"Speak my mind any time 'cause I got the master plan"

So a bunch of things have crossed my mind and my path (by way of the news) in the past couple of days.  And I realized that my choices and my opinions would probably make a lot of people be all w-t-f is she thinking? saying? talking about?  And then I thought, maybe I should keep all this to myself.  But I realized - where’s the fun in that?  

So sure, I’m probably going to catch some flak for what lies beneath, but I’m okay with that.  I’m confident in my opinions.  I mean, if I wasn’t, would I really put them out there for all the world to read?  (Okay.  Yeah.  I know.  The whole world doesn’t read my blog.  But not for nothing, they should.  It would make getting this writing career off the ground and keeping it airborne a whole lot easier.)  

But until that fine day, there’s this:

Living Alone.  And Loving It:

I read this fabulous article in yesterday’s NY Times and found myself agreeing with so much of what Dominique Browning was saying.  I have major career envy as she’s a successful writer and has had lots to say over the years.  Now I should confess that I feel some sort of bizarre connection to DB because in a former job I had to try to track down her address so my company could send her a holiday gift.  She was not an easy lady to find, but I finally found her through her agent and was able to send her the gift.  But in the process got to do a lot of research on her, which I found very interesting. And the whole process fed into my love for mystery/my secret desire to be Laura Holt/Kate Beckett/Bailey Wiggins/Alexandra Cooper/JB Fletcher all rolled into one very cool package.

So back to the article (read it!) - it’s essentially about women happily living on their own, enjoying freedom and independence.  That if we fall we will pick ourselves up.  We don’t need anyone else to pick us up.  DB writes most women who are single are living happily and loving their lives.  And there are moments of loneliness, for sure, but until we fall madly in love, we’re fine to keep living on our own.  Most of the time.  And I love the concept of MADLY in love.  Not wanted to settle for anything less.  I just found it to be such a powerful article.  Maybe because it made me feel like feeling what I feel is okay.  Is more than okay.  

And men?  Don’t get me wrong. I love men.  This is not a bitter anti-man post.  I’m neither bitter.  Nor anti-man. And some people might judge.  Go nuts.  But relationships are a lot of work.  And men are a lot of work.  (Clearly us ladies are a cake walk.  Preferably chocolate cake.)  And it’s going to take a truly righteous man to make me want to exert all that work.  But I will.  Because it will be worth it.  

Sidebar:  I’ve been watching a lot of Friends lately because you can buy full seasons for $9.99 on iTunes right now.  (Insert lack of self-control and things you can do when you live alone.)  One of my favorites from Season 1 is when the girls do the cleansing ritual to break the bad boyfriend cycle.  Phoebe is reading the “ingredients” for the ritual, as they throw things into the fire and it goes like this:

• Phoebe: Ok. All right. Now we need the semen of a righteous man.
• Rachel: Ok, Pheebs, you know what, if we had that, we wouldn't be doing the ritual in the first place.

Makes me laugh every time.  


So yes, for a righteous man, I’d do the work.  But pre-righteous, I love that I my mess is my mess.  That I can have dinner whenever I want.  That I can call peanut butter and crackers dinner.  That I can lie on the couch and watch back-to-back episodes of Revenge and fall asleep in the middle of it and when I wake up do it all over again if I so please.  That’s all I’m saying.  

And I can also live in an at-home wardrobe of....

Juicys:

I don’t care how 2002 their velour track suits are, they are so damn comfy.  I’ve been in them for about a decade now.  Don’t care if you think they’re passe.  I will say, I don’t wear them as a matching set.  (But so what if I did?  You have a problem with that?  No.  Really.  I swear I don’t.  Too Paris Hilton.  Too not “that’s hot”.)  But I love the pants.  Love the hoodies.  Love that after Christmas the Juicy site had a sale and then had another 40% off said sale. So yeah.  I restocked my overstocked closet with all new, deliciously soft, totally cozy, I-would-wear-these-to-work-if-I-thought-I-could-get-away-with-it comfies.  Love them.  Mock me if you will.  Don’t care.  Can’t hear you here in my juicy little bubble.

Jorge Posada’s Retirement:

When the news of Posada’s retirement annoucement broke on Saturday I got a lot sad.  It’s the end of an era.  I even changed my Facebook status, which I NEVER do.  That’s how bummed I am.  

Now I’ve mentioned before that I’ve been a baseball fan since I was a kid.  And I do genuinely love the game.  But I also fall in love with the players.  (And no, not in a dirty way.  Well not always.)  Back when I was little and not having any salacious thoughts about anyone or anything because I didn’t even know what salacious was, I followed the Mets with epic dedication.  I’m telling you, when I’m into something, I am all in.  

But anyway...at the end of the 1985 season this jerk at school told me the Mets were going to trade Mookie Wilson (aka my first hero) away to another team to make way for Lenny Dykstra.  (The ankle bracelet you’re sporting these days isn’t quite the same as a pair of cleats is it, Nails?)  I cried my eyes out about Mookie. I was devastated.  But then he didn’t get traded.  But he did get severely injured in Spring Training (in the form of shattering sunglasses to the eye) and I cried again.  A lot.  And then some more.  It was hard to know when he would come back to play.  (Especially with that bastard Dykstra trying to snag his job.)  But Mookie did return.  And much much later that season there was Game 6 of the World Series.  And history was made.  And I cried again.  But this time I was majorly happy.  

But back to Georgie.  I know.  Everyone needs to move on.  And it’s his time.  He’s had a good career and should end on a high.  I’m just sad that he didn’t get a better sendoff season.  There was so much drama surrounding his career in 2011 and I really feel like he was treated like crap.  He was a central part of the team for 17 years.  Show the man some respect.  In my perfect vision he gets to throw out the first pitch on Opening Day 2012 at Yankee Stadium.  He gets a standing O.  There’s a lot of Hip! Hip! Jorge!  I’d totally cry if that happened.

Tim Tebow:

No lie...about three weeks ago I had ZERO idea who this guy was.  The name didn’t ring any kind of bell.  Not even a faint one.  I’m telling you.  People at work were in awe of my total lack of knowledge.  And I like to think I’m pretty in tune with what’s going on in the world.  Or at least what’s covered on morning TV.  But Tim Tebow?  He could have been a random midwestern mayor or a an obscure inventor from a hundred years ago or the name of someone’s creeper ex-boyfriend.  Nada.

Then I found out who he was.  And now he’s freaking everywhere.  As in was just on E!News.  For the love of God.  Get off E!  You play football.  Unless you’re dating Minka Kelly and on vacay with her in Paris, don’t want to see you on E!  I seriously can’t shake the guy.  Kind of like a creeper ex.  Humph!  How that for things coming full circle?  Whatever. I’m still being haunted.  

People Who Bring Their Dogs Into Stores:

I know!  I can hear the people mumbling now.  “She hates men and dogs?  This girl is AWFUL!”  For the record, I don’t hate either.  What I do hate is people who bring their dogs into stores.  And then there are the ones who let the leashes out so Fido can mosey around while I’m tripping over his leash.  I mean honestly, if you want to bring one of those novelty dogs in your purse, that’s all you. Let Fifi poo in your Prada.  Makes no difference to me.  But the big dogs?  The ones who yip?  The slow movers who weighs more than a can of Diet Coke...don’t want to see them in Bloomies.  Or Barnes & Noble.  Or the friggin supermarket.  They are dogs.  Not babies.   But I get it.  The dog is your universe and you want to spend some QT together.  And dogs need to go for walks.  So take your dog for a walk.  Play in the park.  Or perhaps in the comfort of your own home.  Don’t take them into a dozen stores while you run your errands.  It’s annoying.  And rude.  I don’t hate dogs, but I do live in a pet free building for a reason.  It's called by choice.  

Beyonce’s Baby:

Okay, this one might be too much.  But I have to vent.  

So you had your baby.  Congrats!  And mom and baby Blue are happy and healthy.  And we’re done.  That’s all I need to know.  

Yet, I’ve heard this story more times than I count since I dragged my ass out of bed at 5:30 to go to the gym. 

It’s everywhere.  From GMA to E! to Fox.  And I’m sorry but I just don’t care to hear about it.  There’s like 400,000 babies born every day.  And I get it. You’re famous and people want to hear all about it.  I’m not one of those people.  I’m far more interested in celebrity gossip for the celebs who have at least made it through puberty.  Kids should have a childhood.  In private.  So let’s shut this story down.  

But wait we can’t.  Because now there’s all this drama with Lenox Hill and how other people couldn’t see their babies because B and Jay Z took over the whole damn place.  It’s reedonkulous.  

This story is going no where fast.  I just know it’s going to carry on for weeks to come. Will they sell their baby photos to People? Who will get the first picture of B leaving the now controversial Lenox Hill?  This story is so going to be one of the cover stories on my US Weekly.  

And b-t-w, when Beyonce shows up on the cover of some fitness magazine next month, in a barely there bikini, showing how she transformed her body from baby-weight-to-amazing-shape just four weeks!!!!  Don’t want to see it.  Not while I’m running my ass of on the treadmill trying to drop my vacation weight.  From September.  I couldn’t care less about B’s fitness tips.  

Or could I?

No I couldn’t.  That’s why the phrase is “I couldn’t care less”.  Because I COULDN’T.  

So why oh why do people insist on saying “I could care less” in one of those spastic moments?  Because it kind of loses its impact people when you are trying to say you don’t really give a crap, but in fact you are actually saying you do.  

And I hear it on TV a lot too.  And I love TV writers.  I love lots of people who get paid to write for a living and experience their dreams.  (I do not however love that Snooki and anyone else on that crap show has a book deal.)  But c’mon writers of Revenge...did you make Charlotte scream she “could care less” to her mother on purpose?  Was it ad lib? We all know Charlotte is a smart chick.  But Victoria won that round because even though Charlotte attempted to claim not to care if her mother grounded her...well....read the quote.  Apparently she could’ve cared less.

I know. I’m nitpicking.  Saying “could care less” isn’t a deal-breaker with me. More like a pet peeve.  Just had to put that one at there.  

So that’s my story.  Let me know what the flak you think of it!

And if anyone is keeping count besides me, The Great Mystery is at 84,146 and I've almost figured out how my heroine is going to figure out who the killer is.  Success!


And for your listening pleasure...my latest musical obsession.  Played best on repeat.  (Plus if you listen to this, the title of this post will make sense!)