If I could be any female celebrity I'd be Mandy Moore.
I'm not ashamed to say I like her tweets, her music and most of her movie choices.
Judge me if you will but I think every one has a celebrity alter ego and she's mine.
But right now I'm kind of itching to not be in her fictional skin.
If you've seen Because I Said So this will make SO much more sense but regardless, enjoy.
Mom, text: Hi. Don't ask questions.
What was the name of the broker you dated a few years ago? Was it Jason?
Me: What? No, it was Kevin. Why?
silence.
Me: Mom?
Next came a call from my mom. I answered hesitantly.
Me: What are you doing?
Mom: I found a 27 year old broker named Jason on JDate and I think he'd be perfect for you.
Me: silence.
Me: (stuttering for five minutes)
Why are you looking at 27 year olds on JDate?
Mom: Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It's fine.
Go to bed, it's late.
Me: Mom...please stop. Please. Mom? (more stuttering)
Mom: I have to go now. Goodbye. (hangs up)
Me, text to mom: Can you please stop being Diane Keaton now?
Mom: You may be pleasantly surprised. You can thank me later. HAGN.
(end scene)
And yes, my mother created her own text slang for Have a good night.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
The After (the vodka edition)
I wish there was a book that explains that after part of love.
And maybe I’ll have to write about it one day, if I make it far enough into it.
From my experience in between tweets and texts...I really don’t think anyone says ‘And do you love me’ anymore...and then break into song about being married for twenty-five years with Jewish daughters. (Fiddler on the Roof for those who missed it.)
Most of us forget that men and woman think completely different of each other.
Not even an easy, multi-equation polar opposite...but according to Venus and Mars...different.
And when drinking is involved, the difference gets bigger.
But both of us learn grammar the same.
So when midnight chimes on a Friday,
while standing on a crowded platform
and a vodka filled girl (ahem, me) says these words:
“So...I’ve been thinking about the us...and I didn’t want to be the one to talk about the we. But I want to know your thoughts...it’s been 4 months and we’ve been hanging out as a we...but as an us. I just think we should. I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. I hate talking about the we...”
...I wish I was paraphrasing but I think that’s almost exactly how I brought up the inevitable conversation.
He looked down at me as the train was coming and held me closer. There was a smile in his voice when he spoke next.
“I really don’t think this is the time or place for this.”
I knew he was right but I hated that I was wrong since I had been (over) thinking about it so much.
I pouted and probably swayed a little to make sure I was still standing.
He asked me what I expected him to say right then and there.
“Something simple, something neat and simple and quick. I hate talking about this.”
I explained in between subway stops as I bumped against him.
I made a drunken sad face, immediately regretting whatever I said, “Did I even make a full sentence?”
He kissed me and kept hold of me.
“Don’t freak out. This just isn’t the place.”
I moved my facial expression a hundred times.
“Don’t freak out. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He kissed me again and again. I didn’t want to let go.
“Your mom is in town tomorrow. We’ll talk. I’m kissing you to reassure you that it’ll be OK.”
I kissed him back and let go...
And maybe I’ll have to write about it one day, if I make it far enough into it.
From my experience in between tweets and texts...I really don’t think anyone says ‘And do you love me’ anymore...and then break into song about being married for twenty-five years with Jewish daughters. (Fiddler on the Roof for those who missed it.)
Most of us forget that men and woman think completely different of each other.
Not even an easy, multi-equation polar opposite...but according to Venus and Mars...different.
And when drinking is involved, the difference gets bigger.
But both of us learn grammar the same.
So when midnight chimes on a Friday,
while standing on a crowded platform
and a vodka filled girl (ahem, me) says these words:
“So...I’ve been thinking about the us...and I didn’t want to be the one to talk about the we. But I want to know your thoughts...it’s been 4 months and we’ve been hanging out as a we...but as an us. I just think we should. I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. I hate talking about the we...”
...I wish I was paraphrasing but I think that’s almost exactly how I brought up the inevitable conversation.
He looked down at me as the train was coming and held me closer. There was a smile in his voice when he spoke next.
“I really don’t think this is the time or place for this.”
I knew he was right but I hated that I was wrong since I had been (over) thinking about it so much.
I pouted and probably swayed a little to make sure I was still standing.
He asked me what I expected him to say right then and there.
“Something simple, something neat and simple and quick. I hate talking about this.”
I explained in between subway stops as I bumped against him.
I made a drunken sad face, immediately regretting whatever I said, “Did I even make a full sentence?”
He kissed me and kept hold of me.
“Don’t freak out. This just isn’t the place.”
I moved my facial expression a hundred times.
“Don’t freak out. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He kissed me again and again. I didn’t want to let go.
“Your mom is in town tomorrow. We’ll talk. I’m kissing you to reassure you that it’ll be OK.”
I kissed him back and let go...
Sunday, November 4, 2012
A Pocket of Time
It was not a normal Monday.
He had just cooked us dinner and as we sat down to eat at his new dining room table,
we lost electricity.
Without missing a beat he was up lighting candles and turning on flashlights.
The reality of the devastation that the storm would bring wouldn’t fully hit me until the end of the week when I was back in my own apartment watching the news.
Until then, we were in a bubble.
By Wednesday work would be fully cancelled for the week and not on a day to day basis.
Electricity and trains would slowly start being restored.
Until then though I was very much aware that this scenario was a fantasy come true for me.
It was my beginning of a rom com.
That great bonding montage you never think will happen in real life..
the elevator you get stuck in with the cute stranger,
the three day road trip you end up doing last minute with your crush.
Time that is given to you so you can just be you with someone you care about,
and nothing else getting in the way.
We had no lights, phones, cable or internet.
We had beer and wine and books and board games.
We told each other stories.
We asked each other questions.
We flirted and played.
We had the kind of good sex you really only have while on vacation in a hotel room far away from real life.
And I knew it wasn’t real.
The stress of work and family drama would come back.
We’d be two people again trying to fit in each other's lives and figure out where we stand.
But in those 5 days, even though I wore no makeup and his pajamas everyday,
I liked how we fit together.
Though I missed hot showers and my contacts
and my books and my own bed and lip gloss,
I liked how we fit together.
It could’ve been the circumstances of Sandy finally putting us in the same space
or it could’ve been us becoming the good part of us again.
Later I’d feel lucky. Absolutely lucky and guilty. From this storm I got a staycation with candles and good sex, while others had their life destroyed.
If you are able to, please donate whatever you can.
He had just cooked us dinner and as we sat down to eat at his new dining room table,
we lost electricity.
Without missing a beat he was up lighting candles and turning on flashlights.
The reality of the devastation that the storm would bring wouldn’t fully hit me until the end of the week when I was back in my own apartment watching the news.
Until then, we were in a bubble.
By Wednesday work would be fully cancelled for the week and not on a day to day basis.
Electricity and trains would slowly start being restored.
Until then though I was very much aware that this scenario was a fantasy come true for me.
It was my beginning of a rom com.
That great bonding montage you never think will happen in real life..
the elevator you get stuck in with the cute stranger,
the three day road trip you end up doing last minute with your crush.
Time that is given to you so you can just be you with someone you care about,
and nothing else getting in the way.
We had no lights, phones, cable or internet.
We had beer and wine and books and board games.
We told each other stories.
We asked each other questions.
We flirted and played.
We had the kind of good sex you really only have while on vacation in a hotel room far away from real life.
And I knew it wasn’t real.
The stress of work and family drama would come back.
We’d be two people again trying to fit in each other's lives and figure out where we stand.
But in those 5 days, even though I wore no makeup and his pajamas everyday,
I liked how we fit together.
Though I missed hot showers and my contacts
and my books and my own bed and lip gloss,
I liked how we fit together.
It could’ve been the circumstances of Sandy finally putting us in the same space
or it could’ve been us becoming the good part of us again.
Later I’d feel lucky. Absolutely lucky and guilty. From this storm I got a staycation with candles and good sex, while others had their life destroyed.
If you are able to, please donate whatever you can.
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