So last night Anna and I tried to hook up her DVD player but we couldn’t figure it out because it’s challenging and exists in multiple dimensions such as “things we don’t know” and also “plugs and that plug into stuff.” It was very vexing! So we’re turning to you, hoping one of you can help Anna out. Can you? Watch below for scintillating footage of patch bays which is a term I know from watching my friend record music and which is probably not the correct term but aren’t you impressed I even know it and also invigorating discussions of the way I pronounce certain words. Also, not loving my makeup here. Or my face, for that matter.
Archive | romance
More Things He's Just Not That Into
Eucalyptus
Euphemisms (he’s a straight shooter)
Units of measurement (he prefers to shoot from the hip)
Yucaipa, California
Yosemite, pronounced wrong
Ujubes which are boxes of Jujubes but the J is torn off
Huge things pronounced in that way that some people pronounce it where the H is a Y and you’re like “why are you saying that?”
Uvulas
Eunice Mary Kennedy Shriver, a member of the Kennedy family who helped found the Special Olympics
Unique baubles (he prefers his baubles to be commonplace, bordering on mundane)
Yule Brenner
Yule logs (he’s Jewish. but you know, like super into it)
You Be The Judge! (he’s super bossy and always wants to be the judge)
Yoo-hoo (he’s allergic to “chocolatey”)
Yahoo Sirius (reminds him of Yoo-hoo)
Yahoo (he prefers google)
Universities (he’s opposed to the Ivory Tower and academics in general. Don’t even get him started!)
University Presses (he prefers desktop publishing)
You Know It! (hates sassy catchphrases)
You Bet Your Sweet Bippy! (see above)
UNESCO (he’s sort of an anarchist)
He's Just Not that Into Ukulele
Worried your man isn’t that into the ukulele and yet afraid to ask? Don’t get your hula skirt in a knot, girlfriend, we’re here to help! First and foremost, direct communication when at all possible is advised. Why not just ask him how he feels about the small four stringed instrument? What’s the worst that could happen? He’s say he’s not feeling it and then you’d cry into your poi balls? It’s easier said than done, though, and we get that. Maybe you aren’t ready to have that conversation just yet. In that case, here are some signs he might just not be that into ukulele:
He avoids luaus
Claims hand is broken and yet proceeds to enter yo-yo championship, and win!
Claims has no time for the ukulele now that he’s a yo-yo celebrity
Refers to ukulele as “that annoying wannabe guitar”
Refers to banjo as “a step up from shitty ukulele”
Never tries to have sex with ukulele
Denies selling his Don Ho albums on eBay
Claims eBay handle “Don Ho Electronic Store Superseller” is just “coincidence”
Deep seated sudden hatred for bubbles of all sizes but especially tiny bubbles
Could care less about your dog or its flea condition
Says he’s just been “really busy… not playing the ukulele”
Identity Crisis, part 413
So yet again I’m wondering how I should be labeling myself. I’m wondering this specifically because I’m on Red Eye tonight and they’ve taken to referring to me as a self-professed pop culture expert and contributing editor to Page Six Magazine. And I am both those things but I’m also a blogger, writer and sort of comedian. I mean, I’m funny. Like really fucking funny. Sometimes I look at myself and just laugh and laugh. Sometimes I drink milk and think of something I said and then shoot milk out my nose. Then I drink coke and think about the milk and the coke comes out my nose! Seriously, you should never sit across from me. I’m like Gallagher but with beverages. Also, I’ve never really shot drinks out of my nose. Who does that? So should I be introduced as a blogger and comedian? A writer, blogger and comedian? And fake body language expert.
While in Canada, DJ from Roseanne (ok fine, his name is Michael Fishman) said “so, what are you?” and I hemmed and hawed (note: I’ve never written hawed before. It looks wrong somehow. It looks wrawng) and then Amelie Gillette whose name I’m likely misspelling suggested I be a “fun-dit.”
I liked it until my brain started hearing fun-dip and then I got distracted.
Anyway, yesterday I ran into an editor-in-chief in the bathroom, which is truly my favorite place to run into people I’m slightly intimidated by and she asked me what my plans are for 2009. “Was thinking I’d put on some lip gloss and get the fuck out of here!” I didn’t say. Instead I hemmed and hawed (TWICE in one blog post!)
Maybe I should just put it out there to the universe? That I’d like to one day host my own funny late night talk show that doesn’t have to be late at night and I’d also like to write more cover stories for well-paying national magazines and I’d like to finally master these splenda meringues because sometimes the egg whites aren’t as voluminous as I’d like?
Do I dare say all this?
Oh, also, I’d like to write a book, write comedy and nail the Russian shuffle. (so-called because one card is “rushin‘” right after the other. TRULY! I KID YOU NOT! I WOULD NOT LIE TO YOU!)
I’ve spent more time today on the shuffle than on the book. See, the other night I was watching Red Eye, the one with the BEST OF 2008 segment, which is essentially like googling yourself except less instant feedback and more fast forwarding and I had to put up with the first half which had real guests and stuff. I think the topic was New Year’s resolutions and Clayton Morris mentioned that he wanted to shuffle cards in a cool way and I think Bill maybe said he did too and that reminded me that that was once MY dream. And yet I abandoned it like a newborn in a dumpster. See this blog post for what happened.
But in the years since, the internet has improved when it comes to card shuffling and now I don’t have to settle for magic tricks. So I’m teaching myself how to do this stuff. I’m at about 55 percent at this point, meaning I can shoot cards all around the room and then roll over them with a computer chair.
Also, who can almost do the ribbon spread? I so almost can! And the one-handed fan. But the Russian shuffle is really the piece de resistance. I mean, once you master that bad boy you won’t even mind that you don’t have any dates.
Between this, raising each of my eyebrows individually and blowing spit bubbles off the end of my tongue, how can I fail?
My ascetic lifestyle; plants named Fred
Since placing my reproductive organs high on a shelf in a seldom opened closet and removing myself from the world of human entanglements/relationships/interaction for the most part except to shuffle around in a bathrobe and slippers, smoking a cigar, scratching my belly and yelling at neighborhood kids and then belching, I’ve been remarkably surprised how much I don’t miss being out there. Maybe I really am dead inside, I’ll occasionally think. There are certain things that penetrate the strange satiety though—strange because it seems unearned—and make me suddenly remember what it was like to go to parties and date and go to dinner and put on lip gloss with that nervous/excited feeling in your stomach. (now I just put it on with a “what’s the point of it all” feeling mixed with a “damnit Sally Hanson, why did you have to discontinue Always Asher, WHY WHY WHY?” feeling) The things that get through to me? Well, certain people I’ve met in the midst of all this, and for some reason, the movie Walk the Line.
Wait a minute, my sister just told me she bought a plant for her office and named it Fred. I told her my plant was named Fred and she said her plant looks more like a Fred than mine. THOSE ARE FIGHTING WORDS!
planning for my golden years
[UPDATE: The following was a real chat with an old Orange County friend, not someone I’m dating. I thought it was amusing. I should have clarified because I can see how if you read it thinking it’s someone I’m currently in a relationship with it would appear to be a raw deal as opposed to what it was: just a friendly future marriage proposal.]
him: if you’re 40 and still not married AND you just happen to move back to the OC, call me
me: are you offering to be my backup?
him: yes, in fact, i am
me: or are you suggesting that I would be your backup
him: no no no. i have no desire to get married (right now). but when you get old n stuff…eh, maybe..
me: yeah, old n stuff
him: the real question here is: do you want children? and by children, i mean – a small yardwork workforce
me: yes I do. I’m glad we’re getting all this out of the way before I turn 40
him: you are running out of time
me: thank you