Sad Men

I was SOOO excited for Sunday’s Season 3 premiere of Mad Men (if you don’t watch it, please crawl out from under your pop-culture rock and read this recap immediately).

Being the MM veteran that I am, I Mad Men’ed Myself right into the offices of Sterling Cooper -- and yes, I stand by my decision to wear a pink polkadot party dress. I quizzed myself to find out Which Mad Man Am I? Turns out, I’m Betty “How’s Therapy Going?” Draper -- which says nothing good about me AT ALL, but whatevs. And I made a phone date with my mom to watch the show together, like we always do.

Except, I didn’t love it.

In fact, I didn’t even like it!

And it’s NOT because the subtle nuance is lost on my thick skull (yes, yes, I GET IT, the London Fog client is a metaphor for the smoke and mirrors in Don’s personal life, or the ad biz in general). And it’s NOT because the overt messages try too hard (pitting Pete and Ken as the dueling head of accounts was just plain silly, even though that actually happened to me once in real life -- and PS: I won). And it’s NOT because of the politically incorrect way they depict life in the 1960’s (that ballpoint pen in Sal’s shirt pocket sure was happy to see the bellboy, huh?).

It’s because it wasn’t entertaining. And that makes me sad.

Last year, I gave you 5 reasons I would miss Mad Men. Now, here are 5 reasons I'd like to forget Sunday’s episode entirely:

1. Warm Milk and Gross Feet
Warm milk is just disgusting, and I could REALLY do without that shot of the gloopy skin that forms on top. But more disturbing was the sight of Don Draper’s feet. If those Flintstone hammertoes were his, please require him to wear two pairs of socks. Simultaneously. At all times. I’m sure they revealed a lot of important backstory in that scene, but all I could think was… eeeeew!

2. Enough with the Screwing Around
Won’t Don EVER learn? I’m starting not to like him. At all.  As if banging a random stewardess that looks an awful lot like his pregnant wife, Betty, wasn’t enough, giving said stewardess’s silver airplane wings to his daughter, Sally, as a souvenir from the road was just too much. Stop being slimy.

3. Not Enough Roger Sterling
Now THIS womanizer with a bum ticker needs to be in every scene. Having the Silver Fox breeze thru for like 30 seconds was cruel and unusual.

4. Peggy Olson Needs to Chillax
I understand that she’s a woman in a man’s world and if she could turn her boobs into balls she would. But why is she so freaking uptight?

5. Pull Up Your Diapers, Whiny Pete
You can just picture Pete Campbell whining, “But Daddy, I want an Oompa Loompa nooooow!” Can we PLEASE see how he dealt with the news that he knocked Peggy up and she gave their kid away?! Nobody cares about his new desk accessory that boldly declares, “The Buck Stops Here.”


Oh! And in the “You Can’t Be Serious” department, um… lemme get this straight: Did Dick Whitman’s mother really name him after a…? Geez. No wonder he switched his name to Don.

Anyway, I kept watching. And kept waiting for it to get better. 52 minutes later, and no dice. But I did enjoy the BMW commercials!

So, did YOU watch? Did you like? And, seriously… can anyone tell me what the hell was UP with dreamy Don Draper’s feet??

18 (x2)

Happy (belated) birthday to me!

On August 3rd, I officially turned 18 (x2). I say it this way because I can no longer say my actual age. I know, it’s silly. I mean, how hard can it possibly be?

Thiiiirrrrtttyyy ssss… nope. Can’t do it.

Anyway, aside from thinking I’m a total freak, you’re probably asking yourself why I waited until now to blog about it (or perhaps you’re just waiting with bated breath for my musings on bellybutton lint).

Am I just lazy? Well, sort of, yes.

But really, I waited to write this post until I finished celebrating! I mean, I don’t just celebrate my birthDAY -- I celebrate my birthWEEK (sometimes TWO if I’m feeling frisky!). Which, is interesting because I while I hate the idea of aging, I really do heart my birthday.

Now, I won’t bore you with 36 things you should know about my birthday (although it IS tempting). Instead, I will submit 3 critical birthday facts for your review:

1) I never work on my birthday.
Being a summer baby, I never had to go to school on my birthday. In fact, I never had to do much of ANYTHING except open presents and eat cake. So, imagine my dismay upon graduation to The Real World. I began my very first job in Parsippany, NJ, a week before my 22nd birthday -- and I had to WORK on the Big Day! Nobody even knew my name, much less that it was my birthday. I was stuck in the photocopy room all day and can still vividly recall jabbing the collate button with my index finger, while grumbling, “This totally sucks!” So, on August 3, 1995, feeling lightheaded from the overwhelming scent of toner, I vowed never again to work on my birthday. And I never have.

2) I always have a cheesecake birthday cake.
Some people like cupcakes. Some people like ice cream cake. Some people are birthday Grinches and eat broccoli instead. Me? I like cheesecake. But ONLY creamy New York-style. Not that crappy, lumpy, gross-tasting Italian kind (as much as I love the Itals, ricotta does not a cheesecake make). And I am a purist -- just plain cheesecake, maybe with strawberries on the side, please. This is the best cake to make a proper wish upon, in my opinion.

3) I always buy myself a gift.
I love buying gifts for people! So it stands to reason that in the days and weeks around my birthday, I find just about every excuse possible to treat myself. Usually it’s small things, and one big splurge. This year, it occurred to me that I hadn’t really gotten myself anything yet, which I happened to mention to my mom. She replied, “You already got a gift. From a BOY. Who you are not related to. Quit while you’re ahead.” Actually, she may be right about that one…

So, do YOU have any favorite memories about MY birthday??

Kidding, kidding. I’ll also take your favorite kinds of birthday cake…

All Points West

This past Saturday, my brother and I trekked back to the Mother Land. Yes, we went home to the Jerz.

You gotta get back to your roots every now and again.

We originally had tickets last summer to the first All Points West music & arts festival at Liberty State Park. We were hoping to see Radiohead. But as luck would have it, our tix were for the same weekend that we wound up helping our parents move down to Florida. I think we were somewhere in Georgia by the time Radiohead took the stage in Jersey City.

So we couldn’t hear them very well.

This year, I promised my brother we’d get to the festival for reals. And get there we did! Here are the highlights…

BEST BAND: Gogol Bordello
While we came to see Tool, (and the Arctic Monkeys were pretty great too), this crazy little band stands out to me above all the rest. They had an amazing energy, you could not stand still when they were playing, and they used a trippy smorgasbord of instruments (banjo, accordion, electric guitar, violin, PLUS a bongo-playing man in a wrestling mask and two tambourine-playing dancing nymphs -- oh my!). It sounded unexpectedly awesome. I didn’t even realize until the end that the songs weren’t all in English. Whatever. I’m a fan.
Download this: Tribal Connection and Mala Vida

WORST BAND: My Bloody Valentine
This band should be called My Bloody Ears. The guitars were so loud and distorted, it was just screechy noise. A sonic assault. Apparently their POINT is to be loud and all the Kool Kidz totally get it, but never have I seen so many people standing totally still during a concert. Everyone was just dumbfounded, I guess. Or deaf. And while I swore I saw the band’s lips moving, there was not one discernable lyric in their entire set until they said, “Goodnight.” I say, “Good riddance.”
Download this: Don’t Bother (no, seriously, don’t bother)


BEST FOOD I ATE: Funnel Cake
I love funnel cake. It’s really just as simple as that.

WORST FOOD I ATE: Tiny Meatballs
Tiny meatballs freak me out. Actually, don’t love the big ones either. Especially when they have giant chunks of bread in them, or weird ingredients like nuts and raisins. Blech. But, I do like meatballs on my pizza… go figure. I am a riddle wrapped in an enigma.


BEST FOOD I DIDN’T EAT: PB&J
I sprung for VIP tix because that’s how I roll. Ok, that’s how I LIKE to roll. Ok, ok… it was a treat for my brother. But regardless, the first thing I saw when we entered the tres chic VIP tent was a make your own PB&J sandwich station. I kinda loved that.

WORST FOOD I DIDN’T EAT: Burritos
From the APW message board: “By any chance did you have the burritos?? My friends ate burritos. I didn't luckily, and my stomach is acting kind of weird but not as bad as my friends who both have explosive diarrhea. Maybe some parasite from the feces we were all submerged in might have contaminated the burrito stand, and maybe the fact that we were submerged in it for three days may be why we are all sick. I hope its not some bird parasite.” I think that speaks for itself.


BEST DECISION: Taking the Ferry
This was a great way to get to the festival -- out on the open sea. I felt like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl, minus the shoulder pads. Just ignore the ridiculous price ($25?!), and the fact that the walk to the dock was a good mile away from the main stage, AND the fact that the ferry tix weren’t transferrable from one day to the next (an expensive lesson I accidentally learned when a robust woman named Chantal informed me that I’d purchased tix for the wrong day). But… it sure was pretty!

WORST DECISION: Wearing Flip Flops
Rain + Grassy Knoll = Mud. Sure, Saturday was gorgeous, but the damage had already been done. Not sure what I was thinking when I decided to don a cute pair of flippers. The stench coming off the wet mulch was also something special. I can only hope it was poo. Incidentally, I did hear that APW was letting Friday's soggy ticket holders into the Saturday and Sunday shows for free, so that’s a pretty cool gesture (as long as you push aside the greedy motive of just hoping to sell even more $7 beers and $5 slices). If only they were offering a foot decontamination service. Then they’d truly be golden.


BEST ATTRACTION: Twix Misting Tent
While it wasn’t super hot out, the mist was cool and refreshing, and they served free Twix. I kept waiting for something awkward to happen so I could chew it over with Twix.

WORST ATTRACTION: Beer Gardens
Forget the 7 beer limit for the whole entire day -- you could only consume them in designated drinking zones (and yes, I GET it, we were in a state park). So I felt like we had to pound every beer in order to get back to the show. Hmmm. Maybe that was the point? Or maybe I’m just too old for that. Not sure. But I wound up being so full on yummy festival snacks (see above), that I only drank 4 of my 7 beer rations. Yes, it’s official, I am getting old.


BEST CELEB SIGHTING: Adrian Grenier
In the beer garden.

WORST CELEB SIGHTING: Courtney Love
At the falafel stand.


All in all, it was a blast. And a mess. It was a messy blast. Can’t WAIT to go again next year! (Seriously… wanna come??)

Off the Market

I really never thought I’d be writing a post like this.

I try to be as honest as I can be in this blog. It’s not like my manuscript -- which is actually fiction, despite the fact that it resembles my life and the people in it.

This blog isn’t loosely based on my life over the last year -- it kinda IS my life. Here, I try to push aside feeling stupid, or random, or neurotic, or whatever, and just tell a story that I’d be amused to read. (YOU can be the judge of how successful I’ve been in that endeavor!)

So if I’m being honest, I should tell you that I feel like I’ve spent my entire adult life celebrating other people’s milestones. And I’ve been happy to do it! I just couldn’t ever help feeling a little left behind, as my +1 was generally a giant handbag instead of a boy -- over, and over, and OVER again.

When I was able to focus on me -- to whip up one or two milestones of my own -- I shared my indecision about jumping into the scary online dating pool. I took you with me as I waded through thousands of freaky FREAKY profiles. And I recounted the ridiculous dates that followed (FLOSSING… um… seriously?!? I still can’t get over that one). There were actually more where those came from, but they were SO boring, even I couldn’t find the funny.

As you know, throughout this whole online dating process, I have been… selective. I didn’t dismiss 4 out of every 5 guys who contacted me. Or even 9 out of every 10. Oh no. It was actually closer to 99 out of every 100. (I know!!) But with each guy I actually did respond to, it became abundantly clear why THEY were still single (nevermind me… I’m perfect). Inevitably, within the first week or so of emailing, I saw SO many red flags I swore I was running in Pamplona with the bulls.

Which made my decision NOT to meet most of these guys very, very easy.

For the handful that I did meet, it was always One & Done. I didn’t particularly want to see them again, or they didn’t want to see me, or it was mercifully mutual. And it’s not like I was out looking for a husband -- I wasn’t delusional enough to set the bar THAT high! I was just looking for a guy I’d want to spend more than an hour with, without fantasizing about gnawing my own arm off to get away.

I mean, let’s face it, ANYONE can get a date, or even a boyfriend for that matter. But I didn’t want just ANY guy -- that’s not my style. I wanted to meet the right one for me. My match. Besides, I didn’t make it ALL the way to 35 only to settle for some schmuck (which is exactly what I would have been doing with any of the clowns that crossed my path). The pickins were SO slim, I very nearly pulled the plug on all of it back in April.

This just isn’t for me, I thought.

In total, over a 6+ month span, I was matched with a staggering 6,000+ guys, and of that, 700+ contacted me in one form or another. (I know, I can’t even believe it.) And I KNOW what you’re thinking -- who DO I think I AM? Should I be that picky at my incredibly advanced age? Especially when faced with a near-certain future of becoming a tragic spinster with 14 cats??

The answer is yes. I should have been that picky.

Because amidst the freaks and losers, I truly found a gem. A one in a million kind of guy. The needle in the proverbial haystack. I know I told you I didn’t believe in The One. And maybe I still don’t. But I did meet my match, perfect for me in every way. Which makes me a very lucky girl, and makes the final chapter in my online dating saga a very happy one, as I officially -- and quite publicly -- take myself off the market.

I should probably send Match a muffin basket to say thanks, wouldn’t you agree?

(PS: He is the only other person on the planet that doesn’t eat eggs either -- now if THAT’S not a match, I don’t know what is)