Welllll, as most of you already know, I dropped my cell phone in the toilet at work on Monday. I emailed a bunch of people in my address book to ask for phone numbers, and I got so many sympathetic and hilarious replies back, it made my day. It’s pretty great that I have so many sweet, funny friends. The other thing that’s great is that I’m using the phone now that I had 2-4 years ago, and after I got it activated, I went through all the ringtones and listened to them (see Appendix A for my rant on ringtones), and it hearkened me back to the time in my life when I was using this phone. My main ringtone reminded me of New Year’s 2004, which I spent in Boston and New York with my friend Elise; the choo-choo train sound reminded me of being in Delaware shooting Jeremy’s movie Wrestling; the “rainforest” alarm sound reminded me of my trip to Australia in March/April of that year with five of my friends, because on the morning we had to get up really early to literally go to the rainforest, I set that alarm so as to be thematic, and for once in my life I hopped out of bed without hitting snooze, because we were going! to the rainforest! Come on guys, wake up!; and so on and so forth, with warm, fuzzy memories for each ringtone.

Screetching subject change: Some of y’all have asked me how I got the high five from Ryan Gosling that I mentioned 2 blentries ago, and truthfully I hadn’t updated you because it’s a pretty boring story and I enjoyed being mysterious, because maybe in your minds you were picturing me hobnobbing with high society and whatnot. Nah… I went and saw a screening of Lars and the Real Girl, and Ryan was there doing Q&A afterwards, and then after the Q&A he actually stuck around to talk to people, so my friend and I went up to talk to him, and we chatted for a second and he gave me a high five. So yeah, booooring. But I thoroughly enjoyed both the five and the movie. In fact, the movie was really, really, incredible, and I highly encourage you to see it. Best movie I’ve seen in years, except of course for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Did I just discredit myself for saying that, and now you won’t go see Lars? Well, your loss… and HP5 was truly a badass movie, even if you aren’t a Potter nerd like I am.

Appendix A: The Ringtone Rant

It’s so annoying how none of the newfangled cell phones on the market now have nice ringtones. They just expect you to download songs, so they don’t bother. But ringtones used to be my favorite part of phones! I used to not buy a phone before I had heard and approved of all the ringtones. I think it’s more fun to have a cute jingly tune than a song, because if you choose a song you like, you will get sick of it and stop liking it as much, and if you pick a song you don’t like, that’s just dumb. In conclusion, I am resistant to change (just call me Gramps) and plan to keep my old-ass phone until it falls apart or I drop it in something wet, and every time it rings its beautiful jingly-jangly ringtone I will feel rapture. By the way, the first time I heard a polyphonic ring tone, as opposed to the single-toned beepity ones that they all used to have, I was visiting my friend Jamie in Brooklyn, heard his phone ring, and thought it was the ice cream truck. Yep.

Y’all, what is the matter with me? I’m sorry I haven’t written a blentry in forever. I just keep getting distracted with things. Yesterday, for example, there was a one-legged cricket in my bathroom all day. Every time I went to pee, I eyed him suspiciously to make sure he knew I would not tolerate him jumping on me. This was before I knew he only had one leg. At that point, he actually may have had two, because it wasn’t until later that I saw a leg sitting on its own a short distance away from the cricket himself, bless his heart.

I kept hoping he would just disappear like magic, but by the time it was time to go to bed, he was still there, and had in fact hobbled to right in front of the toilet where I would be forced to either step on him with my bare feet or risk him jumping or crawling on me when I sat down. I don’t like killing bugs like crickets because they’re big enough to hear a crunch and make a mess, and plus crickets aren’t gross like some other bugs. At the same time, though, I knew I didn’t want him jumping on me, and I was faced with a call from nature I simply could not ignore… so I got a big plastic cup and a newspaper and hooshed him into the cup with the newspaper, then poured him out the front window into the window box, which is probably a much more pleasant place for a one-legged cricket than a bathroom floor.

Point being, things like this keep happening and things like blog writing keep not happening, so I’m sorry. You might think a cricket in the bathroom is a poor excuse for not writing a blentry, and you are entitled to your opinion. You might also wonder what I was doing while not writing and while the cricket was relaxing in the bathroom, and the answer is: I woke up at 10, showered, rode my bike up to the corner to a massage studio and got a massage, rode home, got back in bed with my laptop and watched episodes of Clark and Michael until I feel asleep, napped for an hour and a half, then got up and went across town to my improv practice, then after practice went to El Guapo with most of my team for half-price bad food, then went home and went to bed. As you can see, I am far too busy and important to spare a moment for blog writing, or “laundry,” or “cleaning my room” for that matter.

P.S. I am SICK! With a dumb cold. I sneezed a billion times in a row last night, and my nose is all tickly. Please feel sorry for me.

When you find yourself wearing one white sock with lace around the ankle and one multicolored Curious George sock, it is time to do laundry.

Where can I purchase a baby? I haven’t been to Target in a couple years; do they sell them there? How much will a top-of-the-line baby set me back? Fifty bucks? A hundred? I’m out of touch. Should I check Consumer Reports?

***

Something spooky is happening to me. Perhaps my female peers can relate. It started when I turned 26, then let up for a while, and has now snuck back up and has smacked me upside the head. My body wants a baby. That sounds weird, but it’s true. I don’t want one in my mind, logically, because I’ve got goals and whatnot… but… this is disturbing, but true: I’m admitting something kind of embarrassing here, so just… just… don’t…. whatever. I’m going to tell you, Internet. I recently glanced at match.com, simply because my friend was doing it and I wanted to just see what kind of gentlemen are actually on it. And I’m not saying I’m embarrassed because it’s something one should be embarrassed about, because by all means, it’s hard to meet people, especially in big cities, so by all means, you know, knock yourself out. But the embarrassing part is coming. First you must know that on match.com you can browse other people’s profiles for free and don’t have to sign up unless you want to contact one of them. So I was freely browsing, and I came upon this one profile with this one picture… and the picture was of a guy who looked very cute in this particular picture, holding in a very cute way the cutest damn baby the internet has seen (not including any of you who read this and have babies, because of course your baby is the cutest). And I must specify that the baby is the dude’s neice, not his daughter. But I mean, the combination of the cute boy and the cute baby made my ovaries shriek and jump up and down with excitement, like 13-year-olds at a slumber party. I very nearly joined match.com just to contact this boy with this baby, but then logic took over and I realized he doesn’t come with the baby; I believe she is sold separately. Boy, did he know what he was doing when he set up his profile. If ever there were a way to catch the interest of a girl in her mid-late 20s, that’s how. For girls our age, the baby trumps the puppy as girl-magnet material any day, as long as the baby doesn’t actually belong to the boy.

In any case, can I get a set of those? The boy and the baby? It’s not even that I logically want one; I’m very happy being single and frankly have no time whatsoever for dating anyway, much less raising an actual tiny human, but if I could just maybe order a set online, just to appease the ovaries, I could maybe focus on more urgent and pressing matters, like you know, my career and reading Harry Potter 7.

I think it was my friend Missy who told me this story. 4th of July 2004, she was at a party on a boat, and there was a girl there who wasn’t from around these here parts and didn’t speak the best English and didn’t always quite get what was going on, but always pretended she did. At the pinnacle of the fireworks display, right at the big finale, in a fit of ecstatic love for her new country, she gleefully shouted, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FOURTH OF JULY!”

You gotta love that.

I celebrated America’s independence today by eating McDonald’s food and drinking a Coca-Cola. I was at work, and there were only two of us there, because who in their right mind wants to celebrate our independence from Britain by sending out press releases? (answer: Canadians). Point being, it was really slow and there were only two of us, and I was working a later shift but had eaten lunch really early, and I suddenly became starving. The cafe downstairs was closed for the holiday, and the next closest place was the Mickey-D’s across the street. And let me just tell you something right here and now. I have a pretty serious weakness for Chicken McNuggets. They are so, so good. And please don’t get me started on the sweet & sour sauce, because that sauce? is the nectar of the gods.

Now, I realize McDonald’s is an evil, wicked corporation who does terrible things to people, animals, insects, small businesses, the earth, your health, clowns, inanimate objects, and all that is good and right and holy in the world. But damn, those McNuggets are good. I don’t really know the extent of McD’s sins, and I’m kind of doing the thing where I close my eyes and hold my hands over my ears and hum so I don’t have to face facts, because I would probably be forced to boycot them if I knew. I have a bit of a boycotting problem as it is. I love a good boycot. I haven’t been to Target in over two years simply because they have an unfair return policy and surly store managers. And just today for the first time I tried this new organic deodorant because 1. aluminum is bad for you and 2. I try not to buy cosmetics that are tested on aminals (yes, please pronounce that a-mi-nals, just for fun. Just humor me). The deodorant worked for a good three hours while I sat still at my desk in my air-conditioned office, and frankly I was amazed and waaaay too optimistic about the whole thing. I kept smelling myself and thinking, “Wow, it’s actually working! I smell nothing but the intoxicating aroma of lemon and clary sage. Amazing!” but the minute I moved… like, turned my head to the side or stapled something, that was just too much to ask, and it gave out, and my armpits became gummy for the rest of the day, and I kept having to re-apply (yes, I brought it to work in anticipation of this very problem) until when I raised my arms they didn’t want to raise right at first because the deodorant was acting as a kind of glue, sticking my arms to my sides. (As a side note, tonight I went to a party, and the soap they had in the bathroom was the exact same thing as my new deodorant — Nature’s Gate organic lemon and clary sage. Too bad that as of today, I now associate that smell with that of failing deodorant. mmmm).

So anyway, my point is, I have to pick my battles, and if I’m willing to walk around with gummy armpits so as to avoid causing dead bunnies, then surely I can be excused from the occasional 10 pack of McNuggets. Just sayin’.

Tonight I left work at 8:30 and took freeways to the party. During the whole drive I was surrounded with fireworks in every direction. It made me laugh and smile and feel carefree, and well… patriotic. Whatever people’s reason for celebrating, they were — and it made me feel kind of… un-lonely, like I belonged, like there was this sense of unity — and it reminded me how lucky I am to live here. This country is home, and it’s a good place to be. At a time when I’m not proud of things America is doing, and in many circles patriotism is soooo uncool, I will say that I am proud of where we came from, what we’ve acheived, and most importantly, I’m proud to live in a place where I can be free to go out and celebrate the things I do love about America, and speak out about the things I don’t. In many countries, I wouldn’t even be allowed to have this blog without worrying about getting in trouble for things I say. (As it is, all I have to worry about is looking like a jackass and embarrassing myself). And in some countries I would have to have gotten married by now, and my old, gross husband, to whom my father would have sold me for a cow and a dozen eggs, would tell me to keep my mouth shut and know my place. Or I might not even know how to read or write because I wasn’t allowed to go to school. As a woman, and as a woman in my twenties who is able to be single and free and pursue my dreams, I am so thankful I was born here instead of so many places I could have been born. So thankful I could kiss the ground beneath my feet and give America a big, fat hug.

Happy Birthday indeed, Fourth of July. Happy Birthday indeed.

Yesterday I impulsively put down a deposit for my bike! eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I’m already second-guessing myself, because this weekend I also found the keyboard I wanted, and I had decided to get it and wait on the bike. But then I saw someone with the bike, and he went on and on about how it’s the best bike he’s ever ridden, and it’s so fast and great and wonderful. So I went to the store where he got it, just thinking I’d see how much it was, and it was less than I thought it would be, but still kind of a lot, but also the guy in the shop was kind of cute, so what was I supposed to do, not get the bike? But now I really need the keyboard for a project I’m involved in, so now I’m like, oh man, do I just get it, too? Is that crazy? Should I be practical? When I’m retiring and have no savings and have to live in a cardboard box instead of my idealistic retirement home, my future self is going to shake my fist at my present, careless self, and will be like, “Why, why, young Marcy, did you get that expensive bicycle instead of marching down to the bank and investing that money? You are soooo stuuuuupid.” But I mean, the bike is so awesome that I’ll probably still have it when I’m old, so at least I’ll be a homeless crazy old lady on a badass bike… right? eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek.

P.S. I tried four different spellings of bicycle, including bycicle, bicicle, and biciclye, before I gave up and looked it up. Thanks a lot, Fun With Phonics.

Oh, Did You Know? I’m a Genius.

I’ve got the post-it certificate to prove it (see exhibit A) (and thank you, Rebecca) and lots of other hard evidence… but most importantly, while driving home from work yesterday at breakneck speed, a flash of inspiration hit me like an enemy bogey. I decided that from that very moment onward, I am going to always answer my phone by saying, “Talk to me, Goose.”

Is that the most brilliant thing you’ve ever heard, or what? And if you’ve been living alone in a cave since 1986, eating nuts and berries and bathing in a nearby stream and don’t know what I’m talking about, you need to go to the store right this very minute and get a copy of Top Gun, which btw is the absolute best movie ever (for evidence of this fact, see exhibit B), and watch it over and over and over. And even on the seventy billionth time you watch it, just try not to cry when Goose dies. Just try. I dare you.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Very good reasons why Top Gun is the best movie ever

1. Tom Cruise in his absolute heyday. Yes, he is now a stark raving lunatic and has always been the size of a common household elf, but in that movie, he is just Maverick, the smokin’ hot, sexy, misunderstood bad-boy fighter pilot with a smile that will make the pants of any woman nearby spontaneously fall off. mmmm hmmmm.

2. The volleyball scene. ‘Nuff said.

3. A kick-ass soundtrack full of songs that inspire immediate action. “Danger Zone” makes me want to drive fast and punch things. “Take my breath away” makes me want to do naughty things with boys outside of marriage. And naturally, “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling” gives me the overwhelming urge to sing off-key to strangers with the expectation that they will fall in love with me.

4. This timeless line: “I feel the need… the need for speed!” — an appropriate thing to shout in nearly any situation — a stuffy dinner party, debutante ball, or political debate, for example.

5. Meg Ryan pre-scary plastic surgery

I could go on all day. Give me a call and we can talk some more about it. Yes… call me on the phone, and talk. to me … (goose).

A series of haikus that all go together to form a haiku voltron of sorts

Sticky snails are much
cuter than their east-coast friends
the slugs. UGH! gross slugs.

When it rains they play
on the steps outside the house
then they get stranded

Hey, Joe! Help me, please
we need to rescue these snails
before they dry out.

They’re startled at first
plus they’re dehydrated and
can’t think too clearly

but once they see that
we are helping them survive
they relax and smile

Snails love Joe and me
because we take care of them
Let’s all hold hands now.

But I covet nonetheless. There are two expensive things I want. Scratch that… there are lots of expensive things I want, but two right now I am close to buying, and while the purchase of these things might make me feel guilty, because I know I should take that money and invest it or save it for the inevitable car down payment that looms ever closer as trips to the mechanic become more and more frequent, look at this bike!!!!!

I want it so badly! It looks so Italian! I could only ride it wearing a flowy skirt and white blouse, and with a bell on the front and a basket on the back that perpetually contains a loaf of French bread. Think of all the gas I would save! And how cute I would look on it! THE BIKE. IT MUST BE MINE.

Secondly, I really want a keyboard or synthesizer or digital piano, or electronical piano as I like to say. It has been far too long since I have been able to play the piano on a regular basis, and it is high time I found a way to do so. I’ve been browsing around on the interweb, and I’ve found a very affordable one that has gotten excellent reviews, and I’m this close to buying it online. Would it be dumb to buy a piano I have never actually played? Would it be dumber to let this amazing deal pass me by? I don’t know! I do not know. But I know I am about to drop some cash on one or both of these things, and I am very, very excited.

P.S. After posting this and mooning over the picture of the bike some more, I feel compelled to point out that it matches my blog, people. The colors of the bike match the colors of this very blog (and also my bedroom, actually). If that is not a sign, I don’t know what is.

When I wrote this blentry, I could not, in my wildest dreams most terrifying nightmares, have imagined this:

I have no words, because the tackiness has caused my brain to explode. Now I am dead. Goodbye.

OK, cowboy, rope that pony in before you get any ideas. I just mean I need a little discipline.

Wow, that sounds dirty, too. Is it hot in here?

Alright. Let’s start over. I have no self discipline. Did I ever have any? I can’t remember. But for the last few weeks I have been going to bed at midnight or later every night, getting far too little sleep, hitting snooze waaaaay too many times in the morning, and speeding to work like a bat out of hell. Then I’m tired at work and take a lunchtime nap in my car. Then, since I napped, I’m not tired between 10 and 11 that night when I should be going to bed, so I stay up, and the cycle repeats.

What do I do at night? Well, sometimes I go out, but other times… oh, you know… aimlessly surf the net, maybe read, maybe play the guitar, and more often than not, stare. Just… stare at… ohhhh, wall, ceiling, whatever strikes my fancy. Or maybe I’ll close my eyes and half fall asleep with my clothes on and my right hand on the keyboard of my laptop or my guitar across my stomach, and the only thought running through my head is, “I should get up and brush my teeth. I need to get up. I need to wake up right now and go wash my face and brush my teeth so I can get a decent night’s sleep for a change. Right this very second, I am going to get up. Now. At this moment, I will arise from this bed and I will go wash my face, damn it! Right now! RIGHT! NOW! I WILL GET UP!… zzzzzzzzz…”

Do you see why I need outside assistance in helping me submit to my own authority? (hmm, strangely the room seems to be warming up again… perhaps I shall submit to my own aforementioned authority a little tonight…) I mean, what in John Brown’s name is wrong with me? Tonight I’m going to meet a friend after work, so this will be especially challenging, but I’m telling you now, as you people are my witnesses, I am going to do everything within my power to go to bed on time tonight and get up on time tomorrow.

And if I don’t? Well… we can discuss my punishment later (wink).

I just found this on YouTube while browsing for something else. Oh man, I don’t even know what to say, just watch it, and listen to the sound. I laughed so hard!

Dog or Chicken?

It’s almost birthday-time for me, and with it comes a lot of pondering things & stuff. Cause, like, I’m almost 30, Peeps. I’ll be 28, which is 2 less than 30, and ten more than 18. In fact, when I was 18 years old, as a senior in high school, ten of my friends and I had a progressive dinner at Christmas time. We all dressed up and went from house to house for each course, and finished at the Grove Park Inn. At our last house before going out, we all said what we thought we’d be doing in ten years. I don’t remember all of them, but I’m pretty sure we’re all pretty close to living up to our predictions. I remember feeling conflicted and not knowing quite what to say. I could see myself doing two distinctly different things, and couldn’t reconcile them to each other. One was that I’d be married and starting a family, and the other was that I’d be in New York pursuing acting. Guess which one I did? Well, neither really, because I’m not in New York, but I am living the single life and pursuing my dreams, and I could not be more happy with my decision. The older I get, the more comfortable I become with the choices I’ve made, and the more I like myself. It’s taken me so long to realize certain things, the knowledge of which I feel I could not live without, and every year I gain more confidence, and with confidence comes fun. So contrary to what we may be taught to believe, I am not having less fun the older I get — I’m having so much more. I have a really really good feeling about this year. Happy Birthday, Me!

I don’t complain much on this blog, do I? I mean, not counting complaining about automatic-flush toilets, but that’s only because they are made by demons and if you look far down enough into the bowl you can see glimpses of hell.

But usually I’m pretty upbeat. So I decided I get a free pass today. I’m going to complain about everything I can think of to comlain about, and I’m already getting excited just thinking about it. In the wise words of Oscar the Grouch, “Don’t let the sunshine spoil your rain. Just stand up and complain!”

I had a cockroach incident last night, in my bedroom. I’m not going to go into too many details because I would probably throw up in my mouth, but let’s just say this is the second grossest cockroach incident I have ever had. And I was the only one awake and therefore had no moral support whatsoever when dealing with this trauma. And at the risk of making you throw up in your mouth, I just have to say that something was wrong with this cockroach, and he had left puddles of brown goo on the floor, and my guitar was sitting right there (and thank GOODNESS it was unharmed), and on top of the guitar was a blanket I really like, which dragged in the goo and is now tainted forever. Hold on, I’m going to go inhale some white-out, which will hopefully kill my short-term memory cells so I never have to think of that again.

OK, back. I really did smell some white-out, but only because it smells good. If it kills those brain cells, all the better.

Not surprisingly after that indicent, I had nightmares all night. Scary, scary nightmares involving not only cockroaches and various scary crustaceans, but also aliens landing on Earth with the purpose to destroy us. There was a spaceship, lots of panic, running, mass destruction, planes crashing, a tsunami, more running, climbing a tree, some more running, and more general panic. It sucked, not to mention including pretty much every possible terrifying thing that could possibly be packed into one dream. Then I woke up with a sore neck and a headache, which has only gotten worse as the day has progressed.

I have to be at work until 8 PM. I have one word for that: BARF. (one of my top ten favorite words).

My hair is totally crazy and frizzy today. I look like a homeless person. Also, I was too unmotivated to put on mascara or de-shine my face this morning, and my eyes are all red and squinty. I do not look dissimilar to a baby gerbil. A rubbery, homeless, newborn baby gerbil.

OUCH, MY NECK IS KILLING ME. WTF!??? (By the way, when other people write WTF! to me, I pretend to think they mean, “Wow, That’s Funny!” It cracks me up).

Well, I can actually think of quite a bit more to complain about, but I find I lack the motivation to continue. And that’s probably a blessing in disguise. A not-very-good disguise, either. Like, a blessing in a cheap glasses-nose-and-mustache disguise. OK, it’s just a blessing, in no disguise at all. It’s even wearing a nametag: “Hello, my name is: Blessing.”

Y’all, I can’t wait to retire! I know this is weird, but I get really excited when I think about it. It’s not even about not working anymore, although that will be sweet. I just think it will be rad to live in a retirement community with a bunch of other “active seniors.” I’m talking about the kind in Florida that’s a little community of really nice condos and well-manicured lawns, where everyone rides around on golf carts. We’ll all get up at 6 AM and play tennis every day, then lounge by the pool until lunchtime, then drink sweet tea and play cards and brag about our grandchildren’s acheivements until 4, then go to the cafeteria at 4:30 to catch the early bird special. I want to sit on the screened-in porch with my girlfriends on our tacky-chic white wicker beach furniture and talk about the strapping young gardener’s muscles, or even the nice butt on the widower down the street.

I don’t know, I just think it’s gonna be awesome. Peers, let’s all move to the same retirement community when we hit 70. Who’s with me?