Don't judge me but...

I'm BACK BABY!! Sorta. My head is aching and I still need another three hour nap in addition to the 10 hrs I slept last night, but it'll do for now. And so back to our regular programming!!

Because I miss Lilu's TMI Thursdays I've apparently decided that today is a good day to occasionally overshare! And so it's time for "don't judge me but.."

• Don't judge me but... sometimes when I hear my neighbor I think someone's in my apartment and freak out. "Freak out" could be anything from sitting very quietly to try to hear it again to calling up Becca at 2am to tell her that someone just flushed my toilet and now they're coming to rape me.
• Don't judge me but... I haven't had pillow covers on my pillows since Sunday.
• Don't judge me but... I don't care if my across-the-alley neighbors see me naked. I mean, I suppose I do but I'm not going to run across the room to close the blinds if my towel falls off, nor am I about to start putting on clothes in the morning before I shower when I go into the kitchen, just because SOMEONE might see a vague OUTLINE of my boobies.
• Don't judge me but... I say boobies. Also, pee pee. And vajayjay. And "bee tee dubs". And "double-u tee eff".
• Don't judge me but... I've gotten on a metro bus and immediately gotten off to keep my 2 hrs free timestamp running.
• Don't judge me but... I talk to my friends in the bathroom. Not on my cell phone, just the people IN there. But still.
• Don't judge me but... I used to be good with money. Now I'm good with my credit card.
• Don't judge me but... I need at least 9 hours of sleep a day or else I am mad cranky. This also applies to food (pref carbs) every 4 hrs.
• Don't judge me but... I considered buying Franzia last night.
• Don't judge me but... I enjoy porn. Not all porn (probably not most, really) but you know - if my brain isn't doing it, I'll turn it on. That's right. I said it.

I need hemorrhoid cream for the baggies under my eyes

I'm sleepy guys. I miss you. I miss virtual convos via comments. I miss hearing your hilariousnesses. I'll be back tomorrow when today is over. Yes, that was lucid and profound. What.

Rally for Sanity

So I need to know - you guys going? I am. I mean, hello, I have tags in my blog for these guys! That means I've been blogging about them since back when I was still creating tags!! But more than that, I want everyone to go. It's ironic, cause I wouldn't say that I'm really a moderate. I'm not saying I'm part of the 15% (or whatever Gail Collins said) that are legit fucking psycho. But I'm definitely left-wing. I heart President Obama, I spout liberal policies, I almost always get upset when Republicans beat Democrats, and my blood pressure is known to rise when people start talking about the "Ground Zero Mosque" and "Taking America Back".

From whom? And where are you taking her?!

Anyway, the thing is - despite my leftist tendencies, I'm definitely for sanity. Not necessarily in my own life (I mean, every friend I've ever had and every boy I've ever dated knows THAT'S true).  But surely in our political discourse. Surely in the context of democracy, and the marketplace of ideas, and freedom. Surely in freaking AMERICA, we can all respect truth, and justice, and each other, even if we think that the day Christine O'Donnell takes Joe Biden's Senate seat is the day I go on a bender in every damn city the Amtrak stops in.

USA! USA! USA!!

Anyway, I was just thinking this morning - remember back in 2008, when John McCain picked Sarah Palin, suspended his campaign, and stirred the pot about Obama being an outsider? Oh god. REMEMBER?!

Ugh. I feel dirty.

Anyway, the thing is? Fall 2008 seems downright A+ for mental health when we look at the world today. We've got Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh, Sarah Palin and Christine O'Donnell, crazies, psychos, loonies, and other sorts of "conservatives". I'm actually full of nothing but respect for the Mike Castles and the Susan Collinses and the Olympia Snowes of the world (sometimes respectFUL disagreement, ehem DADT, but still), but they are a dying breed.

Unless?

Unless Mr. Stewart really is onto something. Maybe there is an 85% or so supermajority of us out there who really DO want to tone down the discourse. Who really AREN'T afraid of Muslims, undocumented immigrants, socialists, but do fear spiders kinda. Who really WANT to legalize pot.

Wait, that's not where I was going.

The point is - I hope he's right. I hope to all that is holy and good in the world (soo... The Daily Show and the Colbert Report?) that he is. I hope a bagillion people show up, more than that the concert at the Lincoln on that freezing Sunday in January 2009, more than the rallies thrown by Glenn Beck and Al Sharpton of late, more than anyone could possibly hope so that for one day we come together as Americans and say, "Oh say can you see? We're not ALL certifiable!!"

And so I ask again - are you going?

Case of the Tuesdays

I'm feeling a little blah this week. I worked all weekend and haven't gotten to enjoy the gorg weather as much as I'd like. A weird side effect of working from home is that you start to kind of hate your house. And then you start to never change. And then you start to never put deodorant on.

Sigh.

Anyway all of this is to say that I hope you're all well, but I'm going thru just a teeny spike of depression (minuscule, really, on the giant downward sloping line since June and starting with happy drugs) and so for today (and I suppose yesterday) I'm just missing you guys. And sort of hating myself because I have funny things to share with you but no desire or energy to share them. Luckily, this means that I also have no desire or energy to eat anymore ice cream, which is good because I'm pretty sure there is none LEFT in NW of the District.

Anyway.

What do you guys do when you're down? Other than scarf mounds of ice cream? Tonight I am forcing myself outside to go to dinner with two girls I think are VERY funny and would like to be closer to. There might be a few margaritas involved. What else? Read a book? See a movie? (Sidenote: not gonna lie, seeing the AMAZING "Easy A" kind of jump started my melancholy. The funny thing about Depression with a capital D is that more often than not, the thing that SETS you on the spiral is something like "god, this movie is so funny. But isn't it sad for all those people out there in high school just waiting for life to get better? Man, remember how much it sucked for some people I knew? I hope they're ok now. They really weren't then. Life is CRUEL!" rather than "my great-uncle died" (he did), "Grad School Ex and I had a rough week, which pushed our nicely healing wound back a bit" (that happened) or "Jayzus MA when are you going to stop eating ice cream because I think you have a minor lactose intolerance and you need to stop POOPING".

Um. Right. Sure. That's the anomaly of the list, and isn't true at ALL.

Anyway, you should TOTALLY see "Easy A" because it is AMAZING and this was just a little teeny bit of sad lurking, waiting to latch onto its chance to jump into my life and make me want to howl and kick and also just lie here staring at the ceiling. Ok, sidenote over).

I have no idea what I was saying pre-parenthetical.

Oh yeah - what do you guys do? Don't tell me exercise. I know it's true, but you're just going to depress me more. Go on. Share you selfish people. What helps?

People Who Rock. People Who Suck.

It's Friday, which mean it's time for THE WEEKEND! Oh wait, what's that you say? You say I'm working on Saturday? (Points to the winner). Oh AND Sunday?! AWESOME. Can't WAIT.

Not.

At least Friday being here means I can shit on some people about it!!! PWR, PWS:

People Who Rock:

1. DC Laura for talking me down off a ledge. A lot;
2. DCBlogs (and editors!) for making me feel special;
3. Corey Matthews and Topanga Lawrence, for reminding me how awesome it was to be a kid;
4. Trader Joes, for lambrusco. I think it's been on here before for the same reason. But it's still true. Or even more so;
5. Grace for keeping up with her ridiculous older sister's task list;
6. Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert for giving me something to do with my October 30th; and
7. No that's it. I don't have a seventh.

People Who Suck:

1. My company. Not my bosses, cause I actually like them, but the people who set up an expectation of you HAVING to do whatever is asked of you in your first six months because then you're reviewed and you can set yourself up for life OR shove yourself into a hole with this review;
2. Food;
3. Personal hygiene;
4. Virginia, for not being in DC;
5. Chris Christie. Either until he fucking stops hating on cops and teachers (the very people who you know, MAKE SOCIETY RUN IN A CIVIL WAY), he is number five on the people who suck list. Because he sucks, times five;
6. People who have life easy. And you know what? I'm one of them. So yes. I suck; and
7. I dunno, George Bush? Newt Gingrich, certainly for the "Kenyan, anti-colonial" comment. What a dickwad. Sarah Palin, to be sure. I'd say Christine O'Donnell but she amuses me too much. Carl Paladino for having a last name that ends in a vowel and thus once again confirming stereotypes in small people's minds about Italians from NY/NJ. Rick Lazio - ditto. Who else? That tea partier up in NH for not being able to pull it out and make my trifecta of grim hilarity complete. Uhhhhhh and stupid people. And my "friends" who like anyone who is on the people who suck list (just people though. I don't judge for liking food or personal hygiene). Erm. Shitty mcshittersons. Self-restraint, or the lack thereof. Motivation, or the lack thereof. Falling off the wagon. Things that make people sad. Hangnails.

Don't judge me but...

Because I miss Lilu's TMI Thursdays I've apparently decided that today is a good day to occasionally overshare! So I'm back with "don't judge me but.."

• Don't judge me but... sometimes I don't shower everyday.
• Don't judge me but... this made me so happy I actually jumped off my bed. H/t Arielle.
• Don't judge me but... the dishes in my sink have been there, some of them, since Monday. I'm considering doing that thing you do with underwear where you just buy some more when you run out. But you know, with pots and pans.
• Don't judge me but... I have fallen asleep during work. More than once.
• Don't judge me but... I adhere to the "if it's yellow, let it mellow; if it's brown, flush it down" philosophy.
• Don't judge me but... I still don't really *get* Twitter. i mean, I have an account and I tweet occasionally... but why? What is the point of all of this?
• Don't judge me but... I lie about things all the time to get myself out of other things. Like doctor's appointments or frivolous meetings. I don't feel guilty about it.
• Don't judge me but... I don't volunteer as much as I could, because I am lazy. I want to be a good person, but I also want to sleep.
• Don't judge me but... I drink Carlo Rossi happily when it's available.
• Don't judge me but... I've slept with Grad School Ex since we broke up. A few times. More deets might come later?

L'Chaim!

We're taking a break from our regularly scheduled programming (so much wrong/pretention with that phrase) to bring you the BEST wedding video EVER. Seriously guys. I know that each time this happens, everyone is like, no no no, THIS is the best one... no no THIS ONE IS!!

But legit - this one is.

And not just cause I knew someone at this wedding (who for now will remain even more nameless than she already is, because she might be sick of me emailing her about it. Confi to you-know-who - love you!!). But because there is Broadway. Because there is both sides of the bridal party dancing.

Because of the fathers. ZOMG THE FATHERS!!

Ok. Enough of me. GO WATCH!

C'mon now fashionistas! Leggings AGAIN?! (And other thoughts from my trip to New York.)

So.

I'm back from the city, which wasn't really the city very much at all and was really my family and Anne's family (which is like, three ridiculously extended groups of unrelated people who love love LOVE her). It was lovely! I miss New York in a physical way, so much so that every time I get off the bus/train my hands fly involuntarily into the air, spread wide as if to say "yes I am back, let me suck up all this energy and kiss the air!"

I wish I were joking.

In the very brief period post-hands-throw (you know, the walk from Penn Station to Port Authority) that I was there on Friday night, however, I remembered all the things I don't miss about New York. Not the fast walking - I can stress walk with the best of them. Not the smells - I never notice the trash and somehow always smell pretzels. No, unfortunately, it is the fashion.

And I le hate it.

When I moved out of the city I joked it was because I don't drink coffee, hate sushi, and am the least trendy person this side of the Hudson. I was practically kicked out! I said, because the hipsters couldn't deal with my baggy pants and my decidedly unhip (but not in the cool way) mannerisms and lack of jadedness about everything.

Don't get me wrong - I'm j-j-jaded. But not about BABIES!

Anyway, during that 8 block stroll on Friday night I encountered not one, not two, but sixteen thousand girls wearing leggings. Leggings and hoodies, leggings and boots, leggings and flats, leggings and sweaters, leggings and tunics, leggings and leather jackets. You name it, some girl I saw paired it with leggings.

And I fucking HATE LEGGINGS.

I first wore leggings (ok, it's getting weird to type that word now) three YEARS ago when I was leaving Evil Corp. YEARS. It was supposed to be a fleeting trend, not a mainstay! And yet here we are, appraoching another fall fashion season, and they are un-fucking-avoidable.

Sometimes I think this is why I haven't moved back to NYC yet.

Cause here in DC, with everyone in their suits and their sweater sets and their meh-ness about fashion (I'm sorry DC-ers, but it's true. Even Chicago beats you fashion-wise) I fit in. I can wear the jeans and Target t-shirt I'm wearing today with normal flats and not have a split second of self-doubt. But when I was getting on my bus to come back here, I found myself squelched into a corner so no one would see the fact that my jeans (Old Navy - gasp!) didn't hew Exactly to the Line of my Leg. That in fact they were (I can't say it... I must!) BOOT LEG.

Sooooooooooooob.

Anyway, the thing is, leggings don't look good on fat girls. I'm sorry, but it's true. And this season they're apparently getting paired with broad horizontal stripes. Which don't look good on ANYONE, thin, fat, black, white, one eyed, one horned, flying purple people eaters! At best they make you look frumpy Cape Coddish, and at worst they make you look like you weigh 500 lbs when you only weigh 300.

Eurgh.

Anyway, I'm sick of the goddamned leggings. When I wear them I feel like I'm back in 5th grade but with super-expanded thighs and showy cellulite. I get it - thinness is valued in American society, and what way to better show off your physique than by wearing spandex or something like it? But let's just think about this for a second. Don't all y'all fashion whores feel a LITTLE "so 2007". I mean, if I own more than a few pair of leggings myself, and I'm ME (kicked out of Manhattan!), doesn't that mean that we've passed the point when they are in any way cutting edge or cool?

No?! CMON NOW!

Sigh. At least the following made up (in spades) for the plethora of leggings:

• Real NY bagels
• Having breakfast this morning with the fam at a place that's menu pretty much was taylor hammed and prosciutto-ed out
• Malls. Oh the malls.
• Pizza
• Accents and not the Jersey Shore ones. Real ones where people tawlk just a little bit different than yew. I LUVAT!!!
• My Evil Corp friends (J. Jeter, Dexter, Maggie and Anne!)
• My fam
• No tea partiers clogging up the subway
• Taralles
• Black and white cookies. X2.

Wow. Looking at that list, I think that clearly it's time for me to invest in some new leggings. And maybe a wide horizontal stripped spandexy cardigan!

If I could tell the world just one thing it would be: we're all okay

It was 9 years ago this afternoon that I heard the first 9/11 tribute song played on Z100. I don't remember if it was Jewel's "Hands" or Blessid Union of Soul's "I Believe" or REM's "Everybody Hurts" or Sarah McLaughlan's "Angel" or Enrique Iglesias' "Hero" or Don Henley's "New York Minute" or "Enya's "Only Time".

It doesn't really matter, does it?

Each song was a different heart-wrenching tribute with clips interspersed among the familiar music, but the message was the same: Light is the darkness' most fear: my hands are small I know but they are not yours they are my own and ... I am never broken/I believe love is the answer; I believe that love will find the way/When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on (hang on)/You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie, in the arms of an angel may you find some comfort there/I know there's somebody somewhere make these dark clouds disappear/Who can say where the road goes, where the day flows...

... only time.

Time has indeed passed, and it is only the incredible amount of depression, grief, PTSD - you name it, we had it - that my family, friends and I experienced that stops me from wishing for the days after that gorgeous Tuesday morning. What happened to that spirit? The - hate cannot defeat us, we, AMERICA, are stronger than hate - idea, the knowledge that we and we alone (sorry, I'm pro-American exceptionalism) are the most tolerant, most inclusive, most FREE country in the world. You know - the very idea we were ATTACKED FOR IN THE FIRST PLACE. I don't see it this year. I see instead people stirring up fears and misplaced hatred at a group that had as much to do with the attacks in 2001 as my Italian relatives did with Mussolini in the 1940s.

From day 2 of the post-9/11 world I have had nothing but the deepest, harshest, most visceral disdain for those who would use it for political gain (starting, I might add, not with President Bush who indeed had me at "Our country is strong. A great people has been moved to defend a great nation" but with Rudy "Noun, verb, 9/11" Giuliani). A Republican ex-boyfriend of mine from college and I used to argue constantly about politics, as we dated throughout the 2004 electoral season. Nothing was ever resolved - neither side could claim victory. Until the day he IMed me angrily "you liberals just don't understand 9/11".

Oh REALLY.

I marched myself over to his house and very swiftly told him in no uncertain terms that 9/11 was not a concept for liberals, or conservatives, to own or understand better than any other. It was a tragic day in our history, certainly the most tragic in my life, and that of most of my peers, and the thing to take away from it is this: America is a beacon of hope in the world, and when we were tested more horribly and personally than ever before, we rose from the ashes of Ground Zero to come together as a nation.

Yeah. I won that fight.

And yet in the last few weeks, I have found my blood pressure rising rapidly as I yearned to march over to Newt Gingrich's house, or Terry Jones', or Sarah Palin's (with all its views of Russia) and scream the same thing. THIS IS NOT A CONSERVATIVE ISSUE, or for that matter, a LIBERAL ONE. Not only fucking CHRISTIANS care about this day, but JEWS and MUSLIMS and BUDDHISTS and TAOISTS and HINDUS and ATHEISTS and AGNOSTICS and PEOPLE WHO WORSHIP ZEUS. This is a day where America - and our friends across the world - come together to remember that those who stand for liberty, freedom, justice and tolerance for all people, political views, religions, races, sexual orientation, hair color, egg preference ASIDE... will always. AND FOREVER.

WIN!!!

Over those who preach hate, intolerance, oppression, suppression, coercion, and fear. And so this year, when the damn clocks tick to 8:46 and 9:04, I am going to well up, mentally raise a glass to those who died 9 years ago in the name of America, and sing softly to myself, "We'll fight not out of spite, for someone must stand up for what's right. 'Cause where there's a man who has no voice, there ours shall go singing.

"My hands are small I know but ... I am never broken."

People Who Rock. People Who Suck.

So we're doing this (and by we, I mean me) a little early this week because i'm traveling north tomorrow for happy and sad reasons - it's Anne's birthday/graduation celebration this weekend, and you know. That means it's also her birthday. Which means it's 9/11. Awesome!

Anyway, here we go. People who ROCK! And People who suuuuuuuuuuck.

People Who Rock:

1. Anne (and Talia and Becca) for graduating law school!! And... being... born?;
2. Boltbus, in the hopes that by giving you rock status in advance I won't have to wait TOO long on standby;
3. Ohio State!! I'm watching the game with Maggie and Mr. Maggie this weekend!! The world is as it should be. Dexter will also be there, which makes me so effing thrilled I can't even talk about it. They rock too, of course;
4. Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert for making me laugh laugh laugh this weekend when I wanted to put my fist thru a wall. Special thanks to Yogi Berra!! Can't WAIT for the announcements;
5. The Chosen People. Or as Grace apparently put it this morning "Jooooooooos" (imagine a snide and angry voice when she realized my mother (who is a public school teacher) didn't have to go to school today because it is Rosh Hashanah. Ok. You kind of have to know Grace to understand what I'm saying, but you should, because she is awesome);
6. Grace; and
7. Modern Family. Specifically, Luke, Lily, Gloria, Cameron, Alex, Manny, Phil, Dylan, Hailey, Jay, Claire and Mitchell. Yes that is all of them. No I don't care. I love them all and would like them to be back asap.

People Who Suck:

1. Terry Jones, you big fat fuckhead;
2. Newt Gingrich, Sarah Palin, Carl Paladino, Rick Lazio, etc. You are only slightly less big fat fuckheads;
3. The OED for not having words like "fuckhead";
4. The DC Public Library for not being right next to my house. Get on that, DAMNIT;
5. Chris Christie. Either until he fucking stops hating on cops and teachers (the very people who you know, MAKE SOCIETY RUN IN A CIVIL WAY), he is number five on the people who suck list. Because he sucks, times five;
6. Ben and Jerry's for making the crack cocaine that is Chubby Hubby. And Safeway for putting it on sale. I will be sending you both the bill for my psychotherapy and heart attacks. Kthxbai; and
7. Terrorists.

I miss my dishwasher (& other whiny complaints)

So.

It was ironic that this morning I read Lexa's blog (YAY SHE'S BACK) and she was happy about living alone, because last night I had had enough. Not with the alone part. But with the teeny tiny fucking itty bitty closet that I call an apartment, which doesn't quite fit my furniture, always smells of whatever I last cooked, and has so little free floorspace that when I undress at night, the entire place is covered in clothes.

Let's remember as well - I've LIVED in Manhattan. Still pissed.

I don't like my studio. I do like the location of my building, and my neighbors seem nice, and the one complaint I had briefly was immediately adjudicated. My mail comes at the same time every day, and there are several buses and three metro lines within walking distance (if I were a walker). Most of my favorite DC people live nearby, and a grocery store that I legit LOVE is only a block away.

And yet.

The ridiculously small place where I rest my head grates on my nerves. And not just because of its size. It doesn't have a dishwasher. I have ALWAYS had a dishwasher. It doesn't have a disposal. I have ALWAYS had a disposal. These are major problems because I like to cook, especially because when I don't I end up eating entire pints of Chubby Hubby after full packages of Buitoni tortellini and calling it a meal.

I've gained some serious lbs since moving in.

I've been so discouraged against cooking because when I do, there are dirty plates in the sink and my garbage can is full of organic material that will rot and smell up the entire apartment (because it is one room) unless I take it out within 24 hours. Right now I am sitting on my bed, leaning up against the back of my couch, not able to stretch out fully without hitting my radiator, and I reek of tomato-egg-broccoli-asiago scramble.

And I know what I sound like.

Poor little rich girl who can AFFORD to live without roommates in one of the most expensive cities in one of the most expensive countries in the world. Princess has to wash her own dishes? Cinderelly Cinderelly night and day it's Cinderelly!

Btw, glass slippers sound fucking painful. Just putting that out there.

And honestly, I'm grateful that when the cohabitation thing didn't work out I was able to pack my stuff and nurse my wounds without having to move in with strangers who could turn out to be cokehead swinging suicidal maniacs (god. Remember her friends IRL? It's really too bad I didn't blog then. All the stories I missed out on!). And I'm happy that when I DO undress at night and let my clothes fall all over the place, there's no guilt about letting them lie there while I sleep because no one cares. And when I eat only chubby hubby and tortellini I don't even have to hide it because - you know what? - this is MY house and I'm going to live by MY rules.

Also, I left the scale at the old apartment.

But still. After having given up on using my cookbooks as anything but fans to make my smoke alarm turn off because the apartment is so small I can't THINK about sausage without it filling up with a minuscule amount of INCREDIBLY OFFENSIVE (to my detector) SMOKE...

... I'm pissed.

I'm sure that tomorrow, or the next day, when I want to read or cook or parade around naked, or watch a shitty movie in bed with food, or yanno, have to clean for guests (I mean, it's only a room!) I'll be happy again. But today? Today my apartment sucks.

And I WANT A GODDAMN DISHWASHER!

The hills are alive with the sound of LIES

So.

Last week I went to see the Sound of Music out at Wolf Trap, which was (for the most part) lovely. Beautiful evening, great company, relatively talented cast that didn't make my super snooty I-grew-up-near-Broadway-did-I-mention-that ears cringe.

Yes. My ears can cringe. What?

After I got over Maria having a southern drawl (I mean, cmon now. No one will ever be Julie Andrews except Julie Andrews and it's probably time I just realize that and get over it. And then rent Mary Poppins), I really did enjoy the entire experience. Sure, I was a little upset that they didn't include "I Have Confidence," the song from the movie that I play LITERALLY every time I start a new job, get on a plane, have to pump myself up. And yes - I was intrigued by the song that the Baroness and Max sang, not remembering it from the movie, but finding it pleasant at the same time. And while my blood pressure rose when the Reverend Mother knew all the words to "My Favorite Things" (how does SHE know about schnitzel with noodles. Bad abbess) and then peaked when the kids sang the goatherd song during the thunderstorm in LIEU of "My Favorite Things" - I was doing OK.

For me. At a non-Broadway production of one of my favorites, ever.

Except at the end. Now, if you haven't seen the movie (get off this blog. Get off it right now, you cretin. What's wrong with you? It's JULIE ANDREWS!!! HAVE YOU HEARD HER VOICE?! It's like sweet sweet Siren song except instead of shipwrecked you get MORE JULIE ANDREWS!!!) OR the musical, I might stop reading at this point because there's a bit of a spoiler alert coming. Go ahead. Stop reading.

Now that we've gotten rid of the assholes.

Ok, so you know at the end of the movie, after the family has sung and Captain Von Trapp has made googly eyes at the camera and I've gone all weak around the knees and wet around the underpants? And then the kids sing so long, farewell, and then Maria and Georg (because even though the Baroness pronounces it Gay-ogg, that's his name) say, PEACE OUT NAZI BITCHES! Right? And then they're suddenly in the abbey, and hiding in the cemetery, and the nazis don't see them, and then the one left comes into the light, and it's ROLFE, Liesl's super hot telegram delivering friend?

Sidenote - I have always wanted a telegram. Delivered by Rolfe, preferably.

Anyway, then the idiot gasps (I mean, can you blame her? She's only 16 (going on 17)) and Rolfe notices and hangs back, and then when the Von Trapps start to leave he confronts them and then Captain Von Trapp is all what the fuck do you think you're doing, and Rolfe is like wah wah I'm a weak little boy seduced by the evil bullshittery that IS Hitler let me go wet my nazi pants and then Georg says "I knew you didn't have it in you" or whatever and BAM, Rolfe gets his nazi balls in a twist and starts blowing on that whistle like it's his fucking shitheadery job, and you're heartbroken for Liesl and scared for the Von Trapps and also intrigued by the irony of the juxtapositioning of the whistle at the beginning of the movie and now?

What. Just me? Well, fine.

Anyway, the Von Trapps get away into those beautiful hills that are alive with the sound of music, and as we all know, they eventually made it to the U.S. because their children or grandchildren recently sang on some morning show and depressed the shit out of me (they were, to say the least, no Julie Andrews). And you wonder about Liesl, and if she grew up to be a bitter woman who trusted no man, or if instead she put her anger to good use and found a Viktor Laslow type to support, which would allow Ingrid Bergman to stay back in Casablanca with Rick??

Ok. This DEF just me.

Well, I was sitting during that lovely night at Wolf Trap, full of excited apprehension about the imminent betrayal of Rolfe and the subsequent awesomeness of the nuns ("I have sinned Reverend Mother." "I too, Reverend Mother." Cue car parts, WOOHOO!) and then?

Rolfe didn't turn the Von Trapps in.

I mean he didn't fucking turn them in! He found his Austrian balls and told the nazis to fuck off. Well, not literally, because then he'd be dead and where would we be? But he knows it, Liesl knows it, and Captain Von Trapp knows it.

I suppose Ingrid Bergman has to get on the plane after all.

Now this was a major plot twist. I was livid. I ignored Southern Maria's "y'all" as she drawled out the last bit of the song, packed up my things in a huff, and subjected my poor friends to a tirade about the shittiness of non-Broadway theatre (pronounced, "thee-a-tah"), got home, and googled "Sound of Music" AND "Rolfe" AND "nazi shittass betrayer"

OR something like that.

And it turns out? That my beloved movie - my first Julie Andrews aural orgasm - my FAVORITE FUCKING THING - lied to me. In the original Rodgers and Hammerstein version, Rolfe DOES do the right thing, and he DOES man up, and he DOES lie to the nazis. The Von Trapps get away, and Liesl will forever love him as the Boy who Lived... er... Boy who Saved her Family.

I am all mixed up at this point.

And for whatever reason - and I can't find one, for all my googling - the movie changed it. In doing so, it taught me a lesson about nazis (you know - never trust the fuckers) but also about men in general. They might spin you around the greenhouse during a romantic thunderstorm, but in the end, when they say "I-I'lllllll take ca-aaaaaaaare of you!" and then kiss you, they are not to be trusted.

Especially with a whistle.

If only I had known this, all my relationships with men might have been different. I might not have ever needed to play "I Have Confidence" on my way to a first date. I might never have broken into song after sex!

Ok. I probably would have.

But still. I'm angry. I'm upset. I'm going to have to devote at least three therapy sessions to this, and I really have some actual issues to deal with! Like! You know!

How to get over my snooty Broadway problems?

People Who Rock. People Who Suck.

People Who Rock:

1. Becca. She is the best friend, sister, daughter, lover (ok. I needed a fourth, I don't actually know. Actually, fuck that I totally do - she's HAWT!) I know (other than Grace. But that's cause Grace is ACTUALLY my sister, while I only FEEL like Becca is);
2. All my girlfriends who are getting married (Becky, Anna, Maria) for indulging me as I grow creepily out of control getting excited about their weddings;
3. All the boys sitting down to talk this week at State to finally go and get some shit RIGHT, ESP my fave prez Barack Obama and then (in alpha order) Mahmoud Abbas, Hosni Mubarak, Benjamin Netanyahu and King Abdullah (because if you are a king, sometimes you have to go last);
4. My therapist and my dentist - two super fabulous strong ladies who have been putting me back together in all sorts of ways;
5. My work bff Rosemary for not ditching me even though now I have real work to do;
6. Marian Keyes. I love your books Marian, and I love you. Ditto to you Jo Rowling; and
7. Grad School Ex (I know, right?!). He worked his ass off and it finally paid off - he got a new job that is just amazing. And despite all the shit we've been through, I am so happy and proud that they realized how great of a candidate he was.

People Who Suck:

1. Glenn Beckistan, and all its citizens. I didn't post about this because I was so fucking angry, but I will give actual money to the first person who can prove to me that people in the Obama Administration apologize every day for America. Good money too, I got a job;
2. The oil industry. Not everyone in it. Just those cutting corners and getting little pieces of Mamma Earth BLOWN THE FUCK UP because they are greedy ass motherfuckers;
3. The haters like the guys affiliated with Hamas who killed Israeli settlers on Tuesday/the settlers who commit unreported acts of violence against Palestinians/people on both sides who are sick and twisted and want to destroy the peace process because it means they're out of the business of selling their haterade;
4. That crazy guy in Silver Spring. I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but c'mon man. The Discovery Channel? They're like, the GOOD guys!;
5. Chris Christie. Either until he fucking stops hating on cops and teachers (the very people who you know, MAKE SOCIETY RUN IN A CIVIL WAY), he is number five on the people who suck list. Because he sucks, times five;
6. Cavities. Migraines. Allergies. Exhaustion; and
7. Rolfe in the Sound of Music. Or DOES he?? Check back tomorrow to find out.

TMI Thursday? OR don't judge me but...

I miss the weekly TMI Thursday, started by the lovely Lilu. It was always good fun to freak out this corner of the internets (especially the people who know me in real life) and also, to know that when I was doing something really gross or inappropriate it was OK cause at least I could blog about it!

So this week.

I'm going to start a little segment called "don't judge me but..." Will this recur? God only knows. But for now, away we go!!

• Don't judge me but... I blow my nose in the shower.
• Don't judge me but... I love to eat in bed.
• Don't judge me but... I cut my toenails all over the place, and sometimes can't find all the little nubbins to pick up.
• Don't judge me but... I sniff my finger after I scratch my ear.
• Don't judge me but... I can still eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's in one sitting.
• Don't judge me but... I've been known to eat food that's sat on the counter overnight.
• Don't judge me but... Sometimes I drink out of the bottle. Of wine. While in bed.
• Don't judge me but... I reduce, reuse and recycle men.
• Don't judge me but... I don't mind wearing dirty clothes. Not like, greasy dirty. But worn a few times dirty.
• Don't judge me but... I love crying at movies. Makes me feel better inside, though my face is all stiff after.

That's 10 for now. Maybe 10 more next week? Who knows! Happy Thursday everyone!!

Dear Random Metrobus Driver at 5:41am

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

When I got on your bus this morning in the midst of a full blown panic attack, I knew my Smartrip was at -3.05, having just recounted a few hours earlier that I thought that was the lowest my card had ever gotten. I didn't know, however, that I didn't have the change in my bag from yesterday's trip to the Foggy Bottom DC Public Library to pay for a fare instead.

I wouldn't have done that to you.

However, such was life, and when I got on your bus, still shaking from a late night dream in which a friend was dead - no like, dead dead - and I realized that after texting me last night to inform me that he was on his way home, he never texted to let me know he had GOTTEN there, and all my friends are good at that, I swear! Because they know that I will call them in the middle of the night to be like "ARE YOU HOME WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU TEXT ME?!"

So I did. And he didn't pick up his phone.

At this point, I freaked. Sure, maybe the phone was on silent, but at what point have any of you been very rational at 5am after waking up from a dream that shakes you to your very roots, POSITIVE that it was real, and now you have to physically prove to yourself that it's not by getting on a bus at 5:41am and going to the friend's apartment to ring ring ring his bell until he wakes up, pissed, or doesn't and you have to call DCPD.

Which is where you came in, Random Metrobus Driver.

I was in quite a state, still half in pajamas, sweating already because of this godforsaken-no-you're-right-climate-change-isn't-real-can't-it-just-be-the-fucking-WEEKEND-yet heat wave we're going through, hoping against all hope I had my keys and my wallet and my phone because I was venturing out at 5 in the frickin' morning which is NOT SOMETHING I DO. The lovely, certifiable gentleman with me at the bus stop did nothing to alleviate my nerves by talking to himself about the KBG and how they were all coming to get him. By the time you arrived, I was a sweat-soaked stressball of fuck, positive my friend had died, that maybe the KBG had killed him, and (lurking deep beneath the surface) suspecting that I was about to engage in some VERY unwelcome behavior.

What I needed was a calm presence.

And so when I looked in my wallet and saw no cash, and you asked me to use my Smartrip card and I did, knowing that there was no way it was going to allow me to get on, and you said "where are you going" and when I told you just said "honey, sit down and don't worry about it. Next time just have your business together" I could have kissed you. Hard. On the lips.

Except it might have grossed you out.

Thank you so much for not kicking me off the bus, because that would have only added to me "oh my god the world is against me and so is the KBG and I bet EVERYONE I KNOW IS DEAD" aura of cray cray that had infected me this morning. Instead, I got to my stop, checked in on the friend (who is alive, but has learned the lesson - always let me know you're home), and promptly went to fill up my metrocard with Smartrip benefits.

Tomorrow morning, I will try to wake up and pay for a fare I will not use on your bus.

In other news, I would like to have a small conversation with my id (or my ego, whichever is the one responsible for dreams): Back. The fuck. Off. I have now had three dreams this week that I woke from in terror, positive that something terrible was happening or about to happen or had happened. This morning it escalated out of my control, and while I appreciate that it's much harder to make sure that Border Patrol agents aren't at my door trying to kill me for outing them as corrupt (don't worry, I had Benson and Stabler to protect me) and much less disruptive to sit up, look to make sure all the furniture in my apartment was still there and had NOT been stolen by some asshole who the police knew had done it but couldn't prove it, the fact of the matter is I NEED SLEEP and NOT to get up in the wee hours of the morning to scare the shit out of homeless men, bus drivers, and friends.

Got it? Back the FUCK off.

Maybe you should take some lessons from my Random Metrobus Driver. Dude was zen. You should be too, id/ego/super fucked up self conscious.


PS - Thank you to Restaurant Refugee and DCBlogs for featuring my self-righteous lecture post on how it's totes not worth it to be a "Cool GF". Ever. You guys ROCK.