Ugh. I think my new theme song is Why Bother.

Apparently I Terrify Men

Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?
Oy...I swear they need to have a version of the bachelorette but with manly lumberjack-esque men and the ladies who love them. I would maybe give up my dignity for someone who wouldn't run away if I expressed interest in them....and yes, I know what you're thinking and no IT'S NOT ME.

Boo-urns

I feel like all I've done on here lately is whine about stuff. Really, my life is pretty darn good overall and it may be just about to get better. I might have the opportunity to live in Paris, so get ready for some confusing, broken French and posts about baguettes and Catherine Deneuve. Or, if that doesn't work out, I'll continue to get into embarrassing situations with dudes. See what I do for you?

I Give Up

Recently, I was having a discussion about less-than-stellar boy behavior with a friend when she brought up something a co-worker had told her: "After my breakup I expected every guy to treat me like a girlfriend." This was given as a way to explain why a guy doesn't call/disappears/actslikeadouche/blahblahblah

Wait, what?

Maybe it's just me but...I don't think not being someone's girlfriend and still expecting to be treated with respect is mutually exclusive. I know at least a few guys who would agree with me as well. But, what bothers me most about this statement is it is yet another example of smart women making apologies for stupid men. Ladies, it's ok to expect someone to treat you like a human being, regardless of whether or not you're in a relationship (yet). You aren't being too demanding--it's called common courtesy and way too many dudes don't practice it. Just sayin'. 'Cause if this is the benchmark we're supposed to work with I might as well call it quits right now.

Thank God for Jon Hamm and this quote from a recent interview with Time on the differences between the men of the 1960s and today:

"There's a cordialness that men had when dealing with the opposite sex, even when they were being blatantly sexist. It's a weird conundrum. But that's been replaced with men treating women like absolute garbage and not even being polite about it, which is too bad."

Read more: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,2005856,00.html#ixzz0uXSbMApS

I Want What I Want. And I Want It Now.

So, as you can probably tell, I've been having some dude problems as of late...People keep asking me "Well, what the hell do you want?"

As usual, Liz Lemon sums it up perfectly in this quote from last season:

"I want someone who will be monogamous, and nice to his mother. And I want someone who likes musicals but knows to just shut his mouth when I’m watching Lost. And I want someone who thinks being really into cars is lame and strip clubs are gross. I want someone who will actually empty the dishwasher instead of just taking forks out as needed, like I do. I want someone with clean hands and feet and beefy forearms like a damn Disney prince. And I want him to genuinely like me, even when I’m old. And that’s what I want”.

I would also like to add the following: Someone who isn't a wuss and preferrably looks like a hot lumberjack. Now, is that TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR?

Ok. End rant.

WTF is up with dudes?

Enter Scene:

"You're just very direct," Katie said.
I looked up from my computer screen, where I was in the midst of composing a message to a dude. A dude who, on multiple occasions, stated that I made him quite nervous. The message read:

Yo. When are we gonna hang out again? You aren't still nervous, are you?

"Really?" I asked.
"Really. Guys don't know how to handle that."

Lame.

I was reminded of this so-called 'directness' the other day when I was watching Pride and Prejudice for the 80 billionth time. When Darcy and Lizzie dance for the first time, Lizzie breaks Darcy's awkward silence: "It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."

You know Darcy would have just let the whole dance continue in silence. 'Cause he's a dude. Granted, P&P is nothing more than one big girlie wet dream, but still. I'd like to think there's someone out there (preferably someone with a large country estate) who appreciates a little bit of directness in a lady.

This Is Why I Can't Have Nice Things

Hi, my name is Emily and I am a klutz.

I drop things, I fall down, I walk into walls, and my appendages usually have at least one or two mysterious bruises. Granted, I seem to be at my klutzy-est between Thursday and Saturday, but that's really beside the point. I've done enough stupid things while sober.

This past Saturday I had some friends over to my place. There was food, wine, dancing, and some more wine. Later in the evening I decided to go meet some other friends in Cambridge. For reasons unknown I was standing beside a storm drain talking to someone while looking through my text messages. As I closed my flip phone, I dropped it. I do this a lot in part of said klutzy-ness and because my phone is an ancient, unwieldy beast. However, I watched in horror as my phone actually FELL THROUGH THE GRATES. There were several moments of silence as my companion and I both looked at the sewer grate and each other in disbelief.

"I can't believe that actually just happened," he finally said.

I got on my hands and knees and tried to lift the sewer grate, which of course didn't work. Then I yelled for a while. Then I tried to lift the sewer grate again, this time with some assistance. Still didn't work.

Funnily enough I had just been having a discussion with my father about whether or not I should get an iPhone. My argument against such a purpose was my propensity for dropping my phone.

"Yes, but if you had an iPhone, you'd be more careful," Dad reasoned.

Yeah, that's doubtful.

As annoying as it is to drop your phone into a sewer, it's mostly just inconvenient. If I dropped an iPhone into the sewer, I would be apoplectic right now.

The next morning, this story was related to a friend of mine. His response?

"Oh man. I'm not surprised."

Quite frankly, neither am I. But, what can I do about it? Well, not buy an iPhone for starters. I can only hope that my old, cumbersome cell phone is on a magical journey through Boston's sewer system--kind of like Finding Nemo, but with outdated technology.

In Which I Unknowingly Give Men The Worst Pick-Up Line Ever

I have a tattoo. It is on the inside of my upper arm and says "Thinking of You" in lovely, scrolling script. I got it as a memorial to a dear friend that passed away in January. It's not in a terribly visible place, and even when I wear something short-sleeved, people don't usually notice it--at least not right away. However, it's getting warm out. I'm going to bars. I'm wearing dresses--and dudes are seeing it. The standard exchange goes like this:

Dude: (Notices tattoo) Hey, you thinking of me? *wink*

Me: Uh. No.

Dude: (awkward laugh) I'm just kidding. Who you thinking of then?

Me: My dead friend.

~End Scene~

I get that it's hard to make conversation in a bar, but seriously? That's the best you can do? Who do you think I'm thinking of? Elmo? Tom Cruise? No, douchebag! Use your meat brain for 5 seconds. It should go like this:

"Hmm. It must be for someone special. Someone who probably isn't alive any more. Why would you need that for someone who was still around? I'll be polite."

I mentioned this to my aunt, who actually had a great response for me to give next time: "Not now, or ever." Ahmen.

When Life Gives You Liz Lemons...

So, yesterday I'm walking down the street on my way to school and some dudes in a car sprayed me with a water gun! In the face! Luckily, I was wearing a jacket and big sunglasses so the damage was minor. They drove off while I stood there yelling and shaking my fist. Then, I continued on my way. When I related this story to my friend Eliza her reaction was "Oh my God. You are so Liz Lemon!" Now, this is hardly the first time someone has compared me to Liz/Tina Fey. However, it was the second time in a week when someone made such an observation. Luckily, I love me some Liz Lemon and not-so-secretly want to be her. (Come on. The TV writing gig, the NYC apartment, the proximity to Judah Friedlander?) Although sometimes I feel like the 30 Rock writers are following me around based on some of the things she says and does...Now, if I can only meet a dude that looks like Jon Hamm and smells like frosting. Oh, and I'm totally into hooks.

A lotta Lattes (sorry)

I have a thing about lattes. They are the perfect drink. I keep a mental list of the best lattes I've had. Before today it was as follows:

1.) That latte I had at that place in Carmel, CA three years ago.
2.) The South End Buttery's lattes
3.) The Lavender latte from Chocopologie in Norwalk, CT
4.) Uh...something in London?


You see, not all lattes are created equal. In fact, most of the time they're crap--especially the bastardized version Starbucks sells. Luckily, here in Boston there is a beavy of impossibly cute cafes with authentic espresso machines. Today I went to one such place: Flour in the South End. It's a short walk from Katie's, which will prove to be a problem once I move in. I got a soy latte, since I'm lactose intolerant. The soymilk they use was perfect (I'm guessing it was unsweetened) and made just the right amount of airy, foamy goodness. My big gripe with Starbucks is the soymilk they use. It's just gross. Super sweet. And, usually it tastes kind of, well, burnt. Plus, those lattes aren't cheap--esp. after the extra charge for the soy milk. Flour's was the same price, for a bigger, better drink. Coupled with a giant vegan vanilla berry muffin top, it was a perfect way to start the day. I think Flour just may top the mental list.

Of Postcards and Paperbacks

I watched An Education this week and aside from the terrific performances and delicious costumes (there's one red and white dress Carey Mulligan's character wears in one scene that is glorious) there's a line from Olivia Williams' character about how her apartment is decorated with 'postcards and paperbacks.' I just love that. It's symbolic of the things I enjoy as well as desire. I'm thinking of starting a separate blog with that as the title. This would be much more focused though. This blog is really nothing more than a hodgepodge of the last three years--and I rather like it that way. So, keep your eyes peeled in the future for Postcards and Paperbacks :)

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Apparently my graduate career is nearly over. Crazy, right? I handed in my final project and it passed without incident. Now I just have to find a jobapartmentpurposeinlife. Ha! Luckily for me, Cousin Katie has insisted that I stay with her for the summer while I get my proverbial shit together. I figure I'll earn my keep by cooking her food and making little arts and crafts projects (naturally all of which I will document on here). Honestly, I already don't know what to do with myself and all this "free time" I've acquired. Step one is to get a sewing machine. I think my mom has one stashed away somewhere. Step two is to figure out how to actually use it. I've always wanted to learn to sew more than just fallen buttons and fabric tears. Perhaps I can throw together some new curtains for Casa de Katie?

Going Down South

I don't know if it was my recent trip to Florida or the premiere of Justified on FX, but lately I've been feelin' some American Gothic. Big time. As soon as I'm done with this cursed final project I'm diving into some O' Connor, some Faulkner, gonna attempt to make a Chess pie, and finally try that sweet tea vodka. It's gonna be a long, hot, spring.

More evidence that a good breakfast can make any day marginally better

If you ever blow a tire on the Miami freeway at 4 am, I highly suggest hitting up the Ham and Eggery. The owners are enthusiastic about three things: wood paneling you can't find outside a 70s rumpus room, decorations that must have been scrounged exclusively from garage sales (where else can you find a giant poster of Scarface, a decorative portrait of the Rev. Martin Luther King, and the cover to a Jimi Hendrix album on the same wall?), and cheap breakfast food. The entire spread pictured (plus a tasty buttermilk pancake that had yet to arrive) cost a mere $13. Despite the harrowing circumstances that led us to this fine establishment (housed in a faux barn no less), the near-death experience may just have been worth it. If I ever find myself in that crummy strip of road within walking distance of the Tire Kingdom, I will be back.

nonsense

I want a garden

I want to wear aprons

I will collect teacups and teapots

I will make pie crust from scratch

I will return to London

I will live abroad

I will write in a Parisian cafe

I will sell a screenplay

I will live for everyone who can't

The Writing Life

I've been reading the Cambridge Companion to Virginia Woolf in search of a specific quote on her writing process and, as usual, her dedication to journaling and letter-writing is both inspiring and exhausting. I look over at my bookshelf at the pitiful little journal I've kept off and on since I went to London in 06. How many thoughts, memories, feelings are now lost? Of course, I have a separate place for 'ideas', quotes, etc, but I could do more. That's the problem with being a writer-type. You never feel like you're working hard enough, writing enough, thinking enough, living enough....sometimes I have to remind myself that I'm getting my MASTER'S degree and it's ok that I'm not as productive as I *could* be...My monstrous final project has definitely cut into my own writing time, but even when I do manage to write a scrap or two of fiction (or lately lyrics again) I feel guilty/stressed because I have this big deadline looming before me. What I wouldn't give to be an accountant or a housewife or a fishmonger and be *satisfied*. I am my own worst enemy.

Travel Fantasy #1

Let's Sail to Byzantium

... I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.~W.B. Yeats

How epic would it be to travel along the Bosphorus to Istanbul, a city full of history, contradictions, art, and architecture of the grandest scale? Taking in the Hagia Sophia, strolling through a bustling market on a hazy afternoon, sipping tea in a cafe with the call to prayer echoing across the city...