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old, cumbersome cell phone is on a magical journey through Boston's sewer system--kind of like Finding Nemo, but with outdated technology.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.

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.

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

Year-End Wrap-Up

Ok, here's a list of my top five things of 2009. Sort of like Oprah's favorite things, except without the freebies or screaming suburban moms. I've decided to combine genres and years because I am a little sloooow in the book-buying department. Hey! They're expensive! But, this represents the best from my year at least :) Onto the next decade!

best show: Mad Men
Thank you, Matt Weiner for giving the world Don Draper.

best book: The Road/ The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel
As mentioned above, neither of these books were published in 2009 but they were the best books I read this year, which is ultimately more important.

best line: "Drunk rollerblading is danger, 90s style."
I write down things people say. I like this one the best.

best song: Blood Bank by Bon Iver
If you've never heard this song, you need to download it right now.

best place to blow my stipend: modcloth.com.
If I'm wearing something that you think is cute, it's probably from here.

Gyro Fix

I love a good gyro. It is easily my favorite sandwich. Or, maybe I just love tzatziki and the gyro is merely a more socially acceptable yet calorie-ridden way for me to ingest said sauce rather than from a tub with a spoon. Either way, I tend to abstain from authentic lamb gyros all year until it's time for the Hartford Greek festival in early June. But, Christmas came early this year when my boyfriend James, who happens to be Greek, suggested we go to a festival in Waterbury.

Apparently it's held every year during Mother's Day Weekend, but this was my first time going. Waterbury's a bit of a hike from my house but James was driving, so I was completely on board. Unfortunately the weather sucked, for lack of a better word, and I was fighting off a nasty cold. But the food was good and cheap, just the way I like it.

We each got lamb gyros with the works: tomatoes, onions, and tzatziki sauce. They were HUGE (see picture). Way bigger than the ones at the Hartford Greek festival. I think this might have had something to do with the 11 year old boys who made them for us. At $7 it was definitely a deal. They had six spits going, which is a ton of lamb. But it was done just right. We also got one spanakopita (spinach pie) and one tiropita (cheese pie). They were $3.75 and $3.25 each. The spanakopita was ok. I think I like Hartford's better. They give you bigger portions and it isn't as salty. I had never had tiropita before, which is made from a mixture of feta and farmer's cheese. It was also incredibly salty, but tasty.

We were so full after downing those massive gyros, but you can't come to the Greek festival without having dessert. I got a piece of galactobouriko, which is custard wrapped in filo and covered with honey syrup. I had it a couple of years ago at the Hartford Greek festival and loved it. They were sold out when I went last year, so when I saw it on the menu here I had to get it. They gave me a huge piece, well worth the $3.00, and it was still nice and warm. James got a piece of baklava, which was much smaller than the galactobouriko, for $2.50.

Once we finished eating, we walked around the festival a little bit. There wasn't much to see. It was pouring outside and everything was under a big ( and slightly leaky) tent. James noted that "Every Greek festival has the same things: There's the person selling jewelery, a booth selling icons, a raffle with a trip to Greece, which I always enter but never win..." He has a point. I, of course, come strictly for the food. And now that I've had my gyro fix I can move on to some moussaka or pastitsio at the next Greek festival. I've heard that New Britain has a smaller one at the end of May, which we'll definitely be hitting up. Ya sou!

Blonde on Blonde

I'm working on a new article idea. It's called "Blondes have more fun?" I figure it can be a sort of social experiment to see if blondes actually are treated differently from brunettes. Really, it's just an elaborate ruse for me to have a legitamate exuse to dye my hair without everyone jumping down my throat. "Don't EVER dye your hair!" is the usual response I get. But, to hell with that. This is for the STORY. Plus, I mean, I wouldn't go like, crazy "Gwen Stefani" blonde--more of a honey "Certain Mary Kate Olsen Pictures" blonde. I don't know...I suppose I should run it by my editor before I go and drop $100 on my hair..or not.

when disappointment and regret collide

I've been feeling pretty down lately..no, scratch that. I've been feeling down since August 20th. I miss London so deeply. Yes, deeply. I don't know..for years it was my dream to go there--live there. Of course things changed along the way, as they always do. Other dreams and ambitions took over so London took a back seat, for awhile at least. Until the summer of 2005.

I remember sitting in my office at the Aetna Foundation bored out of my skull and thinking about all the great stuff Katie said about the city. I honestly believe if she had never gone to London, I wouldn't have. Her experiences reignited my desire to go and from there I set my plan in motion--because I must always have a plan...

But the whole time I was planning the trip, applying to the program, etc..I felt really scared. Almost like it wasn't actually happening. I couldn't really go to London for three months, could I? Leave everything behind? I naively thought my life back home could be paused while I was away. After all, I still wanted the same things, I just wanted to go to London too. And this, I suppose, is the crux of my problem:

I was trying to satisfy two sides of myself and in the end I failed. I went to London and of course I absolutely loved it, but then I left. I came back to Connecticut to satisfy that other side of myself, but what I came back for was no longer here...

So essentially I left my ideal city for a town and a life I never wanted. The thought that I gave up my lifelong dream for nothing is, quite frankly, a terrible feeling. No wonder I'm depressed...I don't mean this in any sort of blaming way; it is what it is. It just proves that the only person you can truly count on is yourself. I forgot that.

Just hear this and then I'll go

"You're never going to meet anyone in a bar"-I've heard this from pretty much everyone (friends, co-workers, parents) over the last few months. After last night I have concluded they are correct. At 22 I've given up on the bar scene.

That's not to say I won't go out, I just won't care about meeting drunk people. Because that's all it is really. And no, this isn't some diatribe at Hartford's bar scene. London was the same way...sometimes even scarier. I dunno. I always knew I wasn't cut out for this.

How come cute guys never hang out in art museums like I want them to? I did that ALL the time in London, but then I realized guys only go there unless their girlfriends make them. Funny.

Katie told me I should hang out at Starbucks. She met a guy there once...maybe she's right. Or maybe I should just move. Far, far away, like that psychic said...