Archive for July, 2012

Help! Katie Couric Stole my Boyfriend!

Recently a friend of mine, thinking it would amuse me, shared this video with me.
Look at the way she’s stroking that photograph! It’s indecent, I tell you! That said, I must hand it to Katie Couric: she’s got excellent taste in men, albeit my man, who, for the record, she never asked permission to have.

Jealousy notwithstanding, I find the fact that Katie Couric keeps a picture of Colin Firth right beside a picture of her children oddly comforting. Suddenly listing his Birthday as an all-day event in my iCal seems like the act of a perfectly rational and sane individual. (Not, you know, that I’ve done this. I was merely offering a hypothetical illustration).

That said, I consider it my duty to inform Katie that her claim to be dating Mr. Darcy is entirely false—a fact that has absolutely nothing to do with his current marital status. Katie, honey, let me explain something to you. One of the joys of constructing your own fangirl universe is that you control all of the variables in that universe. Thus, if, in your fantasy world, Colin Firth is your boyfriend, he would naturally (and conveniently) not be married to a gorgeous Italian eco-fashionista who can rock an Armani gown made from recycled plastic bottles like nobody’s business.

All joking aside, really, I think Colin and Livia are the most adorable couple ever, and from one Italian to another, I really must congratulate her on her taste in a life partner. She does us credit.

But I digress, for now we come to the real grievance: what every respectable woman knows is number one in the crush code of conduct, the rule of first-come, first-serve. According to Katie, her relationship with Colin Firth has lasted approximately four years. According to my rough mental calculation (and note that my abysmal arithmetic does not apply here), Colin and I have been together since 1994. I loved him well before he made a splash on the BBC, and no man has ever come between us. (Fine, there was that brief recent flirtation with Benedict Cumberbatch, but given the long distance separating us at the moment, Colin and I have agreed that an open relationship is just more sensible). All this to say: kindly step aside, Katie.

Question: What’s the craziest thing you’ve done for a celebrity crush?

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Some are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, and Some, like Me, Have Great Blogger Awards Thrust upon Them.

A few weeks ago, I was morosely and systematically working my way through a pile of Yodels and Oreos while contemplating my dissertation-related distress and the possibility of my career in academia sinking in a quagmire of calorie-laden despair. How drastically my outlook has altered in such a short time; today I am seriously thinking of changing my career title to professional blogger extraordinaire, because the wonderful and fantastic Breezy K over at The Camel Life has seen fit to bestow upon me the One Lovely Blogger Award. Since she’s been single-handedly responsible for my increased blog traffic, I feel compelled to forgive her for outing my Sunday morning wine-drinking habit. (Not, of course, that she was referring to me…she’s confusing me with Bridget Jones, obviously).

As Colin Firth once put it, I don’t know if this qualifies as gentle reassurance, but right now this is the only thing standing between me and a Harley-Davidson (or, in my case, a pack of Yodels and a bottle of pinot grigio)

With all privileges come responsibilities, and I am now tasked with the challenge of revealing seven facts about myself and nominating seven magnificent blogs for this award. So, without further ado:
1- I have an irrational fear of sitting on the end-most seat on theme park boat rides. After years of struggling to trace the source of this fear, all that floats to the surface of my mind is a story my paternal grandmother told me about a girl who fell out of one of the boats on the Small World ride at Disney World and was caught beneath it. I’ve still not gotten over this fear despite the fact that the story of boat-girl was probably made up by my grandmother as a cautionary tale about not heeding the warning to keep all body parts inside the vehicle at all times. Stand up while the boat is in motion, dangle a hand over the side, and you’ll wind up a tragic story in the local paper…or else be devoured by the alligators that hide in the waters of Disney boat rides to snatch misbehaving children. (Sometimes I’m still amazed that I don’t need therapy…or that I choose not to seek it. Whatever).
2- I secretly (or, not-so-secretly since I’ve decided to broadcast it publicly on my blog) sometimes enjoy watching reruns of “Everybody Loves Raymond.” Don’t judge me. Yes, I’m talking to you in the back there…I know you spend every Monday evening parked in front of the television watching back-to-back episodes of “The Golden Girls” on Women’s Entertainment (not that “The Golden Girls” runs on Women’s Entertainment on Monday or any other evening from 8.00PM-midnight. I haven’t any clue if it does. I don’t watch it…or own it on DVD).
3- One day when I was in the sixth grade, my computer teacher told our class a funny story about a blind date he’d apparently been on the previous weekend. IN the middle of the story, I raised my hand to ask whether she had a dog or if she used a cane. The entire class burst into laughter and pointed at me. Apparently going on a blind date doesn’t refer to dating a blind person. Who knew?
4- I perform a cryptic Catholic ritual for alleviating mosquito-bite irritation. Once, when I was about five years-old, I was complaining in church about an exceptionally itchy mosquito bite that was interfering with my already minimal ability to sit still through the homily. My grandmother, in her infinite wisdom, leaned over and made the sign of the cross with her finger on the spot. The effect was instantaneous. Occasionally, in a moment of insect-bitten, skin-crawling, temporary insanity, I still find myself performing this gesture. I can offer no scientific evidence that it actually works, but if you should try it and achieve satisfactory results, remember you heard it here first. Note: Please be advised that this blog is not responsible for any accident or injury resulting from misguided use.
5- When I was a junior in college, my roommate and I discovered that part of an episode of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” was being filmed at a local salon. Because we were both in denial about Carson Kressley’s sexual orientation, we spent a Friday afternoon visiting every salon in the area in the hope of seeing him…after we drew straws to determine which of us would propose marriage. We refused to come to blows over a man—even one as beautiful as Carson Kressley.
6- I once had a nightmare about being beheaded…by my parents. I’ve never really taken the time to delve deeply into my repressed memories for the psychological trauma in my childhood that obviously triggered this dream, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I had this dream the night I completed my first year of graduate school.
7- My secret superhero power is the ability to turn any liquid into vodka. I thought I’d end with the truth—just to anchor the rest.

So now I’ve done you all the great service of unraveling the intricacies of my life. You’re welcome.

Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…and the nominees for the One Lovely Blogger Award are:
1. You Knew What I Meant because anyone who’s felt like stabbing themselves with pointy objects after grading a stack of English essays will suddenly feel less alone in the world. Seriously, the urge to drink while grading has decreased significantly since I discovered this blog.
2. Year-Struck because her blog is like the perfect cup of coffee—full of flavor, and I twitch if I don’t get a dose of her every day. Also: I’m totally living vicariously through her travel posts, and I secretly want to ask her if she took a picture of Mark Darcy’s house when she visited Holland Park.
3. Kvetch Mom because her refreshing candor makes her the Bridget Jones of mommy bloggers, and that is quite possibly the best praise I can offer. There seriously ought to be a Bridget Jones Blogger award—it would be the Oscar of blog awards.
4. Tinkerbell because the pesto-crusted fish recipe she shared on her kitchen blog made me an instant family celebrity last Christmas, and because her posts are little sprinklings of fairy-dust in my day.
5. Gin and Lemonade because she reminds me to laugh at myself…and she likes watching The Big Bang Theory.
6. Whatimeant2say because she obviously doesn’t have enough awards, and because she’s far more dedicated than I am and actually finds the time to blog every day. I salute you.
7. Chicks with Ticks because they’re a breath of fresh air, quite literally. You’ll find yourself longing to smell the roses and dance barefoot in the rain.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to release these stirrings in the upper abdominal regions that are threatening to transform into dance moves. Thank you to all my loyal readers. I shall endeavor to continue to entertain you in the style to which you have become accustom.

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Sightless Snogging: Reflections on National Kissing Day

Without the terrific technological tool that is Twitter, I might have gone through the entirety of my life blissfully unaware of such holidays as International Coffee Day, National Gay square-dancing Day, and National Kissing Day, which is apparently celebrated today.

IN my experience, I have very little reason to actually celebrate saliva swapping. If there were a tonsil hockey team, I’d be on the bench, seriously.
Exhibit A: my first kiss- the sightless snog. He was blind. His mouth-eye coordination was slightly off-center. I was 16, and my first-kiss fantasy looked a bit like this film scene. I thought: what difference did it make if we were both blind? Real people, you know, on T.V, closed their eyes anyway, so technically we held a considerable advantage over the sighted snoggers of the world…except, well, not so much.

I knew precisely what was happening the moment I felt his breath on my cheek, and all I could think of was that joke: “What do you call a tennis match between Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder?…Endless love.”

The internal dialogue went something like this: ‘Oh god, that’s my neck. This is getting a bit too Bram Stoker. He’s missing. Should I, maybe, direct him a bit? Yes, I should guide him through it, verbally. Maybe this will be easier with a talking target.’

In the end, he gave the whole thing up as a bad job and just sort of bumped his cheek against mine in something akin to Eskimos…or those cartoon gnomes on Nickelodeon. I think Mark Darcy would agree here that nice boys definitely do not kiss like that.

Question: do you remember your first kiss?

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