Nina, is prim and calm when it's slow. She perches on a stool behind the counter, toes touching the lowest rung, knees together, texting her admirers.  Her uniform of choice is a powder blue cardigan with the logo on the left shoulder paired with a curve hugging v-neck tee-shirt and a pencil skirt.

The new guy, also known as my best friend in this town, shall be called: James. James reads Reddit all day and chuckles to himself. He's taken to this job, developing a pitch that customers really seem to respond to. I like working with him, but its been kind of weird for our friendship. There isn't much thats fresh to discuss at the bar after work when you've worked together all day.

Apart from my lovely coworkers, my job is tolerable at best. I know I can't be the only one who graduated college and feel into a deep depression since the dream job didn't happen. I can't be the only person coerced by debt (and a whole bunch of other stuff) in to giving up my hopes and dreams, or at least postponing them indefinitely. But what do you do when you did everything "right" and nothing worked out as you planned?