Confession

I don't care about the royal wedding. Not at all, really. I suppose I'm excited to see Kate Middleton's dress, but mostly so I can erase the image (omnipresent these days) of Princess Diana in her poofy awful frock. And, cause wedding dresses are pretty, Kate Middleton is pretty, and that's about it.

The rest - bah.

It's ironic, because I love weddings. LOOOOOVE them. And not just the open bars! I love dancing, I love the atmosphere of people in love and how it makes the guests feel. I love funny parents who get dooooown or cry as they give their daughter away or just look really, really, glad that it's all over.

The planning, that is. Now they can finally partEEEE!

But the thing is, I don't know William or Kate. Like, at all. I was never one of those girls who thought the prince was gorgeous (now Harry - he I could bite my teeth into). And while I absolutely ABSOLUTELY wanted to be Princess M, I always pictured it the way it is in Ever After or Ella Enchanted - being wooed with books, suitors with vaguely wrong accents, spunky runs away from home and then you know, loads of pretty dresses!

We come back to my one item of interest.

I'm sure that the king and queen to-be are lovely people. But like, so are the people in the New York Times Weddings and Celebrations section, and I only read their names to see if I know them (no worries: no one I hate has yet appeared. I know! Whew!). For me, tomorrow is just a Friday.

Actually, fuck that.

It's a day where above ALL ELSE I will be avoiding twitter, jezebel, or any of my usual time wasters because I am sick. To Death. Of hearing about goddamn Pippa and snooty looking ex-girlfriends (sorry ladies) who have so much money they could probably eliminate the homeless population of DC if they wanted to. I don't WANT to know what designer made what and who made the final cut and which hat is the most fucking ridiculous concoction of feathers and pretension. I'm OVER hearing about how "everyone loves a wedding" and how this will magically make people feel better about the Japanese tsunami and nuclear crisis, the Libyan rebels ongoing battle of futility, the people getting put to death in Bahrain, the 300+ dead in the deep south from fucking WEATHER, the fact that we as a country aren't able to own up to the fact that we are in one big hot mess budget wise, the birthers and the assholes and the Donald Trumps who for whatever reason (UH, RACE) think that SOMEHOW the entire fucking COUNTRY let President Obama magically sneak into the White House even though he is somehow "not" or "less of" an American.

GAH.

So forgive me. I know this is a blog originally started about weddings, and I do promise to return to the original programming very very soon. But Wills? Princess Catherine? I do not give a flying fuck about your nuptials. I hope you love each other (normally, with some breaks but not publicized ones or cheating) for the rest of your hopefully long lives. I hope you have cute kids that Americans can one day wish to marry because apparently that would make their lives So Much Better. I hope your lives are blissfully boring, at least as boring as they can be when you have titles and shit.

Now I'm gonna go read the news with a big glass of scotch, and try to figure out a way to make the world a little better tomorrow. If only one of your exes could spare some change?

A little known part of the Constitution

Where you have to print the undisclosed (by law) version of your birth certificate, transcripts from pre-school through post-grad, your blood type, your passport number, your preference of cheese type, and how many pull-ups you can do in 1 minute.

Fail.

Momentous living

Let's just put it out there.

I'm a big, fat, fucking, worrier. Ok. That is hard to interpret - I'm not a big fat person who worries. I'm a slightly larger than normal girl who worries more than the average person.

Way fucking more.

It's funny to not realize that most people don't anticipate dying every time they fly. Or go into the Lincoln Tunnel. Or cross the street. It's also amusing to find that most of your friends DON'T imagine that every sound in your doorman-protected apartment which is triple locked including with a chain and deadbolt is a rapist who has been stalking you for a week.

You knew that guy in Safeway looked scary.

The thing is - those are outliers. I read those statements and I laugh, even though they are things I deal with relatively often. It's slightly more disconcerting to realize that I treat almost everything - jobs, relationships, money, groceries, cleaning my apartment - as a potential for insidiousness.

It's a word, I swear.

In short, I have lived the nearly 28 years of my life freaking out about something. Big things, small things, in between things. Even as I write this, there's some stress going on. I can't pinpoint it, but I know it's happening because I'm rubbing my feet together in the way I do when I'm anxious.

Maybe it's about what I should have for lunch?

Anyway, relatively recently, as in since the time I was diagnosed with the Big D (sidenote: it is not lost upon me that my nickname for clinical depression is the same as Dudley Dursley's. In fact, I like it better because of that), it has occurred to me not only that I am about 1600X more stressed out than most people are about NOTHING (not in general. I'm sure people with real problems are more stressed out than me. Probably just not about whether or not wasting their morning reading was The Worst Decision of their Lives and they are now Never Going to Get a New Job Ever Because they do NOT Deserve One), but also, that given how much shit there IS to be worried about, a person could go around not living their life at ALL if they thought about it all the time.

That paragraph was just one sentence(ish). Je suis impressed.

And so I have been trying to live momentously. Not necessarily recklessly, although I'm sure that's a bit of a byproduct. But enjoying things that I enjoy without "checking the bruise". You know - push. Does it hurt? No? How about if I do it harder. Like that. And even harder! OUCH! Oh man, better not go outside today cause someone might hit my bruise and that would HURT.

I think when I read YA fiction I sound like a 14 year old for days.

Anyway, this includes things like, not beating myself up over the fact that I had McDonald's ice cream cone despite trying to lose weight because dude - it was hot, and I wanted ice cream. It also includes not thinking too too deeply about whether or not spending time with Grad School Ex is a waste. Even though in a year he will depart to his phD and I will definitely not be moving with him, isn't it nice to know that right now I'm having a great time just chilling out with someone who makes me laugh?

Yes. Yes it is.

And if my clothes don't get cleaned as often (I mean, my underwear does, no worries) and I spend a little more money than I should on the movies (cause hello! LOVE THEM) - yeah. Ok. I could be probably engaging in a little more forward-thinking. But in my experience, forward-thinking leads to anxiety, which leads to super anxiety, which leads to success sometimes but also to miserable failure.

And for now I'm happy being happy.

It's probably not a way to live life. Actually, it probably IS for some, but not for those of us who have to take 150mg of Zoloft daily just to be able to not look at neighbors as though they are spying on you for their thief friends. But it's definitely a nice way to spend 2011.

Now onto lunch - ice cream anyone?

The first time I cried at (fillintheblank)

So.

I've long established that I am a Crier (so long, that I don't even feel the need to link to past entries. Plus it's late and I'm tired). In case anyone was wondering if that was no longer the case, this afternoon I was reading The Hunger Games (zomg. SO GOOD. Seriously. I haven't enjoyed a book this much on the first read since at least the Time Traveler's Wife and maybe - just maybe - Harry Potter) on the bus ride home from work, and suddenly I found my face streaming with tears about a character I barely knew, definitely hadn't yet connected with, and who probably was gonna die.

It was the third freaking chapter.

However, it got me thinking. The first time I can remember crying at a book was - judge if ye like - the Babysitter's Club. I don't know what it says about me that I remember it very distinctly. The book was number 83 (google tells me it's Stacey vs the BSC) and I was 11. I walked into my parents' room in our relatively new house sobbing about how Stacey quit the Babysitter's Club, and then starting hiccuping about how because I didn't really have any friends yet in the new town these had been my friends and then they let me down.

Sigh.

The first time I cried at a sporting event was when Italy lost to Brazil in the 1994 World Cup (right now, somewhere in Brazil my lovely friend Joey is smirking and thinking "fiiiive!"). I had been to one of the first matches of that Cup, Italy vs Norway, and had developed some inappropriately strong (though certainly not inappropriate in and of themselves) feelings for this team. They lost, I wept.

I mean. ROBERTO BAGGIO!!

The first time I cried at a wedding, I mean really cried, was at my friend Amaryllis'. I was a bridesmaid, and during the ceremony, the celebrant turned to me and introduced me as the friend who introduced the bride and groom. Even though I resented them for dating. Even though it nearly broke our friendship in half at some point. I... well. Let's just say that my bouquet did not look the same afterwards.

Can't wait for Anna and Daniel's nuptials!!!

I honestly cannot remember the first time I cried at a movie, although I can remember the last (as in "most recent") time because it's the last (as in "most recent") movie I saw - Win Win. I love the director, I love New Jersey, and that kid who isn't even a bloody actor pulled at my heartstrings.

It was FANTASTIC.

I realize that all of these things aren't things that "matter". Well that's wrong - weddings and friendships and art and even soccer definitely matter. But they aren't things that people cry about. To list the times I've cried for real - when Grad School Ex and I were breaking up, when my grandfather died, one month after 9/11/01 and every anniversary since then; even the time 60 days to the moment when we were GOING to move away from the town I lived in until I was 11 - those aren't happy memories. The fabric of our lives (ugh, apparently not having a TV doesn't make you immune to marketing campaigns) is soaked with tears, and all I can do is hope that the vast majority are because I love Katniss Everdeen, or because some wrestling kid from the Jerz made my chest swell.

So, um, this has gotten more serious than when I started.

In the end, I sometimes enjoy crying. Especially when it's because two people I love are joining their lives together, and especially not when it's on a Metrobus and the guy sitting next to me is blaring hard core rap. Because no matter if it's because Stacey might be leaving the BSC forEVER! or because I'm still slightly broken over a terrorist attack that was almost 10 years ago, it means I feel.

And that means more than all of Italy's World Cup victories combined.

(Maybe.)

Curvspiration

So I know I said (in the most dramz way possible, natch) that I would stop talking about weight and fitness and whatever here. But you know, it's my blog and I'll change my mind at whim if I want to!

In other news, my bday is coming up. Get ready for some serious self-centeredness.

Anyway! I've been fitblur-ing for two weeks now and while my weight is a leeeeeettle stagnant because of, um, some indulgences in which I probably shouldn't have partaken, my legs are stronger and my abs are more defined and my arms don't wobble as much! Also, I definitely fit into all my clothes better, which is the goal anyway.

So screw you, actual numbers on the scale.

Anyway, my fitblur experience has been great. I feel accountable to something that isn't a nasty feeling, cause really, it's just me, but it's a scarier me than I am used to. Plus, I love following people and watching them achieve goals. Success in others DEFINITELY helps you want to achieve your own! But the one thing that has been deeply disturbing to me has been the trend of thinspiration.

Thinspo, for horrifying me in 7 letters or less.

I'm assuming most of you are at least familiar with the concept (cause if you read me you're probably remotely interested in websites like Jezebel or other blogspotters and wordpressers who are funnier and snarkier but talk about similar things), but for those of you who aren't, "thinspiration" is "images or video montages of slim women, often celebrities, who may be anything from naturally slim to emaciated with visibly-protruding bones".

Eep.

Tumblr is full of these thinspo girls (because none of them I've seen are boys, although I'm unfortunately sure they are out there too) posting about how they're so angry at themselves that they ate 500 calories and only burnt off 1000. It is full of pictures that make me weep, and pictures that repulse me. It is full of women who are under the age of 18 whose only goal in life is to achieve 90, 80, or 70.

Pounds that is. Not kilograms.

I honestly don't know what to do with this phenomenon, but I know I can't just ignore it (because when was I ever the type of girl to ignore an opportunity to form an opinion on the matter?). I'm not judging these ladies (and gents) for being "pro-ana" (ana as in anorexia), I'm doing something slightly more insidious - worrying about them all from on above.

And that doesn't help anyone.

So instead I've decided that rather than just posting my workouts or my weight or my struggle with NOT eating pizza (pizza: 3. MA: 0), I'm totally joining the curvspiration movement (no expla required). I'm adding in thighspiration, boobspiration, and being a bombshell.

Because bombshellspiration just doesn't work.

What will this include? Posting at least a daily picture of haaaaaawt ladies with curves. Perhaps posting pictures of myself! Because I'm not ashamed to be curvy. And focusing more on the being hot vs being thin end-goal.

Got it?

Rock out friends. Because thinspiration is scary and sad. And while obesity is scary and can be sad as well, very few people strive to be obese. Fucking with your body is never a good idea.

Also, curves rule.

People Who Rock. People Who Suck: Government Shutdown Edition

Yeaaaaaah I should have posted this week to get that April Fool's post off the top but there's a LOT of things I should have done this week (applied for jobs, paid some bills, called my mom) that didn't happen.

Whoopsies!

But instead here we are with a Friday PWR/PWS post, which is always fun! if a leeeeettle delayed. This week's lists come from - you guessed it! - the fact that in just a few hours, if the little crybabies in Congress who want to regulate women's bodies but definitely not what they're breathing in god forBID get their act together.

Highly unlikely.

And so, in the grand tradition of Horace, Swift, Twain and Colbert, I will be expressing my discontent through (an attempt at) humorous means. Unlike the abovementioned gentlemen, I will not be doing it well, because I'm so livid, it's going to be curse-laden. Also, because I like curses. But it's ok, because I have a uterus and so I must be instructed by men at all times.

Ugh.

People Who Rock:

1. My friends, coworkers (kind of), and anyone who is going to be fucked on their bills until the babies throw their tantrum. Good luck guys;
2. Harry Reid (I know, right?!) for calling out this TOTAL CRAP LEGISLATION for what it is - a politically cynical move to keep women (and btw, DC residents) under the thumbs of men/Congressional Republicans for many more years to come. THIS IS A FUCKING BUDGET BILL YOU ASSHOLES;
3. President Obama for (FINALLY) taking a stand. Don't give up Mr. President;
4. My hostess at Open City last night - I hearted your I heart pro-choice women shirt. I respect Open City for not telling you to take it off, especially when some of your clientele must be tourists. Rock on gals (and guys);
5. The government workers who are going to show up to work without pay (ie, the TROOPS IN IRAQ and Congressional staffers who have to make this end). You are good citizens, full of integrity;
6. DC government figures trying to sever us from this crisis (even Mayor Gray, who in general does not rock at all); and
7. Planned Parenthood. You have stood through this with grace.

People Who Suck:

1. House Republicans. House Tea Partiers;
2. John Boehner. You're an incompetent jackass who can't get your fucking party in line and keep LYING to the American people about why! STOP BEING SUCH A FUCKER;
3. Senators Murkowski, Collins, Snowe, Ayotte and Hutchinson. WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR LEADERSHIP LADIES. For chrissake, you must know that PP is more about women's health than fucking abortion. And even if it weren't, the Hyde Amendment prevents federal dollars going towards whatever percentage of business PP conducts in abortion provision;
4. John Kyl - NUMBERS MEAN SOMETHING. Don't lie you fucking idiot. Especially on the Senate floor;
5. Chris Christie. Either until he 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. Just cause he isn't playing a role in the shutdown doesn't change this, at all;
6. My place of employ. They were almost on the people who rock list for their handling of this, and then they were assholes, so there ya go. I would have been happily shocked, but the world proved itself again; and
7. All of these people again, times 10. I'm utterly disgusted.

The Situation

So.

A few months ago, when it was announced that MTV was sending the cast of the Jersey Shore to Italy for the next season, I wrote a (mostly) tongue-in-cheek post about how their show HURTs me (that part was true) and that they should send ME to Italy and the shore for a summer - I promised to live up to standards of absurdity.

That was the joke.

Except that about three weeks later I got contacted by a representative of Lifetime's storyboard group, who creates, produces and distributes Lifetime content, asking me to call him ASAP. This wasn't the first time I had been contacted about TV shows on the blog - when What Not to Wear came to DC, I got emailed by their casting team to see if I knew anyone to nominate (unfortunately, I didn't check my blog email for a few weeks and missed out on that opportunity), but still - it's pretty cool when you get an email about television, so I decided to call the dude.

Well.

He started talking about how much his team had LOOOOOOVED my blog post and how they were SOOOOOOO on board with "righting the wrongs" that had been done to the Italian-American community by shows like Jersey Shore (and the Sopranos, which he didn't say, but I did. Repeatedly). I later found out that Lifetime is facing some SERIOUS heat about their Brighton Beach reality series, and wanted to have something to counteract the negative publicity.

Enter: "Get your token in Hoboken."

Granted, the name blew, but I have to say I was intrigued. It's no secret that I hate my job, and while I love DC, the fact is, I've sort of outstayed my welcome. I've been thinking of moving back up north for a while, and while I certainly intended to move straight back to Manhattan, I loooooooved my months in Hobo; so I didn't say an immediate no.

Which may have been a mistake.

Because quickly (VERY quickly), lawyers got involved and wrote up a contract for the show - 5 months in a Hoboken 4 bedroom house with a backyard full of (no joke) "barbecuing and beer". The contract requires me to quit my job and not to seek employment during the months in Hobo without express permission from the producers. This is apparently to give us (there is one other girl and two guys) as much opportunity as needed to show how "real" Italian Americans live - they implied by going to pizzerias and delis. I sort of feel like, a "real" Italian American lives her life by going to work and loving bread too much? But the thing is, it gets me out of my not-favorite job, with free rent during the best five months in New Jersey, and an actual opportunity to spread some New Jersey love.

Well, I hope.

Because as of yesterday evening at 5:45pm, I am officially cast as roommate 2 in "Not Jokin' in Hoboken" (they promise me they're working on it). I move in 23 days, with just enough time to spend a week at my parents' house perfecting my accent and sleeping a ton to prepare for the experience of visiting ALL Hoboken's fine happy hour establishments.

Because that's what "real" (drunkish?) Italian-Americans do.

I know I sound cynical about this, but honestly, I do think it's a good opportunity for me, and if I do it right, for all Italian-Americans who feel they've been painted into a corner by the likes of MTV and HBO. Even if one person changes their mind about what it means to be Italian and from NJ, I'll be happy (esPEcially if that person is someone I know).

So get excited! The show premieres in June, and runs through the end of August. You'll finally get to meet the "real" me! And by "real", I mean deli-loving, pizza-eating, bagel-consuming, drunk-often, slight NJ accented, me. With big hair.

Actually - that sounds accurate. Whatever. Check it out! Lifetime, June date TBA! Italian Americans: the REAL New Jersey. I honestly cannot wait.

For this joke to be over because it's too hard to write about! April Fools! (Ok seriously... did I get anyone? At all?)